#at the end of the day there's only one kind of dedication and loyalty they care about | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 8 months

Text

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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skylarsblue · 2 years

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Yo itz me again may I request the slashers with a yandere s/o that's like very loyal and very devoted to their slasher and then one day they are like chatting together and their s/o is like "I would do anything for you" and the slasher bf would be like "ok then stab this pencil in you eye " ofc they aren't serious they was just joking than their s /o was like " bet" straight up grabbing the pencil and almost stabbing in into their eye and then the slasher bf will stop them before it was too late

I've had this thought for a long time. Yandere Slashers are cool, but yandere reader? That's underrated. I know Danny is a DBD killer, but, he suits this concept so well that I had to add him. This took way too long and I apologize, writers block is a bitch.

(CONTENT WARNING: Unstable reader & attempted self-stabby. Some mild descriptions of what WOULD happen if Y/N wounded themselves)

Michael Myers (ANY)

He doesn’t believe you at first , he wholeheartedly doubts you’re as loyal as you say you are. Main reason being, humans have a natural want for self preservation. He is a threat to you. That’s just a fact, and he’s certain that when it comes down to it, you’ll choose your life over your loyalty to him.

So when you say “I’d do anything for you.”? He will question you, he won’t take it very seriously. Perhaps he’ll appreciate the sentiment but he’s not buying it. His doubt shows in his gaze. It’ll rise when you said you could prove it.

“Stab me.” You said clearly. And for the first time in awhile, the Shape was caught off guard. “Go on, stab me. I’ll stab myself if you want.” Michael nearly scoffs. But he humors you, certain you’d back down once you saw him encouraging it. Michael set his knife on the kitchen counter, waiting for your hesitance & anxious expression. He feels another wave of surprise when you waste no time to grab the knife. He goes rigid when you take hold of the handle and aim for your ribs, face showing nothing but determination and a strange calm. Before you can make the full motion, he catches your wrist, leaving the tip of the blade mere centimeters from your skin. Michael’s shock doesn’t show in his body, nor on his face behind his mask. But he’s astounded as you look up, doe eyed, head tilted. “Why’d you stop me?” You asked. Michael let out a breath from his nose and took the knife away. You blinked as he, awkwardly, patted your head. It was quick & unpracticed, despite the fact he’d done it before. He believed you now. Admittedly, now he was far more curious about just how far that loyalty went. For the sake of stress, however, he’d rather not find out.

Thomas Hewitt

While Thomas sometimes doubts your affections for him, it’s not the way Michael does. It’s because he’s insecure. He thinks you deserve better. But your admissions that you’re so dedicated to him, that you’d do anything for him? It makes his heart warm. He takes it seriously, but in a lighthearted way. A kind statement that you’d always be there for him.

The only people that may doubt just how dedicated you are would be his family. Charlie Hoyt in particularly. He will doubt every loving proclaim you make, assuming you just want to placate Thomas to keep your role in their house. A survival tactic. He’s taunting with it.

Hoyt chuckled at his end of the table then, looking at you sharply as you sat on the opposite end. “Aight then, why don’t’cha prove it?” He questions. You nodded. Luda Mae kept quiet but shook her head, Thomas frowned as he stood in the doorway of the dining room. Both he & Luda tensed slightly when Hoyt brought out a knife. He walked over and stopped a few few away, stabbing the blade into the table. “Take out ya eye, the left one.” Hoyt instructs, confident you’d back down. Thomas is tense but he doesn’t move. He’s come to trust your loyalty to him, but he’s certain in your natural instincts, you wouldn’t go that far. Luda sighs from her place at the table. “Cha-Hoyt, that’s really not necessary-“ The older woman is cut off as you reach for the knife’s handle. You are calm & composed as you flip it and aim the blade, taking only a second to properly align it with your left eye. Luda barely as time to gasp as the blade comes only a centimeter from your iris, but your hand is stopped by one you’d come to adore. You tilt your head back to look up at him. Thomas’s breathing is heavy as he feels adrenaline rush his veins, brown eyes wide in shock. He takes it away & places it on the table, before he narrows his gaze at Hoyt, frowning. Even Hoyt is shocked. Perhaps impressed. “I’ll be damned, maybe ya do mean it.”

