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after-witch · 9 months ago

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The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you.

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters.

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess.

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.”

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal.

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?”

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room.

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips.

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse.

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel.

“Then show me.”

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke.

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts.

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?”

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.”

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair.

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning.

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say.

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.”

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains.

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles.

“Don’t.”

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again.

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.”

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.”

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward.

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up.

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

��I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable.

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!”

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end.

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them.

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you.

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.

#mahito x reader #yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere mahito #yandere jjk #afterwitch writes

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devilfic · 3 days ago

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❝domesticated❞

plot: on valentine's day, bruce leaves you high and dry. you don't forgive easy. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: established relationship, a little suggestive, reader tortures bruce for superheroing on date night, minor violence (reader presses on his bruises but, of course, he's into it), yearning bruce, he wants that cookie so mf bad. words: 1.4k.

a/n: just like bruce I am also late for valentine's day :D dealing with major writer's block but I was reminded of the bed scene in challengers and couldn't shake it.

Bruce rarely allows himself to be like this. Even when he’s got a knife gut-deep, cornered on all sides, he never lets himself get this weak. This mindless. This depraved.

But here he is, and here you are—smiling tightly. It gnaws at his pride, begging him to be honest with himself as he collapses on the foot of the bed. The pain of landing on his bruises does nothing to sober him as he begins to crawl up to you. Your knees are pressed to your chest, but the closer he gets, the more they part, allowing him to drag his upper body up and into your lap where he rests. His face presses into your stomach. You can feel the low rumble in his chest. One of your hands sinks into his hair and he nuzzles a little closer to you, “Bad day?”

Your tone is just slightly mocking. Just enough to agitate him, but not enough for him to regain his sense. He grits his teeth and nods, and the action has his cheek rubbing against your warm skin.

When he props his chin up, you’re not looking at him but the book in your other hand. You’re close to the end judging by the last half-inch of paper steadied between your fingers. His deep sigh does nothing to stir your sympathy. “It was all gone.”

“Hm?”

“The panna cotta. You said you’d save me some.”

“Oh,” you say belatedly, clearly in the middle of a rousing scene, “sorry, must’ve ate it all.”

“All of it?”

“I invited my friends over after you left. Guess I just lost track of it.”

He knew that, and you probably knew that he knew that. No one came and went in the penthouse without him knowing. He’d gotten the notification that several of your close friends had arrived a quarter to nine, and had only left an hour ago. The timing was impeccable. Of course you knew him well, and of course you’d make sure it was just the two of you when he inevitably came back from patrol. It doesn’t make the craving he'd looked forward to satiating go away.

And he knows he has no right to be upset. He’d left the panna cotta (and you) behind for—he twists his arm a bit and it twinges with a sharp pain—for this.

You don’t even look his way when he lets out a pained gasp.

Bruce presses his cheek to your stomach again, and his fingers travel under your sweater to sap the warmth for his own when you abruptly pull your hand from his hair to shove his away. He freezes, only hearing your voice grumbling out a “’S cold.”

Fuck. “I’m sorry.” He forces his fingers into the duvet to warm them, but he isn’t confident you’ll let him try again even if they were warm enough. His head in your lap was all he could get, apparently. All he could get without an apology. A proper apology.

Of course, his pride resurfaces then. He wants to be stubborn about it. You knew the city was important to him, that it was a priority. He’d hero’d away from plenty of dates to save the city from collapse and you’d always understood. Why was now any different?

But deep down, past the thorny pride and hunger and longing, is the truth: a burning city and patrol as usual were two very different things. Especially on February 14th. He’d fucked up.

When his fingers are significantly warm enough, he places both hands on your thighs, pressing his thumbs into the meat of them and rubbing in circles. He turns his head just in time to catch your eyebrow twitch, but otherwise, you continue to ignore him. He presses his chin into your stomach and hums against you. “Did you have fun?”

He sees you swallow, then smile. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t want them to leave.”

Something indignant pulls at his insides at that. “You should have them over more often.”

“It’s hard.” The hand that had been in his hair, that had shoved him away, rises and he thinks you might touch him again, but it floats past him to flip to the next page in your book. “The timing and all. I never know when you’re gonna be here or not.” And finally, finally, you look at him. Oh, you’re really pissed.

“I can… I can try—“

“Can you?”

Your tone stings, piercing him right between the ribs. He wants to burrow into you and hide, but instead he catches the whine rising in the back of his throat and shifts against the sheets. You watch him resist a squirm, but he knows you can feel his grip on your thighs getting stronger. You go back to reading your book.

With his heart beating fast against the mattress, Bruce groans low in his throat and drops his lips to your inner thigh, placing hurried kisses against your skin. He hears you call his name but he doesn’t respond, except maybe to spread his kisses to your navel, traveling across to the other thigh. Eventually, he feels your hand in his hair again, but it’s yanking him away from your skin and he is determined not to let you. He grabs your wrist and kisses that instead, traveling up to your elbow as he begins to crawl over you. It takes your thumb pressing into the bruise on his shoulder to shock him out of his stupor. He breaks away with a hot whine that he wouldn’t dare let anyone else hear. On good days, even you wouldn’t hear him making sounds like this. Looking gutted like this. He is well and truly fucked.

You grip his face in two hands, holding him far enough away that he can’t swoop in for a kiss again. He lets you manhandle him, falling against you with all his weight. “Say it or I’m going to bed.” His ego makes another appearance underneath the yearning. You must see the internal conflict because your eyes narrow. “You’re unbelievable—“

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, a little muffled from the way you’re squishing his cheeks together, “I shouldn’t have left.”

You hold, perhaps waiting for an excuse to follow, and that sours him even more. Welllllllll and truly fucked. “Yeah? Why not?”

His nose scrunches. “…I promised I wouldn’t be back late.”

“And what time is it now?”

His eyes flicker over to the clock on your bedside, reading back 3:20 in analog. “Late.”

You shift to holding his face with one hand, pressing your nails into the skin of his cheeks. The other hand goes for one of his bruises again and he only has the heart to writhe a little bit before you’re pressing on it. “And was it worth it?”

Bruce shakes his face from your grip, dropping his mouth to your shoulder to kiss (and bite, especially when you don’t stop digging into his bruise). His head is foggy with guilt and regret and the milk and honey of your earlier bath. He’s not usually this crass, but he hisses out a “hell no” that gets his feelings across just fine.

“It won’t happen again, will it?” That gives him pause. You feel him still against you. Forcing him back to see his face, you notice he struggles to hold your gaze. He’s making an attempt, you can tell, to think about it. “Bruce.” He looks at you helplessly. “Am I asking for too much?”

You’d told him time and time again that if he wanted this to work, an hour was what you needed. One hour, however he could fit it in. Tonight, he’d promised you that, and couldn’t even follow through.

You’re not asking this because you’re worried. He can hear the quiet threat underneath, the meaning that lines his veins with ice: that, if it was too much, there was only one solution.

Once upon a time, the answer would’ve been simple. His pride knows that, knows that’s why it rallied and roared even as it now weakly gives into you, curling into your palm. Domesticated. You’ve done something irreversible to him.

He’s sure you can see the moment he concedes, laying down his weapons at your feet, because you finally let up on his shoulder. You’re the one who swoops in for a kiss this time, taking his tongue into your mouth just as he settles fully above you. He feels something shut off in his brain, something that would have been gnawing at him until it reached bone before. It’s quiet. Sometimes, he forgets the numbing pleasure that giving into you offers until it warms his skin again.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #the batman #fandom; dc #battinson x reader #battinson #mjwrites

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queers-gambit · 5 months ago

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Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

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bless-my-demons · 16 days ago

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Rain Soaked Confessions

Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: You’re scared to death, but he isn’t. Just give in.

Warnings: smidge of angst if you squint, so much fucking fluff it’ll rot your teeth.

Notes: I wasn’t even going to put dialogue in this until I saw a TikTok of Robin Williams reading a love poem by Pablo Neruda (hint: it’s the beginning of the confession). It’s all reader’s POV and I’m fairly certain I managed to make it gender neutral again. God I love writing this man.

Word count: 1100

Masterlist

Cool Pacific rain pelts my skin, but I welcome it. I welcome the icey drops as they start to soak me down to the very marrow of my bones.

Eyes closed, face turned towards the sky, arms limp at my sides, breath tearing in and out of my lungs at a rate that brings a certain level of awareness to my body.

I long since stopped caring if the water pooling around my eyelids was from the sky or my tear ducts. It didn’t matter, none of it did.

My clothes were soaked, suctioned to my body - I could feel the heat of my skin leaking away, replaced with a coldness that began to border on painful. Goosebumps littered my skin the longer I stood here trying to cleanse myself of this… this pain in my chest.

This pain that threatens to cave my chest in, that steals my breath, that makes my heart soar and sink all the same. This pain that invades every inch of my brain, rotting me from within.

This pain that’s not actually pain.

Not really, because I know what it truly is.

It’s love.

Love that is damn near debilitating.

Breath continues to rip in and out past chapped lips that quiver from the weight of my thoughts. Thoughts of him.

A clap of thunder jolts me from my reverie with a gasp, my eyes snapping towards a figure standing at the edge of the forest watching me, quietly. Not just anyone, but him.

Paul.

We stare at each other, only 20 yards or so separating us. Still as statues, afraid to make the first move.

He’s just as soaked as I feel, the short black strands of his usually neat hair sticking to his forehead, water dripping down his beautiful face. Rain beating over his shoulders and down his uncovered chest. A chest heaving in time with mine, but the roar of the rain in the trees cover our combined exhales that I’m sure have to be deafening.

It’s like he’s a mirage, a figment of my imagination. This man has invaded every thought and now I’m afflicted with hallucinations of him too? As if this torture wasn’t enough? As if this crippling black hole in my chest wasn’t big enough? All-encompassing enough?

I rub at the tightness across my clavicle, every gulp of air I try to suck down not making a difference in the tightness of my throat.

The action draws his eyes, and his body too, apparently. His advance forward is slow and deliberate. Every step crumbling the ice I’ve tried to pack around my heart, these feelings.

I start to panic, no - I’m not ready.

I’m not ready to fall, not again.

I’ve never met a man worth holding my heart, trustworthy enough, gentle enough, kind enough.

Not until him.

My eyes slide shut as he takes the final steps to close the gap between us. I can feel the heat radiating from him just inches away and my panic increases, I have to hurry. I have to hurry and build this wall around my heart before he can-

A strong, burning finger tilts my chin upwards and it’s like sunlight kissing my skin, pouring in through the cracks in my hastily stacked armor. Warm, home, love, Paul.

My eyes creak open, afraid of what they might see in his own brown depths.

Endless devotion, eternity, serenity. That’s what they find. Unwavering love, solid and sure.

Oxygen ceases to make its way inside my chest, constricting painfully at the grip his intensity has over me.

He has to see how this is flaying me straight to the bone, how he’s dismantling every protection I’ve put in place to protect myself by just being.

My mouth opens but I can’t force words out, what’s there to say? I’m sorry, I can’t do this - it’s too much?

His eye contact doesn’t waiver, even as the rain pours over his cheek bones and drips straight down onto my own.

I can’t resist - my hands settle on his chest, to push him away or soak up more of his warmth, I don’t know.

Finally he moves, slowly dipping his head. My eyes slip shut, completely at his mercy. His lips brush feather-light at my temple, drifting to the other side in equal measure, heat refilling my skin as his mouth maps my face. Then down to the apple of my cheek, grazing my nose with reverence on his path across my face before his hand slides across my jaw to the nape of my neck.

I sink into him, resolve melting away as his heat pushes into me. A sigh leaves my lips as his mouth presses a barely-there kiss to the corner of my mouth.

My awareness narrows down to the way my lips tingle where his mouth just barely touches mine.

Time slows as I just wait.

One heartbeat. Then another.

Surely he’ll take pity on me? Please, oh god please.

“I love you”. His voice is deep. Sure. Confident. Soft.

Time must’ve stopped.

“I love you, without knowing how. Or when. Or from where.” The tremble begins in my legs. “I love you straightforwardly. Without complexities or pride.” My knees feel weak with every word his lips breathe across my mouth. “I love you, because I know no other way than this. I love you with every drum beat in my heart, as dictated by the ancestors. And I will love you even past the end of time. I’ll love you so proudly that I’ll see that it’s written in the history of my tribe-our tribe. I’ll love you so completely that you have no choice but to give me every little piece of your heart that you’ve squirreled away inside of yourself, afraid to bask in the sun, afraid of the love you know you deserve.”

His confession has more tears than rain sliding down my face.

My voice is a rugged gasp, “Paul.”

His lips seal over my own, as if to solidify this pledge of his love permanently.

His kiss is love. Pure love. And light. And home. And everything I hoped it’d be. Warm, gentle, understanding, yielding, kind.

His mouth is unhurried in its exploration of mine, curious in its mapping of my lips, patient and giving.

My hands surge into his wet hair, fingers sliding home as I press fully against him, mouth slotting against his in a desperate way. Two puzzle pieces, him and I, clicking flush together in a way words could only ever fail to describe.

Paul Lahote is my home. He is tender, he is light, he is love. He is exactly what I’ve been missing all this time, he is worth every single bit of pain I’ve ever felt in this life if it means leading to this.

To us.

#twilight fanfiction #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x gn!reader #paul lahote x you #paul lahote fanfiction #paul lahote fluff

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amjustagirl · 6 months ago

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chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate.

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you.

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet.

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him.

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost.

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand.

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him.

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates.

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs.

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth.

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes.

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.

You close your eyes.

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -”

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.”

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?”

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air.

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge.

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home.

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?”

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies.

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die.

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

(wake up)

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer.

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.”

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone.

“Let me sleep”, you whisper.

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber.

Perhaps you could be content like this.

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer.

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas, shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you.

Your heart begins to hum.

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open.

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you.

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!”

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake.

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams.

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away.

Your parents show up to visit you.

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired.

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep.

The next time you wake, the room is dark.

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep.

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again.

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?”

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here?

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.”

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time.

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay.

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest.

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot.

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit.

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.”

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit.

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.”

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm.

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before.

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?”

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.”

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer.

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies.

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.”

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self.

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -”

“I was trying to save some of the blades -”

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -”

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.”

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.”

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.”

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.”

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.”

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd - the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-”

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink.

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful.

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home.

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore.

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately, Then his face slackens into a childish pout.

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?”

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.”

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject.

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck.

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair.

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly.

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree.

“Well, how’s work?”

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -”

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?”

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.”

“Me?”

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -”

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?”

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.”

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches.

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap.

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.”

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”,

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure.

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest.

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves.

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?”

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart.

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly.

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.”

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.”

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him.

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way.

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding.

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat.

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.”

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.”

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin.

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply.

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light.

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped.

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you.

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?”

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place.

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you.

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -”

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.”

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -”

“Just - just stop, Soshiro.”

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof -

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin.

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you.

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too.

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -”

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?”

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -”

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -”

Your head swims. “I don’t -”

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.”

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands.

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both.

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“You love me.”

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.”

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves.

“I think I do”, you say softly.

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon.

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

#hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #hoshina soushirou #kaiju no. 8

319 notes · View notes

drghostwrite · 4 months ago

Text

Dancing with Death Herself…

Pairing: Rio Vidal x reader

Summary: Since Agatha wouldn’t kiss her… imagine Rio shows up at readers front door, a long awaited reckoning turns steamy fast. And then some fluff because you know, Rio and the whole tortured past and loving Agatha and the whole thing, but now she has you. This is totally like a hero and villain fall for each other kind of thing.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, this will have some smut, the dangerous kind.

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

Rio Vidal, death, the green witch, one of the most powerful beings to walk the earth and here you were, at her mercy, dancing between life and death.

The night she found you, you were laying in a clearing the forest around you calling to her. She saw how your body was baldy beaten and bruised, “So you must be death?” You asked with a smirk, the taste of iron flooded your mouth, your vision going spotty as you tried to move.

“Something like that…” she said reaching down to steady you before she took your life, but that’s when she felt it, the power coursing through your veins.

“You’re a witch?” She questioned.

“something like that…” you choked out before your world went dark. She took you in that night, healed you, she saw the power that you held both physically and magically, you were a goddess… literally.

You two crossed paths many times over the years always developing a sort of chemistry and you started to fall for each other, that was until she met Agatha, the only woman crazier than her and she choose to follow the purple witch in her wake of bodies, leaving you in the rubble of a life once lived.

Well until one night……

You were sat in front of your fireplace calmly reading a book before you felt it. The power, her power engulfing your senses, every fiber of your being longed for her and cried for her, it was almost painful.

You sat there feeling it grow stronger until you heard the sound of wood splintering as your front door burst open, “Rio my love it’s been a long time…” you greeted.

“hasn’t it?” She teased.

You stood laying down the book you were reading and coming around the couch, taking in the sight before you of her in her black mercenary outfit, with a wave of your hand the door pieced itself back together.

“to what do I owe the visit?… need more advice on a certain purple witch?” You questioned with a smirk, leaning back against the couch.

She laughed before a smirk pulled at her lips, she lunged for you tackling you over the couch. You used your legs and flipped you both over, sending you through the coffee table that flattened beneath both of you. She sat up straddling your lap, running her middle finger between your breast, the skin exposed the flannel that you wore now partly undone. “Now that’s no way to greet your mistress…” she trailed bending down to lick from your collar bone up to the sweet spot in your neck.

“Nice to see you too.” You said before flipping you both over and getting up off of her, brushing your self off, only to see her smirk before hopping up in front of you. You turned to walk away from her, her eyes studying you closely.

“hmm… what’s to say I don’t need your help.” She teased.

“You’ve never needed my help.” You responded solemnly remembering the time that she left you to hunt down Agatha without you by her side.

“Not true.” She scoffed, “maybe I just needed you…” she whispered.

You turned to meet her eyes, realizing that she was being serious, she actually needed you.

“I thought you didn’t have a heart?” You tested the waters to see if she was being genuine.

“I do it’s just black and apparently it beats for two very powerful people… or at least it did… now though....” she trailed off as she brushed herself off.

