#this is the best holiday humans have ever come up with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writing-in-glitter-pen · 1 year ago

Text

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ what I know to be true ⋆｡˚ ೀ⋆｡˚ ༘

Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.

Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!

Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.

He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.

He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.

That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.

He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.

So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.

"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.

He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.

Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.

He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.

Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.

Your name.

Oh, how he remembered you.

You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...

But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.

You were a little brat was what you were.

Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.

Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".

They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.

He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.

You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.

His little siblings were much cuter.

And he did not hesitate to say that.

"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.

"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."

This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.

Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.

You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.

How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?

Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!

Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.

All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."

Never before had he felt so cheated.

That begun his feud with a two year old.

Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.

It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.

"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.

He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.

That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife

If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.

Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.

But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.

In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.

So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.

"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."

The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.

"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.

In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.

Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.

It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.

He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.

But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.

His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.

Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.

What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?

With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.

His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.

But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.

This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.

And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.

Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.

He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.

"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."

Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.

"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."

To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.

Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.

You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.

He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.

So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.

"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."

He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.

"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.

"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."

He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.

"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."

He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.

"And loving you as you love me."

Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.

Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."

His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.

"And you will forever be mine."

His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.

Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.

Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.

As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.

But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.

You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.

He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.

The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.

All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.

"I do.", you said.

He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.

"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.

After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.

Fervently, passionately kissed you.

It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.

But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.

After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.

"Could we take a walk in the garden?"

While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.

The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.

"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.

He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.

And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.

"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.

"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.

"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."

To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.

The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".

His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.

"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."

Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.

But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."

He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.

So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.

"Let's warm you up, huh?"

Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.

So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.

4K notes · View notes

batshit-auspol · 1 year ago

Note

have we talked about the woolworths debacle yet?

Sigh.

Alright kids strap in, because the culture wars are back and stupider than ever.

So there are two characters you need to be familiar with in this story before we continue:

Woolies (i.e. Woolworths) - One of two supermarket chains in Australia. Not related to the giant Woolworths chain that used to exist overseas, other than the Aussie one swiped the name because the original forgot to trademark the name 'Woolworths' here. Biggest company in Aus, and also the biggest employer. Not a brand anyone with more than two braincells would pick a fight with.

Peter Dutton - Man with less than two braincells, and current leader of the political opposition in Australia. Best known for bearing a passing resemblance to a potato and once demanding that a homophobic song get played for balance when a football halftime show performed 'Same Love'. His reputation is so bad that if you told an Australian that Dutton's favorite pastime was drowning puppies, they probably would believe you.

And to prove our point, here's the best headline a friendly newspaper could come up with to try spin his image:

The third thing you need to know is that in Australia we have a national holiday called "Australia Day" which is basically a scheduled day for everyone to get into a giant argument.

This is because for the last 30ish years it has been held on the anniversary of the British claiming the land around Sydney as a colony which was:

a) More the founding of an English prison then the founding of Australia, and more importantly

b) from the perspective of the people who were already living here, kindof a very shit day

Now not everyone agrees on this, and even those that don't 'celebrate' will often still have a get together with friends, but it can't be denied that we've shifted a long way from the days when the country used to celebrate Australia Day by kitting ourselves out in Aussie flag budgie smugglers, drinking enough beer to drown Harold Holt, and partying like it's 1789.

(Now a brief break for a real photo of Peter Dutton at a press conference)

Good luck sleeping tonight. Anyway back to the story.

As a result of this shift away from the trend of showing your patriotism by wearing Australian flag underpants, this year Woolworths decided that they were no longer going to be rolling out their box of southern cross thongs - on the grounds that "this kitschy shit never sells" and they are far too busy with more important things like blaming price gouging on inflation and installing self-checkout machines that think your canvas bag is a crime against humanity.

Never a man to miss an opportunity to act like a massive twat, upon hearing that Woolies had dumped their flag merch, Peter Dutton rushed onto the airwaves to declare that Woolworths had "gone woke" (paging 4chan circa 2009) and called for the country to boycott the store, a story which Australia's media have gleefully put on loudhale for over a week now in order to drive outrage clicks.

We at this point remind you that Woolworths is a company which, as we previously mentioned, basically has a monopoly on selling food in this country. Not exactly something you can boycott.

(Another real Dutton photo break)

Needless to say Dutton's dumbass plan did not immediately put Woolies out of business, however the relentless media campaign by Rupert Murdoch's minions did result in a bunch of innocent low-wage floor staff being harrassed by The Dark Lord's fanboys and a few Woolies stores were graffitied.

Allegedly being the 'free market' guy, Dutton also kindof snookered himself by demanding the free market not decide the fate of Australia day, but logic was never one of his strong suits.

Anyway, in the end we're just going to keep having this dumb circular argument every year, fulled by a media who love fanning the flames, until a politician has the guts to shift the date to May 8 (pronounced m8), and everyone promptly forgets this was ever a thing.

All in all, that's the long and the short of it. As a final touch we'll leave you with this real tweet by Opposition Leader Peter Dutton, in all its batshit glory.

We look forward to the absolute dumpster fire of comments this post is going to generate - as is the Australia Day tradition.

#australia #auspol #batshit

3K notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 3 months ago

Text

Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property 🤧), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

549 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic

2K notes · View notes

mikareo · 1 year ago

Text

“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k

⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.

series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)

YEAR ONE, DAY ONE

His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.

He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.

The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.

He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom.

A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal.

This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all.

Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.

If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.

The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..

…and Geto Suguru fears himself.

In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too.

Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself.

This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough.

For Satoru…do it for Satoru…

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind.

“Geto Suguru?”

He doesn’t recognize that voice.

The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side.

Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal.

“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”

The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years.

With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant.

“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”

You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit.

You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.

His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”

He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?

“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.

As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy.

“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”

Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right.

“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.”

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”

It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.

“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”

That sound?

You’re laughing?

Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice.

He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.

Pets are cute…

…your smile is cute too.

You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”

YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR

“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing.

It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird.

Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did.

It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…

…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.

For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.

…no matter who he was involved with…

…until he met you.

“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel.

There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.

Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose.

Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…

…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…

…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays.

“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)

Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe.

In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.

“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”

It reminded you of him?

Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.

All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is.

Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…

…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.

He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?

His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him.

Is he…crying?

As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose.

With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards.

Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3

1K notes · View notes

oaksgrove · 1 month ago

Text

A Captain for Christmas

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsis: You’ve been Kyle “Gaz” Garrick’s best friend for years, but this Christmas, he’s determined to play matchmaker. From mistletoe ambushes to not-so-subtle hints, he won’t rest until you and Captain Price have a holiday romance for the books.

word count: 1085

warnings: None, just fluff, holiday cheer, and meddling best friends!

a/n: It's almost christmas so thats my gift for y'all. Merry Christmas mates! <3

Captain’s New Year, A Captain for Christmas sequel!

The invitation came out of nowhere.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gaz said, waving the 141’s Christmas dinner invite in front of you like a golden ticket. “Good food, good company… You’re not going to sit at home eating instant noodles again, are you?”

You shot him a flat look. “It was once, Kyle. And I was tired.”

“Whatever you say,” he teased, grinning as he dropped onto the couch beside you. “But you’re coming. No arguments.”

You sighed, already sensing you weren’t going to win this one. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you didn’t want to.

That’s how you ended up at the 141’s Christmas dinner party, clutching a mug of mulled wine and feeling entirely out of place. The room was warm and lively, filled with laughter and the soft clinking of glasses. But you couldn’t shake the nerves curling in your stomach like an unwelcome guest.

The team was kind, welcoming in their own way, but it was obvious they shared a bond you couldn’t quite touch. You watched the way they bantered, teased, and laughed—years of trust woven into every word. It made you ache for something you couldn’t quite name.

“Relax,” Gaz whispered beside you, leaning in with a nudge. “They’re just people.”

“Intimidating people,” you muttered, your eyes flicking toward Captain John Price at the head of the table.

He had an air about him—quiet, commanding, the kind of presence that filled a room without trying. Yet, when he caught Soap’s wild hand gestures and chuckled under his breath, there was something so… human about him.

“Don’t let the beard fool you,” Gaz said with a smirk. “He’s not as grumpy as he looks.”

Before you could respond, Price’s deep voice cut through the din. “Kyle, aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?”

Your cheeks flushed as all eyes turned toward you.

“This,” Gaz said, clapping a hand on your shoulder, “is my best mate. Been through thick and thin together.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Price said, his tone polite but curious as his eyes settled on you. He extended a hand, and you shook it, your palm warm against his.

“Likewise,” you managed, though the butterflies in your stomach were threatening to take flight.

The night carried on, and you started to relax—or at least fake it well enough. Soap’s loud laughter and over-the-top stories were impossible not to enjoy, and the food was something out of a holiday dream.

Still, your gaze kept drifting to Price. The way his eyes softened when he spoke to his team, the quiet authority in his posture. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you—noticing when your glass was empty, offering a subtle smile when you caught him glancing your way.

And those glances… they made your heart stutter.

Gaz, ever the sharp-eyed friend, leaned in close. “You’re smitten,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Am not,” you shot back, glaring at him.

He grinned, leaning back smugly. “You’re terrible at lying.”

You wanted to argue, but the truth lodged itself in your throat. Because the fact was, you were smitten. And you hated how obvious it was.

As the night moved to gift exchanges and drinks in the sitting room, you noticed Gaz was acting… strange. Disappearing and reappearing with that mischievous glint in his eye that meant trouble. You didn’t think much of it until Soap’s exaggerated gasp drew everyone’s attention.

“Oi, what’s this?”

You turned to see him pointing at the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe dangled conspicuously.

“Who put that there?” Soap asked, his grin wide enough to split his face.

Gaz raised his hand nonchalantly. “Festive spirit, mate. Thought it’d add to the ambiance.”

Your stomach dropped. You shot him a look that promised retribution, but before you could say a word, you noticed Price looking at the mistletoe. Then at you.

For a moment, he hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate but gentle.

“Tradition’s tradition,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

Your heart raced as you placed yours in his. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, pressing a warm, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his breath brushing your skin.

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

The room erupted into cheers and whistles, Soap’s voice loudest of all. “Get in there, Price!”

But you barely heard them, too caught up in the way Price’s blue eyes lingered on yours, like he was seeing something he wasn’t quite ready to let go of.

Later, when the room had quieted and you’d stepped out onto the porch for some air, you replayed the moment in your mind. Your hand drifted to your cheek, the warmth of his kiss still lingering there.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Price stepping out, his coat slung over his arm.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, his voice calm and steady as always.

You smiled faintly. “Needed some air.”

He nodded, leaning against the railing beside you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Gaz… he’s been meddling, hasn’t he?” Price asked, his lips twitching into a small smile.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “He’s not exactly subtle.”

“No, he’s not,” Price agreed, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt different—heavier, more charged. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way the soft glow of the porch light caught the edges of his beard.

“For what it’s worth,” he said finally, his voice low and sincere, “I’m glad he did.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“If you’re free,” he continued, his gaze meeting yours, steady and warm, “I’d like to take you out. Properly. No meddling sergeants involved.”

You blinked, the words sinking in slowly. Then, a smile broke across your face—soft, nervous, but genuine.

“Alright, Captain,” you said, your voice teasing but light. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

And as the two of you stepped back inside, Gaz’s smug grin waiting for you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this Christmas was the start of something far greater than you ever imagined.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod 141 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader

339 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 8 days ago

Text

Bill's getting a makeover from Pacifica!! Yaaay

And what good will it do him?

Here's chapter 83 of human Bill Cipher being more of a prisoner in his body than in the Mystery Shack by this point: the shack's decided that the only possible thing that can save them from certain doom is getting Bill to flirt with a government agent, and Pacifica's recruited to help.

She does NOT know who her customer is.

####

"Folks, I'm not exaggerating when I say that out of all my duties as mayor, there's no greater honor than getting to host the county's annual Best Baby Ever Pageant and meeting all your beautiful and talented children. When I look in each young shape's bright little eye, and know that in this room are this county's future priests, police officers, teachers, doctors, entrepreneurs, maybe even the mayor of tomorrow... It gives me hope for the future." The mayor lowered his voice conspiratorially, "And it doesn't hurt that I get to declare it a city holiday and lock town hall's door for the day, either."

The parents in the audience chuckled appreciatively. Their children, who would have had the day off anyway and frankly found this a whole lot more work, mostly didn't.