Bubba Sawyer

Similar to Thomas, Bubba is more willing to believe you when you say you’d do anything for him. They’re overjoyed when you admit it. They assume the same thing as Thomas. You mean it in a sweet way, serious but not to the extent you truly mean.

Bubba may not take it as heavily as you mean it. It’s not that he doubts you, just that he takes it like anyone else would. They believe you only mean it like “I’ll always be here for you.” Now, of course, that meaning certainly fits, but it’s not quite to the level of dedication you’re actually promising.

“I mean it Bubba, I mean anything.” You clarified again. Bubba nodded and gave a sweet pig-like squeal. Nodding innocently. You smiled softly, but shook your head. “Bubba, dear, I don’t think you understand. I mean I’d cut my own hand off for you.” Bubba stopped moving for a moment. His eyes were wide, blinking in astonishment. He tilted his head. “I mean it! Here.” You took the meat cleaver off the wooden countertop. Placing your nondominant hand on the surface, eyeing where to bring the blade down. The blade didn’t come into contact with the muscle & bone of your wrist, but it came close. Bubba held your weapon wielding arm in their large hands, squealing & whining in distress. They shook their head frantically as they took the cleaver. Your words were cut off when Bubba hugged you into the plushness of his stomach & chest, patting your head & petting your hair. “Okay, okay, breathe Bubs. I’m fine. I just needed you to understand just how far I’d go for you.” You reassured, patting his back. They whined and nuzzled their face into the top of your head. You continued gently hushing him until he calmed down.

Bo Sinclair

Bo’s probably more suspicious of you towards the beginning of your stay in Ambrose. Understandably, of course. You waltzed into a town where two twins turned people into wax statues. It’s not a common thing to accept. He wasn’t very trusting to begin with, even if those circumstances weren’t present.

While he’s come to like you, he will still have a paranoia about you calling the police, or perhaps trying to hurt one of them. There’s a voice in his head that insists no one would love him that much. To ignore murder? He’s certain you’re just going with what he wants in order to stay alive. That thought often haunts him when he realizes how much he likes you. Bo’s not shy about telling you either.

Bo scoffed & shook his head. You’d been there about four months & he still didn’t believe you, no matter how many times you told him of your loyalty. You knew why. Bo was a guarded man, thanks to a shitty childhood, it was completely understandable that he’d doubt every person who he came across. It became clear that your words weren’t getting through. “I mean it, Bo. I told you! I don’t plan on leaving or ratting you out, I love it here! I’d do anything for you!” You insisted for the millionth time. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Fuckin’ prove it then.” He challenged. You stared at him. He watched your gaze narrow in determination, calm despite everything. He rose an eyebrow when you turned to the counter top. Reaching for a pair of kitchen sheers. Bo’s face turned to confusion when you grabbed it, holding it steady. “Pick a part.” You said. “What?” “Pick a part of me. Anything.” You clarified. Bo was beyond confused at this point. He shook his head as he thought of an answer, deciding to pick what he liked most about your face. “I dunno, your mouth?” “My lips or my tongue?” Bo huffed. “Fuckin’, tongue I guess? What does this have to do wit’ provin’ yourself?” His question became choked at the end when you grabbed the end of your tongue and opened the dirty blades. Adrenaline jolting his extremities as you went to place your tongue between the blades, only to have the hand holding the scissors to be pulled away. “The hell ya doin’?! Are you fuckin’ crazy?!” He insisted. Your other hand dropped as you stared at him calmly. “I told you. I’d do anything for you.” Bo’s was visibly taken aback. He let out a breath and took the scissors from your hand. “Do you believe me now?” Your question made him look over your face again, scanning the peace in your features. “Yeah...yeah I believe ya.” He muttered.