“Rio my love…” you stepped in closer, your eyes went from sassy unbelief to deep longing for the woman standing before you. Every neuron in your brain longed for her, every nerve in your body screaming to be hers and to be able to have her as yours, you wanted nothing more than for her to admit that she loved you. That she loved you more than she did Agatha that she would give love another chance.

You had plenty of scars that you’d earned over the years, but Rio?, she had one scar she didn’t need another.

“The last woman I loved, I hurt…” She whispered softly, her teeth peaking through her slightly pursed lips.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t love again…” you pulled your bodies closer, brushing stray hairs out of her face, your faces incredibly close, breath ghosting over your lips as you looked from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes. Those dark eyes that held years of pain and torture, the eyes that stared into the depths of your soul. You looked back down to her perfect lips.

“Y/N…” a warning laced her voice.

“I want this…” her eyes looked into yours as she tried to figure out if you were delusional or not. You leaned in closer, her hands gently grasping your wrists as your hands were gently cupping her face.

“I could hurt you…” she faltered right before you kissed her.

“But you won’t…” you said, flicking your eyes up to hers with a small smirk.

The air went silent around you for a moment, your hearts beating rapidly. She leaned forward, and you gently let soft lips meet, she relaxed under your touch as you let your hands slide down her body, one stopping at her neck while the other ghosted her side.

She quickly turned the gentle kiss into something passionate and bruising, her tongue sliding against your bottom lip as you granted her access, your nails dug into her waist as you pulled her closer, bodies flush against each other, one of her hands cheekily came up to grope your breast.

You pulled back with a chuckle, but in Rio fashion she had your bottom lip between her teeth, she nipped lightly but enough to draw some blood, you could taste the iron and knew your lip would most likely be swollen later. She then very gently kissed it before running her tongue over it letting it heal.

“Mmhhnn…” she let out a low chuckle, satisfied with herself.

“show off,” you chuckled, dangerously close to her lips again. She chuckled before pulling you into a ravenous kiss. She slid the dagger out or its sheath and wedged it into the wall next to your head, slicing your ear and drawing some blood. You stared into her eyes unmoving her coffee colored orbs reminding you of the earth.

“Gonna heal that?” You asked seductively running your tongue over your white teeth.

“I’m going to make sure all of you is healed.” She purrs before running her tongue over the shell of your ear, the wound instantly fixing itself

“Bedroom, before we break any more furniture…” you suggested before she grasped your hand pulling you deeper into your home, practically dragging you.

“Something’s never change…” she said pushing the door open and seeing the room accented in dark green, her green, from the satin sheets to the curtains and accent chair. She pulled you through the door only to close it by slamming your body up against it. You let out a groan as your body roughly met your bedroom door, smirking as you watched her eyes hungrily trace your lips.

“No they don’t…” you teased, running a strong hand up her back, pulling her into a bruising kiss.

“If you want control, just take it…” she said pulling away from your lips.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked pushing her back before you stumbled, your arm next to her head as you both fell to the floor on your ornate carpet. She chuckled, tilting her head back, her neck on full display. You saw the glint of crazy and excitement in her eyes as she grinned her pearly whites peaking out in contrast to the dark lipstick she wore.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” she trailed. You reached up wrapping a well manicured hand around her neck and squeezing, earning a gasp of excitement as she watched your eyes darken with lust.

“mmm…” she let out a moan, biting down on her bottom lip, flicking her eyes to watch you as you leaned down to kiss her again this time straddling her lap. You felt her lean forward enough to sit up, one of her hands came up to grope your boob before the other moved to her waistband, grabbing the dagger and with a flick of her wrist, slicing your shirt fully open revealing the dark lace bra you wore underneath.

“Nice try…” you said, with a wave of your hand the knife reappeared on the night stand. She used her legs and flipped you both over so you were on your back, “hmm it’s cute when you tell me no…” she buried her head in the crook of your neck, leaving small bites and kisses.

You chuckled and sat up so she was sitting in your lap and she pushed your flannel off your shoulders. She straddled your lap and her hand slid down the front of you playing with the button on your jeans. You moved so that you could stand up in front of her, she was still on her knees her nails digging into the tight fabric covering your thighs. You reached down and lifted her her chin, gazing into those mischievous coffee brown eyes. You motioned for her to stand so that you could grab the back of her thighs and lift her letting her wrap her legs around your waist.

You turned and carried her towards your bed never breaking the hungry kisses, until you laid her down and watched her scoot back, you crawled up the bed in front of her, watching as her head laid back into the pillows.

“It’s getting a little warm in here…” she said hooking her fingers in the belt loop of your jeans and pulling you between her legs, your hips fitting perfectly with hers.

“I think I can help with that.”

With a wave of your hand she was completely bare in front of you, her eyes trailing the dark lingerie set that you currently wore, her legs spread underneath you as you bent down placing kisses along her neck, biting her sweet spot and leaving a mark that was sure to be seen later. One of her hands guided your hips to grind against her as she pressed her thigh to your wet core, pulling a small moan from you.

You ran your tongue along her collarbone before going to between her breasts, you pulled an erect nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue and watching as her eyes watched amused, as you pulled away a string of saliva stayed attached as you moved to the other side. You felt as her hand tangled in your dark hair, the other traveling down to her dripping pussy to tease herself, you saw her head tilt back with a grin as she started coming closer to her high.

That’s when you caught her off guard grabbing her hand and pulling it away, her eyes looked enticed yet confused as she watched you pull her fingers into your mouth, groaning as you tasted her, prolonging eye contact.

“That’s my job.” You warned leaning down and pinning her hands above her head conjuring black satin fabric to tie her wrists to the headboard. As you seductively leaned up your boobs were on display in front of her face. She leaned up enough that her teeth could grasp your lace bra pulling at the fabric.

A deep throaty chuckle escaped your lips as you slid back down her body, your lace bra roughly brushing against her skin. Pulling over already excited nipples as you moved down further placing a kiss on her rib cage watching her squirm underneath you.

“Your words darling.” you placed open mouth kisses on her stomach, traveling down you bit the skin on her hip then pressed your lips to it, sure to leave a mark.

“I forgot how much you like to tease…” she growled as you pulled the sensitive skin of her inner thigh between your teeth. You looked up through your eyelashes watching her eyes darken as your breath ghosted over her core, using two fingers and dragging them through her folds to collect her slick.

“So wet for me baby…” you teased again pulling your fingers into your mouth, you heard her let out a small chuckle laced with a warning growl.

“The more you tease the worse your punishment will be…” an excited but warning glint in her dark eyes.

“looking forward to it…” you said your tongue dragging over her clit, sucking it into your mouth, watching through hooded eyes as her head fell back for a moment before coming back up to meet your gaze. With a wave of your hand the fabric disappeared and her hands released, one hand tangling in your hair. You used your fingers to pump in and out, pushing against that spongy spot that made her gasp in ecstasy. She reached down grabbing your other hand and interlacing your fingers , you could feel her nails digging into your skin.

you heard as her breathing became excited and shallow the gasps and moans music to your ears as she neared her high, the sting of her nails in your scalp forcing you closer to her dripping core as her other hand pulled against yours.

“Oh… I’ve missed that mouth of yours…” she said biting her bottom lip and letting her head fall back, in between moans. Before long you had her legs tightly wrapped around your head to keep them from shaking, your fingers still moving as you brought her back down from her high. You sat up using the crook of your elbow to wipe your mouth off, sucking the rest of her orgasm off your fingers and slowly popping them out of your mouth.

“You taste amazing darling…” you said moving up to kiss her again. You looked at her only to see her signature devilish grin spreading across her lips.

“Don’t think I forgot about my promise…” she reminded you, guiding you to lay down in front of her as she straddled your lap, at first she teased you with kisses and bites, then scraping her nails against your chest, her slender fingers tickling the valley between your lush breasts. She pulled a nipple into your mouth at first using her tongue and then slowly holding it between her teeth.

then she made her way to your stomach small nips and bites that were sure to be found tomorrow morning. Then she started teasing, running her tongue from your belly all the way up to between your breasts before kissing your soft lips.

“You’re teasing…” you reminded.

“Mm am I?… or am I just exploring your body, it’s been a long time…” a mischievous glint in her eyes as she traveled back down your body forcing your legs open, she eyed you with a smirk before looking down to see how wet you were.

“So wet for your mistress, what a naughty girl…” she trailed as she used her middle finger to drag up through your dripping core, lightly brushing over your clit before she bent down, immediately pulling the sensitive bud into her mouth and swirling her tongue. You were on the fast track to your climax and she knew it, she knew your body too well. She heard your small gasp and how an airy tone would come over your usual rasp, how your hips would buck beneath her and your legs would begin to shake. But just as your were about to reach your high she stopped, pulling away to sit between your legs.

“Rio, what the hell?” You said looking up at her.

“I told you I would punish teasing.” She reminded.

“Baby please…”

“I’m sorry?” She asked, looking for her ‘other’ name.

“Mistress… mistress please…” you begged.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” Her voice dropped into a low growl as she lifted your chin, she was on all fours over top of you, her nails dug into your chin as her lips were a breath apart.

“Ugh, please…” you begged again, trying to get some kind of friction to your core but her sitting in between your thigh was preventing you.

“Hmm…” she hummed making a face, she studied you underneath her, the way your body writhed against her longing to chase that high, the way your lips pursed and your eyes fluttered annoyed at her for not letting you cum.

She studied you carefully as she conjured up her favorite toy, a wicked grin pulling at her lips, as she watched you try and sneak a hand down to pleasure yourself.

She roughly gripped your thighs pushing your legs apart. You looked down to see the fake green dick that she was now sporting, the bumps and ridges, seeing the girth itself made you swallow hard.

“Now be a good girl for mistress…” she said lining the toy up to your pussy and thrusting all the way in giving you no time to adjust, luckily you were so wet it made for an easy start. She pulled a gasp from your lips as she slowly moved her hips to grind into you, the thrusts starting slow and almost agonizing. The sting as you adjusted around her, every bump and ridge pressing deliciously into the soft spot that made you go wild.

You wrapped one leg around her, one hand came to grip her bicep that was next to you, her lips biting the skin between your neck and shoulder.

“You take me so well, sweetheart.” She growled watching the strap thrust in and out, seeing the way you stretched around her and the sounds that your dripping core made as your moans filled the room.

She gave you no time to adjust before she thrust into you again, seeing your face contort in pure pleasure, her other hand came up and gripped the back of your hair, pulling enough so you could feel the sting in your scalp, as she bent down again littering your exposed neck with red and purple bruises. She drug your body through two, then three earth shattering orgasms.

Relentless and giving your body no time to adjust she started again for the fourth. At first pleasure filled your overstimulated body as you begged.

“Mistress… I-I can’t…”

“Don’t lie to me…” she said roughly.

“It-it hurts… I-I’m sensitive…” you said in between shallow breaths.

“Come on, you can give your mistress one more?… can’t you, just one more?” She growled in your ear as your nails dig into her shoulder feeling as she thrust into you harder. At first a feeling of ecstasy clouding your vision but that quickly shifted to some pain.

“Wait… Rio, wait!” You put your hand against her chest warning her to stop. At first she thought you were joking until she saw the tears coming from the corners of your eyes, she quickly stopped and pulled the strap out of you. She saw you fall back against the pillows, looking down she saw blood not a lot but enough she could tell you were bleeding. She looked back up to you and one hand caressed your side as she called your name and watched you prop yourself up on your elbows.

You looked down seeing the red tint of blood, some on your inner thighs, some on her thighs and the strap that she wore.

“I must’ve torn, it’s okay it’s just a small tear, I just…” you started to panic, moving to get off the bed slightly worried it would freak her out. Instead you felt her hand come to rest on your chest pushing you back down into the plush pillows.

“It’s okay, don’t freak out… let me fix it.” She said and you looked slightly perplexed at her concern, normally she wasn’t this caring. You watched as she slipped off the strap and grabbed a wet washcloth from your en suite bathroom, coming back she laid between your legs cleaning you off before bending down.

She slowly pulled her tongue over the tear watching it heal and you felt almost immediate relief, letting your head fall back into the pillows as she slowly used her tongue. She looked up through her eyelashes watching as you softly moaned feeling her work her way back up to your clit, this time very gently bringing you to your high, a soft orgasm coming over your body, legs softly shaking. She pulled away but not before placing a gentle kiss over your clit.

“See all healed.” She said before crawling back up to lay beside you. You turned over and caressed her cheek, pulling her into gentle kisses.

“Thank you.” You whispered between a kiss and you got a soft hum in response.

You woke up the next morning feeling her still pressed into your back her arm wrapped around you hand resting under your breasts fingertips grazing bare skin. You slowly reached a hand up and interlaced your fingers, hearing her soft rasp in your ear.

“Rio?” You softly called, to the woman laying beside you.

“Hm?” She hummed back.

“Please stay…” you spoke out loud, holding your breath as you waited for a response. You hand lightly squeezing her as if you would lose her if you let go.

“You want me to-to stay…?” She asked unsure if this was the morning fog or if you were being serious. You turned in her arms, reaching up to brush soft fingertips over her cheek.

“Please stay.” You said again, this time she sat up plush blankets pooling around her, you thought she was going to run right then and there.

“Y/N it’s dangerous.”

“and maybe that’s a risk I’m willing to take…” you said back.

“the last person I lived with, that I loved was Agatha… and we see how that ended.” She explained solemnly.

“But I’m not her, and I want you to stay…. Please.” You reached out running a soothing hand on her back.

“are you sure?” She turned to face you, a blank, almost longing but slightly pained expression in her eyes.

“Yes but on one condition…” you said seeing her eyes glint with mischief.

“We break more furniture on a weekly basis, and I get to use the knife.” She said leaning back to kiss you.

“no, well maybe… next time you go after Agatha, we do it together.”

“She could kill you.”

“I would like to see her try.” You grinned as she kissed you again, pushing you back to straddle your lap.

“That’s my girl.” She growled possessively.

#x yn #x reader #fluff prompts #sensitive #wlw smut #x reader smut #smut prompts #rio x y/n #rio x reader #rio vidal #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos

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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

Text

Heat & Dust: Where the Wind Calls Her Name

Modern AU: Nanami Kento x F!Wife Reader

Summary: Nanami & his wife were happy. That was before Rajasthan. Because when the wind howls through the ruins, the whispers call's a name. (A slow-burn tragedy about a love lost & a man who never stopped looking.) Trigger Warnings: Smut (so minors & ageless blogs please touch grass), Heavy Angst, Unreliable Narrator, Shakespearian Tragedy, Haunting Love Stories, Loverboy Kento Nanami, Emotional Torture, Rajasthan & Indian Folklore Lore, Death (Past & New), Ghost Prince GS, Hopeless Romanticism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Reader is of Indian decent but you can hallucinate whatever you want, body type, skin complexation, etc. descriptions have not been used. The town is real & abandoned overnight for hunting reasons, but the palace described is fictional. A/N: Welcome to My Ted Talk on Why Nanami Kento Can’t Have Peace. So yesterday, I watched an Indian horror movie, & then I remembered a convo I had with my Indian atheist friend (hardcore non-believer), who casually dropped the fact that in India, “Oh yeah, we don’t dress up too much around ruins.” And I was like… excuse me???. Apparently, this isn’t just a "women beware" thing—even guys warn each other about this, because it’s not just women—cute men have also disappeared or gone insane. So instead of reacting like a normal person, my brain said: “What if Nanami Kento went full Majnu?” So naturally, this is now Nanami’s problem. Also, why do I keep making this man suffer? I love him, I really do, but if he’s not in maximum emotional distress, am I really doing my job? Anyway, Nanami is suffering & the narrator is a liar. Believe nothing. Enjoy the pain, bestie. 🖤

Rajasthan was a furnace in late autumn. The sun bled into the horizon, streaking the sky with burnt oranges and bruised purples as a foreigner husband and his local wife trailed behind their tour group.

"Are we really doing this?" She murmured, her fingers lightly brushing his wrist. The tour guide was droning on about the history of Kuldhara, the abandoned village known for its curse. But their real interest lay in the looming structure ahead—the palace of a prince, a name lost in history but kept alive by local whispers.

The palace was breathtaking, a relic of Rajasthan’s royal past, its sandstone walls glowing amber under the setting sun. Nanami Kento had never been one for grand romantic gestures, but even he couldn’t resist the allure of this Mahal, with its intricate mosaics and whispered legends. His wife had been the one to suggest the trip. “It’s a place for lovers,” she’d said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And we could use a little adventure, don’t you think?”

They had been married for five years, a union that defied cultural expectations—a half-Danish, half-Japanese man and an Indian woman who had met in the unlikeliest of places: a student exchange in Tokyo. Their love had always been quiet but fierce, built on mutual respect and a shared disdain for the supernatural. They were atheists, both of them, grounded in logic and reason. Ghosts, spirits, curses—these were the stuff of fairy tales, not their reality.

Nanami adjusted his sunglasses. "It’s just a palace. You wanted to see something ‘haunted,’ right?"

She scoffed. "I was joking."

"You were not."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Fine. Maybe a little."

The group paused in front of the arched entryway; the marble cracked and overgrown with creeping vines. A hush settled over them as the guide began to recount the tale:

“This story isn’t in most history books, but ask the locals, and they’ll all tell you the same thing. Hundreds of years ago, a foreign prince came to this land—as a conqueror, though he stayed because of a person who lived here. Some say it was a woman, others say a man. The details were lost over time, but what we do know is that he had wealth, power, and control over vast territories. Yet, despite all of that, he chose to stay here, in a kingdom that wasn’t of his customs.

The prince was renowned for his striking beauty—his unique hair and captivating eyes—a ruler of immense charm but even greater misfortune. He built alliances, settled disputes, even took on the customs of the land. He was even undefeated in wars, a genius strategist. Some say he did it all for them—for the one person he couldn’t bear to leave behind.

But love like that rarely ends well.

One night, he vanished alongside his lover, a woman likely, promised to another. Some say they were caught and killed before they could run. Others say the prince’s enemies set a trap, making sure neither of them left these walls alive. But the strangest stories come from those who claim he never left at all.”