"But all good things must come to an end, and we've reached the end of this year's competition." The mayor gestured to the contestants behind him, lined up in front of a temporary backdrop with a cheapy, shiny curtain. Most of the contestants were being held by a parent, but a few were old enough to fidget in front of the crowd all alone. "We've awarded all the individual prizes for each age bracket—which have gone to kids with any number of sides, with ages ranging everywhere from five years old to five hours old—and now all we have left is this year's grand prize!"

An enormous trophy waited to the mayor's side. It was plastic and hollow, but it was painted gold and taller than most of the children.

The mayor said, "And the winner of this year's Best Baby Ever award is... " Someone at the back of the hall played a pre-recorded drumroll through a tinny speaker. "The overall winner from the Age 0-6 Months category—Billy Cipher!"

Scalene let out a squeal of excitement that was audible over the applause. Bill startled awake in her arm and blinked sleepily around the room.

Several of the other parents on stage surreptitiously shot Scalene dirty looks—of course her kid had won, who could deny a newborn a prize on his birthday? It would be adorable. The judges had probably leaped at the opportunity.

Scalene shifted Bill in front of herself so the audience could see him better and so she could flash a hidden razor-sharp grin to a couple of her defeated rivals. That was exactly why she'd brought him today.

"Congratulations," the mayor said, placing a very tiny crown atop Bill. Bill endured this with patient, sleepy befuddlement. "Billy will be going home with the grand prize trophy and cash prize—as well as a full set of cutlery from our sponser, Knifeco Knives! But of course we'll hand that to mama to handle," he chuckled. "And the top winners from the other brackets will receive four-piece cutlery gift sets from Knifeco, which include—"

Scalene snatched the microphone from the mayor, jabbed him aside with one corner, and gushed to the crowd, "Thank you so much! I'm sure I'm speaking for my little Billy when I say just how grateful and honored he'll be when he's old enough to understand what a gift you've given him." She beamed out at the crowd, her flashy candy apple red makeup (she'd hastily slathered herself in side liner on her way to the pageant) drowning out every other shape on the stage—except for the naturally neon yellow infant in her arm. "As some of the pageant regulars—"

The mayor said, "Scalene, we didn't actually schedule time for the winners to make speeches—"

She sweetly whispered, "No one wants to hear about the sponsor, Otto," and pushed him aside. "As some of the pageant regulars here already know—I see you out there, hello!—I'm a pageant queen myself—(Miss Teen Curvy Strait three separate years!)—so, as a new mother, I'm so pleased that my little golden child is following in the family footsteps. I..."

The spotlights were blazing hot. She didn't understand how Bill—now wide awake again—could stare straight into the piercing lights without even blinking. Maybe he was blind; it would figure, considering what the afterbirth looked like.

Her knees were weak. Her sides screamed in pain. She shifted her grip to hold Bill more securely and to try to coax the sharpest spot of pain on that side to migrate to a fresh spot, shook off a wave of dizziness, and went on, "I hope that this is just the first of many future crowns for me—myyy sweet little Billy, ahem. I can promise you'll be seeing a lot of him in... in the..."

With a thud, she passed out and collapsed against the theater backdrop.

A nearby child squeaked in alarm.

"Scalene?!" Euclid was at the back of the audience, having snuck in during the closing ceremonies and hovered near the door where he could at least hear as the winners were announced. Now, as the mayor and several other pageant parents rushed to Scalene's side, he shoved his way through the crowd. "Move, that's my wife! Dang it, I told you to use your cane!"

One of the other mothers pulled out a copy of the program and fanned Scalene's eye. The mayor scooped up Bill and checked him for injuries. "Are you alright, little tri?"

Still too small to move himself, his eye darted in a panic to his mother's face, to the bright bright spotlights, to his mother again, to the blurry blue of his father buried deep in a sea of other shapes, to the mayor and the many strange faces crowded around him—and then he swallowed back his oversized eye to open his mouth and wail.

Which was the exact moment the stage curtain caught fire.

####

A bearded man with his hair done up in black liberty spikes and a spider web tattoo climbing up his left arm watched as Pacifica dumped several shopping bags of makeup onto her desk. "This visitor must be really important. You never pass up doing these guys' weekly grooming." He was sitting on the barn floor, brushing an alpaca with long, silky white hair.

"You have no idea." Pacifica stuffed the shopping bags in the wastebasket surreptitiously hidden under her far-too-big U-shaped executive desk, and quickly sorted the beauty supplies into their proper order of operations.

"Didn't you say it's Mabel and one of her friends? Mabel's here all the time."

"It's not just any friend, Spiderwebs!" Pacifica pulled a locket out of a desk drawer, ran over to Spiderwebs, and popped it open. "It's this friend! I've never met him before, all I know is that he has the most gorgeous hair I've ever seen. I have got to make a good first impression."

Spiderwebs and the alpaca inspected the locket's contents. He said, "You've never met him and you've got some of his hair in a locket?"

Pacifica flushed. "Th— Shut up!" She snapped the locket shut and stuffed it in a pocket. "I had the locket just lying around anyway, it's whatever."

At the sound of voices outside, Pacifica gasped. "They're here! Do I look okay?!"

Spiderwebs—whose entire outfit cost less than Pacifica's left sock and who quite frankly found the amount of makeup Pacifica wore concerning for a child her age—said, "Sure, fine."

"Great!" Pacifica bounced on the balls of her feet, squealed in excitement, and ran outside to greet Mabel and her friend. "Heyyy there! I'm Pacifica Northwest, it's so nice to meet—" She froze, "you..."

Before her stood a person with the most beautiful golden hair she'd ever seen.

Which was attached to a lady in a t-shirt, an eyepatch, a bedsheet, and cheap novelty slippers that look like fish.

On top of that, the lady was mildly sunburned (obviously no moisturizer), wasn't wearing a bra, was leaning on an umbrella like a cane, clearly hadn't shaved in a while, had a very obvious fake tooth, had a weird bulgy eye, sort of smelled like fish (please don't let it be the slippers), and, to cap it all off, was fat.

Pacifica was working on herself. She was trying to unlearn the lessons about beauty she'd learned from her mom, and from the child pageant circuit, and from all her judgy friends, and from the modeling industry. She was slowly getting comfortable with the idea that physical beauty wasn't everything.

However. So far, that meant she'd been working on accepting ideas like it's okay if sometimes I'm an 8/10 instead of a 10/10. She had not yet tackled the far more daunting proposition of internalizing concepts like it's okay if sometimes other people are ugly.

Which was a problem, if she was going to give this person a makeover.

She swallowed hard and rearranged her expectations for the afternoon.

"Hey Pacifica!" Mabel beamed at her. "Thanks sooo much helping! This is Goldie, he's your customer. Goldie, this is Pacifica." Mabel gasped. "Giorgio, you're lookin' so fiiiine!" She ran into the barn to greet the alpaca Spiderwebs was grooming.

Leaving Pacifica outside with a stranger with a very creepy smile. Pacifica said, "Ummm..."

"The feeling's mutual, haha." On top of everything else, Goldie had a weird, nasally voice.

He, Mabel had said. "Hey, um," said Pacifica, who had never actually been in this position before and wasn't quite sure the polite way to handle it, "not to be rude, but... are you a guy, orrr...?"

"I'm whatever makes this conversation easiest. Don't overthink it!" He swept around Pacifica, hands clasped behind his back and around his umbrella, and sauntered into the barn. Which was kind of impressive, because fish-shaped slippers didn't seem designed for sauntering.

"So... guy?" Pacifica tried.

"For you? Sure," Goldie said indulgently. "Our target's expecting a lady, though, so—" Without turning toward Pacifica, he gestured up-and-down at his body. "Expect to femme this thing up."

Pacifica bit her lips as she swallowed down the most profound disappointment of her life so far, readjusted her expectations for the evening, and figured out what to say. She may not have unlearned the instinct to be shallowly judgmental, but she'd at least made progress on learning to keep it in her head. Most of it. Some—some of it. She'd keep some of it to herself. "Oh-kay. I don't know what Mabel told you, but—just so you know, I'm not running some charity barbershop for the homeless, all right? I'm a professional. I take looks seriously. I'm not going to soften the truth just because you're Mabel's friend, so—if you're not okay with that, you should just go home now."

He turned to glance at her, his trajectory curving to the side as he did; and suddenly she felt like a very small fish being circled by a hungry stingray. "Wow! You and Mabel both had to warn me! At this point, I'll be disappointed if you're polite." Goldie laughed. "Don't worry, I wasn't expecting a barbershop." He used his umbrella to gesture around at the barn, "A barbershop would smell less like farm animals." He flipped up his eyepatch (he had a whole second eye under there?) so he could shoot Pacifica a sly sideways glance. "Maybe personality can make up for looks. Right?"

Pacifica's face flushed red. Personality can make up for looks was what Pacifica's mom said other moms told their ugly daughters when they entered pageants they had no shot of winning. "Hey, how dare you! Maybe this barn is an ugly salon—but it's a beautiful ranch!" She huffed, "Anyway, I didn't have a choice! I couldn't bring you home in front of my parents. You're better suited to the barn."

She regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth—that was the kind of thing she was trying not to say to people as often—but Goldie's grin only widened. "Just do what you can with this flesh scarecrow I'm wearing, Alpaca. I know what beauty standards around here are like, I know what I look like, and I'm more apathetic about this body than you could possibly imagine. You won't hurt my feelings!" He flipped his eyepatch back down and glanced away from her, eye roving around the barn ceiling like a searchlight trying to find a stray bat. "Nobody goes to a coach because they're expecting to be told 'you're beautiful just the way you are'!"

A coach—like a pageant coach? He was making an awful lot of allusions to the pageant world. Just to make fun of her, or...? "You're lucky I'm not a coach. You couldn't afford my rates."

Goldie laughed. "You'd overcharge!" And then he ignored her, turning his attention to her one full-time employee. "Hey, Spiderwebs! So this is where you ended up! Workin' hard or hardly workin'?"

Spiderwebs looked up from the aplaca he was tending to to frown at Goldie. "Do I know you?"

"Know me? You picked a fight with me once!"

"Oh. Who won?"

"By the time I was finished with you, you were stone-cold unconscious!"

"That's probably why I don't remember it."

While Goldie was distracted talking to Spiderwebs, Pacifica knelt by Mabel—who was crouched to wrap her arms around Giorgio's neck and nuzzle him—and muttered, "Your friend's a major creep."

"What did he do," Mabel asked.

Pacifica thought. What did he do? Say he wouldn't be offended by brutal honesty? Tell her her barn smelled like a barn? "Nothing, it's just—the way he did it."

"Yeah," Mabel sighed. "We're working on his people skills." At least she didn't think Pacifica was crazy.

"Hey, does Goldie have any, like... beauty industry experience, that you know of?"

"His mom was a model," Mabel said. "And he did some stuff with beauty pageants?"

"Yeah? What kind of stuff?"

"Ummm..." Mabel grimaced uncertainly. "Tech... stuff...?" Okay, she clearly didn't have a clue. But that was what she'd wanted to know: yes, he was familiar with the pageant scene. She readjusted her expectations for the afternoon for the second time in as many minutes.

Apparently finished with Spiderwebs, Goldie called, "Anyway, I'm not trying to win ay supreme crowns!" Make that familiar with the pageant scene and wanted to make sure Pacifica knew that. "Just seduce some government agent who already thinks this is hot. You're lucky, we have an easy target!"

Mabel said, "This guy!" She unwrapped one arm from around Giorgio's neck to hold her phone out.

Pacifica took it. It was displaying a distinguished-looking middle-aged gentleman with a no-nonsense frown in a classy black suit. Her eyebrows went up. Ooh. The suit was kind of cheap, but it was well-tailored, which made a world of difference. Looked like he took care of himself, too. Definitely worked out. Too bad about the hair, but hey, Pacifica happened to know a great product that could help with that.

She put a hand on Mabel's arm. "I will help Goldie win his heart."

####

Bill hardly glanced around as Pacifica led them into her office; he was familiar with the space. By daylight, it looked less "rustic" and more "cutesy overpriced modern farmhouse."

"I've got everything set up in my office," Pacifica said, coming in with Mabel behind her. There was indeed a wide variety of makeup supplies spread out on her desk. "But the makeup has to wait, we've got to start with your hair."