Vincent Sinclair

While Vincent’s not as hostile about his doubts in your loyalty as Bo, he still questions you. There’s a part of him more willing to believe you’ll stay, though there’s a bigger portion of their brain that insists you’re only trying to survive. They dread the day you’ll slip up and it will end up one of two ways. You’ll manage to successfully leave, tell everyone about what happens in Ambrose, and their brother & themselves will end up rotting in prison. Or perhaps die in a police shoot out. The second option is that they’ll catch you before you can, and Vincent will have to silence you in wax.

Still, when you proclaim you’d do anything for them, they love to hear it. Even if it’s hard to believe you. Vincent wishes he could just take the declaration & be happy with it, not doubt your every move. The more you do to prove it to him, the more guilty he feels for doubting you. Perhaps that’s why you felt it was best to shock them into believing you.

Vincent leaned slightly to allow you to push his hair out out his masked face. “I’d do anything for you.” You whispered, you’d said the same thing at least six times a week. You could see their eye gaze at you past the socket in their mask. There was softness to his gaze but it was mixed with uncertainty. You sighed. “You still don’t believe me.” He almost flinches at it, you know he can’t help it though. “What can I do to make you believe me?” Vincent shook his head. There wasn’t anything more you could do, you did so much for them, it wasn’t you at all. He knew full well it was himself. You huffed a breath, looking around the basement. You caught sight of a knife on the table next to you. You reached for it, making him jolt. They watched you in confusion, the tip of the blade pointed at them. “I’ll prove it to you.” You stated. Vincent’s confusion turned to surprise when you flipped the blade towards you, aiming for the eye. Their breath caught in their throat and their hands rushed forward. Your gaze unfocused from the shiny blade only a millimeter from your cornea, looking at Vincent again. His chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. You allowed them to take the knife and place it on the table again, pulling you to his chest. They let out a shaky exhale. They rarely spoke, but when they did, it was deep, raspy, & unpracticed. “I believe you.”

Lester Sinclair

Lester’s probably the most willing to believe you when you say you’d do anything for him. He might even delusion himself in thinking you mean it more seriously than you do. Jokes on him though, he doesn’t need to convince himself of anything! Because you do mean it that seriously.

Lester’s not going to ask you to confirm or prove it. He’ll be grateful that you’re around to begin with. However, he may occasionally ask what it is about him that makes you want to stay. These are days where his insecurities weigh a bit heavier on his shoulders than usual. Lester was often ignored/emotionally neglected by his parents when he didn’t measure up, and while he’s become a bit better at coping, he still sometimes wonders if it’s something wrong with him.

You frowned and turned around, drying your hands from the dishes you were doing. Bo & Vincent always used a massive amount of plates when they visited Lester. Who, currently, sat at the little table in the kitchen. Fiddling with the edge of his stained flannel. “What?” You asked. “Just like...why would ya choose me to stick with, that’s all. I mean, why me?” The man asked softly. Your chest clenched in sympathy. You set the dish towel down and turned to him fully, stepping over. “Lester, I’ve told you this before.” You replied. “No no, I know, I was just...wonderin’.” He shrugged, nervously tipping down his hat. You sighed. You turned and slid a knife from the knife block, freshly cleaned. Lester didn’t see it happen, he looked at the floor until you walked back towards him. “Do I need to prove how far I’d go for you?” You asked. Lester swallowed and shook his head, he looked up and jolted at the sight of the knife. “Well you don’t seem to believe me. I have no issue showing you.” You said as you set your hand on the table’s surface. “Hey now, what’re ya-” Lester cut himself off when you rose the blade. Nearly sending it through the back of your palm. That was, had he not stopped you. The chair slid loudly on the tile from the force of him getting up. “Whoa whoa! Don’t do that!” He insisted. You turned to look at him, setting the knife on the table as he looked over your face with wide eyes. He blinked in awe as your took his face in your hands. “Lester, when I said I’d do anything for you, I meant it. Now quit questioning yourself, okay?” You asked. The blue eyed man swallowed and nodded. “Alright, I believe ya. Just...please don’t go stabbin’ ya’self.” He said softly. You smiled and turned to peck his cheekbone. “Only cause you asked, sugar.”

Jason Voorhees

Jason values loyalty above a lot of things. Almost everything, really. He’s not likely to show you any doubt he may have, because once he trusts you enough not to kill you, he’ll feel guilty for when he doesn’t believe you. The more effort you make, the less & less he’ll wonder your sincerity.