Nanami’s wife rolled her eyes. "He sounds like a tragic anime protagonist."

Nanami exhaled sharply—a rare, barely-there laugh. "You watch too much TV."

She elbowed him, and he caught her wrist, pulling her closer. The air between them shifted—heavy, charged.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let’s go somewhere less... crowded."

His hesitation was brief, a flicker of logic against the pull of her hand. They drifted past a crumbling archway, slipping into the shadowed halls of the abandoned palace. The moment the voices of the group faded behind them, the atmosphere thickened.

It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation.

She tugged him into a hidden alcove, her back pressing against cool stone. "No one’s here," she murmured, fingers curling into his shirt.

"Careful, darling, you sound too eager," he smeirked, his voice lower and rougher.

"Maybe I just believe in you more than the ghosts," she teased.

But the Mahal had other plans.

He kissed her before she could say anything more—slow, deliberate, consuming. The taste of sweat and dust mixed with the softness of her lips, and for a moment, nothing existed beyond this—just the weight of her body against his, the sharp intake of breath when he gripped her waist beneath her t-shirt, the warmth of her skin beneath his palms. Her lips kissing his with a hunger that made his chest ache.

They kissed like they were the only two people in the world, the cool marble at their backs and the faint scent of eucalyptus in the air.

When they finally pulled apart, she laughed, her voice echoing strangely in the empty hall. “This place is magic,” she said, her fingers tracing the patterns on the wall. “Can’t you feel it?”

Nanami smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I feel you,” he replied, his voice low. “That’s enough magic for me.”

And then—

The wind shifted.

A whisper of cool air, unnatural against the desert heat, coiled around them.

She shivered.

He pulled back slightly, brows furrowing. "Are you cold?"

She shook her head. “I just... felt something.” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if she couldn’t quite put it into words.

A beat of silence hung between them, heavy and unspoken as he waited for her to elaborate.

Then she laughed, the sound light and airy, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Forget it. Let’s go back,” she said, her smile returning as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Her lips brushing against his ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “I want us to start trying for a baby.”

He shivered, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding through him. He’d wanted to have a family with her ever since he’d laid eyes on her.

Without a word, he pulled out his phone and called the driver, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.

As she stepped away, though, she hesitated.

Just for a moment.

Her gaze flickered toward the shadows of the palace, her smile faltering.

But then she shook it off, linking her arm with her husband’s waist, who kissed her forehead and pulled her towards the exit.

---

The first time he noticed something was wrong, it was subtle.

She was quieter on the ride back. Thoughtful. Her fingers tapped against the car window, her gaze unfocused.

"You’re not feeling sick, are you?" he asked, eyes flickering toward her.

She turned to him too slowly, blinking as if shaking herself from a daze. "No. Just tired."

He accepted it. At first.

But the things were going to change forever.

The moment the words had left her lips—“I want us to start trying for a baby”—Nanami’s world had narrowed to her, like it already didn’t revolve around her. His hands, usually so controlled, had trembled as they gripped her hips, pulling her closer. His lips had found hers in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and reverence; his breath had hitched as she melted into him.

“Are you sure?” He’d murmured against her mouth as soon as they walked inside their hotel room, his voice rough with need. When she nodded, his restraint had shattered.

He had been everywhere at once—his hands roaming her body, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her gasp. He was drunk on her, consumed by the idea of her carrying his child, and it showed in every touch, every kiss, every ragged breath. His composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw, primal hunger that left her breathless.

Nanami had been relentless, each thrust drawing a gasp or moan from her lips. He’d already brought her to the edge multiple times, his hands and mouth working in tandem to unravel her completely. But now, as he hovered above her, his hips moving with a rhythm that was almost possessive, he was focused on one thing: filling her. The thought of it—of her carrying his child—had him teetering on the edge of control.

“K…Ken…Ahh,” she had whimpered his name, her nails digging into his back as she arched against him. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, his forehead dropping to hers.

“I’ve got you,” he’d murmured, voice rough, breathless. His hand had slid between them, thumb circling her clit as he felt her tighten around him again. “Come for me one more time, love.”

She had, her body shuddering as she cried out his name. He was about to follow her over the edge.

But then, she had frozen. Her eyes wide, as she’d turned her head sharply toward the window. “Do you hear that?” she’d whispered, voice trembling.

Nanami had stilled, his brow furrowing as he tried to catch his breath. “Hear what?” he’d asked; his tone had been calm but tinged with concern.

“Music,” she’d said, her voice barely audible. "It's... it’s faint, but it’s there. Like a sitar or something.”

He had seriously listened but had heard nothing except the sound of their breathing and the faint rustle of the curtains. “I don’t hear anything,” he’d said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Are you sure?”

She’d nodded, eyes wide with confusion. “It’s there, Kento. I’m not imagining it.”

Nanami had studied her face, his analytical mind kicking into gear.

He had known her well enough to recognize when she was serious, and right now, she looked genuinely unsettled.

“Alright,” he’d said softly, pulling out of her and sitting up. “Let’s figure this out.”

She’d blinked, surprised by his calm reaction. “You believe me?”

“I believe that you heard something,” he’d said carefully, his tone measured. “Whether it’s real or not, we’ll find out. But I need you to be honest with me—are you sure you’re ready for this? For us trying for a baby?”

Her eyes had been filled with tears, and she’d shaken her head. “I’m not lying, Kento. I want this. I want us. But I heard something, and it's...”

He’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s take a breath and figure this out together.”

As he’d reached for his robe, she’d grabbed his hand, her grip tight. “I’m sorry,” she’d whispered. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

He’d turned back to her, his expression softening. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he’d said, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out. But for now, let’s just... breathe.”

She’d nodded, but the unease in her eyes remained.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Nanami had muttered before walking away.

She’d sat there, alone and confused, the faint strains of music still echoing in her ears.

Later that night, as they lay in their bed, she had sat up abruptly, her eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” she’d whispered.

“Hear what?” Nanami had asked, already half-asleep.

“A voice. It was… singing.”

He’d dismissed it as a trick of the wind or her exhaustion, but the next day, she’d insisted they return to the palace, her tone urgent and her eyes wide with something he couldn’t quite place. “I need to see it again,” she’d said, her tone urgent. “There’s something there, Kento. I can’t explain it.” He had to spend two hours convincing her it was nothing and they’d stick with their itinerary with the hotel.

Maybe it was the stress of traveling. Maybe the unfamiliar environment was playing tricks on her senses. Or maybe, just maybe, she was overwhelmed by the idea of starting a family. He’d convinced himself it was temporary, something they could work through together.

But then it started happening every time.

Just as he was about to cum inside, she’d flinch, her body tensing as she turned her head sharply, her eyes darting toward some unseen corner of the room. “Do you hear that?” she’d whisper, her voice trembling. “Music. It’s… it’s faint, but it’s there.”

And every time, he’d stop, his patience wearing thinner and thinner. He’d listen, his brow furrowed, but hear nothing. “There’s no music,” he’d say, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. “It’s just us.”

She’d insist, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, but he couldn’t. Not when it kept happening. Not when it felt like she was pulling away from him in the moments they should have been closest.

Nanami was a logical man. He prided himself on his ability to analyze situations, to break them down into manageable parts, and find solutions. But this... this defied logic. He’d run through every possible explanation—stress, fatigue, even the lingering effects of jet lag—but none of them fully accounted for her behavior. And the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind.

Maybe she doesn’t want this. Maybe she doesn’t want kids with me. Maybe she doesn’t want me.

The thought was like a knife to his chest. They’d been together for so long—twelve years of knowing each other, five years of marriage. He’d fought for her, convinced her family to let him marry her, to leave everything behind and build a life with him. He’d never doubted her love before, but now... now he wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t want to believe his intrusive thoughts; he really didn’t.

She loved him, right? She married him.

But then why did this trip feel like he was better off back home than traveling the world with the love of his life?

So next time he hadn't been as kind to her.

“Ken baby,” she’d breathed one night, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. They had been in their hotel room, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Her touch had been warm, familiar, and for a moment, he let himself believe everything was okay.

He’d kissed her deeply, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her onto the bed from the table he’d been fucking her against. His movements were urgent but reverent, as if he couldn’t believe this was real. He wanted her, wanted this, wanted the future they’d talked about for so long.

But then, as he’d continued to roll his hips, tettering on the edge of her and his own release, his eyes dark with desire, she’d froze.

Her head snapped toward the window, her eyes wide with fear. “Do you hear that?” She’d whispered, voice trembling.

Nanami had stilled, jaw tightening. “Hear what?” he’d asked, tone clipped.

“Music,” she’d said. “It’s… it’s coming from somewhere.”

He’d stared at her, his frustration bubbling over.

“There’s no music,” he’d said flatly, voice tight. “Are you... changing your mind? Is that what this is?”

“What? No!” She’d protested, voice rising. “I heard something, Kento. I’m not lying.”

He’d clenched his jaw and pulled out and away, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “If you’re not ready, just say so. Don’t make up excuses.”

Her eyes had been wide, hurt flashing across her face. “I’m not making anything up! I heard music. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because there’s nothing there!” He’d snapped, voice sharper than he intended. He stood, pacing the room, his frustration boiling over. “If you’re not ready for this, fine. But don’t play games with me.”

She’d stared at him, her chest tightening. “I’m not playing games,” she’d said quietly, voice breaking. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not lying to you.”

Nanami had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to take a shower,” he’d muttered.

He’d grabbed his robe and left the room without another word.

She’d sat there, alone and confused, the faint strains of a voice singing her name still echoing in her ears.

Kento didn’t know that was the last time he was ever going to have sex with her.

---

Then, back in Tokyo, small things had began piling up.

She flinched at things he couldn’t see.

"You’re being ridiculous," he said one evening when she refused to step into their dimly lit living room. "It’s just shadows."

"You don’t understand," she whispered.

"You’re right," he snapped, patience thinning. "I don’t."

She recoiled as if struck.

Then she’d begun walking in the night, her side of the bed cold. She claimed she heard music, faint and haunting, like the strains of a sitar playing in another room. Nanami would check the apartment, of course, but there was never anything there.

“It’s stress,” he’d said one evening, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you should take some time off.”

She’d glared at him, her usually warm eyes icy. “You think I’m imagining this?”

“I think you’re exhausted,” he’d replied, reaching for her hand. She’d pulled away.

And then there were the whispers—half-heard murmurs when she thought he wasn’t listening.

She’d started to wake up in the middle of the night, staring at the corner of their bedroom. Sometimes mumbling under her breath, as if answering a question.

The fights started small—her frustration at his refusal to believe her, his exhaustion at her growing paranoia.

But resentment festered like a wound left untreated.

She’d insisted she wasn’t crazy and that something—or someone—was following her.

Nanami, the pragmatist, had suggested therapy. “Just to rule things out,” he’d said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Please, darling. For me.”

She’d agreed, but the sessions only seemed to make things worse.

The therapist diagnosed her with schizophrenia, a word that hung between them like a death sentence.

She stopped going to work, retreating into herself. She spent her days at home, staring out the window or pacing the apartment, her once-vibrant personality dulled to a shadow.

Then the arguments got more frequent.

When he suggested starting medication, she laughed.

It wasn’t a kind laugh.

"You think I’m crazy?"

"I think you need help."

Her lips curled. "Of course you do."

She stopped sleeping beside him.

Stopped talking to him unless necessary.

Work became a distant thing, then a nonexistent one.

Nanami tried to be patient, but the distance between them grew. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her. The woman he’d married—strong, independent, full of life—was slipping away, replaced by someone he barely recognized.

And one day, he came home to find her in the dark.

---

Nanami had come home to the sound of laughter. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in months, and it stopped him in his tracks.

It had been rich and warm, spilling from her lips like it belonged there.

A weight had lifted from his chest, and for a moment, he allowed himself to hope.

Maybe she’d been getting better. Maybe they’d find their way back to each other. Maybe she’d been finally healing. Maybe—

But as he’d stepped into the living room, his heart sank.

She’d been sitting on the floor, her back to him, knees tucked beneath her, hands gesturing lightly—casual, intimate. Her shoulders had been shaking with laughter as she spoke to someone, voice soft.

Except there had been no one there.

“Darling,” he’d called, his voice trembling.

She’d turned then, still smiling, but the moment she’d seen him, her expression had shifted—a flicker of something unreadable before she’d schooled her features.

Her eyes had still been bright with a joy he hadn’t seen in so long. “Kento. You’re home.” She’d greeted him like he was an afterthought.

He’d forced a smile, though his pulse had thundered in his ears. “Who were you talking to?”

Her expression had faltered, just for a moment. “No one,” she said quickly. “Just… thinking out loud.”

“What was so funny?” he’d pushed.

She hesitated. Then, softly added, "you wouldn’t believe me."

His fists had clenched. "Try me."

Then her eyes had flicked—just slightly—to something over his shoulder.

And that was when he’d felt it.

The air had moved.

A cold breath against the back of his neck.

A presence too close, too real.

He’d turned.

And for the first time in his life, Nanami Kento saw a ghost.

Tall. Pale. Dressed in fine, outdated robes.

Beautiful eyes and hair.

Beautiful white hair and piercing blue eyes.

The man—the prince—was watching him with an unreadable expression.

Like a king appraising a pawn.

Like a conqueror surveying his land.

Nanami’s knees had buckled, and he’d fallen.

His wife had rushed forward, instinct taking over, her hands gripping his face, her touch grounding—alive, but her hands had been cold against his skin.

"Kento—!"

But he wasn’t looking at her.

He’d been looking at him.

And the ghost, Prince Gojo Satoru, had simply smirked.

Like he’d already won.

Nanami had realized then—this wasn’t just madness.

It wasn’t a break, a disorder, a cruel trick of the mind.

She hadn’t been losing herself.

She’d been taken.

And he had let it happen.

The pieces had fallen into place with cruel clarity.

The voice she’d heard in the palace, the laughter, the way she’d become distant—it wasn’t schizophrenia.

It had all been Gojo.

The ghost of a prince who had taken a liking to her, who had followed her home and woven himself into her life.

Nanami felt sick.

He had failed her.

He had dismissed her fears, convinced himself she was ill, when the truth was far more terrifying.

And now he was losing her to a man who wasn’t even alive.

“I’m sorry,” he’d choked out, his voice breaking. “I should have believed you.”

Her face had crumpled, and she’d pulled him into her arms. “It’s not your fault,” she’d whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it either.”

But as they clung to each other, Nanami couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late.

---

In the weeks that followed, she’d grow weaker, her once-vibrant spirit fading like a dying flame.

Nanami watched helplessly as the woman he loved slipped further and further away, her laughter now a ghostly echo in their empty home.

And in the corner of the room, Gojo watched, his smirk never wavering.

But as he’d sat by her bedside, holding her hand as she slept, he’d make a silent vow. He would find a way to bring her back, even if it meant confronting the dead monarch himself.

After all, love was the only magic he had ever believed in.

Then Nanami had tried everything—doctors, therapists, even a desperate visit to a priestess who had taken one look at him and shaken her head. “There’s nothing I can do,” she’d said. “This is beyond me.”

And now, she was gone.

She died on a quiet morning, as if the universe itself was too ashamed to make a sound.

No violence, no struggle—just silence.

Nanami had left for groceries, and when he returned, the door was ajar.

The air inside was stale, thick, suffocating.

He’d called her name.

No answer.

He found her curled on their bed, her body unnaturally still, her hands resting lightly on her stomach as if she had merely dozed off. Her lips were parted, and for a moment, he swore he saw them move.

But she was cold.

Kento stood there for a long time, unable to move, unable to breathe.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

He shook her once, twice. "Darling."

Her head lolled to the side.

His fingers clenched around her shoulders. "This isn’t funny."

Nothing.

A sound escaped him—raw, broken.

They told him it was heart failure. A tragedy. Sudden. Unexplained.

But he knew better.

The days that followed were a blur.

Nanami moved through them like a ghost himself, his grief a heavy cloak that suffocated him.

He expected to see Gojo’s ghost lurking in the corners of their apartment, taunting him, but the white-haired figure was nowhere to be found. It was as if Gojo had vanished the moment his wife had taken her last breath.

Nanami hated him for it.

Hated him for taking her, for leaving him alone, for existing at all.

But most of all, he hated himself for not being able to save her. For not believing her in time.

The days stretched into weeks. He drifted, weightless, his mind full of echoes.

He stopped speaking to people. Stopped working.

The world became a distant thing, muffled and unreal.

But the pull remained.

---

It was a month after her death when Nanami stood in the shadow of the Mahal, its sandstone walls glowing in the afternoon sun, looming over him like a specter from a past he couldn’t escape. It didn't hold the same allure anymore.

Now, it felt like a tomb.

He didn’t know why he’d come. He hadn’t planned it.

He hadn’t planned on anything at all.

Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was the faint hope that he could confront Gojo, demand answers, scream at him until his voice gave out.

But deep down, he knew the truth: he was here because he had nowhere else to go.

The palace was empty; no tourists.

Nanami wandered the corridors, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

He found the alcove where it had all begun—the place where he had shared that fateful kiss.

The memory was sharp, painful, and he clenched his fists to keep from breaking down.

There was no sound, no music, only the faint rustle of wind through the palace’s ancient halls. Nanami sank to his knees, his anger giving way to despair. He whispered, his voice cracking. “Why? Why her?”

Still, there was nothing. No ghostly figure, no laughter, no sign that Gojo had ever been there at all.

Nanami felt a surge of frustration.

Had it all been in his head? Had her illness been just that—an illness—and he had been going insane and started seeing it too?

As he sat there, his mind racing, the air got heavy with the scent of eucalyptus and decay, and a faint sound reached his ears.

It was music—soft and haunting, reminiscent of the tunes she had described hearing all those months ago.

But this time, it was accompanied by the gentle jingle of the anklets she’d worn on their wedding day and during Karwachauth ever since.

Nanami’s breath caught in his throat.

He stood, following the sound through the palace’s labyrinthine corridors until he reached a small, hidden chamber.

Inside, the walls were covered in intricate carvings, their details illuminated by the faint light of a single oil lamp.