Bill fought back a cringe. "Don't want to save the best for last?"

"Always do your hair first," Pacifica said firmly. She ducked through a door into a bathroom connected to her office. "That's your first fashion lesson. You can't wash your hair with a face full of makeup. And trying to use a blow dryer or hair iron around your makeup makes you look like a melting wax figure."

"I've seen those in person," Mabel said. "Pacifica's right, that's not a cute look. Especially when the eyeballs start rolling out! Apparently, wax figures' eyeballs are made out of glass?"

Bill made a beeline for the corner where he knew Pacifica kept a folding chair and asked, "Hey, what happened to all those eyes, anyway?" Mabel always needed new arts and crafts supplies, and he bet those would be great for jewelry.

"We stuck them in a big jar." Mabel was lurking in the bathroom door, watching Pacifica. "They're still cursed, though. They turn to look at you when you walk by."

"Even better."

"I can see why the Pines family likes you," Pacifica grumbled.

Bill could think of three Pines who would heartily disagree with that claim. "Oh, please! They can only wish they were half as weird as me." He set up the folding chair in the open space in front of Pacifica's desk—then froze. Huh.

Bill knew lots of things. He had trillions of eyes. He was used to walking into rooms and just knowing what was in them.

Except this room hadn't existed when he'd had all his eyes. It had been built after his death. So why did he already know what it looked like? How had he known where to find a folding chair?

He shut his eyes, trying to work through the déjà vu to picture what angle he'd seen the room at before, and where his eye must have been in order for him to see it; and then he looked at the wall beside the desk. There were several flat glass cases against the wall with alpaca wool goods sealed inside—a scarf, a sweater... He stared at his own face in the middle of a tapestry of his zodiac, preserved like a hunting trophy in a case labeled "First Blanket." Huh. It wasn't some local hick's den after all. Just a local rich girl roleplaying at being a hick.

He studied his true face for a long moment—and then cast a resentful look at the desk covered in makeup, in shades of beige and red. What would any of this sludge do for him? He'd be just as ugly at the end of it.

But Bill wasn't getting a makeover to look beautiful. He was getting it to seduce a human. And those were two diametrically opposed goals.

He missed his face so much.

"It's not illegal," Pacifica said.

Bill gave her a baffled look. "What?"

She pointed at the blanket, "It's not illegal to display a picture of the triangle guy as long as it's got that ring of symbols around it. It, like, repels him or something."

"Oh, does it," Bill said dryly. "It takes the evil eye to avert the evil eye, huh? Hey, maybe I should get one of these! Whaddaya think, Mabel?"

"I already told you I'm not making another!"

"But how am I gonna repel the triangle guy?" he asked, grinning impishly. "What if I'm in danger! The triangle guy could get me! Wouldn't that be terrible?"

"Knock it off! You already stole Soos's."

He expected Pacifica to come back from the bathroom with a brush or something; instead, she held up a spray bottle and said, "Okay, come in—and bring the chair." Bill's heart sank. "We're gonna have to rinse your hair in my sink, sorry."

Bill suppressed a sigh. "It's not the worst thing I've ever done to this hair!" He picked up the chair to carry into the next room.

"All I can do for now is rinse your hair. I don't have any shampoo for your hair texture because I did not think the situation was going to be this dire. No offense," Pacifica said. "You'll have to shampoo at home. You got the hair product samples I sent to the Mystery Shack, right? Were you able to order the full products? I don't know what your budget looks like."

"Don't worry about it, I still have the leftovers from the samples."

He watched in glee as Pacifica died a little on the inside. "Th— Those were one use sample sizes. It's been a month, how do you still have leftovers."

In truth, Pacifica severely overestimated the amount of hair product needed to keep hair clean; but on the other hand Bill was deliberately showering as little as he thought he could get away with and making up the difference in the downstairs half bath sink, so he didn't think smugly flaunting that he technically knew more about minimum human hygiene requirements than she did would make him look as cool and knowledgable as he wanted it to. "Don't worry about it!"

Bill cast one last longing look toward his true face; and then he followed the humans into the restroom to let them reorganize his stupid human hair.

####

"This is just a temporary measure," Pacifica warned as she dunked a few more of Goldie's curls in the sink. "You have got to take a real shower before your date. You literally smell like fish."

"What kind of fish?" Goldie immediately asked. "Is it salmon? If it's salmon I can work with that."

Sitting on the closed toilet lid, Mabel let out a long-suffering sigh; and Pacifica got the horrifying impression that this was an ongoing conversation.

"It... I don't... know what kind of fish."

Mabel said, "It's probably just the trout guts from yesterday." What the heck was life like in poor people's homes?

In Pacifica's opinion, Goldie's hair was both his biggest asset and his worst disaster area. It was that beautiful, natural, curly gold, like something out of a fairy tale; but it was nightmarishly tangled and there was literal sand in it, and he'd clearly used conditioner at some point in the last few days but he hadn't fully washed it out and it just made more sand stick.

Goldie was sitting in the folding chair with one arm rested on the lip of the sink and his cheek resting on his arm. Pacifica had to alternate between soaking his hair under the faucet and trying to gently untangle it, inch by inch, with a comb. To his credit, he patiently endured it without making a word of complaint, even though both the positioning and the manhandling had to be uncomfortable.

But he'd turned his face away from Pacifica and Mabel as much as he could from his awkward position; and whenever Pacifica moved to an angle that let her glimpse a bit of his face, his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was pressed thin in a grimace. The hand resting on the sink's lip had clenched into a fist, and his other hand was digging its (badly painted) fingernails into his thigh through his bedsheet skirt.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"I'll give it three out of five stars," Goldie said, "but if you want a lower score, I can try to find a worse angle for my neck!" He kept as much tension out of his voice as he could; but now that Pacifica had noticed it, she could tell his voice was a bit flattened.

"Never mind," she said. "No offense, but—when's the last time you combed this?" She'd been saying no offense a lot.

Mabel asked, "Have you done it since I brushed your hair at the sleepover?" He had Mabel doing his hair?

Goldie made a noncommittal noise. "I've washed it since then."

"That's not the same," Mabel said.

"You've washed it?" Pacifica asked skeptically. "Because you look like you've been sleeping in mud." She'd found a few flecks deep in his thick curls.

"Okay, in my defense," Goldie said, "it was just garden-variety heavy metal-enriched local dirt when I went to sleep. It only turned into mud while I was unconscious."

Pacifica stopped combing and leaned over to stare at Goldie, speechless.

With an air of affronted dignity, he said, "It wasn't my idea. I wanted to be indoors."

"Goldie's been having a really bad week," Mabel said.

"I've been having a really bad month," Goldie said.

Mabel asked, "Haven't you had a shower since you got home, though?"

There was a pause. Goldie muttered, "Yeah, but—it's hard to get through all that hair." (The worst part was, Pacifica thought he was telling the truth. The fact that she'd found mud so deep meant he must have washed the majority off the outer layers of his hair.) "I—I've been—tired, okay?"

He had that air of impatient irritation that suggested he was embarrassed, but trying to hide it because he was embarrassed of being embarrassed. Strange from Mr. Apathetic About His Body to be self-conscious. Why? Did he not know how to take care of his hair? (Maybe if he'd properly used the samples she'd sent him...)

But Pacifica thought back to Mabel showing her a lock of his hair at the beginning of summer—and the liquified roots, melted off. That wasn't an accident. Whatever depilatory cream he'd used had to sit there on the roots, it wasn't like he'd just grabbed the wrong product by accident. There was something more than ignorance going on here. Self-sabotage? But if it was intentional, why would he be embarrassed?

She could call him out, interrogate him for it—hey, she was supposed to be his style consultant, she needed to know what was going on—but if he was already getting defensive, he'd just clam up if he thought he was really under attack. Her mom got the same way when she was getting cagey about something and Pacifica was trying to figure out why. So she switched her focus. "Mabel—did you say you brushed his hair?"

"Yeah?"

"You meant 'combed his hair,' right?"

"No, I brushed it," Mabel said.

Pacifica stared at her. "Why."

Mabel stared back. "Because... combs are for short guy hair and for parting your hair? And Goldie doesn't have a part?"

Pacifica looked down at the big ball of frizzy curls that made up the bottom half of Mabel's hair and suddenly understood so much. "Oh, hon." What were her parents like. What did their hair look like. "You're supposed to comb natural curls. And only when they're wet, if you can help it."

"What. Why."

"It keeps the curls together," Goldie said, "instead of separating them all into separate strands."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Wait, that's the secret?! I thought that's what expensive shampoos are for!"

"The expensive shampoos make it worse," he cheerfully informed her. He'd brushed Pacifica off and sat up, chin in hand and hair dripping over his shoulders, so he could talk to Mabel. "It strips off the grease your pores naturally excrete to lube up your hair and replaces it with manmade grease! Which is why your hair dries out when you stop using the fancy shampoo. It's a big scam!"

Mabel stared at him in shock; then asked, hesitantly, "My strawberry shampoo?"

"A dirty traitor," Goldie said. "It's one of those toxic friends that manipulates you into depending on them and then tells you you're nothing without their help! There's half a dozen chemicals you wanna avoid in shampoo—I don't remember all their names but I can draw their chemical structures, Sixer can translate 'em into English for you."

"What else am I doing wrong?"

"You shampoo your hair too often," Goldie said. "And blow dry it. Which is fine if you want to keep that dry frizz! But somehow I don't think you do!"

Okay—so he clearly did understand curly hair care. (Or at least, he understood it as much as Pacifica, whose knowledge came entirely from reading magazine articles that technically weren't aimed at her.) Then why didn't he do it?

Mabel dragged her hands down her face. "So all this time, I've been messing up your hair too? Goldiiie, why didn't you say anything!"

"I didn't really care!"

Pacifica said, "Okay no, I am not standing for this. Goldie, out. Mabel, sink. It's some kind of crime for me to know more about curly hair than you do. I'm showing you how to do this the right way."

Goldie sighed in relief and escaped as Pacifica subjected Mabel's hair to the faucet and comb.

####

(Here's this week's What Was Edited Due To TBOB summary: the pageant scene itself was already planned, but obviously, all the details—it's the day he was born, the mayor's there handing out knives and declaring it a holiday—came from the info we get on Bill's history via TBOB. Finding a way to make the knives make sense was fun. Nothing major in the rest of the chapter was changed.

Hope you enjoyed! Next week is more Pacifica!)

#(I'm forbidding myself from drawing backgrounds in chapter art until March)#(If i draw a background put a skunk in my inbox)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the art & chapter)#pacifica northwest #mabel pines #(for the chapter even tho they aren't in the art. this is pacifica's chapter!!)#scalene cipher #(<- yknow what?? she gets a big scene too. might as well tag her.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

251 notes · View notes

multific · 1 month ago

Text

A Holiday

Yautja x Reader

Summary: Imagine trying to explain to a Yautja what Christmas is.

You have spent many years on Yautja Prime.

Being a mate to a Yautja Leader came with many obstacles but it also came with many joys.

This year, you decided on a mission to explain the significance of Christmas and its cherished traditions.

It used to be your favourite holiday after all.

During dinner, your mate sits opposite of you, eating his food when you take a deep breath, ready to unfold the wonder and joy of the festive occasion.

With enthusiastic gestures, you begin by describing Christmas as a special time of year when people all over the world come together to celebrate love, kindness, and gratitude.

It's a magical season that brings warmth and cheer to hearts, where families and friends gather to share precious moments and create lasting memories.

You explain that Christmas is often symbolized by a beautiful evergreen tree decorated with sparkling lights, colourful ornaments, and a shining star on top.

These decorations, you explain, serve as a visual representation of the joy and hope that the season brings.

As you continue, you delve into the significance of gift-giving during Christmas.

You explain that it's a heartfelt way to express love and appreciation for one another. People exchange carefully chosen presents, wrapped in colourful paper and tied with ribbons, to show that they care and value the bond they share.

You then remember the traditional foods and feasts that make Christmas even more special.

You describe the aroma of freshly baked cookies and cakes, the savoury dishes prepared with love, and the rich hot chocolate that warms both body and soul during the chilly winter nights.

As you paint a vivid picture of Christmas, you mention the character known as Santa Claus.

With a twinkle in your eye, you reveal that Santa is believed to travel around the world in a sleigh, pulled by magical reindeer, to deliver gifts to children while they sleep.