And there in the center of the room—

She’d looked just as she had in life, her eyes warm and full of love, voice soft. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Nanami stumbled forward, reaching for her, but his hand passed through her like smoke. “Darling,” he choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Nanami demanded, his voice rising. “You didn’t choose this! He took you from me!”

She shook her head, her form beginning to fade.

“No!” Nanami shouted, lunging for her, but she was already gone, the music fading with her.

The next moment, there was nothing.

Only silence. Vast and consuming.

Then—a shimmer in the air, warping the space around it, like heat rising from the desert sand.

A figure materialized.

White hair. Piercing Blue eyes. Pale skin. A presence that did not belong.

Nanami could barely breathe.

Gojo Satoru stood before him, his gaze vacant, his posture relaxed in a way that felt unnatural—like he was here, but also elsewhere. His voice, when it came, was soft. Too soft.

"Why her?"

There was no malice, no satisfaction. Just neutrality. An absence of feeling.

Nanami swallowed, his throat dry. His fingers curled into trembling fists. "You really don’t know, do you, Kento?"

Nanami’s jaw clenched. "Enlighten me."

Gojo tilted his head slightly, as if considering the request. When he spoke, there was no anger, no cruelty—just a simple, unwavering truth.

"You married an Indian woman. Lived with her. Loved her. And yet, you never learned the most basic rule."

The air around them shifted, thick with something rancid. The wind through the broken palace walls carried the scent of decay, of age, of something that did not want to be disturbed.

Gojo’s voice remained even.

"In India, there’s an unspoken rule—one even atheists follow."

The air grew colder.

"You do not show off your women in ruins."

Nanami’s stomach twisted.

Gojo blinked slowly, like a creature that had forgotten how to mimic human expression. "You don’t dress them up and parade them around cemeteries, old buildings, palaces." His voice lowered. "People get possessed. Things follow them home."

Nanami felt his breath leave him.

The memory came back. The moment he lost her.

The way she had laughed in that alcove, her lips swollen from his kisses, her body pressed against his, flushed and breathless. The gold that had glinted at her wrists, her throat, catching the dying sunlight—making her glow. The way her voice, filled with love, with life, carried through the hollow halls of a palace where no living thing should have heard it.

They had looked so blissful.

But now, the memory felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

Because he’d been watching.

“You looked so happy,” Gojo murmured, his voice almost thoughtful. “So in love.”

There was no malice. No regret. No sympathy.

"And I…" Gojo’s voice barely wavered. "I wanted that."

Nanami’s heart threatened to crawl out of his throat.

Gojo blinked, his expression unchanging. "My love left me," he said. "Married another. Her family pushed her into it, and she stayed once she met him. I waited for her. I waited for her to come back."

His head turned slightly, looking out the window, gaze distant. Like he was watching a memory. Like he was watching something only he could see. "She never did."

The stillness in his voice was unbearable.

Nanami’s vision blurred with rage. "So you took mine instead?"

Gojo turned to face him, eyes boring into Nanami's.

His face was still empty. Void of anything human.

"Maybe I did," he said. "Maybe she left. Maybe she came back to me. Maybe you stole her from me in another life. Maybe she chose you. Maybe she didn’t love me as much as I thought. Or maybe—" Gojo exhaled softly. "Maybe I see why she fell in love with you."

Rage coiled in Nanami’s chest. His hands trembled, nails biting into his palms.

Gojo watched him without blinking. Without caring. "After everything I lost—after she left me to marry someone else because her family pushed her into it—I wanted what you had."

Gojo’s voice did not rise. It did not falter.

"So I took it."

Nanami’s body locked up, something primal and violent rising in his chest. His throat burned. His vision swam. His grief was a wildfire, an avalanche, a noose tightening around his own damn throat.

“You’re a monster.”

Gojo continued, reactionless. "Maybe," he admitted.

Then—Gojo’s head tilted ever so slightly.

"But you’re the one who brought her here."

The words slammed into Nanami’s ribcage like a hammer.

"You didn’t protect her," Gojo murmured. "You thought she was insane before you believed her."

The words hit Nanami like he was being set on fire.

Because he knew.

He knew.

Deep down, he knew the truth in them.

He’d been so focused on their future, too confident in logic and reason, on starting a family, that he’d ignored the warnings—both spoken and unspoken—the unease in her eyes, the way her voice had shaken when she begged him to listen, to believe her.

And now she was gone.

He would never see her again.

She had slipped through his fingers like smoke, like an illusion he was never meant to hold onto in the first place.

He stood there, rooted in the ruins of a past that no longer existed, a future that had been severed clean from his grasp.

Gojo did not smile.

He did not mock.

He simply stood there, blank and unfeeling, watching as Nanami shattered into something that could never be put back together.

"Give her back."

Nanami’s voice cracked, raw and desperate.

It was not a demand.

It was a plea.

"Please." His fingers twitched, reaching for something that wasn’t there. "Just give her back."

For the first time, Gojo’s expression shifted. Not in pity. Not in regret.

Just something fleeting. Almost human.

"I can’t."

His voice was quiet. Unshaken. Final.

"She’s not mine to give."

And then he was gone.

No shadow left behind.

No footprints in the dust.

As if he had never been there at all.

And maybe he hadn’t.

Nanami never saw Gojo again.

Not in the palace.

Not anywhere.

And neither did he see her.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Not in the ruins where he had kissed her for the last time.

Not in the house where she had once lived, where the echoes of her voice had turned to silence.

But still, he searched.

Through the palace.

Through the crumbling ruins.

Through the empty villages.

Through the desert, where the sand swallowed footsteps whole.

Through the places where even the ghosts had grown tired of lingering.

But there was nothing.

There had never been anything.

No ghosts.

No answers.

Just silence—cold and unrelenting, stretching on and on until it hollowed him out from the inside.

Or maybe—maybe he had seen her.

Maybe she had whispered to him in the dead of night, her voice curled around his ear like a secret. Maybe he had caught glimpses of her in reflections, in the shimmer of heat rising from the sand, in the spaces between dreams and waking.

Or maybe it had all been in his head.

Maybe she had never been there at all.

The whispers started soon after.

Of the foreigner with blond hair who wandered through the ruins, his steps slow, his gaze hollow.

Of the man who murmured to the crumbling palace walls, who spoke to shadows, who waited for a love that would never return.

At first, people tried to help.

They approached him with cautious kindness.

“Are you lost, sir?”

“Do you have family we can call?”

“Here, drink this—eat something.”

But Nanami did not answer.

Did not acknowledge them.

Did not even seem to hear them at all.

He knew you’d be mad.

You never liked when other women gave him attention.

He would sit in the dust, his fingers tracing invisible patterns into the stone, lips moving in silent conversation.

With whom, no one knew.

And slowly, they learned to leave him alone.

He became part of the ruins themselves.

A figure wrapped in dust and sorrow.

A cautionary tale whispered to children.

"Don’t wander too far, lest you meet the mad foreigner who searches for his dead wife."

The weeks passed. Then the months.

His hair grew long and matted, strands clumping together, dirt and sand tangled in the once-golden locks.

His clothes frayed at the edges, sleeves torn, fabric thinning from exposure to the harsh desert winds.

His face, once sharp with quiet confidence, sank inward—cheekbones too prominent, lips cracked, skin burnt raw by the unrelenting sun.

A living corpse.

The police and NGOs found him once, coaxed him into a rehabilitation center, gave him food, bathed him, handed him clean clothes.

But the moment they turned their backs, he was gone.

He ran.

Back to the palace.

Back to the ruins.

Back to the last place he thought he'd seen her.

He was twenty-seven, but to those who saw him, he was ageless.

A mad saint.

A lost soul.

A pagala baba, dressed in tattered rags, muttering prayers that weren’t prayers—just a name, her name, over and over again.

Still—he walked.

Because maybe, if he searched long enough—

If he wandered through the ruins until his feet bled—

If he kept looking, kept listening, kept believing—

Maybe one day, he would find her again.

Maybe she had just stepped away for a moment.

Maybe she would return.

Maybe one day, he would wake up and she would be beside him.

And the desert, mercifully, swallowed his grief whole.

Because one day—

He disappeared.

No one saw him leave.

No footprints in the sand.

No body was found.

Just gone.

But still—the whispers remained.

At night, when the wind howled through the ruins, when the air was thick with the weight of something unseen—

Some swore they heard it.

A hum.

A laugh.

A faint, lingering strain of music.

Some claimed they saw a figure—tall, blond, beautiful, with kind eyes.

A man, waiting. Searching. Wandering.

Still looking for the love stolen from him.

Still lost in the ruins, long after his body had faded into the sand.

Still hoping—

That maybe, this time, he would find her.

Or maybe he already had.

No one knew.

No one ever would.

But they all agreed on one thing—

That sometimes, in the dead of night, when the desert wind carried the echoes of the past, those who listened closely could hear it—

A faint hum of laughter.

The ghost of a love stolen.

Or the sorrowful strains of music that followed him wherever he went.

A/N: So, my dear readers… how did you like Schizophrenia? No, Just a Rajasthani Prince With No Bitches. Did Nanami ever find her? Did Gojo win? Or did our beloved blond idiot just walk himself into an early grave Majnu-style? Comment below: 🔘 “They were reunited” (Delusional Romantic) 🔘 “Nanami died searching” (Realist Pain Enthusiast) 🔘 “Gojo gaslit gatekept girlbossed all of us” (Clown) Let me know which version of suffering you believe in. Your engagement fuels my villain arc. 💀✨

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avoxrising · 1 year ago

Text

The Feral One • Ch 11

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

I had such a hectic day but decided I wanted to stay up late and upload anyways. Prepare yourselves for a plot twist!!!

Content Warnings - Mentions of suicide/torture

How long had you been here? Weeks? Months? None of that mattered to you. You were happy here.

The capital doctors had fixed you. No more meltdowns over people touching you; no more urges to kill. You were finally healed.

You don’t know why they took the route of healing you while they tortured the others, but who were you to complain? They had made you whole again. Maybe they thought that making you realize the stability you had lived without for the past five years would be a form of torture. Maybe they thought it would make you sad. It didn’t. It made you the happiest you had been in a long time.

The only thing that would make you happier would be seeing Finnick. You know he’s not in the capital. Peeta said he saw him on the screen the other day while he was doing an interview, so you know he’s alive. You just hope you’ll be reunited soon.

Hopefully he will come here and they can fix him too. He may not show it, but his games and the years after have left him with a lot of scars. If he comes, you’ll make sure he gets the same treatment you received.

The power here keeps flickering out. Peeta says it’s cause the dam in District 5 was destroyed. Apparently Finnick and Katniss are in District 13 and the capital sent bombs. Peeta warned them and got extra torture because of it.

Johanna is silent outside of her screams. Whatever they’re doing to her sounds horrible. You don’t want to find out.

“Y/N!” Peeta whispers loudly to you. His room is across from yours and you can hear each other under the door.

“What?” you respond.

“I overheard them talking about you,” he states. “The peacekeepers were talking about your treatment.”

“What about it?” you ask.

“I didn’t hear all of it,” he explains, “and it’s hard for me to know what’s real nowadays, but they said something about a timer going off and how they would make you crazy again. We have to get out before they hurt us.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask him annoyed. “They won’t hurt me. Snow promised.”

Just as Peeta goes to respond, the lights cut out again and peacekeepers enter the hall. They usually set up extra guards when the power goes out in case anyone tries to escape. Why would you escape? You like it here.

It must be an hour later when panic sets in. You hear a hiss coming from the hall and what sounds like people falling over. You don’t have time to think, however, before your door is opened and a canister of smoke is thrown into your room. Peeta was right. They are going to hurt you.

“Did you always love her?” Katniss asks Finnick as they wait for the rescue team to return. All communication had been cut off but the two were still holding onto hope that they would return safely.

“No,” he chuckles. “I guess she snuck up on me.”

“How?” Katniss asks.

“After her incident in the capital Snow killed her family,” he explains. “I moved in with her because she wasn’t stable enough to live on her own. We were scared she was going to kill herself and selfishly I couldn’t let the one victor I had brought home at that point die.”

Katniss nods her head in understanding and Finnick continues.

“I don’t know if I’d even call us friends when I first lived with her. She wasn’t thrilled I moved in and found me annoying, yet I was the only one she would talk to. She wouldn’t even speak to Mags,” he states. “Before Annie’s games my nightmares got worse. I would wake up screaming in the middle of the night completely disoriented. Instead of running or turning violent she would stay. Whenever I woke her up she would come to my room and sit near me till I fell asleep again. Something just clicked at that point and I knew I couldn’t live without her. I still can’t.”

“I never even told her I loved her,” he sadly says to Katniss.

“She knows,” Katniss responds. “And I know she loves you too.”

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#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #thg series #finnick odair angst #finnick #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fluff #catching fire #mockingjay #the feral one

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 25 days ago

Text

Set Me Free

18+

Part five

Good Girl Gone Mad

Characters: Min Yoongi as Agust D/Mafia boss, Jung Hoseok as Jack/Concierge, Namjoon/Police detective, Jungkook/Police detective, Park Jimin/thief and gang leader, Taehyung/Mafia member, Paradise owner. Jin/unknown, Busan/Mafia boss.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: This story contains nsfw content (descriptive blood, gore, etc.) as well as sexual content. Mentions may include violence, consumption of alcohol, explicit sexual interactions, sharp objects, knife play, description of injuries, themes of major horror and also explores obsessive behaviors and codependency, robbery, killing, guns, torturing, fire, toxic yandere men, violence, possessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships.

🩸My master list 🩸

We Go Down Together - Dove Cameron & Khalid

< Previously • Next Chapter >

My mind have been a mess ever since i encountered agust d but that was also the moment i saw a chance to prove my worth at the station and to finally be one of them like Namjoon, it was a chance for me to get the bad guy and that was always my priority ever since i decided to become a police officer. As the days went by i found myself growing more and more impatient. The more my path crossed with Yoongi the more my greed became apparent, meeting Yoongi it was like a fire burning my skin, he brought out the things in me that I never once thought i had it it was uncomfortable to be in such situations I hade found myself to be so easily influenced by his presence that I just simply lost control. It was dangerous to be close to him but now more then ever I had no choice but to stay by his side but being with him i realized a part of me that was living dormant for all these years. I’m going down a path i never once thought considered fallowing and for that reason I’m lost inside this hell by my own choice, i had so much pride of my own morals and achievements when i started working at the station, my beliefs where always to make the world a better place by making the right choices and protecting those who made the same choices. After losing my dad i knew i wanted to fallow the path he did, make the right decisions and help people from the darkness of this world.

But what no one tells you about fallowing the right path is that to be a hero, is to bear the weight trying to bring justice to those who have no power but, you cannot.

Our laws exist to protect us but they are so limited to a point where even if you know who’s the bad guy, without any solid evidence they will just be set free from punishment. The worst part is you know they are going to hurt people again.

I never wanted to be part of this, somehow I’m grateful but at the same time I regret it very deeply all my choices. All it took was one slip and i was in the rabbit hole, that same darkness the people i was supposed to put in jail lived in, sooner or later, we always give in that slip to taste a new world.

I was taught to do the rigt thing and always fallow the rules, with my dad playing the biggest part into this. I know that justice takes time and you can’t always do the right thing. The more i thought about the things i had done so far the more i realized, i was only trying to hold on the small part of me who still lives in my past. The girl who worked at her fathers police station, the girl who loved Namjoon and would do everything she could to fallow her fathers steps and protect the last family she had.

Right or wrong are just concepts made by us to justify our actions, who really decides was right or wrong in this? In the end we all have to count on someone else’s empathy to get a less harsh punishment. If a convicted criminal of murder shows remorse he could use the empathy of the judges, the same laws that are there to protect us also protect them, whether they are faking it or not.

There is no god in this, we are all by ourselves here trying to live in a world were anyone you cross paths could be a psychopath.

As Jack drove us back to the mansion this was all i could think of, feeling a weight over my chest press down my heart against my bones and the emptiness it left as if killing that men was the last straw to selling my soul to the devil and I could feel every bit of it happening under my skin.

All that didn’t phase Yoongi even the smallest bit, i stared at him sitting comfortably beside me he had his eyes closed a relaxed almost pleasant look on his face. It made me wonder if he even felt anything when he killed his first victim, was he a normal person once? Did life made him a monster? What lead him into this world?

Once we got at the mansion he walked out first and i fallowed him out, keeping on his shadow as he entered the mansion and slowly walked towards his office.

No one said a word the entire time and i could already feel the hot tension rise by the seconds, if he notice my presence behind him he didn’t mentioned and as we finally got in his office he was quick to fill a glass with alcohol while i turned to closed the doors behind me slowly sitting in on of the couches on the room.

He took the sit on the other couch in front of me lighting a cigarette the fire shining bright in front of his face making the scar on his eye even more noticeable, never failing to make his looks sharp and scarier. He took a blow of it before finally looking at me for the first time since we got here.

Whatever went through his head in that moment i knew it was far away from any comfort words, i never expected that from him and i wasn’t disappointed by it.

I had taking someone else’s life to save my brother, the only thing i want now is the truth he had promised me.

- if you are expecting a hug from me.. i hate to disappoint - was the first thing he said, scoffing a laugh.

- i wouldn’t dare to - i was quick to reply, getting a chuckle from him.

- then why did you fallow me? - he asked, clearly amused taking a sip of the drink in his hand while the cigarette burned between his fingers - wanna make sure i fallow the end of our bargain?

- yeah…

- don’t worry it’s done - he said, as if it was nothing. But i founded hard to believe, it couldn’t be as simple as that.

I never expected but it still angered me, moved by the fire inside me i got up making my way towards him i harshly took the cigarette from his fingers, taking a blow of it before turning to him.

- since you’ve proven yourself Yoongi why don’t you start talking? - i spat - i don’t want your compassion, i know you got none. From you i just want one thing, the damn truth.

- why? - he scoffed, turning to look at me impatiently - you think you’ll go back to that silly life of yours? Get over it, is too late for that. You’re in my world now, you get what i give when i decide to.

Now it was my turn to scoff but no matter how much that angered me he was right. You can lead the horse to the lake but you can’t force it to drink from it, i bite back my tongue feeling a bitter taste up my throat.