This mythical figure represents the joy of giving and the spirit of generosity that permeates the season.

With each detail you share, your mate's eyes widen in wonder and curiosity. So many questions.

You can sense the growing interest in Christmas and the values it represents.

You emphasize that, beyond the material aspects, Christmas is a time for compassion, forgiveness, and embracing the true spirit of humanity.

It is a time when differences are set aside, and unity and love prevail.

You eagerly await a response, hoping that the magic of this season has captured the imagination of your beloved, just as it does for people around the world, including you.

---

The next day, you were out with the females.

You liked to take care of their little ones.

Upon your arrival, you noticed something in your living space.

It almost looked like a tree.

Instead of ornaments, it was filled with trophies.

Your Mate's trophies.

You recalled when yesterday you mentioned to him the meaning of ornaments on a Christmas tree. Their value and what they meant.

"Christmas tree." you spoke up just as your Mate entered the room. You smiled at him. "I love it, it's so beautiful!" just as you spoke the lights turned on.

If you were to explain it, it was a very Yautja Christmas Tree.

You were so happy that he not only listened to you talk about Christmas but also decided to implement it.

This was the best Christmas ever.

Even on a planet far from Earth, you were able to find a home, you were able to find love and now, your favourite Holiday.

"Thank you." you jumped into the arms of your Yautja who made happy noises. Upon seeing you happy, it affected him.

He was glad he could make you happy.

Taglist:

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS/

303 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 1 month ago

Note

I don't know if it's a little late to recommend for a holiday/new years fic idea but I would really like these anon submission come into fruition because I would really like to see the entire Hawkins bunch enjoying another gathering (without Brittany) and seeing Luke and Mia being parents

https://www.tumblr.com/corroded-hellfire/759985443911663616/httpswwwtiktokcomtzp81cgmnq-imagine-in-ayw

https://www.tumblr.com/corroded-hellfire/760024477870522368/ironic-since-luke-ends-up-being-the-first-one-to

I would love to receive requests regarding these instances with them as parents! Feel free to drop them by any time. I hope this serves as a nice holiday starter to the story of Luke and Mia as parents… HAPPY NEW YEAR 🎉

Words: 2k

Warnings: childbirth, pregnancy, we older in this one folks, becoming grandparents

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Oh, you’ve got a redhead!”

“Is it…is it a boy or a g-girl?” Mia asks between clenched teeth and labored breaths.

The doctor can’t help but chuckle as he works.

“I can’t tell just by the hair,” he says.

Luke rubs over his wife’s hand with his left while she squeezes the life out of his right. Steve stands on the opposite side of the bed, holding Mia’s other hand. From Eddie's vantage point behind his son, it looks like Mia is crushing both her husband’s and her father’s hands like a nut in a nutcracker.

Both you and Nancy stand behind the working doctor and nurses, off to the side just enough that you have a clear view of your first grandchild being born. The two of you hold hands, watching in awe at the small, but big enough, human that Mia is pushing out of her body. Neither you nor Nancy are strangers to childbirth and all its miracles, but there’s something even more magical when it’s your daughter—or daughter-in-law—who is doing it.

“You’re doing so well, babe,” Luke encourages, giving a supportive smile despite how exhausted he is. He can’t even imagine how Mia must feel if he’s already worn out.

“He’s right, Mia,” a nurse says. “Just a little more now.”

The redhead on the delivery table whines and drops her head back against her pillow, feeling like she has nothing more to give. Hasn’t she already been at this for around five hours? A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s only been forty-five minutes and she lets out an even more frustrated whine. It doesn’t even click in her mind that it’s almost midnight—almost a brand new year. There’s enough going on in the room to keep her mind occupied.

“Alright, we’re going to do one more push now, Mia. Okay? It’s almost over. On the count of three. One, two, three!”

The muscles below the pale skin of Mia’s neck bulge as she grits her teeth and gives the best push that she can manage.

“That’s it, almost there.”

The hospital room, previously only housing the noises of beeping machinery and encouraging healthcare professionals, is suddenly bombarded with two brand new sounds simultaneously. Cheers and applause sink into the room from out in the halls and the surrounding rooms. But emanating from this particular delivery room itself, the shrill cry of a newborn bursts forth.

“Congratulations,” the doctor says as he holds the baby up for the new parents to see. “You’ve got yourselves a girl.”

Pure joy floods the veins of every Munson and Harrington in the room. Endorphins and adrenaline blend in Mia’s head, briefly causing her to think all the happy commotion from outside the room is in celebration of her daughter entering the world. One look at the tiniest human she’s ever seen would be enough of a reason, she thinks. The baby is absolutely perfect. Who would expect anything less from a baby with both Harrington and Munson genes?

A press to the top of her head has Mia looking up to see a beaming Luke gazing down at her. He places another kiss on her sweaty forehead before leaning further down to capture her lips with his own.

“I’m so flippin’ proud of you.”

Despite her exhausted state, Mia giggles at her husband’s praise. Old habits die hard of trying not to curse in front of his mama.

“I love you,” Luke says softly.

“I love you, too,” Mia replies.

The newly crowned parents watch as their baby girl is cleaned off, the brand new grandparents all enraptured as well.

“Aw, Mom!” Mia coos when she sees her mother crying—and then her mother-in-law as well. “Aunty!” Your nickname from aunt to mother-in-law was impossible to change after an entire lifetime of Mia referring to you in one way. It might take some explaining to the grandkids in the future, but that’s not a problem for today.

“Not just the moms, I see.” The amusement in Luke’s voice is evident.

You, Mia, and Nancy all turn to see Luke clapping a crying Eddie on the shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say with a chuckle.

Eddie wipes the handful of fallen tears from his face and clears his throat.

“Don’t make me beat you up in front of your daughter,” Eddie says, voice thick with emotion.

“Ah, he’s not the only one!” Mia can’t figure out if she’s laughing or crying harder once she catches a glimpse of her own father trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

“Gimme a break,” Steve says with a sniffle. “My first granddaughter was just born.”

“Our first grandchild,” you say on behalf of you and Eddie, tears overtaking you once again.

As the nurses finish cleaning up the baby, you rush over and pull Luke into a hug. Out of all the emotional moments that have happened thus far in this room, this is the one that makes your son tear up.

“She’s perfect, sweetie.” You pull back and kiss Luke on the cheek before leaning in to embrace Mia as best you can.

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says, words still heavy from emotion.

Luke grins, leaning in as his dad wraps his arm around him. But, being Luke, he cuts a joke to weasel his way out of a genuine thank you.

“Of what, having sex?”

Eddie playfully rolls his eyes before mussing up his son’s curls, the exact same way he’s done since the hair first sprouted on Luke’s head about thirty years ago.

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” a nurse asks.

“It’s not gonna hurt, right?” Luke asks, looking to Mia and wrinkling up his nose.

“Not at all,” the nurse assures him.

“Oh boy,” Steve says as his son-in-law is handed the scissors. “Those aren’t safety scissors, be careful.”

Mature man that he is, Luke only shoots Steve a brief death glare before following the nurse’s instructions.

“Yay!” you cheer once the cord is snipped.

The nurse grabs the blanket to swaddle up the newborn, and as she does so, she can’t help but smile as she watches the six adults hugging one another and sharing tearful smiles. She’s been in far too many delivery rooms where most of the people there couldn’t stand one another; seeing two families become one in this way is one of the more beautiful things the nurse has seen lately.

“Alright, Mom,” the nurse says as she walks the baby over to the bed. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”

A new set of tears stream down Mia’s face, but she adamantly nods her head and holds out her arms. Gently, the nurse transfers the newest Munson to her mother’s embrace.

“Look at you,” Mia coos. She looks up at Luke who leans down on the bed next to his two redheads. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Just like her mother,” Luke says, happily taking in the sight before him.

Eddie, you, Steve, and Nancy all stand by in silence as you watch your children hold their firstborn for the first time. It’s surreal to see your son now being a father—but there’s not a doubt in your mind that he’ll be an amazing one. He had a great teacher, after all.

Carefully, Mia transfers the baby to Luke’s arms and beside you, you can see Eddie’s tears start anew. You join him, though. Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulders and you lean your head against him, just watching Luke hold his first child. Nothing could have prepared you for how beautiful and overwhelming it all is.

“Look at our granddaughter,” Eddie says softly to you.

You nod, a smile lighting up your tear-stained face. There’s nothing you can say to make this moment better, so you stay silent and try to absorb as much of it as you can.

“Do you have a name picked out?” a nurse asks.

Luke nods, never taking his eyes off the small bundle in his arms. Mia is just as enraptured, but she responds.

“This is Isabella Marie Munson.”

Luke looks up at you and Eddie, pride gleaming in his watery blue eyes.

“You think Eliza will like that we gave Isabella her middle name?” he asks.

“Oh, honey,” you say with a chuckle. “She's going to be over the moon.”

“Speaking of that whole gaggle of siblings who are out waiting in the lobby, should I go deliver the good news?” Steve offers.

It may be New Year’s Eve—or rather, was, but no possible party or other engagement could keep Luke and Mia’s siblings away from this momentous occasion. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised if one of them brought champagne in to celebrate.

“Yes, go tell them,” Mia says through a sniffle. “But hurry back so you can hold her!”

“Just make sure you pry her from Munson’s arms at some point,” Steve says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to point at Eddie. He did need that clarification though, as Eddie, you, Luke, Mia, and Isabella are all Munsons now.

“Let me at her,” Eddie says, stepping up to Luke as Steve heads out the door.

Carefully, your son hands Isabella to your husband, and it’s one of the greatest things you’ve ever witnessed in your life. The way Eddie’s arms cradle the newborn, so reminiscent of him holding all your newly born babies. Your husband laughs as he looks down at the little girl.

“You’re the first Munson-Harrington, huh?” he says. “That’s going to make you a very, very interesting person.”

You giggle and rest your head against Eddie’s shoulder. As you peer down, Isabella tries to open her eyes and take in the people hovering above her. She quickly decides she doesn’t care enough though, and goes back to sleep.

“Knock, knock,” a nurse says as she pops her head into the room.

“Come in,” Mia says, trying to adjust her position without causing herself any pain.

“We’ve got a surprise for you.” The nurse grins and steps into the room, a large plastic-wrapped gift basket held against her maroon scrubs. The nurse places the basket on the bedside table closest to Mia.

“Little Miss Isabella is Hawkin’s Hospital’s very first baby of 2025,” the nurse says. “In fact, she is the very first baby to be born in all of Indiana in 2025. So, we’d like to present you with this basket of diapers and baby clothes, along with this certificate. And, with your permission, we’d love to take a picture of this new family and share it with all in Indiana.”

Mia is so overcome by everything the nurse says, that she starts crying again. She’s nodding though, letting Luke know that she’s okaying the picture. Both you and Nancy help Mia get settled and wipe any excess sweat or tears from her face. Luke sits down on the bed next to his wife and Eddie hands Isabella to her father.

Steve steps back into the room just in time to see the photo be snapped. He stands with you, Eddie, and Nancy behind the camera as the nurse takes a few shots.

“Our granddaughter is already a star,” Eddie tells Steve.

“Huh?”

Pictures finished, Mia leans over and plucks the certificate out of the gift basket.

“This certificate,” Mia reads, “is to honor Isabella Marie Munson, daughter of Amelia Christine Munson and Luke Alexander Munson, as the very first baby born at Hawkin’s Hospital in the year 2025. Isabella was born at 12:00 am exactly, weighing seven pounds, six ounces.”

“And her favorite grandfather is already Steve,” Steve adds once Mia is finished reading. Everyone in the room chuckles—sans Eddie.

“Maybe,” Eddie concedes, a small smirk playing on his lips. “But that can change. What won't change though, is that I’ll always be the first grandparent to hold her. I had her in my arms first.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Nancy says.

Luke leans down and whispers in Isabella’s ear.

“Try to be more like your grandmas than grandpas. Got it?”

Mia giggles and runs the back of her forefingers gently across Isabella’s cheek.

“Or be like your Daddy, 'cause he’s pretty great,” she says. “But maybe not as mischievous.”