- and if you still want me to work for you, you need to start talking - i said, sitting down beside him.

- now you’re ordering me around? You are not in charge here sweetie…

- you owe me that - i said, turning to him, using the right words would get me good points with him, i needed to gain his trust if i wanted to live a longer life, that was the only way to avoid Jack. Still it infuriated me how he never told me anything, i knew he didn’t had to but the least he could do is tell me about his plans at the station.

I knew exactly were i stood in here, not above him, not beside him and not even under him like his dogs. I was disposable, the last thing I wanted was to die here of all places. I knew for a fact that fallowing the rules would get you the the best chance. I hated to admit that but that was the only way.

- you said you would tell me everything after i did my work tonight - i said - then do it. Why were you at the station that day? Why did you almost killed the director?

He sighted almost rolling his eyes, taking a sip of his hard liquor before looking at me with bored eyes.

- i had a deal with you’re director - he said, staring at the cup on his hand as he moved around over his thigh - you’re smart enough to know it by know, what would i possibly want with the police?

It had passed my mind before that the director wasn’t exactly the good guy to begin with, Yoongis insinuations seemed to set fire to that old thought of mine and I could almost feel the dots connecting to each other - so the police was working with them this whole time, they were hiding Agust D tracks every time and making it impossible to get him. But why?

Namjoon has been fallowing a ghost his whole life in hopes of making justice possible, they had been playing with him just like they did to me.

It made me sick to even think about it.

But most importantly I could only wonder what would the police needed with Yoongi or what he used against them to get them to hide his tracks this whole time?

- I’m sure you know now… - he chuckled, knowingly - you’re friend was getting too close, i came to talk to him and he decided to call out our agreement. He was confident that Namjoon guy would get me eventually, so i had to make sure I made them aware of who they were dealing with.

- so that was a massage… - i murmured, more to myself staring at the floor.

- yeah, not that i needed to do much - he chuckled, taking the cigarette from my hand yes staring back at me with smirk laying over his red lips - you just happened to be there right on time, every single time i needed.

- what?

- in so little time you manage to get inside Paradise, obviously thanks to Scarlet then you proceeded to offer yourself to me unknowingly and ruined their opportunity to get me - he said, eyes shining brighter with delight.

Looking so proud of my mistakes, it didnt help to ease the way my insides were turning and turning around at his words. Making more and more obvious how my intervention helped only him, the one i was so confident i would put behind bars.

- i had reasons for it…

The most poor and stupid excuse left my lips, I couldn’t look at his face anymore to embarrassed to face him and the truth. I made a terrible mistake by thinking I could face him head on and win.

- you did… but what now? - he taunted - what do you have? Nothing… you’ve been nothing but a puppet this entire time, my puppet.

He made it clear from the beginning how it would end up for me if I continued with that investigation on him, i was honestly surprised at how he left me leave the first moment we’ve meet and yet i decided to ignore all the warnings he was “kind” enough to give me. I pondered if he was truly warning me or if it all wasn’t just an act to get me exactly where he wanted me to be.

He told me he would bring me to hell if i kept digging for him and here i was now, it felt different having to hear him say all that I’ve been thinking about ever since we meet.

But I was too deep into the darkness that surrounded him, there was no way to live in this world without getting your hands dirty. I was aware of that. It was all my fault.

For a second i felt stupid at how well he played me without me even realizing, feeling stupid for being so weak and giving in more and more. But now? I didn’t felt bed for destroying the operation and letting Yoongi escape, i made up my mind in that car as we came back deciding to rather then running from the fire, i would burn and dance with it. He wasn’t wrong when he looked into my eyes and showed me my own sins, but the more i stared at the fire in his eyes the more i felt deeply attracted to the darkness surrounding him.

To survive.

To feed my own greed. Truly… a puppet.

-I could still end you here right now… - I gripped his neck.

I was serious, I could feel my blood boiling under my skin. My pride was hurt, my heart was in pieces and all he did was stare at me with a sly grin on his face. He chuckled gripping my hands around his neck even tighter, his eyes burning into mine.

- do it… - he dared - but we both know you won’t.

he wasted no time proving how much stronger he was then me, pulling my hands away from his neck. With one hand he gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

- tell me why you won’t kill me… you had many chances… - he said, a whisper. He’s breath hitting my lips.

- don’t play as if you didn’t know why…

- no, you don’t play coy with me… come on now, be a good girl for me and use your words.

His lips lifted into a smirk, he leaned forward face centimeters away from mine. Feeling his breath over my own lips a shiver runs down my whole body, the smell of whiskey was intoxicating making me crave more of him.

- say it… y/n.

I swallowed hard before thinking about it one last time. I knew this was one way and no turning back, but Yoongi was my best shot at surviving now. Even more he wanted me to be honest with him and myself.

- Don’t lie to me… - he smile was completely sickening, eyes darker then ever - it’s not that hard.

- i want…

- yes, what do you want? - he leaned more into me, hands reaching behind me to cage me under his body.

And to feed my desires for him.

- you…

He stopped immediately, eyes searching for mine and in that split second while i stared into his sharp eyes i saw his facet break, just a bit but enough for me to notice - surprise. He truly didn’t expect me to say that, one would even think that hearing that would be so fulfilling to ones ego, but him? It was as if he never heard it before. I didn’t know anything could get a reaction from him but i knew in that moment, despite everything else he secretly wished to be desired too. Even though he said he knew.

So i took my chance and braced the fire that would come with it.

Closing my arms around his neck i pushed him down, sitting over his lap with one leg on each side of his hips.

- i want you, Agust d - i said over his lips - in every way possible.

Looking down in his eyes seeing how he no longer had any trace of surprise in them but a serious look, hands sliding up my hips to my bear back holding my arms to slid away from his neck.

My heart begin to beat faster, blood running cold on my body. Shit.

I could see it in his eyes that he wanted, so what was holding him back in that moment?

- are you sure? - he simply asked, not looking me in the eyes but at our hands - do you have any idea what that choice comes with?

- does it matter to you? - i bit into my lower lip, i felt so confused in that moment. The warmth that surrounded us was disintegrating slowly, i helplessly wanted to hold on into that warmth.

His unphased expression was making me more and more anxious, one moment i was burning under his gaze and now completely frozen and lost. Swallowing all of my pride and embracing myself, i wished to be right about this.

- it makes me…. Yours - in that small second i looked into his eyes again i saw the surprised in them, bearly noticeable but it was there for a second.

- and you’re sure you can take what comes with that? - he mutter over my lips.

- i don’t know but i don’t wanna leave you…

I can’t leave my only chance to survive now.

- you’re life will be mine… completely… - he whispered above my lips.

- we’ll go down together then.

I didn’t wanted to lose any more seconds when i pushed my lips over his, feeling his smirk as i bite into his botttom lip. Catching his eyes briefly as i did so, he was quick to press his short nails on my exposed back scratching the skin down stoping at my hips. I moaned on his mouth kissing him hungrily.

He let out a soft groan as i slide my hands down his waist inside his shirt slowly tracing his ribs, the friction was enough to make us both lose our minds, i could tell he was holding back from letting out a moan as i grinded against his hips, my own body was becoming needy, craving more and more.

- Mmngh..You feel so good… - He whispered between ragged breathes and I felt my thoughts growing more and more blank, the only thing on my mind right now was him.

I grind against his hips again, feeling his warmth through the fabrics separating us, his breath hitches when i grind against him again, i hold his chin up taking in his lustful gaze, his grip on my hips tightened and i could almost feel how blissful he was becoming.

He gives me a devious smirk and gently ran his fingers along your spine as he whispered in my ear:

- You truly are a skilled rider, you feel so good on top of me.

The doors for the office burst open.

- you have to go to Busan - said Jack in a rushed tone.

Yoongi leaned away from me, hands still dancing over my naked back. I stared at him as he nodded to Jacks direction who soon left the room.

- i have to go - he said to me.

I nodded resting my forehead over his, lips brushing against each other as the heat slowly drifted away from our bodies.

- now, you behave while I’m gone.

His hands slipped down my back to rest over my hips pulling me out of his lap. After that o was quick to make my way out of his office but no before he called out my name.

- the room in front of mine - he said - that’s your room, some of your stuff is there already.

- okay, thanks.

With that i left completely.

From what i could tell, how he suddenly changed in seconds and jacks rushed and slightly worried eyes, something big must’ve happen that needed him to be there in person. I over heard from Namjoon once at the station, that his mafia had rooted connections in Busan as they were investigating and I wonder if Namjoon manage to take action on his secret plan as he told me once.

If he did Yoongi might be in trouble, but I can’t tell. Both of them are unpredictable when it comes to getting what they want.

[…]

It’s been two days since Yoongi left to Busan, no one told me anything about him or when was he even going to come back.

Anytime I would worry about him my mind would remind me of who I was thinking about, he certainly was not someone who would let anything happen to him. He made it clear who he was and what he was capable of. So I worry nothing about him.

Still it felt weird to be here without him, it was his house and I was used to have his presence around. Hands even been that long and I was so deep in a nest of snakes.

I had shaken hands with the devil before now it was time to dance with him, the only thing that kept wondering with worry in my mind was how no one would tell me anything.

The few maids in the house wouldn’t even say a word to me, the guards around the mansion acted like I was invisible.

I had no one here.

It felt just like I was back at the station once again, no one would tell me anything because I wasn’t a detective yet. Just a mere office worker for them, I couldn’t tell anything to Namjoon because he wouldn’t understand.

He grew up in a completely different world then mine, he didn’t know how hard it was to try to grow your career in a police station especially when you are a woman, no matter how good I was or my scores in the academy they still viewed me as weak and fragile.

I thought that if I worked harder they would notice me, but that only got me more work and less acknowledgement.

My view for them has changed also, now that I knew how corrupted they are. They were nothing but mere trash to me. Walking garbage.

My days here were the same, day after day ever since Yoongi left I was completely alone in this mansion. The only exception being the presence of the house keeper and the very few employees that helped her.

Another two days had went by without any news from Yoongi, I don’t know if I should’ve been grateful for that or worried.

Tha was until I heard a loud noise from downstairs, I was goin to bed since it was half past ten already but the noise caught me off guard. I quickly turned to fallow it and see what was that about.

The moment I saw his face I couldn’t hold myself anymore, first thing I notice I was rushing towards him. No second thoughts in my head as I closed my arms around Yoongis neck. For a while he didn’t move, I could feel how his body was stiff under my arms.

- what are you doing? - he said. His words were like a bucket of cold water.

Of course it would be like this, what was I even thinking in that moment. Is not like I missed him.

- I’m just checking if you got any holes in you… - I pull away, staring up at his eyes.

- you think I’d be that careless? - he chuckled - it was all playful banter…

He didn’t seem one bit concerned or stressed, almost as if he went to a trip and not to fix a problem. He came back in a complete different mood then he left. Was i wrong then? Did Namjoon not went with his plan for Busan?

- not that I care about what you do… but next time send a message?

- I’ll remember that for the next time… - he says as he walks up the stairs, without looking back.

I scoffed, of course. Criminals and their cold blooded hearts, i only grew more suspicious. Exactly what happened in Busan?

I decide to fallow him up stairs, not really sure why. It felt so natural, waiting for him to come home and being in his presence after not seeing him for days.

I enter his office after him, watching as he lights a cigarette and sits down behind his desk.

- You seem off… more then usual… - I cross my arms over my chest as I observe him.

For some there wouldn’t be a way to see it, but he was different tonight. I could see it by how he used his left hand to light his cigarette, he never did that and he kept avoiding having to use his right hand. He didn’t meet my eyes ever since he came back, he’d always stare at me so deep as if sweeping inside my soul.

It was odd how he looked serious now, not intense serious but cold, so cold.

He paused for a second, looking around before he glance at me with irritation clear in his eyes.

- Does it concern you ? - He replied, his voice low and sharp.

He took a long drag from his cigar, the smoke spilling past his lips in a steady stream.

- I was busy with work - He muttered simply, the corner of his lips quirking up into an almost mocking smirk.

-it was just an observation…- I say, at that point I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anything and I couldn’t blame him. If I was him, I wouldn’t either.

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Is that so ?” He mused, his eyes boring into you.

- How observant of you - he sneered, his gaze now locked on mine. - as always…

He visibly tensed, his hand clenching around his cigar for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied you carefully. He let out a huff, his expression still stoic, but his eyes almost seemed to soften slightly.

- i have a meeting tomorrow… - He finally says - you’ll accompany me so go to bed, is late already.

Part of me wanted to stay, to talk to him but I knew better. Besides how tense and angry he was in that moment he still manage a bit of softness to tell me to go rest it was tiny, but it was there and that weighted so much more to me then I ever thought it was possible.

With no further do, i turn to leave his office but he pulls me back. Fingers circling around my wrist.

I look back at him surprised for a second, that surely was unusual.

- don’t leave yet…- he says, looking away from me.

- do you need to tell me something more? - I questioned, crossing my arms.

- don’t… - he mumbled, frowning as he stared at the desk in front of him - don’t sleep on your room tonight.

I could almost feel the thumping of my heart in my chest the moment he said those words, as if on cue my entire body burns with excitement but I try to hold back from the possibility.

- and were should I sleep? - I mumbled, my voice almost a whisper.

- with me.

I gasped the moment he pulls me closer by the waist, pressing our bodies together as his hands slide down my back at my hips.

- you should sleep with me tonight…

I stared into his eyes looking for something, anything that could tell me what was going inside his mind. He’s been hot and cold ever since he came back from Busan, keeping secrets and acting as if nothing happened even though I couldn’t tell that there was more to it then he was letting me know. Now as i stood so close to him, feeling the warmth of his skin and his heart beat through his chest. How his eyes seemed to falter ever so slightly, i knew it.

Something did happen.

But neither he could tell how he felt.

[…]

I couldn’t tell if I had actually slept, it felt as if I only blinked my eyes and when I open it was morning already.

Going to bed with him last night felt so odd and i could tell it was for him too, because we weren’t enveloped by the blinding desire or our needs. It was more intimate then we’ve been to each other, we both spent a night together only by each other’s arms and suddenly it didn’t felt like i was in bed with Agust d, that was Yoongi. When i woke up he was already up.

This time I had breakfast with Yoongi and seeing him across from the table as the light reflected on his face was a sight for sore eyes, how the sun iluminated every line of his face making him look much softer even with the scar over his eye. He looked so domestic in that moment that I almost forgot I was looking at a criminal. Almost.

Looks can surely be deceiving - i thought as i sipped my coffee, watching him from across the table.

We haven’t spoken a word to each other since last night, none of us tried to make small conversation. We just kept going as if everything was normal. It felt unreal and yet so comforting, it still amazed me how natural we could act together at times like this at this point I didn’t know if he was the insane person or me.

Oddly enough we did everything together, from breakfast to picking each other’s clothes for today, to lunch and eventually getting ready in his room for the meeting.

I was confused, it was writing all over my face and anyone could tell. Even he could as we got ready in his bathroom, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him as i did my make up.

- that’s rude… - he said as he fixed his sleeves - you’re staring.

- that’s audacious coming from you - put the lipstick own.

We didn’t said anything after that but I couldn’t forget how he laughed at that, for the first time it was a genuine laugh.

As i found myself beside him on his car, Hoseok - as he called jack when we got in the car - drove us to our destination and I couldn’t understand how he wouldn’t just tell me what this all was about, even after making me come all the way with him.

What was this meeting about? Why he needed me there?

- I have something for you…- he said for the first time since we left the house.

- yes? - I turned to look at him.

He takes my hand, palm facing up before placing a silver collar with a butterfly on it.

- I saw you wearing one like this when I first meet you… - he says as if it was nothing.

I looked at him in utter shock, i was aware that he was perceptive of everything around him I just never knew I was included in that perception as well. He had notice such small detail about me from so long ago, I couldn’t hide my surprise - more like utter shock.

- don’t think too much of it… you can wear it or throw it away - he says, his tone was nonchalant, but i could still see his lingering gaze on the necklace every now and then.

- I never thought you were one to give gifts…

- humph… i told you not to think much of it - he looks over the window as i stare at him with a grin.

- my bad… help me put it on? - i say leaning closer to his side, watching as he looks at me suspiciously.

His eyes lock into mine sharply, almost like a cat eyeing a mouse before he scoffed and leaned closer to me with a smirk on his lips. He takes the necklace from my hand, and turn my back for him holding my hair up as he places the jewelry around my neck. For a split moment his cold finges slowly brush against my neck making me almost shrink at the sudden touch. I could hear his south breathing behind me, his breath hitting the back of my back exposed by the dress i wore. Once i could tell the necklace was closed around my neck i let go my hair, but before i could move away he pulls on my arm making me stop on my tracks.

- what? - i say in almost a whisper, feeling my cheeks heat up for letting him know how he had affected me in that moment.

- don’t move… - he says behind me, his breathing hitting my shoulder as he leans even closer.

I could feel my face heating up and body shivering, suddenly feeling like a tiger was about to jump over me from behind. He pulls my hair to the side, his touch almost soothing and like a predator hunting its pray he was the best at distracting before attacking.

I gasped when he suddenly grips my neck pushing his body against mine as he circles his right arm around my waist.

- you do have a beautiful neck… - he whispers in my ear - you know what i like the most about you, y/n?

- no… - i swallowed hard, knowing him this could either end really good or bad.

- your strength… - he grips my neck tighter, forcing me to look only ahead but still not enough to cut my air, just enough to apply the needed pressure to keep me in his claws. - you almost look weak but when i push the right buttons you never hesitate to pull the trigger, such an interesting puppet you are y/n. I want you beside me.

- i thought i already was… you trying to make it seem I’m choosing to work for you just to mess with me - i grip his writs pulling his hand off my neck - i was always a pawn on your games, i will stay beside you but not like the others.

- good… - he gives me small smile letting go of me- I’d hate to get bored of you so soon.

I couldn’t decipher him at all. He only acted however he saw fit in any situation, I couldn’t understand him at all but one thing i knew - he did know which buttons to push to make me go mad in both good and bad ways.

The car son comes to a stop in front of a luxury building, the name Golden Star shined bright in cursive words on top of it. A few sports cars were parked in front of it and i watched as a men walks out of a Ferrari in a tuxedo with a woman wearing a bright silver dress, completely exuding luxury head to toe. Suddenly i felt a bit self conscious of picking my doctor martins as shoes with the dress i wore, it never bothered me before in Paradise because people there weren’t always dressed so sophisticated like that but now that i look at it. I should’ve have put more effort into it.

Yoongi takes my hand placing around his arm as he guides me inside the building, the place was something I’ve only ever saw in movies. As we walk past the entrance we stop at the entering hall, in the middle of two big stairs was a red velvet curtain leading to entry of the cassino. I only ever heard about this place on the news, the hotel and cassino Golden Star. Even the air here felt more rich than outside.

- master Yoongi - a men dressed in a tuxedo approaches us, his name tag read Alfred. - mister Wuhan hasn’t arrived yet but he left the room ready for you in advance, but if you wish to entertain yourself at the cassino till his arrival I’ll guide you there.

- want to see the cassino? - Yoongi suddenly whispered to me.

- what? - i looked at him surprised, i didn’t expect he would take that into consideration and mostly i didn’t understand why he would.

- it might take some time… won’t you indulge into some fun before the real meeting starts? - he grins, glint shining in his eyes mischievously.

- honestly… it doesn’t catch my interest.

It truly didn’t, games in cassino were never something I found interest in partaking. If ever, i might felt curious now that they were so close to my reach but i was more inclined into watching it seeing how it worked rather than playing.

- we’ll go straight to the room - he says to Alfred.

- Very well master - Alfred smiles softly - this way, please.

We fallow Alfred up the long stairs, into a long corridor till we stop at a double black door. The men uses a black card on the digital lock, i notice the three golden letters on it “VIP” in golden cursive. As the door opens were soon met with glass window wall ahead with golden curtains hanging from above on each corner. The floor and the walls where black but the floor had a marble effect with gold and gray, in the center of the room was a L couch in velvet black as well as a red glass coffee table in the center and a mini bar on the right with a tv above it on the wall.

The decoration wasn’t what surprised me but who was sitting there, all blissful and shirt half opened.

- oh there you are… Agust d and miss bodyguard… - Jimin looks at us over his lashes, taking a sip of a red drink on his right hand and having a hard time with the straw. Clearly he was already drunk.

- i thought you stoped with this…. - Yoongi says, walking over the opposite couch and sitting down already taking a cigarette and his lighter to smoke.

- i did but… Wuhan offered a good deal so I couldn’t say no - Jimin mumbles, for a moment i try not to jump to conclusions but I couldn’t help but wonder what business he had here, especially with the men Yoongi was supposed to met.

- take a sit.. - Yoongi says to me, blowing the smoke into the air - have your fill…

He motions with his head towards the mini bar filled with all different types of alcohol bottles.

- I’m not one to drink actually - i cross my arms, taking a cigarette at sit at the corner of the couch.

- why? Can’t handle your alcohol? - he smirks, his tone full of sarcasm.

- no i just get tired from drinking, besides… as your pawn shouldn’t i stay sober? - i arch my eyebrow as i look at him.

- touché… - he blows the smoke into my direction.

- did you two fight? - Jimin leans closer to me - y/n! Since you’re here give me some attention, hum?

He blinked slowly as he stares at me, still leaning closer to my side. Although i doubt he was doing on purpose and not just falling at this point. It could be considered a crime how blissfully beautiful he looked now, perhaps the lingering innocence he managed to keep while still having a sexy appeal was what made him impossible to resist. The combo of always saying the right words as if he coated each one with honey could be added to the list of things that made him powerful, with no doubt i was sure he could have anyone he wanted with just a few words.

But i wasn’t like others, i could still see under that mask he wore, different then Yoongi i could read Jimin with ease because that was who he was, he never tried to hide his intentions and desires. Being like that was who he was, and being himself with the wrong people was what made him weak and easy to take advantage off. Knowing that I couldn’t just look at him as some sexy guy in front of me, i felt more… worried.

- i’ll give you some then…- i smiled softly, taking the glass from his hand i pick a bottle of water from the coffee table opening for him and putting a straw in it, i hold it up for him to drink.

At first he only stares at me with a pout on his lips before reluctantly drink the water, i hear a chuckle behind me and i look at Yoongi over my shoulder.

- you’re picking strays like that? - he teases.

- shut up… I’d do the same for you… - I mumble.

- you wouldn’t.

His assertion was final, it was truth. I would never do the same for him because he would never put himself into such situations, Yoongi didn’t need anyone to take care of him he was just that capable of living by himself. Knowing exactly every step to take to get where he wanted and never falling into the temptations of getting wasted as it would only take away his focus and control. Perhaps now I could actually get a little bit inside his mind after all, that thought brought a smile to my face for some reason.

I spend the next moments taking care of Jimin, making sure he eat an apple from the fruit plate in the middle of the coffee table that at first I thought was fake, and making sure he drinks water until he’s at least bit sober.

Jimin was a baby when drunk, I took those mental notes as he nuzzled on my neck and pouted the entire time.

If it wasn’t for the moment someone called him over he would probably still be on my lap like a puppy.

- Thank you miss body guard… thanks to you I can walk down the stairs without breaking a bone - he smiled at me before walking out the privet room.

I chuckled to myself as I saw him leaving.

- you’re quite the sweetheart adopting strays… - yoongi mumble.

- you seem jealous? - I retorted.

- me? Of that? - he scoffed, while pouring another glass of whiskey for himself.

He looked at me for a moment wordlessly, his gaze boring into mine. He slides closer to my side, until i almost feel his body heat against mine.

- Maybe you’re just trying to get a reaction out of me, - he added, voice lowering to a deep murmur as he holds his eyes still firmly on mine.

- And if I want a reaction, which do I get? - I stare back at his eyes firmly.

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he took another drag from his cigar, a plume of smoke billowing around his face.

-Maybe you should find out, -he replied, his voice lowering to a deep murmur. He was leaning so close now I could feel the heat from his body, the scent of cigar smoke filling my lungs and the whiskey on his breath.

He let the moment drag on, his eyes never leaving mine. After a few moments of silence, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he holds my chin to face him.

- You’re playing a dangerous game, - he murmured, almost to himself.

- you’ve been sitting here watching, playing fool but I want you… - I stare back at him.

A low growl escaped his lips and in one swift move, he had me backed up against the couch, his body pressed close to mine, hands on each side of my head, trapping me under him.

- You’re playing with fire…. - he whispered against my ear, his voice a low murmur. - we shouldn’t do this game now… I’m working here.

I froze for moment, his eyes meeting mine with a longing and fire I never seen before. I could feel my body heat rise, my chest moving up and down as I breathed and the loud thump of my own heart beat in my ears.

- You don’t know what you’re asking for, - he said quietly, his voice almost hoarse. - teasing me like this before my meeting….

- Why? Afraid someone might walk in? - I mumbled, breathing heavily as I looked from his eyes to his lips.

I could see how he tensed slightly, his eyes darting to the door.

- I’m not afraid of anything, - he snapped, his voice a little gruff. He leaned in closer to my face, his gaze intense. - But if someone were to walk in, what would they see? How much… would be off by then?

He slides his hand under the skirt of the dress, tracing up my thigh and pulling over his hip.

His hand clenched around my thigh, the tension between you both growing.

- You want to do this here? - He asked quietly, his voice gruff. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against the skin of my neck.

- You set my body on fire… is only fair you take care of it.

- I might just do something we’ll both regret. - he murmured, his voice low and rough.

- I never thought you’d be one to restrain yourself?

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and let out a mocking little huff.

- You really think you can tease me, don’t you? - He asked, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur.

Before i could respond, he suddenly pressed his body against me, his lips claiming mine in a harsh, intense kiss.

- Mmmh… - I circle my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.

His lips met with mine hungrily, body pressing against mine and hands gripping my thighs in bruising grip. He didn’t hold back, making me ache even more for his touch, giving in to the desire i had been holding back for so long. One of his hands gripped my hip as the other slides over my side and chest, giving it a tight squeeze before sliding up my neck grabbing a fistful of my hair. I moan into his mouth, arching my back, he let out a low, guttural, possessive growl against your mouth.

He tilts my head to the side, with a pull on my hair trailing his lips down my neck, leaving rough kisses as he went. I was a mess under him as he continued to bite and suck on the sensitive skin, gripping his shoulders as I felt him leave a long lick over my pulse.

- Do you have any idea what you do to me?- He whispered against my skin, his voice rough and ragged sending shivers down my spine.

- Ahhh… I could think of… a few things… - I mumble breathlessly.

He thinks I can still speak right now?

He let out a mocking little huff, his breath hot against my neck.

- Oh really? - He asked, his lips hovering over your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. - You seem confident, huh?

- shut up…

He lets out a dark laugh, his hand tightening in your hair.

- Is that what you want? - he presses another harsh nip at my neck. - For me to shut up?

He tugged on my hair again, pulling my head back further, exposing more of my neck completely to himself. His lips trail wet kisses along my skin, nibbling gently on my collarbones.

He lets go of my hair, hand trailing down the curve of my body to my hip, squeezing the flesh in a tight grip.

I could feel his smirk against my skin, his fingers gripping into my hip tighter as he pushed his body even more against mine, pressing his hips into mine.

- Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me all of a sudden? - he murmured, his tone almost mocking.

- Shut up… you know what I want…

- I know what you want - he murmured, his voice low and rough. He leaned in, his lips ghosting against my earlobe so softly I could feel my body giving in all restraints - But I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it, all the things I wanted him to do to me in that moment. All the lewd things that clouded my mind and the ways I wanted him to take me. For a split second I was back at reality, we shouldn’t be doing this now. Anyone could enter the room, but heaving him so close after heaving a taste was not helping my mind make a single right thought.

So I didn’t say anything and just pulled him into a fervently kiss.

He groans against my lips, almost caught of guard as i pull him but quickly, his hand is gripping my hip even tighter as he regains controls once more. His body is pressed even more into mine, his other hand grabbing a fistful of my hair, as his lips move against mine hungrily, desperately as if he couldn’t get enough of it and so couldn’t I.

His tongue delves into my mouth, tasting, dominating the kiss in a brutal sort of way. He was restless, pushing and pressing his body flush against mine, his arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds against my core pulling my leg over his hip.

I groan into his mouth, pulling on his hair making him moan into the kiss, his hand yanking on your hair slightly as I bite his bottom lip. He was so demanding and fierce, It turned me on even more, and i could feel the fire inside me burning hotter with each second. I needed him desperately.

He pulls away from the kiss, nipping at my lip, and moves back to kiss along the side of my neck again, this time with a little more teeth, as if to leave his own mark on me.

- You’re driving me crazy… - he murmurs against your throat, his voice rough.

He lets out another low chuckle, as he continues to kiss along your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, leaving behind little marks as his hands roam all of my body.

I stare up at his eyes, holding him closer. I wanted to stay in that moment forever but before I could even open my lips to say anything, the sound of a knock on the door stopped us.

He froze, his eyes snapping towards the door, his expression dark. He was breathing heavily, holding me even tighter, obviously angry to be interrupted at this moment.

- He’s here… - Jack voice says from the other side of the door.

The men Yoongi was supposed to meet arrived. What a timing.

Once he registered that he was quick to let go of me, sitting upright while he fixed his shirt.

Now it was time for business, for Agust d to show up.

- I’m gonna fix myself in the bathroom… - I say as I get up.

- yeah… don’t take too long though - he mumbles already taking another cigar from his pocket.

Once I exit the room I release a breathe I didn’t even knew I was holding, my body still tingled from the after effects of his touches and I couldn’t think of anything else but us.

I no longer felt ashamed from wanting more, for the first time I’ve been with Yoongi I only wanted more of him. I didn’t had to worry about people finding out at work because I no longer belonged to that life.

As I walk to the ladies room, I look back at the corridor seeing as a men with white hair walks into the room Yoongi was. He had two bodyguards with him and Jimin by his side, clinching his arm like an intimate friend. So that’s what he does - I thought.

I didn’t wanted to go back now, so I took my time in the bathroom. Splashing some cold water on my hands so i can wet my neck, trying my best to keep my body in control.

For some reason I had a bad feeling about this meeting. I couldn’t put my mind into what it was, but something felt odd. I felt like I saw that men with the white hair before, was it something at the station about him, perhaps, but I couldn’t put my mind to it.

With one last look at the mirror I exit the bathroom, walking back to the VIP room. From afar I notice the two body guards weren’t by the door anymore, making me stop immediately at my tracks. This didn’t seem right, as I reach for the door handle I hear a groan from behind the door and my heart jumps in my chest - Yoongi!

I gasped as a hand grabs me from behind pressing a cloth over my mouth and nose, the strong smell of chemicals immediately hits me making my nose burn. I try my hardest to pull away but the men holds me tightly against a wall, my mind was beginning to feel hazy and I knew what would happen then.

I was getting kidnapped.

What a damn timing.

[…]

It felt like I was hit by a car, my head was so heavy it took my longer to open my eyes then to wake up. I regretted immediately after once a sharp pain hit through my head, when I tried to move I felt my wrists and feet tied to the chair.

All the sounds around me were distant muffled voices, my head was spinning and I couldn’t speak.

- oi! Wake up doll…

- oh… gods… you guys are ugly - i groaned, looking up at the two men.

I’m so fucked now, how did i even got in this situation?

- ahh damn you Agust D!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Authors note: Call me the queen of cliff hanger endings because I’m about to push you all, jokes aside i bet you all thought i left right? And i did… for some time, but I’m back to finish this up for you all. Also sorry for any errors and mistakes. You better give this chapter a heart! Love you all and happy new year!

Tag list; @catlove83 @passionandsuga @crystallizedtime @cuntessaiii @rosquilleta @fatmaortiz @wobblewobble822 @mygdday @coralmusicblaze @whipwhoops @glosstwn @i-have-no-life-charlie @kooslilhoe @tarahardcore @manuosorio @thvlover @missroro @btspurplesky @i-am-invisible-for-you @celticcountrygal @fairywriter-oracle @m4gg13-g @unadulteratedlyunique @anaspectoflife @younhakim29 @nochookiee @strxwbloody @yoongislatinagff @pandafuriosa60 @kimsonlyluv @sukonsukuna @amariemoore @starrlo0ver @effielumiere @lovelgirl22 @baechugff @poochieshooky @seonghwaexile @xyahrinx

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #jimin x reader #bts au #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi series #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfic #min yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n

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coopersmilkshake · 9 months ago

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Million Dollar Man (Ghoul Cooper Howard x wasteland reader)

Part One of Million Dollar Man

Summary: A girl born of the wastelands finds an unlikely partnership in a man who still follows a shadow of himself… And though being in love was in your cards, it wasn’t in his. But you know what they say, you don’t know what you have lost until it’s gone.

You were raised in the wastelands.

Used to the scorching heat of the sun, the lack of water and the bitter chill of the night air, but you weren’t miserable because you had them, your family. Wonderful and chaotic as they were. They were your home and gave you a reason to wake up. They were there until one day… They weren’t. Taken from you by the cruelty of the desert lands, by men who wore metal with a fake code of honor.

And for the first time in your life… You were alone.

You trudged through the sands, dragging your feet, face fallen and life barely clinging to your hollow shell. You felt as lost as the tumbleweeds that rolled from the warm breeze.

You thought you would be on your own forever and then suddenly you weren’t.

You haven’t know him for long, Cooper Howard he called himself. His radiating red skin and puppy eyes that could do some damage if he stared long enough. You didn’t even think he liked your company, as unannounced in his life as you were.

“You… You saved me.” The words came out in a form of confusion and awe. Your shirt was ripped down your shoulder and blood dripped from your nose, “Why?”

“You told him no, that’s word alone is enough sweetheart.” He replied and then he was gone, walking out of town, his spurs clicking with every step.

You followed after him with no thought and only the clinging feeling of hope in someone that wasn’t as cruel as the dessert.

“Why you followin me?” He never looked back, you never even realized he knew you were following him. You thought you were being careful. Apparently not.

“You’re a bounty hunter.” You spoke, not slowing down in your pace.

“Do you have work for me then?” He stopped walking and turned to face you.

Heat rose to your cheeks, “No but—“

He raised his non existent eyebrow, “Look here sweetheart, you look about one short dime away from kickin the bucket.” He stated as a matter of fact, “Why don’t you go die somewhere else.”

“I… I want you to mentor me.” You spoke quickly, “I want to be a bounty hunter like you.”

He laughed at that, a forced and gruff one as he shook his head at the absurd idea, “No.”

“Please—“ You pleaded, “I’m not a child. I can hold my own weight. And I’m good at scavenging for things. I can be useful to you.”

He cut you off with a scoff, “You’d do better as someone’s pretty wife. Now scram.”

“But—” You pulled out your last resort, “I have caps. You can have them all, please.” You held out a hefty bag of caps in his direction, “Please.” Your hope was dwindling but you refused to give up. You needed to learn how to be strong on your own and becoming a bounty hunter will help you do just that.

His defeated sigh gave you the answer that you needed.

And so never did scram, years later you were still clinging to him like a lost puppy. At least that was how he referred to you, a lost kicked puppy. A reckless and softhearted woman he spent most of his nights in bed with for the past three years.

“Your hat… Have you always had it?” You words were as soft as the low crackling of fire against the setting sun. You had stolen the cowboy’s hat hours ago and wore it proudly on your head. It was a feeling that you would take to your grave, but you thought wearing his precious hat meant that you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you… You hoped at least.

Cooper grunted his answer, a short nod as he stoked the fire. You became a good bounty hunter with time, albeit a little clumsy and short sighted at most, you were a good shot and you watched his back. Something that he hasn’t had in over two hundred years.

You moved to sit in his lap in hopes to get his mind off of whatever he has be thinking about for the past hour, “It looks good on you.” That brought a smirk to his face, something that you inwardly congratulated yourself for, “But you would look good in anything… Or without.” You mumbled softly as you brushed your lips against his.

He pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you like a starving man in the dessert, something that he was very familiar with. As he kissed you, he took his hat back and placed it on his head.

You hummed happily as you pulled back from his intense kiss, “What are you thinking about cowboy?”