“That reminds me,” Luke says, looking down at his baby with wide eyes. “I have to see if they can give you a vaccine for scurvy.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson Fanfiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #Eddie Munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #request #dad!eddie

160 notes · View notes

devildomwriter · 2 months ago

Text

Parties For Hosting | Diavolo x Reader

1.3k+ words | Stressed GN! Reader | Established relationship | CW: some anxiety

It’s time for the first party you’re helping Diavolo host as his newly announced fiancée. As the human who captured the heart of the prince and the one who introduced them to Christmas you’re very anxious about it all but with Diavolo by your side everything will always be just fine.

Your heart beat quickly in your chest and a smile was plastered across your face as you stood next to the future demon king—your fiancé.

Diavolo radiated happiness and powerful energy you couldn��t put into words. He was a natural at hosting parties but this time was your very first—at least the first time after being publically announced as his fiancée.

You were well aware there was opposition and that many of the angered demons were here at this party. Nevertheless, you were expected to be just as gracious of a host. After all, you were the royal consort to be.

You did your best to give off Princess Diana’s energy, or perhaps former Princess Mako. Two royals you unquestionably respected for being genuinely kind people who didn’t bend under the pressure of royal duty and chose their own paths in life.

Diavolo was aware this was a lot of pressure on a human so this first party with you at his side he intended to be shorter than usual. He hoped no one would blame you for the evening coming to a close sooner than later but he was also sure that many noble demons still weren’t in the habit of celebrating Christmas as the two of you were doing.

The palace was decorated with holly, Ivy, red ribbons, red and gold ornaments, pine, and other images symbolic of Christmas. It was stunningly beautiful, but no beauty could compare to Diavolo in his specially tailored suit, smiling warmly at his citizens.

Every few moments he glanced at you and was relieved to see you were smiling. Diavolo was probably more stressed than you were, worrying about you.

After the greetings ended you took your place at a table and waited patiently for food. Diavolo stood up with a golden chalice in the air and stretched out his hand for you, eyes beaming. You smiled and accepted his hand, standing next to him as the party guests trained their eyes on you both.

“A toast,” Diavolo declared and everyone raised their chalices, including you. Diavolo turned to you, pride evident in his gaze. “To this wonderful Christmas Ball which I am pleased to announce was planned entirely by my wonderful fiancée.”

You blushed as he began to sing your praises. “I want you all to know that every drink you have, every bite of food, every smile you wear, every pleasant moment you share tonight is all thanks to them. I know Christmas is a holiday we still are not used to and we may celebrate for reasons different than humans but this celebration and time of cheer were introduced to us by them and will remain a staple of our culture from now on,” he continued.

He smiled and lightly tipped his cup upwards, “to the first Christmas of thousands forevermore,” he declared and simultaneously the crowd of demons repeated his final words.

“Forevermore.”

Eventually, eyes fell away from you and to the demons, the guests attended with. Barbatos handed Diavolo his food first and then you. When Diavolo began to eat, it was your turn, after that everyone else was free to begin their meal but not before you.

It was still so strange, to see for yourself how much power you now wielded even without marriage or the title of royal consort.

Diavolo watched you as you ate and finally was able to address you casually for the first time that night as the room was filled with chatter from everyone else.

“You’re doing wonderfully, ___, as I knew you would,” he complimented, and Barbatos, by his side nodded in agreement.

“The Young Master is correct, for your first public party you’ve done an exceptional job.”

You blushed and thanked them. “It’s thanks to all of you.”

Diavolo shook his head, “nonsense. I meant every word of my toast, none of this would’ve been possible without you. We may not be celebrating this without you. Had we trusted every word of Solomon who grew up in a completely different time…well I worry what the celebration may have looked like.”

“That’s true,” you chuckled and Diavolo grinned, glad to see you at ease.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked you, still somewhat concerned.

“As long as I’m by your side,” you explained and he laughed joyfully.

“Excellent. I feel the same way. You know I used to hate doing this sort of thing. I had to do it to keep up the relationship between the royal family and the nobility and aristocracy. It was quite boring on my own. The seven brothers certainly livened things up for me but until now I was still so very alone all while being surrounded by others.”

You nodded sympathetically and his sad smile faded as he looked you in the eyes and covered his mouth quickly to hide a laugh.

You blushed and turned to Barbatos quickly, “Barbatos?”

He too covered his mouth and quickly took out a handkerchief to dab the corner of your mouth. “Just a bit of spice,” he chuckled and you looked down bashfully.

Diavolo found it amusing that no matter what you ate something always ended up on your face where it shouldn’t be. Now that you were a public figure you’d worked very hard to avoid this and be more mannerly but it didn’t seem to pay off in the end.

“Don’t pout dear, this is the cleanest I’ve seen your face after eating before, you did a wonderful job.”

That did not help your pride at all.

When the tables were cleared everyone moved to the ballroom, to the part you were most worried about.

Lucifer and his brothers looked at you. Mammon gave a thumbs up and Asmo clapped his hands together and exclaimed words of affirmation. Leviathan wished you luck, Beelzebub was still eating something and Belphegor yawned and told you not to panic.

It was finally time for the first dance. As the royal couple, you and Diavolo would naturally lead the ball into the dancing. You’d practiced day and night until your feet hurt and Diavolo made you stop out of concern. You knew the steps by heart but you had chronically bad luck combined with poor balance so the doubt ate away at your mind.

Diavolo looked forward confidently so you mimicked the behavior and held your head high like a true royal.

The crowd clapped for you both as you proudly stepped into the room.

Lucifer sat at the piano, the spotlight briefly on him and then to the small choir of live musicians which the angels and Solomon had joined.

Solomon winked at you and Luke and Simeon gave friendly waves as Raphael gave a small smile, rare for him and very encouraging. You hoped this meant they worked a little magic and with this comfort, you confidently held Diavolo’s hands in yours as the spotlight shone brightly on you both illuminating even the small particles floating in the air.

You took a deep breath and Diavolo gave you a love-struck smile that tugged at your heartstrings. Lucifer began to play the piano and gently and swiftly you and Diavolo made every step exactly as you had planned it.

You were so relaxed in this moment that you forgot anyone was around you. Instead of finding faces in the crowd, your eyes were fixed on the shining golden eyes of your lover.

For the first time that night, the anxiety melted away and you wore a genuine smile without fear of the public eye, without worry of tumors, without dread you would make a fool of yourself; because none of that mattered.

All that mattered with the gentle embrace you shared with Diavolo as you danced, the way his fingers laced with yours, the way you both matched each other’s rhythm with such precision it was impossible to deny that Diavolo had found the one.

The demons who’d come to the party with their noses in the air about you, the ones who gave hateful or doubtful glances, they were all too stunned to speak. There was absolutely nothing that could be said in protest of what they saw before them—The demon prince and the human he loved more than anything in the three worlds.

#obey me shall we date #obey me 25 days of christmas #25 days of obey me christmas #obey me diavolo #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me shall we date diavolo x reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me shall we date x reader #omswd diavolo x reader #omswd diavolo #om diavolo #obey me short fic #obey me short story #obey me drabble #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff

172 notes · View notes

tofics · 2 months ago

Text

TOFICS FAVORITES

Below I have listed a collection of my favorite works of fanfiction that I have read in the past year. All of the creators on this list are absolutely incredible and a gift to the writing community. Thank you for doing all that you do and sharing the results with us. 💓

All stories are listed in alphabetical order. Please heed the warnings on the respective posts. 💘 - a special favorite 💭 - extra thoughts

Dean Winchester

How Dean, Beau and Soldier Boy would act while you're in labor by @zepskies Summary: How different Jensen characters would react to you being in labor.

If You Want It To Be by @zepskies Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you.

Imagine: Dean gives you an impossible choice by @zepskies Summary: Even though you're Sam's girlfriend, Dean is in love with you.

Ladies With Experience by @hintsofhoney 💘 Summary: When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever... who are you to deny him?

Maine Coon by @artyandink 💘 Summary: Dean initially hated your small touches. He used to feel weird with them on his skin. But now he craves them. He craves the high of feeling like a human, and you’re the best hit he’s ever had.

Smoke Eater by @zepskies 💘💘 Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he's also known to break a few hearts. He's starting to crave something he's never had, though. Something stable. Something real. That's when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

Stitches by @dewwinchester Summary: Dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

Too Many Beds by @mind-empty-just-fictional-people 💘 Summary: You want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to Dean again.

Joel Miller

A Deeper Purpose by @punkshort Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except one.

Bedridden by @strang3lov3 💘 Summary: Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how.

Christmas After All by @mrsmando Summary: The holiday spirit has evaded you since the world ended. Now, you have a chance to enjoy it again - in Jackson - with Joel by your side.

Crave by @razrbladekiss Summary: There's only one thing that Joel craves, and it isn't the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him 'til he's blue in the face. And balls.

Dark Daddy!Joel by @strang3lov3 Summary: A dark and twisted version of Joel. 💭(My personal toxic guilty pleasure.)💭

Enough by @criticallyacclaimedstranger Summary: You daydream about what your relationship with Joel could be like. 💭(This is the fic that inspired Broken!)💭

Gimme What I Want: A Fic in Texts by @atticrissfinch ⁉️ Summary: The wrong number that texts you ends up being a man much hotter than you'd ever expect... 💭(I know the author changed blogs, but I can't find them anymore. If anyone knows their current @, please let me know so I can link the story accordingly!)💭

Have A Good Night by @punkshort 💘 Summary: Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Heavenly Bound by @ozarkthedog 💘💘 Summary: The world crumbled before you could experience the touch of another. Joel does his best to keep you innocent for as long as he can. 💭(I seriously think about this fic like at least once a week.)💭

Me On You by @luxurychristmaspudding 💘💘💘 Summary: After a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. Joel Miller fucks. 💭(Quite literally one of the best literary pieces of fanfiction I have ever read in my entire life.)💭

older!boyfriend Joel Miller by @cavillscurls Summary: A collection of stories/imagines about older!boyfriendJoel & younger!girlfriend reader.

Phonophilia by @ozarkthedog Summary: Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

Seeing Red by @strang3lov3 Summary: Joel's sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude.

Sensational by @sinsofsummers 💘 Summary: You've tasked Joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed.

Stay Awhile by @mrsmando 💘 Summary: You & Joel are travelling to Jackson, and make the most of a well-needed rest stop along the way.

Roommates by @punkshort 💘 Summary: Your roomate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated. 💭(Favorite AU!Joel!)💭

Texas Heat by @skbeaumont Summary: You've just finished a Masters back home in England, and, with little idea of what you want to do next, decide to spend the summer in Texas, staying with your mum's cousins, the Adlers. What you didn't bank on was living next door to Joel. The two of you strike up a friendship, and then something more, as the Texan summer heats up.

Weaved Around Your Finger Like Yarn by @moonlight-prose 💘💘 Summary: He never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. The after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. But snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to Jackson.

Bucky Barnes

All the Apple Cider and No More Haunted Houses by @witchywithwhiskey Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have a love-hate relationship - you love him and you believe he hates you - but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light.

Only For Him by @witchywithwhiskey 💘 Summary: When you crash your brother and his friends' beach vacation, things get a little messy, but your brother's best friend Bucky Barnes is determined to take—and keep—what's his.

Wedded Bliss by @gutsby Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

#tofics favorites #fic rec #fic recommendation #fanfic rec #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff

151 notes · View notes

naughtyneganjdm · 2 months ago

Text

Christmas in Jackson - Chapter 1

Summary: When life becomes too overwhelming for Y/N, she takes a spontaneous trip during Christmas time to try to escape her hectic life leading her to the town of Jackson, Wyoming. There she stays at an inn ran by two brothers with her first interaction being with the grumpy older brother, Joel Miller. What starts off as a contemptuous relationship takes a surprising turn when the two grow closer.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), Tommy Miller, etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61159651/chapters/156279676

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Swearing, Depressing Thoughts, Joel is very grumpy, third person reader, female reader, etc. (I will add more warnings as the chapters go on)

Notes: This is my first Joel Miller solo story that I'm writing and it's very Christmas themed. Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read it! As always Y/N means your name or whatever name you choose to use for the story.

There were moments in life where being spontaneous led to some of the most amazing memories in people’s lives, but right now? Y/N wasn’t sure that it was going to be one of them. Staring out into the darkness from the backseat of the taxi she was in, Y/N clung to her bag and sighed loudly. Eight hours ago she was standing in the middle of the Newark airport looking for a way out. The stress had gotten to be too much. Work was eating away at her. It was the holidays so she was already feeling lonely. And a crass decision led her out to the middle of what felt like nowhere.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but if you would have landed during the day it would have taken your breath away,” the driver’s voice pulled her stare from the window. Maybe that was the case, but right now? With it being this late, it just was nothing but darkness. Stealing a quick look back at her, the old man offered her a big smile. Thick framed glasses covered the older man’s face taking up most of the residence that was there. Large wrinkles were under his eyes and there was a cowboy hat that sat atop of his head. “Jackson, Wyoming is one of the most beautiful places in the states. I think when the sun comes up, you’re going to be held aback.”

Truthfully? She didn’t know if that was going to be true considering she was a city girl at heart.

“What brings you to Jackson?” the older man hooked his arm around the passenger’s seat, taking another look back at her. It had her finger’s curling tightly around her bag feeling incredibly uncomfortable that he kept taking his eyes off the road. Especially since it was snowing and there was already plenty of snow covering the ground. Sure, there weren’t a lot of cars on the road they were traveling, but it made her ill at ease. “Do you have family here that you are just visiting for the holidays?”

“No, no family,” she was quick to answer forcing herself to look down and away from the man wishing like hell she would just get to this inn quickly.

“So, are you here for the resort then?” the man questioned her once more, having a loud exhale fall from her lips. “Jackson is known for having some of the best mountains for skiing.”

“No, I’m not really a skier,” she confessed, attempting to calm herself in the back of the taxi, but she wasn’t exactly sure that was a possibility. “I’m actually not the biggest fan of heights to be honest with you.”

“Didn’t you just fly in on a plane?” the man seemed shocked to hear that from her, his face scrunching up in disbelief at her answer. “I did just pick you up from the airport.”

“I did, but that wasn’t really all that comfortable,” she admitted knowing that she had never been a big fan of airplanes. Flying was not something that she could ever get used to. Considering she felt like humans were meant to keep their feet on the ground, she never enjoyed getting onto an airplane. She had never been a fan of heights. They had scared her since she was a child and it was something that she had never really outgrew. And because of that she had to find ways to distract herself on the plane. Either by listening to music or watching movies. If she really thought too deeply about the idea of flying, she was certain that she would have given herself a panic attack.

“Is that the only bag that you have?” the man continued to interrogate her when they got to a stoplight. Dropping her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes and let out an exaggerated breath. Right now? She was just wishing for some silence. Not all of these questions. Instead of answering, she just gave him a nod. And by the sound he gave her in return? She could tell that he was shocked. “Well I hope you have something warmer than that in there because Jackson really does get cold around this time of the year. We’re getting news reports that there is supposed to be a really big storm sweepin’ in. How long are you planning on staying here?”

“I really don’t know,” she was honest with the man, shrugging her shoulders as she spoke. Twenty-four hours ago, she didn’t even think she would be leaving New York City, yet here she was. “Do you want me to be brutally honest with you?”

“I mean, if you want?” the man stammered, turning down the old country music that he had playing in the background to give her his full attention. “I reckon we ain’t far from the center of town if you want to talk some.”

“Since you seem like a big talker, I’ll let you in on my life,” she put emphasis on her words, finding herself kind of irritated with the man that she got stuck with that was driving her from the airport to her inn. Part of her felt like if she didn’t start talking, he would have just kept asking her questions and that would have made her feel even more uncomfortable. Likely, she was never going to see this man again, so what did it matter if she unloaded on him about what led her to this moment? “About twenty hours ago, I was standing in the middle of a hospital in New York City. I’m a trauma surgeon there. A patient that I was certain I could save died on the table in front of me. And to be honest with you? It kind of shattered me. I’m good at what I do. And I couldn’t save this patient’s life. I realized that I am fucking miserable. My boyfriend who also works at the hospital recently broke up with me because he felt like I was too dedicated to my job. I’m an only child and both my parents are dead. Nor do I have any extended family left. I’ve been so busy with work that I really don’t have many friends. So I decided that I wanted to get away from my life for a while and here I am.”

That was the honest to God truth. After that patient died? She finally took the vacation time that she had never done previously. Took a shower, got dressed, packed a bag and went to the airport. Instead of picking where she wanted to go, she went to the ticket agent at the airport and requested one thing of her. Put her on an airplane that was leaving soon and was completely unlike New York City. The ticket agent didn’t even tell Y/N what she picked for her. Just handed her a ticket and promised her that it was nothing like New York City. She only learned that she would be going to Jackson, Wyoming when she ended up at the gate.

“I had someone who worked at the airport pick for me where I was going. I thought being spontaneous would be the best thing for me because most of my own decisions have led me to nothing but sadness. So I gave them my money. I took the ticket. And I got on what felt like the smallest airplane possible to get here. While on the plane, I had to distract myself because of the crazy amounts of turbulence that took place. During the flight I was certain we were going to die several times,” she rambled on, feeling her blood boiling at the idea of everything. This was completely unlike her. When she traveled, she wanted all of the details. What she was doing, where she was going, what to expect. So this was stressful enough as it was. “And I ended up in Jackson, Wyoming. After I landed here, I had no idea where to go. Obviously, it’s late outside. So I asked one of the employees there if they had a suggestion as to where I should stay. They gave me the name of the Copper Peak Inn after I told them that I wasn’t here for the skiing. I don’t know how long I’m staying. And I’m not even sure I should be here in the first place.”

“Well…” the man took a long pause and considering she just unloaded a whole lot of trauma onto him? She didn’t blame him. He was asking a lot of questions that she decided to be brutally honest with. An extended exhale escaped his lips, his thick, fuzzy eyebrows bouncing up over his glasses in contemplation. “That’s a lot to deal with I reckon. But I think you’ll find Jackson to be the perfect place for you to be. What it sounds like you need is to relax. Avoid the stresses that you’re used to. And this is the perfect town to just be one with mother nature and enjoy your surroundings. The sights alone will take your breath away. And the wildlife? If you get to one of our parks or just go out for a drive? It’s beautiful.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it because right now, all I see is stars and darkness,” she held her hand up toward the window to observe that not far off in the distance was the lights of the small town of Jackson. What was strange about this whole thing was how fast the car ride from the airport to Jackson actually was.

“Are you a fan of western films?” the old man seemed excited to ask her that question. Instead of staying on the topic of her stressful life, he was eager to hop onto something new after she overshared with him. “We had a few of them movies filmed out here y’know.”

“No, not really,” she responded knowing that she was never really drawn to the old west or the countryside at all.

“Oh, well then I guess that won’t appeal to you either. I tell you what? You give anyone some time to be here for a while and I guarantee that they will fall in love with Jackson,” the man assured her as they reached town. Looking around, she realized that this place looked exactly like a modern version of an old west town that you’d see in the movies. A blast from the past so to speak. Each building seemed to be decorated with generic, white string lights so that everything matched. It was simple, but she guessed charming in it’s own way. “And I think the Copper Peak Inn is gonna work perfectly for you. The place is owned by the Miller boys. I got to know the younger one when he first came to town. Real sweet boy. They bought the inn after his older brother moved to town to be close. They’re good boys. Mostly. The older one can get a bit grumpy, but he means well. It’s a small place. Real homey. A nice place for you to put your feet up and really relax. In fact? The inn was voted the best historic small hotel in the country a few years back. A lot of history is living inside of those walls.”

“A few years back?” she stammered, a tiny chuckle falling from her lips. “I wonder what made them lose it in the last few years?”

“What was that?” the man clearly didn’t pick up on what she said which she was thankful for. She had whispered it and she was being a smartass when he was just trying to be kind. It was just she couldn’t picture anything around here being voted the best anything really. It was small and kind of cheesy. Shaking her head, she acted as if she was coughing to avoid having to repeat herself. “The nice thing about the inn is that it won’t be too busy during this time of the year. If you were going to one of the resorts, I imagine they’d be busier. You’re in the center of downtown, so there is plenty to look at. And if you want, you’re not too far away from some of the best attractions.”

“Oh? Are there a lot of attractions in town?” she spoke up, finding it hard to believe that a town like this could really draw much. The streets were empty and she wasn’t surprised. It was well past midnight and in a town like this? She imagined they were in bed earlier. Most buildings looked dark and shut down. Only one building had caught her eye and she assumed it was the one place they used to draw in tourists. It was undoubtedly a bar that had a gigantic glowing sign of a cowboy and a horse that was on top of the building. But even that looked like no one was there at this time of night. “I guess for city folk you might not think so, but I think you’ll enjoy yourself,” the man insisted pulling up to what she had assumed to be the inn. A few cars were parked out in front of it making her realize that he was right. Nothing seemed to busy out here. “Here we are ma’am. I’d offer to help you take your bags inside, but seeing as you only have that one bag…”

“I can handle it sir,” she assured him, sitting forward in her seat as she moved for the handle of the door. It would look pretty ridiculous if she made this old man carry in her single bag for her anyways. “For all we know, you might be taking me back to the airport in the morning.”

And right now? She thought that was a strong possibility. This town was nothing like she was used to. Looking at the places and the buildings, she was certain that she wouldn’t fit in easily. The only thing she was excited about was to finally get to a place where she could relax for the night alone.

“We’ll see miss,” the old man seemed to laugh at her comment, waving his hand about in the air. At least he found amusement in that. “I think Jackson is gonna surprise you.”

“It already has,” she blurt out, getting out of the taxi. A strong, cool gust of wind surrounded her once she got out. The old man wasn’t kidding. It was very cold. Much colder than New York City was when she left. Moving around the taxi, she stared up at the building before her. Taking in the sights of the old inn had her grumbling under her breath. Shaking her head, she started to consider that this whole thing was a horrible mistake and decision that she made. “But not in the best of ways.”

The sound of the taxi leaving was heard behind her. Clutching tightly to her bag, she knew that there was no escape for her now. This was where she would be staying tonight. A row of flags hung over the entrance of the hotel. Along with those were the similar decorations that most everyone had in town. White string lights that emphasized the architecture of the building. Unlike the other buildings, it genuinely did look like the owners tried to add a little more to make things look nicer. That was worth complimenting at least.

When she left the hospital yesterday, she decided that she was going to let other people make decisions for her. Hoping that somehow it would lead her to something better in life. After arriving in Jackson? She realized how stupid that was and how she should never do that again.

Lowering her head, she took a look at the pillar that was right before her. There was a horseshoe that was welded onto it. Outstretching her hand, she curled her fingers around the horseshoe and tugged slightly at it. This definitely wasn’t like the hotels that she was used to.

Heading for the large wooden doors of the entrance to the inn, she stopped to gather herself. It was freezing outside, but she didn’t know how she would handle being here. This place was everything that she wasn’t. Finally gathering the courage, she pushed open the doors to see a small set of stairs before her that led to the lobby. The railings of the stairs were shaped into a bull’s head and it made her grumble something under her breath. A certain scent surrounded her once she was inside. It was a mix of what she assumed to be wood, leather and some kind of Christmas scented candles that the inn had been burning earlier in the day. Gazing around the small entry way, she saw to the left that there were a set of stairs that led down to a fitness room. Well that surprised her. With how this place was? She didn’t expect it to have much of anything other than rooms.

Moving into the lobby of the inn, she was met almost immediately by a large set of stairs that led up to the second level. Every step had a poinsettia plant on each side all the way up. Garland was wrapped around the handrails and the balusters had Christmas lights wrapped around them. Off to the right side she could see the top of a Christmas tree that they had decorated. Old fashioned would be an understatement. This place was definitely modeled to be inspired by the old west. Rustic, large sized, red colored carpets covered the already carpeted floor. The light was warm, to match the aura of the Inn. She imagined right now with the over-the-top Christmas decorations that this place looked better than it usually did during the rest of the year. And that wasn’t saying much. Instead of being a place for people to stay, the first floor looked like an old west museum.

From where she was standing, she could see that there was a small area off to the left where people could sit. Western styled statues sat beside each side of the staircase. Large paintings covered the walls that were also western themed. There was a small sign to the right that was pointing toward the ATM. That was the most modern thing she had seen thus far. The place was quiet. No one was there. No one that she heard at least.

Right beside the entrance was registration. The only problem was? It was empty. There was a bell that was seated upon the counter, but the last thing she wanted to do was wake up everyone in the place. This was a small inn. Certainly if anyone was in it, her ringing that small silver bell would be waking people up and upsetting them. Someone had to be here. Somewhere.