“Nothin you need to worry yourself with darlin.” He replied in the seductive drawl of his. It always had your knees shaking when he dropped his voice down a notch.

You hummed decided not to press him about it. He will tell you when he’s ready. Instead, you pressed light kisses all over his face, a perk that you have been able to get away with recently… Another win under your belt.

“Well, I have been doing some thinking recently.” You spoke lightly.

“That ain’t good.” He teased moving his lips to your neck.

“Oh hush.” You smacked his chest lightly causing him to grin.

“I’ve been thinking about your age and I think I figured it out.” You mused wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with the back of his collared shirt.

A soft chuckle left his lips as he pulled back and placed his hands on your hips, “Really now? And what did ya figure out darlin?”

“Your mannerisms gave it away over time.” You peered up at him with a smile, “You act tough and violent, but you weren’t raised that way.” You explained with a thoughtful look on your face, “It’s in your eyes really, they become soft when you think no one is watching you…” You held his cheek and gently traced his cheek bone with your thumb, “Your gentle and you still care about things, I would like to hope that would include me because you are all that I care about.” You chuckled as you moved your hands to the top button of his shirt, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before until I met you all those years ago.”

You didn’t notice the way his head tilted down to hide his darkening expression, “But I am pretty confident in my deduction skills that you were here before the bombs. Before this place turned into a wasteland… I bet it was beautiful then with colors and life when there were such things as meadows…” You muttered as you traced your fingers lightly over the exposed skin on his chest. He didn’t speak up, but that was something you were used to. He was always the quiet one while you talked his ear off.

“Why I bet you were a million dollar man.” You joked with a lovesick smile, “But I hope one day that we could find a place like that to settle down.” You rant about the daydreams you’ve been having lately, “Maybe we could find and raise these birds I saw in a book about farms once… I think they were called chickens? I would love to live that life with you because I love you.” You giggled lightly in thought as you waited for him to speak, “But I’m right aren’t I? About your age?” You smiled waiting for him to join in on your little dreams.

You didn’t expect the rough shove that sent you crashing into the ground beside him. Your head had hit against one of the stones on the ground cause you to gasp in pain as you stared up at the stars confused and hurt. Had you gone too far? Did you offend him somehow?

“Coop?” Your head spun as you carefully looked towards him, “I… Didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing?” He asked, his accent twinged with a hint of disgust.

You flinched at his harsh tone. You slowly sat up and rubbed rubbed the back of your head, “What?”

“You really thought it was a good idea to spill all that shit onto me?” He scoffed.

“I don’t understand? It was just a thought… We don’t have to raise chickens…” You spoke timidly wondering if he may have had a farm in his life before…

“It’s not about the damn chickens!” His voice boomed and you sucked in a breathe.

You felt lost, not sure where everything had went wrong. He was fine just a second ago, “Did I… Say something wrong? I know we haven’t verbally said I love you, but we’ve been together for so long, I just couldn’t help but say it because I—”

You yelped as he dragged you to him by the ankle. He was on you in an instant, hovering over you as he wrapped his large hands around your throat and squeezed. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the way he looked at you with such anger. You had seen this look before to others, but never you.

“You don’t love me sweetheart.” He sneered, “And I sure as hell don’t love you.”

Well that hurt… More than you cared to admit to yourself.

“But— I do love you—” You gasped out as you struggled in his grip, “I would do anything for you… and I know you love me too! You wouldn’t fuck me if you didn’t!”

His snarky laugh made your stomach turn with unease and dread, “Honey I’ve fucked a whole lotta women for less.” He tightened his grip around your throat with a sneer, “You don’t know me.”

You clawed at his wrists as he squeezed tighter, restricting you from air, “Loved— Three years— I kno— you.”

His voice grew darker as he spoke, “You really expect me to care for you sweetheart? Settle down with what… You? To live some fucking fairytale farm life with a bunch of chickens?”

“Y-yes?” Tears sprung to your eyes at his hurtful words, “I love you.” You gasped out again trying to convince him of your truth, “Cooper please—” But he wasn’t listening to you.

You felt yourself begin to fade and a red blearing flight began to set off in your brain as you kicked him as hard as you could.

That seemed to work as he fell off of you and you sat up gasping for air as tears streamed down your face. You didn’t get much of a chance to collect yourself before he was lunging at you again with a knife gripped firmly in his hand.

Your eyes widened as you turned and tried to move, struggling to get up. Your hands clawed at the sand to get away from him, but tripping over yourself did nothing to stop the knife tearing into your leg. Your scream echoed into the dessert as you curled up into yourself when you felt him hover over you. You didn’t know what stopped him from tearing into your neck like an unhinged ghoul. Maybe it was your scream, or the tears, or the way you shook in fear. Something made him stop, something that had him hover over you as his hot breath hid your skin. It was a silent pause before he spoke.

“I have spent two hundred years looking for my family…” He admitted to you for the first time, it made your heart stop beating in your chest, “For my wife… And not even you will keep me from that.” He muttered lowly and you could feel your entire world around you fall to pieces with him, “I did want to raise chicken once.”

You hated the way he laughed at the thought, it felt cruel.

“Live my life on a farm with my daughter… With her… Not you.” He pushed himself off of you, his back turned towards the fire.

That broke you.

There was a pause that made you wish he would just end your misery now, kill you so you wouldn’t have to feel this pain any longer. You couldn’t bear the pain he was feeding you, you didn’t want to.

“You’re not her.” He spoke quietly with words that tore into your heart in two, worse than what the knife embedded in your skin had done, “And you never will be.”

You didn’t move as he got up and walked away. Your eyes just squeezed shut to avoid seeing the disgusted look he gave you earlier, a look that you never tho if he you would see on a man who you thought loved you as well... You felt… Empty. As if a part of you was ripped from your body and burned in front of your eyes. Everything you were breathed Cooper Howard and he didn’t even…

It was silent for the next hour except for the dying crackling of the fire and your sniffles as you cried. Blood flowed from your leg leaving you lightheaded with each passing minute and you knew he wouldn’t think to take care of it. Why would he? He was the one stabbed you… You never imagined that he would… Yes he was cruel and down right hideous to others, but never to you… Never like that. The feeling made you want to throw up. Your mama’s words echoed loudly in your ear like a bell. Never trust a shadow of a man.

You sat up slowly, flinching from the pain as you assessed your wound. Cooper was lying across from you, his back turned from you. He wasn’t moving and you were scared to make any more noise in case it would set him off. You took the collar of your shirt and bit down on it as you gripped the handle. You winced, groaning in pain as you swiftly tugged the knife out. It hurt, but not as much as your heart did as you struggled to clean and stitch up your wound on your own.

You had only ever tended to superficial wounds your siblings would get when they were alive, but never on yourself… Cooper always did that for you…

Your hands shook from the shocks of pain rippling through your body, but it was the last stitch that had your eyes rolling back as you hit the ground, darkness consuming your vision as you faded into a state nothing.

You never felt the faint feeling of a hand pressing gently against your leg.

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #fallout fanfic #fallout #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard angst #cooper howard x reader angst

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vikkirosko · 2 months ago

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Okay, I need something about Nightmare. To tell the truth, I basically need something on Undertale and AU, but there are no requests on this topic, so I'm doing my best

🍎 Nightmare x Reader headcanons Accused without guilt 📚

Nightmare has visited other universes. The negative emotions he found there attracted him, but one universe he was drawn to seemed strange to him. There were a lot of positive emotions, but there was a corner in which negative emotions accumulated. This piqued his curiosity and he decided to go there, ready at any moment to go back to his castle, away from such an unpleasant positive. The place he found himself in was strange. It reminded him of a castle. Stone walls, and the only weak source of light was the candle you were sitting in. You were the source of negativity in this universe, and there was enough of it for him to notice it and pay attention to you. You looked like you rarely left this gloomy, empty room, there were dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, and in principle you didn't look very well, but as soon as he appeared in the room, your gaze darted to him, even though he was hiding in the dark. The fact that you noticed him couldn't help but make him smile faintly

He asked you why you were in this room, and when he heard your voice, he frowned a little. Your voice was quiet, hoarse, as if you hadn't spoken in a very long time, but you told him, even though you needed to take breaks. You're obviously not used to talking for so long. You told him that you were locked in this room when you were a child and since then you have hardly left this room, and the only people who came to you were those who brought you food or hurt you again. Your words made him frown harder. Your story reminded him of his past. He asked you why you were locked up, but you couldn't answer his question. They never told you the clear reasons, only what you considered nonsense, like that you were cursed, that you attracted failures. It's like from the moment you were born, everyone you met thought you were bad, but no one could tell you why. The more he listened to you, the more anger burned in his chest. He hated when innocent people were being tortured, and he wasn't going to let it continue

The only thing you managed to ask him was who he was. Nightmare said he was the king of negativity, and then he disappeared. He didn't see your faint, faint smile and quiet gratitude for talking to you. You were trying to sleep again. Only in your dreams were you free. It would seem that you could accept your fate and then you might feel a little better, but you couldn't. You hated those who locked you up, even if you once considered them your loved ones. It's been too long for you to continue to have any warm feelings for them. The screams and noise outside brought you out of your slumber. You didn't know what was going on, but you sat there listening to the screams start and end. This continued until the screams finally died down. You didn't know what happened, but you weren't sure if you wanted to be found or not. Both options could have ended with your death. When the door opened, you squeezed your eyes shut because of the bright light and heard voices. Unfamiliar voices that said that, apparently, Nightmare was talking about you. One of the skeletons, and it was them, helped you get up and reach the portal through which you entered the castle of the king of negativity

You were able to see your mysterious guest better and he felt that the negativity in your soul had not gone away, but now he could use it to his advantage. Just as he took Killer, Dust, and Horror to himself, so he took you. He sensed magic in you that was fueled by the pain you had experienced throughout your life, and with proper guidance, your magic could become a powerful force. But first you had to at least start living. He assigned it to Killer, who explained to you where everything was in your new home, he told you about everything, and Nightmare watched you from the sidelines. But he didn't expect to find you in his library. You were sitting right on the floor, quietly muttering to yourself the text written in the book. It was like you were trying to figure out how to pronounce certain words. He watched your efforts for a few minutes and finally interrupted you, asking what you were doing there. You quietly told him that you would like to read the books that were in his library, if he didn't mind. Your request seemed strange, but he saw no reason to refuse it. You often began to come to the library, and Nightmare watched you, feeling satisfied with how books fascinated you, as if it were the most interesting thing you had seen in your entire life, and perhaps it really was

Every day you were filled with life. You looked better, you spoke more confidently and louder, but even when you had a smile on your lips, Nightmare felt the darkness, the negativity that settled in your soul. You couldn't get rid of it even if you wanted to, and he wouldn't let you. You were one of his confidants, you were the one who connected his life with negativity, even if you haven't fully realized it yet. He wasn't ready to admit that he saw himself in you in the past. But he didn't have anyone who could help him, but he was able to find you and now he wasn't going to let you go. But he didn't know that you were and wasn't going to leave. You were grateful to Nightmare for saving you, and you weren't going to betray him. You were bound to him until your death, and nothing could have changed that

#Dreamtale #Dreamtale x Reader #Dreamtale headcanons #Sans #Sans x Reader #Nightmare Sans #Nightmare Sans x Reader #bad sans gang #bad sanses

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igotanidea · 3 months ago

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Jingle bells: Dick Grayson x reader

Christmas bingo: carol singing

A/N: Please forgive me if I;m out of practise in writing, had quite a long break XD

***

Y/N was walking around their shared apartment, shaking her phone furiously, muttering something under her nose, completely incoherently. And while Dick had no idea what got her panties in a twist, he knew that something did and he was about to find out in style.

“What did the poor device did to you honey?”

“mhmhmm”

“oh, that’s amazing, but if you decide to speak English, it will be infinitely easier for me to understand.”

“Stupid wrapped” she hissed, barely holding back from throwing her smartphone at the wall, probably only because it was relatively new and very expensive.

“Huh? What wrapped? Who’s wrapped? I know Christmas is coming but –“

“God, Dick, I swear you are so dense sometimes!”

“Excuse me?! I’m good -looking dense, you forgot the most important part of that!”

Y/N just rolled her eyes, still tapping her phone as if she was expecting it to start popping gifts left and right.

“spotify wrapped, you fool!”

“Oh! The music one!?”

“Yeah, my yearly psych evaluation.”

“So basically you just waiting for some app to show you your fav music? Isn’t that a little-“

“Richard Grayson, don’t you dare finish that sentence!”

“Hey, I’m just saying!” Dick raised his hands in the air In surrender “you’re the one who constantly criticize people who are dependent on technology and yet, now-“

“That’s it. I’m going to start dating Jason. He and I are way more compatible when it comes to music either way.”

“That’s not true! Did you know he got Zombie by The Cranberries as his first last year?!”

“You really have to stop abusing Tim’s hacking skills.” Y/N chuckled, knowing damn well how Dick got in possession of such information.

“He offered!”

“Mhm, sure. And what did you offered in exchange?”

Dick looked down, with a hint of blush on his cheeks.

“Busted, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Nah, I’m having too much fun teasing you.”

“Teasing? Oh, honey, you think you are teasing me? While you wait for your whole-year-fav list, how about I get you in a Christmas mood and offer carol singing?”

“Carol singing? Since when do you sing at all?”

“With my angel voice it’s about time I start a successful career in the field.”

“You are insane”

“Insanely handsome?” he grinned

“No.” she deadpanned and his smile faltered for a moment, before coming back again, taking almost alarming form.

“Come on, grab your coat, we’re going carol singing.”

“What-?!”

***

She understood his plan only when he pulled the car in front of the Wayne Manor, got out of the Porche and retrieved a retro boombox set.

Too bad it was already late to stop him, though in her defense she tried.

“Dick, please tell me you are not going to-“

“JINGLE BELLS, BATMAN SMELLS!--”

“oh, dear lord…” she pulled her hat lower, covering her eyes and ears in a poor attempt to disappear

“ROBIN LAYS AN EGG!--”

“For the record, you were-“

“BATMOBILE LOST A WHEEEL—”

She groaned knowing what was coming next.

“AND JOKER GOT AWAY!”

At thins point nothing was more true for poor, half-sobbing, half-laughing Y/N when the so-called carol reached the line “where is he, I’ll murder him.” Regardless, before she could act on those deeply hidden desires, the doors to the manor opened and very angered Bruce looked at the two culprits, causing disturbances on his driveway in the middle of the night.

“I had nothing to do with it! It was all him!” She raised her hands in surrender

“Traitor!”

“Asshole!”

“Coward!”

“Child!”

“will you two stop?” Bruce muttered, his tone flat. “Damian has just discovered something called spotify wrapped and he’s been torturing me with Mozart’s requiem for the last half an hour. Apparently it’s his top1 whatever this means—”

“WHAT?! IT’S ON?! IT’S ON?! OUT OF MY WAY!”

In a blink of an eye, shoving past Bruce (and almost knocking him down) she rushed to the manor, throwing her hat, coat and scarf on the floor, retrieving her phone and calling Damian out so they could compare playlists.

Bruce and Dick just watched her with – respectively – unimpressed and amused face expressions.

“I think you should get her checked by a specialist.” Bruce muttered, as if it wasn’t Dick busting the offending Jingle Bells version a second ago.

“Yeah, what can I say, she’s a huge fan of the app.” Dick shrugged with a playful grin, knowing that this night would be very long torment for Bruce.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

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silassinclair · 11 months ago

Text

Introduction!!

Yandere Ghost x Reader

CW// Suicidal Thoughts, Paranormal Activity, Murder Mention

My other yand OC Maddox was a hit with ya’ll so here’s a short introduction of a new oc!! Hope you like him as much as I do. This is gonna be very boring because it’s an introduction but I’ll make a oneshot right after this one!!

Masterlist!!

“This key unlocks every door in the manor. Except the door to the attic for some reason, but there’s nothing of importance up there. Apparently it’s just some old junk the first owner left.” The agent said with a tight lipped smile. Her matte red lipstick was as bright as a stop sign.

Taking the key from her hand you’re surprised to feel how heavy it is. “Thank you.” You mutter.

“All the legalities are settled so she’s all yours. I recommend blasting that ivy off the side wall of the house though. The roots can mess up the brick.” The agent adds.

“Alright, I appreciate the tip.” You say and shut the door in her face, leaving you alone in your new home.

Maria was a total pain in the ass, like all people who work with selling things. Oh and for the record, you like the ivy that grows on the side of your new home. Makes it look pretty and natural. Anyways, her being gone was like a breath of fresh air. All was good now that you finally had a place to call home.

Your Grandfather died and in the will he left you his summer home in Italy. It was a grand manor that was located on a hilltop surrounded by forrest. It was perfect for your hermit self. Never in your life would you imagine leaving the states to come live in Italy but here you were. After all the manor was handed to you on a silver platter, the offer would be foolish to refuse.

There was nothing for you in the states. Your life was miserable, draining, and filled with nothing but painful repetition. Being worked like a machine and stepped on like a doormat. Having a horrid and overly possessive ex boyfriend who was a serial cheater didn’t help either. You were so close to ending your miserable existence until a woman named Maria gave you a call.

And now you were here, standing in the foyer of your new home. Some work would need to be done. Floors needed polishing, corners dusting, windows wiping. Maybe you should make a checklist?

"This is gonna be a long day.." You think to yourself.

"There she is again. She must be the new owner." I think to myself as I watch the young woman clean the floor.

The past owner, Lorenzo, must have passed away and put the ownership of the manor into this girl's hands. It has been a while since I’ve seen the old man. But did he have to put my home in the hands of some uncultured American? I find this terribly irresponsible of him, I mean look at her!

She's using a bleach based product on the hardwood! Lorenzo was a good owner of the Verona manor. He hired staff to keep it well maintained and he rarely ever visited. But this girl... she's an utter buffoon. Before she can torture the hardwood any longer I swiftly hover behind her and move the bottle a few feet away from her while she isn't looking.

"Huh?" When she reaches for the bottle she finds it has moved away. I snicker at her confused reaction.

"It was just right here..."

She reaches over and grabs it again but before she does I kick it, sending it flying across the foyer and hitting the front door.