Stepping further into the inn, she looked up the stairs to see that they split midway. Up at the second level, she could see from down below that there was a large deer’s head that was hanging over the fireplace they had up there. The sight of it drew her to groan out in disgust. She hated that kind of décor. Moving around the stairs, her eyes fell upon a row of old-fashioned slot machines that made her smirk. In that moment she wondered if they worked or if they were just part of the decor of the inn.

Just beyond the stairs was the large Christmas tree that had caught her eye once she had entered. It was two stories tall with the star reaching the second floor. It was an open lobby and this tree took up a lot of space. Beside the tree she felt small. The lights on it were white with red ornaments covering it along with a gold ribbon that wrapped around the tree. This tree was undoubtedly meant to be their center piece. She assumed that the overabundance of decorations was something that drew people to this inn.

Continuing around the tree and behind the staircase, her eyes fell upon a large fireplace and hanging above it was a large moose head. This was already turning out to be a place that she felt like she didn’t belong. On top of the moose’s head was a Christmas hat that she assumed the owners found charming, but she just found it…strange? A few Christmas stockings were hanging over the fireplace and that along with the fire were the only things that had appealed to her since she walked in. It felt warm from where she was standing. And considering what she was wearing wasn’t really the warmest of things, she found herself stepping closer to the fire.

By now? She had expected someone to greet her, but the lower level was still empty. Moving around the older styled chairs that were set up, she gasped when she realized that there was a man stretched out in one of the chairs before the fire sleeping. His head was dropped back against the chair, his arms draped over the side of it. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a green plaid button-down shirt that had a white t-shirt underneath. It looked like a few of the buttons on his shirt weren’t properly buttoned. His salt and pepper colored hair was messy. By the looks of him? He’d probably been sleeping there for a while.

Doing her best to avoid waking him, she tried to move around him to get near the fire. Right now she was sore. It had been over twenty-four hours since she had slept. She was on the plane for over seven hours. It had been a long day for her. All she wanted to do was unwind, relax and get some sleep.

Taking another moment to observe her surroundings, she realized that beside the fireplace was a ballroom. She didn’t know what it looked like inside, but she couldn’t imagine this place getting a lot of conventions or parties. Further to the right there was a hallway that had a sign over it pointing toward the restaurant, bar and bathrooms. Something told her that the restaurant was closed. Which was a shame because she was rather hungry. All she ate was a granola bar on the plane ride over here. The door was open to a small gift shop at the inn, but like the rest of the place, it was empty. With no one there it could have been easy for someone to steal, but she assumed they had cameras up somewhere. No one would just leave their store empty like that. At least not in New York City.

Truthfully? The only sign of life was the sleeping man that was behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she clung to her bag and cleared her throat. Maybe he would be able to help her. That first attempt didn’t work, so she stepped in closer. Trying again, that didn’t work either. Tapping her foot against his had him shifting in his sleep. His head dropped down, a groan falling from his throat. Lazily, he reached up with his right hand to drag his palm down over the side of his face over his tanned flesh. Stroking his fingers through his short beard, he stretched out his body and lifted his head. Unhurriedly, his chocolate-colored eyes fluttered to an open and when he saw her standing before him he gave her a grunt.

“Hello,” she lifted her hand and offered up a weak smile, that just got a wrinkle of his nose in return. “I was wondering if you knew where someone was that worked here so I could get a room. Registration is empty.”

Muttering something under his breath, the man just seemed to get more comfortable in the chair he was in. Scoffing, he buried his head against the side of the chair and closed his eyes again in attempts to get comfortable. Well, that was useless.

Moving away from the fire, she was realizing that there were hallways that led everywhere. Even if this was a small place, she was bound to get lost if she didn’t stick to where she was. Right now? She just wanted a room. She wanted sleep. Getting lost in the inn was something she could do tomorrow. Not during the middle of the night.

Hanging over the bathrooms were two signs. One that said cowboys and the other cowgirls. Part of her hoped that one of the employees had run off to the bathroom right before she had shown up, but something told her that wasn’t the case. Realizing she really had no other choice, she headed back for registration near the front. Already, she was missing the feeling of the warmth of the fire.

Stepping up to the counter, she looked over it to see if someone was in the office. When she was met by an empty room, she huffed loudly. Outstretching her hand, she did what she didn’t want to do in the first place and rang the bell. With how quiet the place was, it had the sound flooding the entire first floor. Cringing at the sound, she looked around hoping to see the person that was meant to help her coming from one of the many hallways that were near the lobby. Instead she was met with nothing. Hitting the bell again, she heard movement and looked over her shoulder to see that the man that was sleeping was stumbling over toward her.

“The hell are you doin’?” his deep, southern drawl surrounded her as he made his way beside her. Muttering something under his breath, his eyes grew wide as he tried to force himself awake. Snatching the bell, he took it from her like she was doing something wrong. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Kind of, yeah,” she stammered, throwing her bag over her shoulder while she stared up at the man before her. If he didn’t come off like such a grumpy ass prick, she would have been appealed to his ruggedly handsome good looks, but right now she found herself more so annoyed with him. “That’s why I’m trying to get a room. I’d like to get some sleep.”

“And are you trying to wake everyone up in the inn by doing that?” he jeered, tossing the bell into the office that was behind the desk. Dropping his hands down to his hips, he shifted on his feet before her with the lines in his forehead becoming more prominent. There was no questioning that he was frustrated with her. “Or what?”

“Well, if someone was here I wouldn’t have to be ringing the bell. Now would I?” she snapped at the man before her, noticing the wrinkle at the bridge of his nose growing deeper. “I’m starting to regret asking someone for a suggestion at the airport. They said that this inn was the nicest one I would find in Jackson. I’m starting to second guess that.”

“I’m sure you would,” the man scoffed, a smirk tugging at his features hinting that his irritation with her was getting larger. “I imagine this kind of place is beneath you, isn’t it?”

“You get that from what exactly?” she wondered, folding her arms out in front of her chest evoking a muted laugh from him in return.

“I saw you walking around the lobby. Scrutinizing everything that you were looking at,” he explained, rocking back and forth on his feet after he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. So he was watching her and pretending to be asleep? That wasn’t at all strange. “Let me tell you something lady. If you have a problem with this place? You’re gonna have a problem with the rest of the places in town.”

“Would I at least find someone at the front desk at the other locations around town to help me get a room?” she snapped at the stranger feeling her heart hammering inside of her chest with the way that he was treating her.

“I don’t know, why don’t you go and try to find out?” he snarled, tipping his head to the side with his dark eyes narrowing at her. “Now you go and enjoy that walk around town in the cold wearing only that. Let me know what you find out. That is if you don’t freeze by the time you get there.”

“What the hell is your problem?” she hissed at him, her whole body tensing up.

The sound of feet shuffling behind them was heard and she realized that someone was quickly stumbling down the stairs.

“I am so sorry,” another voice drew her to look back realizing that it was another man that was moving incredibly fast to join them. Once he reached the bottom, a grunt fell from him when he accidentally tripped making him miss the final two steps. Landing weird, the other man tried to gather himself before continuing to work a button down shirt up his arms over his gray t-shirt that was beneath. “You are gonna have to forgive my brother here. We weren’t expecting anyone. There were no reservations made for tonight. My name is Tommy Miller. I’m co-owner of this establishment.”

“Ah,” she breathed out, her eyes gazing down to Tommy’s hand when he extended it out to her. Accepting the gesture, she looked between the two brothers. Thinking back to the taxi ride over here made her remember something. “I’m going to take it you’re the younger brother?”

“Yes ma’am,” Tommy seemed impressed, a large smile tugging at his lips. Between the two? They were vastly different. Tommy gave off a very friendly demeanor whereas his brother looked like he had a permanent scowl over his face. “How’d you know that?”

“The taxi driver told me about the two of you on my way over here,” she spoke honestly, looking back to the original man she had been speaking to. “Told me that the younger brother was very nice. And the older one? Well, he was grumpy.”

“Grumpy?” the original man repeated with a roll of his eyes. Under his breath she was fairly certain she heard him mutter, “What a dick.”

“So which one of you were supposed to be here at registration?” she didn’t mean to be blunt, but she just wanted a room and this was already turning out to be more of an affair than she wanted it to be. By the way Tommy’s eyes looked, she could tell that her bickering with Joel had likely woken him up from sleeping.

“That was supposed to be my brother Joel,” Tommy released her to point his hand out toward the man she had been bickering with right before Tommy showed up. Why did that information not surprise her? “I had been here for twenty-four hours. I asked Joel to watch over the counter for me so I could get some sleep. I reckon because we didn’t have any reservations, Joel didn’t expect anyone to show up. I’m sorry for that.”

“So you two are the owners?” she confirmed with Tommy who nodded his head quickly in response.

“Gee, that was hard to put together. Like he didn’t already tell you that we were,” Joel snorted, bobbing his head about in a dramatic manner. Throwing his hand back, Tommy hit Joel over the center of the chest with the back of his hand. “If him telling you that we were didn’t help you realize that…” Joel held up his finger instructing her to wait. Moving over toward the entrance, Joel held his hand up to bring her attention to a photo that was on the wall that featured them. “It says right here that Joel and Tommy Miller are the proud owners of The Copper Peak Inn. Along with Tommy’s wife Maria.”

“Joel!” Tommy snapped at his brother attempting to get Y/N to look to him instead of at Joel who continued to make an ass of himself. “I’m very sorry. If you’re still interested in a room, I can give you a discount for my brother’s attitude. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“I’m going to guess that you’re the one people like more,” she commented causing Joel to let out an annoyed, raspy laugh from behind her.

“Ha, that’s so funny,” Joel almost mocked her, letting out a surprised sound when she lifted her hand up to flick him off. Almost immediately Tommy laughed as he moved through the door to the room that led to registration, stopping at the counter. Glaring at his brother, Joel didn’t seem to approve that his brother got a kick out of her giving him attitude right back.

“What can I do for you ma’am?” Tommy tapped his hands on top of the counter and gave her another one of his big smiles. Reaching up, he brushed his long, dark hair back when she approached him.

“Is the inn pretty busy?” she looked around, looking back up toward the second level. She assumed that was where the rooms were since everything else seemed to lead to some kind of attraction that had to do with the inn.

“You do realize how close to Christmas it is, right?” Joel wondered, moving in behind her making her jump. Leaning against the wall beside her, Joel folded his arms in front of his chest getting a glare from Tommy from where he was standing. “People tend to be home with their families when it’s Christmas time.”

“Some people might be coming in to visit?” she quipped back, turning to face Joel finding herself wanting to fight with this guy since she was already so tense as it was. “I assume that you would have people that do that.”

“I mean sure, a few here and there, but this is Jackson, Wyoming. You really think the people that live here leave here?” Joel huffed, his head resting against the wall while he eyed her over. “People like to come and visit during the earlier month of December. Not the week of Christmas.”

“The taxi driver said on the way here that you two aren’t from here. That you moved here and bought the place,” she repeated what she had heard on the drive over. “So why did you two come here?”

“Because I was lost,” Tommy surprised her when he spoke up, drawing her attention back to him. “I was looking for something else in life and I found it here with my wife. My big brother here followed me. And the owners who had this before enjoyed our story so they let us buy the inn from them. They were charmed that we were brothers. Throughout time it was always two brothers that owned this place. We’re from Texas? Where are you from?”

“I live in New York City,” she answered, surprised how different Joel and Tommy were. “I just flew here from New Jersey. And I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. I’d really just like to get a room please.”

“We can do that for you,” Tommy assured her with a wink, moving over to the computer to start typing something in. “So what kind of room were you looking to have? Just a regular room or would you prefer something that was themed?”

“What’s the best room you have?” she inquired hearing Joel grumble something under his breath from where he was leaning against the wall beside her.

“The best room is a two roomed suite that is made for more than one person because there are two beds,” Joel informed her with a grunt getting her eyes to fall back upon him. “So I don’t think you’re going to need the best room.”

“Okay, what’s the best room for one single person?” she revised her question trying to block out Joel who was staring out at her with an amused expression. Out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but notice that he was looking her over like he was trying to determine the kind of person that she was.