“Any minute now she’ll run away screaming, she won’t even look back.” I think to myself with a devious grin.

But when I hover in front of her I only see an annoyed expression on her face.

“Uhm… Did I do something wrong?” She says.

I freeze, is she not afraid? Why was she talking as if she were talking to someone? Can she see me?

“I asked if I did something to upset you.”

And then her eyes move up and look right into mine. For the first time in centuries I feel as if I have ignited, that I am alive and that my heart once again beats like all other human beings.

“You… Can you see me?” I ask hesitantly, afraid that if I may speak too loudly she’ll scamper away like a mouse.

Her soft lips part slightly as she nods.

He told me his name was Dante Verona. He was the original owner of the Verona manor and he comes from an Italian royal family. But he was assassinated centuries ago in this very manor during a masquerade party. So I assume that his spirit is trapped here. He was wearing an intricate black, red, and white Venetian mask that hid his face. He wore matching black and red noble attire and his hair was a curly dark chocolate brown that went down to his neck.

Overall he was a total mystery. His entire existence was perplexing to me. Yes I do believe in the paranormal but never would I think I’d meet a real life ghost.

“I assume your grand father is Lorenzo? Has he passed on?” Dante asks, cutting through the thick silence.

I blink a few times, maybe if I blink hard enough he’ll disappear and that’ll confirm that this was all just my imagination. So I blink, but Dante’s translucent self is still hovering in front of me. The blank expression of his mask makes me slightly uneasy. I couldn’t get a read on the guy at all.

Coughing, I finally answer, “Uhm yeah… He was my grand father. He left me this manor in his will. And he didn’t mention any ghosts or anything like that.” I add.

“Lorenzo couldn’t see me. You’re the first to see me actually.” Dante says. His voice sounded smooth but the mask muffled it slightly. But he also sounded like he was in pain. I wonder how long he’s been here, trapped in this manor.

“So this whole time you were all alone?”

“Yes.” He softly replies. “Just me. Only my spirit is here.”

“That must be hard.” I say, but not in a pitying sounding way. The last thing he wants is pity probably.

Dante hovers away and I follow him into the living room. Looking up I see him hover up to the chandelier. He looks down at me, I can see his dark green irises through the black holes of the mask.

“Every day is hard. God has cursed me, rejected my entry into the heavens.” His voice cracks. "My death occurred in the very room we are in."

I look around the oriental room we are in. It has been modernized over the years, but I can imagine how it looked in his century. The masked party people, music, drinks, lies and deception. All of it in the room we are in but centuries before.

"My killer has not been found but I know they are long dead. Knowing that they burn in hell brings me peace. And I have learned to accept that I am to remain here.”

Then he rambles on about his life story. The tragedies he lived through, the friends he made and lost, wars and battles faced, and lovers went and gone. But I don't mind that this conversation is one sided. He has had no one to talk to for centuries so he deserves a listener.

"I apologize my lady. I have droned on for far too long. It's impolite..." Dante says in a dejected tone. But I reassure him.

"Y-You're okay! I understand. You haven't had someone to talk to in a long time I imagine. Besides, I found your life story very interesting."

Dante hovers down to where I'm sat on the couch. He also sits beside me. Leaning in close he tilts his masked face to the side as he comes closer to mine. I move away slightly; his body emits an eerie chill.

"Tell me about you. What is your name?" He asks, his eyes twinkle with an emotion unknown to me.

"I'm Y/n L/n. I originally lived in the United States, but I moved here as you know." I mutter. I've never been one to talk a lot anyways.

Dante looks me up and down. His fingers reach out causing me to flinch back, but he goes to touch the fabric of my black dress rather than my skin. To my surprise his fingers can touch the fabric, they don’t phase through it.

"Why do you wear black? Are you a widow? Has your husband passed on?" He asks softly.

I feel myself giggle slightly and he looks up at me with probably a confused expression.

"I've never been married silly, I'm only 23 years old.”

Dante’s emerald eyes widen. “23 and unmarried? Has the societal norm changed? Because my sister was married off to her husband when she was 16.”

I cringe physically. “Oooh yeah, lots of things have changed. But also I’m wearing black because it’s just my style. It’s called goth, it’s a music based style. I can tell you about it sometime.”

Dante looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. I can see it in his eyes.

“Ahem- Anyways. Why do you wear that mask?” I ask.

Dante breaks the eye contact and looks down at the side. “It does not come off. No matter how hard I try to remove it, it only stays. I cannot remove the clothing either.”

I nod. “Is it because it was the last thing you wore before you died?”

He nods in return.

“I assume so.”

He moves closer to me ever so slightly. His gloved hands caress my h/c locks of hair and then he brushes his fingers across my cheeks and jawline.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

Dante’s hooded eyes shine with an emotion I cannot read. But I feel like my life from this day forward will never be the same. Can the living and the dead co exist?

Dante Verona. Will we be able to share the same roof?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #obsession #yandere ghost x reader #yandere ghost #dante verona

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 9 months ago

Text

Gin Akutagawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Gin Akutagawa x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Yandere. Mentions of (accidental) stalking.

______

Becoming self-aware

_______

🔪 With self-awareness came sorrow and anger. Gin's life was a lie. Ryunosuke's life was a lie. Their world was a lie. A reflection of reality. A fantasy, that was shared with thousands of other people.

🔪 With self-awareness came new routine.

🔪First, Gin got a diary. And each page contain similar text. One page each day. Same sentences, that she wrote first thing in the morning.

"My name is Gin Akutagawa. I have an older brother, Akutagawa Ryunosuke. I am from Port Mafia. I am Battalion Leader of "Black Lizard". I was Paul Verlaine's student. I am a girl. My brother and I lived on the streets, before joining Port Mafia."

Day after day. Page after page. Same forty-four words on every page.

Gin wished, that there were more. But she can't remember anything else about her.

🔪 Days were spent patrolling. Trying to find answers, hope, a way out and other people. Tachihara was her partner during the search. And Gin could see, that normally cocky Tachihara looked lost and desperate.

🔪And, when during one of the patrols, Gin and Tachihara found out, that some people from the Government and Hunting Dogs were also self-aware, Gin saw relief in Tachihara's gaze.

🔪 Gin could ask Tachihara about his strange reaction. But choose not to. All of them were stressed out. Her brother became more ruthless. All of them worked hard. Despite everything, they can't find a way out.

🔪 And Gin tried to stay collected. Emotions won't solve anything. Dreams won't solve anything. Gin was glad, that she stopped dreaming at night.

🔪 And then, one day, Gin felt an entity's gaze on her.

____________

The first "hours" under entity's gaze felt like torture. She wanted to scream, to run, to get her hands on someone, who were watching them.

Someone, who saw their past, emotions, thoughts.

But then "night" came.

And with night came dreams.

Gin saw a person.

A normal person doing normal things. Gin could see herself doing the same things, when she was off-duty.

She saw Real World. She saw Entity.

Gin... didn't want to call them Entity anymore.

At the "morning", instead of her normal text, Gin wrote about, what she has learned during her dream.

She wanted to see one more similar dream.

Dreams came every night.

Gin learned more about real world. About Internet, news, culture, people.

Most importantly, she learned more about Their Reader. About them being happy, when they saw Gin and others. About them liking Gin and others. Everyone of them.

No hate. No sick entertainment.

Just curiosity and happiness.

Gin couldn't hate Their Reader anymore. It would be wrong.

She tried to carefully reassure others about you. She didn't want them to hurt you.

And then, time resets.

And Gin once again were getting ready to ambush ADA office.

__________

When they start feeling your presence

_________

🔪 Gin could tell, that she wasn't the only one, who had a change of heart. Something in ADA's detectives' eyes showed her, that they also came to like Their Reader.

🔪 Especially after Boss announced, that they will join forces with ADA to get to the Real World. To get to someone.

🔪 Ryunosuke also seems calmer. Gin could see, that, for some reason, he was trying to listen to something Or hear something? Someone?

🔪 Gin quickly learned, what Ryunosuke tried to do. Sometimes, Gin could hear mumbling. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was familiar.

[//////////] familiar happiness

[//////////] familiar cheering

[//////////] familiar sadness

And one day, Gin heard them clear.

In previous timeline, her brother supposed to be kidnapped. He was fine in this timeline.

In previous timeline she was supposed to sneak on Higuchi.

In this timeline she decided not to do it.

But she heard the voice. Apparently, her actions didn't change, what Reader saw.

"Gin, you are a force to be reconned with. You are so cool. Wish I can be like you."

And something soft touched her cheek.

Gin felt warm and secure.

[In reality, you pet manga page with Gin on it]

__________

🔪 After that, Gin finally could see Little Light. Floating blob of light. Your emotions. In Gin's eyes, the most perfect and treasured thing in entire Real World.

🔪 Gin started training even harder. Ryunosuke and Atsushi weren't enough to protect you. She will step up as your protector.

🔪 Time passed, more people joined their union.

But then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

_______

🔪 Gin didn't wait, before her SSR Cards became available during Limited Scout. She gifted you her cards herself.

"Okay, Gin, let's try to clean all orbs."

"Whoa! We finally finished this floor. All thanks for Gin's attack."

"I wonder if there will be a special image card for you, Gin."

🔪 Gin can't wait to get to the Real World. To know you better, to protect you, to saw everything, Real World can offer.

🔪 And she will never forget her dreams. About real world. About Reader. About their Guiding Light.

___________

You just get your daily rewards, when you got another note. Another Gin SSR card was attached to it.

"[Y/N]. Hope you are doing well. I have been thinking about having a movie night with Ryunosuke. Want to join us? I will choose movie, Ryunosuke will bring snacks. If you want to join, can you, please, bring blankets? We will wait. Gin Akutagawa."

You smiled and opened Character menu, selecting Gin's card. You pet chibi Gin.

"Great idea, Gin. Thank you for the invitation. I would love to join you and Ryunosuke."

You didn't notice, that Gin removed her mask and smiled.

#self-awarebsd #self-awareau #bungou stray dogs au #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #gin akutagawa #Self-Aware Gin Akutagawa #bsd gin #gin x reader

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aphroditelovesu · 2 years ago

Text

⸻ The Lost Queen - II ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 1,820.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 2

You were afraid.

In fact, you felt mixed emotions. Fear, dread, horror, terror.

You didn't know why the hell you were in an old military camp, let alone why you were facing one of the greatest conquerors in history. Nothing that was happening made sense and your mind tried to look for logical answers, but it was in vain.

Because nothing that was in front of you was logical.

Maybe it was a really bizarre dream, maybe you were high or drunk, but you knew better. It was real and very real.

Nothing made sense and you felt like crying and going to your mother's lap for comfort but you couldn't do that. Not while you were being held by a scarred man and the others were staring at you with curiosity and... disdain? You couldn't tell.

How did you end up there? It was your first question. Your last memory was of you in your room, reading a book about the conqueror and falling asleep. Was that book cursed? No, that was not possible. But it will be? It seemed like the only acceptable option considering the fact that you were over 2,000 years in the past.

Fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying at all costs to avoid the urge to scream and cry. That wouldn't be acceptable to do now, you needed to stay calm and try to find a solution.

''Can you speak greek?'' You blinked in surprise when one of the men addressed you. It was the one who was next to Alexander. You glanced at him lightly, why he looked familiar?

''Hephaestion, I don't think she's fine or that she even understands what we're talking about.'' One of the slightly tall men spoke up. You shifted your gaze to him when you heard him say the name.

Hephaestion.

Oh, oh.

''It doesn't hurt to ask, Ptolemy.'' Another man said. You looked at him and blushed a little. He was handsome, maybe not by 21st century beauty standards, but he was attractive. Blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

And Ptolemy? Like in Ptolemy I Soter of the Ptolemaic Dynasty?

''She could be a spy sent by the persians. I mean, just look at the way she's dressed.'' The man with dark brown hair and green eyes said, looking you up and down with disdain.

You glared at him, daring him to say one more thing about your pajamas. Yes, it wasn't the kind of clothes they wore but it suited you it was comfortable and the print had kittens!

Adorable.

But the man held your gaze and you shuddered slightly as you noted their intensity.

''Look at the way she's dressed, friends. She clearly is a whore.'' One of the men said, looking at your breasts shamelessly.

If you weren't trapped in another man's arms, you would have kicked ass.

''Whore is my hand in your face if you say another word!'' The words came out before you could stop yourself and everyone looked at you in shock and you felt like slapping yourself.

You could have feigned madness, claimed amnesia or that you couldn't speak greek and, you really didn't, but apparently the ''magic'' that brought you to this place decided not to screw you around so much.

''She has spirit!'' The man holding you laughed and you glared at him.

Finally, Alexander decided to say something.

''Bring her to my tent. I want you all there.'' Were his only words and he turned his back on you without another word, with Hephaestion following, but not before giving you one last look.

You gasped as you began to be dragged towards what appeared to be the King's tent. Several people in the camp watched you curiously as you were led away and followed by the other generals.

You were so fucked up and not the way you liked it.

Alexander didn't know what to do with himself at that moment. He didn't understand what was going on and he hated it.

There were so many questions in the King's mind and none of them were answered. But the most puzzling of them was why he felt awkward around you.

Alexander felt an unknown feeling and what it attracted to you. How a stallion was attracted to a mare in heat. Not that he was thinking about sleeping with you, no, it wasn't that but he felt weird.

It was like he already knew you and that bothered him a lot. You had never seen each other, he was sure of that, but then why did he feel that way?

He needed answers and fast. He looked at his best friend who was looking at him with concern.

''Are you alright, Alexander?'' Hephaestion's soft and warm voice rang out and the friend touched his shoulder to try to calm him down.

''I'm fine, just tired.'' He lied quickly and something told him that Hephaestion didn't believe his words.

But there was no time for questions, not when the mystery woman was led into his tent, surrounded by the curious generals. Alexander frowned, but held the pose.

He looked right at her and his mind filled with disturbing thoughts.

She was the strangest woman he had ever met in his life. She was beautiful, albeit in a different way, but what really drew him to her was the fear in her eyes, the kind of genuine dread he had only ever seen in the eyes of his enemies. And the way she was dressed… He had never seen such clothes, even in Persia.

And that attracted him.

Alexander cleared his throat before asking the question that had been on her mind since he met her, ''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?'' The King's voice was serious and authoritative and he could have sworn he saw her shudder.

The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and closed it again, avoiding Alexander's piercing gaze. It made him uncomfortable, but he could not and would not show weakness in front of anyone, let alone in front of his generals and a complete stranger.

He watched her for a few seconds and realized what made her sulk, the fact that she was still being held by Cleitus the Black.

''Let her go.'' It was a simple command but the general obeyed instantly. Alexander smiled a little when he noticed that the woman's posture visibly relaxed when she was released.

''I'll ask you one more time.'' Alexander said and moved a little closer to the woman, ''And I suggest you answer.''

She just stared at him as if she was seeing a god in front of her. Well, maybe he was a god.

''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?''

''I'm (Y/N) and I don't know how I came to be in your camp.'' She finally said it in a low voice but he could hear it loud and clear.

Alexander was stunned. (Y/N)... A name he had never heard in his life and yet it seemed to suit this woman. And when he was finally able to hear her voice again, the King found himself wishing he could hear her speak more often. She was so strange yet so endearing and Alexander found himself wanting to know everything about her and he would.

He was the King, after all, and he always got what he wanted.

"It's an unusual name. What it means?''

She shrugged, ''I don't know. I never tried to find out.''

She was so insolent and disrespectful. Did she not know who she was talking to?

A laugh was heard and Alexander glared at Nearchus, who stopped laughing at the same moment.

''Where are you from?'' Alexander asked, looking at her curiously. He had decided that she wasn't a threat, she seemed too stupid to be a threat anyway.

She thought for a moment and smiled. Alexander felt his heart skip a beat when she smiled at him.

''Uh…I come from a very, it's... a distant place.'' She said between pauses.

Alexander scoffed. She was a terrible liar, and he felt like laughing when she looked insulted when he scoffed.

''And where is this place so far away?'' He insisted.

(Y/N) glared at him.

''As far away as you could tell.''

''The name?''

If she looked angry before, she looked furious now.

''You would not understand. It's not your language.''

''Really?'' Alexander thought, ''And how come you speak my language so well?''

She paled, but recovered very quickly.

''I studied.''

Alexander hummed and decided to stop questioning her. For now. She looked tired and scared, from what he could read from her body language and something inside him told him not to disturb her anymore.

''Call the servants. Give her a tent, clothes and food.''

All of her generals looked perplexed, even Hephaestion.

Even the woman, (Y/N), looked confused.

In fact, he didn't even know why he was doing this, but he needed to make sure she was going to be alright.

It was a need that screamed inside him. The need to protect her and he didn't know why.

He needed to find out about her. Who was she, where did she come from, everything.

You were taken to a tent away from the camp and left alone.

You looked around curiously. It was a small tent but it had a small bed, which you recognized as a cot, and some candles. It was just that.

You wondered if you could freak out now, but it wasn't feasible. No, everyone could hear it and it would get you in more trouble than you already were.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You started to feel the tears in your eyes. You wanted to cry and scream and cry some more. But you couldn't. Not when you were in such a vulnerable position and you were scared.

So scared.

You were scared of everything. Fear of being tortured, dying and being abused. You noticed some soldiers looking at you with lust and it scared you so much. What would stop them from making you a booty? A toy?

Nothing.

And it was so desperate.

You sat down on the small cot and finally allowed yourself to cry, the hot tears running down your face, as you sobbed and contained your screams of frustration.

You didn't even notice the servant entering your tent and placing a plate of food beside you or the clothes that were brought for you. You didn't notice because you were so desperate and you were sinking in your fear and despair.

You needed to go. You needed to go back to the 21st century.

And you had no idea how to do it.

And just that thought made you cry even harder.

— lady l: I was going to post it tomorrow but I got some time and I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer so finally chapter 2 is here. I hope you enjoyed it, what did you think of Y/n's first interaction with Alexander and some generals? Feel free to give me your opinion. I love you all and until the next chapter!! ❤️

#history #yandere history #yandere historical characters #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #alexander the great x reader #long fic #the lost queen

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