“Well, that would probably be the cowboy suite,” Tommy offered up with another flashy smile, his brown eyes hopeful that she would want to stay after his brother had given her endless amounts of shit. “It’s got a spacious sitting area, a wet bar, a really nice bed. You get your own fridge, microwave, coffee maker, the whole deal really. It is western themed, but it’s the best suite we have. And for your troubles, I’ll give you twenty-five percent off the cost.”

“Sure, I’ll take that,” she agreed to the room listening to Tommy typing things in on the computer.

“Okay, so we’ll need a credit card and some ID,” Tommy explained to her having her digging through the bag that she was carrying in order to get what he was asking from her. “How many days were you planning on staying?”

“I’m not really sure,” she responded, getting a confused expression from Tommy. Feeling awkward and out of place, she cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders. “Is there a way I can just go day by day? I just needed a break from my life and I ended up here. I don’t know how long I’m going to stay.”

“Well I just learned all I need to about you,” Joel spoke up, straightening up his back so that way he was standing beside her. “You’re rich because price means nothing to you. You don’t even know the price of the suite, yet you agreed. And unlike normal people, you can decide how long you do and do not want to stay somewhere.”

“And you’re very much welcome here,” Tommy declared, cutting his brother off before he could offend her any more from not wanting to be at their inn. “We’ll work with you. Just try to give us a day’s notice before you decide to leave. This suite is actually perfect for someone who is sticking around for an extended stay.”

“Do you have family here?” Joel felt like he was interrogating her even further while Tommy continued to put her information into the computer.

“No,” she was short with her answer.

“Do you like skiing?” Tommy spoke up with a positive energy that was attempting to match Joel’s negative. “We have some of the best mountains out here for people. And it’s a quick drive to the resort if you want to get some of that in before Christmas.”

“I…I really don’t like skiing. I have a fear of heights,” she explained to Tommy, clinging tightly to her bag when Joel’s laugh followed.

“Who comes all the way out to Jackson if they don’t have family here and they aren’t interested in skiing? That’s kind of the only reason to come out here. Especially during this time of the year. You’re from New York City, I’m sure there were other places you could have gone,” Joel continued to ramble on, getting a glare from her in response.

“Here are your cards Ms. Y/N. Uhm, we have a restaurant and bar that open in the morning. Same with our gift shop. You can do some gambling at night if you’re interested. We have a lot of historical things out and about that you can look at around the inn,” Tommy handed her over the key and then reached for a brochure to give her. “There are some really beautiful things to do and see out here. And of course if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. Joel, why don’t you help her grab her bags. Do you have them waiting outside in the car?”

“No, this is my only bag,” she nodded toward the one that she was holding onto.

“You came here with only that?” Joel snickered, his face scrunching up in confusion. “You are aware that this is a winter town, right? And you’re planning on being here for a few days. Maybe?”

“We do offer up a laundry service,” Tommy stressed, visibly uncomfortable with the way that Joel was grilling this woman. “Joel, help her take her bag upstairs. Please.”

“It’s one single bag. She can handle it,” Joel sneered, waving his hand up in the air dismissively.

“Yeah, there is a chair calling out to him by the fireplace so he can go back to sleep,” she mocked Joel who glared back at her, shaking his head in amusement at her attitude toward him. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from that.”

“Just show her to the room, please,” Tommy begged of Joel, lowering down enough to rest his elbows against the top of the counter. Burying his head into his hands, Tommy was fit to be tied with his brother. By his reaction, she knew that Tommy was very much embarrassed.

“Sure, I’ll show you to your room. Would you prefer the stairs or the elevator,” Joel held one hand toward the direction behind him where the elevator was and the other toward the large set of stairs that were right at the front of the lobby.

“We can take the stairs,” she chose the thing that she thought would piss Joel off more considering he seemed lazy in the moment. Reaching for her bag, she seemed nervous to give it to him at first. A grunt fell from his throat and it was then she realized this was adding to his anger. Allowing him to take her bag, she stood waiting for him. Grumbling something under his breath Joel waited for her to start heading to the stairs and he followed her up. Side by side they moved, not saying a word. Just the sight of everything on the second floor had her second guessing every choice she was making. “What did I get myself into?”

“Huh?” Joel obviously didn’t hear her because she had whispered that question to herself. Shaking her head, she knew that she didn’t want to involve him in her thoughts. When they got upstairs, she saw the sitting area they had up there with another fireplace. On each side of the fireplace was a Christmas tree decorated very similar to the large one downstairs. “Are we gawking or…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m kind of taken aback by all the Christmas decorations,” she admitted, stepping before the fireplace that was lit. “No offense, but you don’t seem like the type to go for something like that.”

“It’s my brother and his wife,” Joel alerted her, moving in beside her as she gazed upon the stockings that were over this fireplace. “It’s always kinda been a tradition for this place to decorate for Christmas. This place is a staple for the town.”

“I see,” she didn’t know how to respond to that. This was just a small, two leveled inn. It was decorated, but she didn’t know if she would consider it nice. The old western theme was battling the Christmas theme and it was hard to take in.

“So tell me something,” Joel began, biting down on his bottom lip and slightly turning his head to gaze upon her. “What are you doing here? What drew you to Jackson?”

“Do you really care?” she asked, her eyebrows arching in a moment of surprise. Throughout her entire experience with Joel, he didn’t seem like the type to want to learn anything about her. By the expression over Joel’s face, he was deeply contemplating her question.

“No, not really,” Joel was blunt eliciting an offended breath from her. “I’m just curious about you. You’re a city girl. You have money. You could probably go anywhere in the world. And this is the place you pick? It’s hard to really determine what you’re doing here.”

“I didn’t choose it,” she explained, turning to face Joel who continued to look down at the fire. The lack of eye contact made her uncomfortable, but maybe it was the loneliness that was setting in that made her want to talk to someone. “I’m a trauma surgeon at a hospital in New York City.”

“Ah, lemme guess,” Joel smirked, slurring his words together as his eyebrow arched in amusement. “You became a doctor because you watched those medical dramas on the television when you were younger. And that life just appealed to you.”

“Yeah, because every doctor watches Grey’s Anatomy and decides that’s the life for them,” she snapped back at Joel who simply snickered under his breath. Rocking back and forth on his feet, Joel sighed loudly realizing he had gotten under her skin with his comment. “You don’t even care what happened so why am I bothering?”

“Because I wanna know how you ended up here. Specifically,” Joel stressed to her the information that he wanted from her. Pointing his finger down, he tapped his foot on the ground. That made her realize that he meant at The Copper Peak Inn in Jackson. “You don’t seem like the country girl. You’re afraid of heights. You don’t like the western era. I can tell that by the way you look at everything. You’re not a gambler. You snubbed your nose at that suggestion from my brother. So how did you end up here? Especially when you visibly hate everything that would draw someone here in the first place.”

“I packed a bag, I showed up at the airport and I asked the woman working there to pick a place for me that was completely unlike New York City,” she claimed, her eyebrows furrowing as she finally noticed Joel’s dimples with him smirking. “I didn’t even know where I was going until I showed up at the gate. And I ended up in this inn because the person at the airport suggested it to me. Said the owners were incredible and it was the best place to stay in town.”

“Hmm…” Joel hummed to himself, reaching up with his free hand to drag it down over the side of his face. “I don’t mean to dig it in, but you do realize how stupid that decision was. Right? When you go somewhere, you should know what you’re getting yourself into. What the weather is like, what the people are like…”

“I really don’t want to be lectured by you,” she interrupted him, her blood boiling with Joel rambling on about all the mistakes that he felt she made in coming here. “You have no idea what I’ve gone through or what even led me here.”

“And I don’t care to,” Joel blurt out, turning to her and waving his hand about in the air. By the color flooding into her cheeks, Joel could tell that she was furious with him and upset. “I’d love to tell you I care, but I don’t. Thank you for choosing this inn, my brother and his wife certainly appreciate it. I reckon you won’t be here long, but I hope you find yourself comfortable.”

Stepping forward, she snatched her bag from Joel suddenly feeling incredibly small standing before the man in front of her, “Where is my room?”

“Turn around,” Joel pointed toward the back hallway that led off toward the right. Snapping his fingers, Joel started to move toward the door. It was hard to miss because it was the first room she saw. When she approached it, she could see that there was a carving of a cowboy on a horse on the door. It was gaudy and ugly, but you couldn’t miss the room. They had a wreath hanging on the door that was partially blocking the design of the door. Reaching for her key, Joel was quick to grab it from her fingers to open the door for her. Once it pushed open, he extended his hand out and motioned her to walk through. “As you can see, this is your sitting area.”

Right now, she really didn’t need him to give her a tour of the inn room. More than anything she just wanted to be left alone. Standing at the center of the room she tried to force herself from looking at Joel. At the corner of the room was a Christmas tree that was lit up. Two red, leather couches were pressed against the walls beside the tree. A gigantic old west painting filled up one of the walls causing her to tense up at the sight of it. It was so ugly.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Joel was stepping into the room and it brought her attention to the desk area. Everything was wooden. The desk chair was a very rustic looking design where it looked like it was made from the branches of trees.

“Here is your wet bar,” Joel showed her some things, opening up a certain cabinet to show the mini refrigerator that was there. “There is a fridge, a microwave and whatever else you need. If you’re hungry or thirsty, there are vending machines right down the hallway. An ice machine is in there too. If you move into your room…”

Joel motioned her to go into the bedroom making her chuckle when she stepped inside of it. They weren’t lying when they told her it was old western themed. Even though it was spacious and it had a large king-sized bed, everything was incredibly old fashioned. From the seating to the bedframe and all of the art on the walls. Walking over to the bed, she set her bag down on top of it and reached for the teddy bear that was at the center of the bed. It was a large brown bear and it had a Santa hat on top of its head.

Holding it up, she looked back at Joel seeing that he was standing in the doorway leaning against the doorframe. Joel’s eyebrows bounced up and he shrugged dramatically looking at the stuffed animal, “The guests tend to like the gesture. Usually you can buy him, but if you like him I can throw him in for free.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she held the bear in her hands and out of the corner of her eye could see Joel pushing his hands into his pockets, “Considering I’m sure you’re gonna be quite lonely over the next few days.”

“I was waiting for the insult,” she frowned, shaking her head knowing that him offering the bear out of the kindness of his heart just didn’t seem to be this man’s way of doing things. Setting the bear aside, she got up from the bed and stepped in front of Joel. “Before you embarrass your brother any further, why don’t you go sleep off the whiskey that is overpowering your breath right now.”

Slowly, the arrogant smirk over Joel’s features left and a sense of anger flooded over him, “I smelled it on you from the moment I approached you at the fire. I just didn’t say anything because I assumed you were having a bad day just like I was. But I’m sick of it. Thank you for showing me to my room, but I’d like you to leave. Please.”

“As you wish,” Joel did somewhat of a bow, backstepping toward the sitting room. When he heard her calling out to him, he stopped and looked back. Approaching him slowly, she was holding some money in her hand and it made him smirk. “What’s that?”

“You’re supposed to tip someone when they help you,” she reminded him holding it out with Joel’s dark eyes lowering down to look at the bills in her hand. “It’s customary.”

“I’m co-owner of the inn, I don’t need your money,” Joel alerted her, tipping his head from side to side. Giving a weak smile followed by a wink, Joel back stepped toward the door and shrugged. “Keep it. Sweet dreams there Y/N.”

And with that, Joel left her room and closed the door behind him. Standing there for a moment longer, she shoved the money back into her pocket. Taking a look around the suite that she got, she wondered if this really was a mistake. The only good thing about this place was that it was incredibly quiet.

Walking to the window, she pushed aside the curtain to look outside. Down below she could see that she was looking at the front of the building. This was like something out of a movie set. All of the buildings were still liked the old west. It was like she had jumped back in time visiting this town.

Dropping the curtains back down, she headed back toward the bed and dropped down. Laying sprawled out across the center of it allowed her legs to hang over the side. Even the fan was incredibly old fashioned. Thankfully it was clean, but there were so many turn offs and red flags from the start. Joel being one of them. Tommy seemed like a sweet guy, but she just hoped that she wouldn’t have to deal with Joel much throughout her time here. The reason she left home was because she was miserable. If being here was going to make her feel worse, that didn’t make much sense now, did it?

#Joel Miller #Pedro Pascal #The Last of Us #Joel Miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Christmas #The Last of Us fanfiction #Joel Miller Imagine #tlou fanfiction #Christmas in Jackson #Tommy Miller

153 notes · View notes