Still, he’s been tricked before. There are times where he’ll recall these moments & wonder if you plan to do the same thing. That you’ll try to slip away from him when he’s distracted by trespassers. There’s a voice in the back of Jason’s head telling him that he’ll come back to an empty cabin, that it’s only a matter of time that he’ll need to do away with you. And he fears that day immensely.

Jason stood in front of you in the cabin. He’d rushed home after taking care of some intruders, only to have a bit of a panic when he couldn’t immediately find you. You’d been taking a bath, but rushed out when you heard his boot steps turn into running. Hearing frantic searching in the rooms. You barely had time to dry your hair, an inconvenient time to try and have a wash day. Jason settled down a bit when he saw you. But you knew immediately what he had been thinking, the thought making you sad. “Jason, honey, I told you this. I’m not going to just up and leave you.” He looked to the floor, a bit ashamed, but you could still sense his uncertainty. You looked around and caught sight of his machete, stabbed into the floorboards, covered in blood. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove to you that I’d do anything for you, okay?” You said as you went over to the blade, pulling it out of the floor. Jason tensed as he watched you wrap your hand around the handle. It looked so strange in your hands, so much smaller than his. He jolted visibly when you rested your hand on the small table in the room, trying to get a decent grip on the machete, a bit of an awkward angle. You set sights on the space where your fingers connected to your palm, spreading them out, gaging the position in which the blade would land. Wanting to make the cleanest sever possible. As you tensed your forearm, bringing the blade down, you expected to feel the searing pain and gush of blood from your digits. Instead, there was a dirtied glove stopping the weapon from falling. You looked up at him, seeing his one working eye wide and worried, blue irises staring down at you. He quickly took his machete back and set it down, pulling you tight to his chest. You looked up at him after settling your arms around his thick torso. “I mean it when I say it, baby. I’d do anything you want or need, okay? Stop worrying so much. I’m not going anywhere.” You said softly, smiling sweetly, as if you hadn’t just tried to cut off your fingers. Jason exhaled and nodded, petting your hair.

Danny Johnson

If any of these slashers would work well with a yandere-esc partner, it’s Danny. While Jed is the suburban sweetheart, bringing you flowers & offering you coffee dates, Danny is willing to paint the town red for his lover. Both acts are genuine. They both express how he really feels for you, but one is more open, more honest to his true nature. If you know about his...”hobby”, then they’ll be more inclined to believe you. You’ve reached that point of trust with him. Now, if you say this around Jed, before you know about Ghostface? He’ll doubt you more.

That being said, they has every reason to doubt you. Not only does he have some major abandonment issues. You can thank their mother for that. On top of that, he has issues being vulnerable. That, you can thank his peers and father for. And lastly, he’s a murderer, one motivated only by his sick desire to hurt others. While he doesn’t have any desire to harm you (in a non-sexy way), they know that their temper can be frightening. And when at it’s worst, he knows it can seem directed at you. Deep down, Danny is certain you’ll leave him eventually, because he doesn’t deserve you. As narcissistic as they can be, they think you’re too good for him.

You frowned as you looked at Jed’s cheekbone, seeing a darkening bruise that laid there, splotchy broken blood capillaries adding to the few imperfections to his face. He spoke to you with his charming grin anyway, straight white teeth exposed as he chuckled while telling a story. He flinched slightly when you reached your hand out, tracing the mark gently. Jed blinked before he gave a little smile, standing up fully, rather than leaning against your kitchen counter top. He slid the coffee mug away from him. “Who hit you?” You asked, voice soft. He noted a strange glint in your gaze. “No one, just got smacked with a door.” He said. You shook your head, frowning. “Someone hit you, who?” “Why does it matter, doll?” Jed replied lightheartedly. You shifted your gaze to make eye contact. “You do remember the time I said I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” The brunet man tilted his head slightly, he nodded though. “Yeah, but I don’t see what that has to do with this.” He said. “You don’t think I’m being serious?” You asked. Jed chuckled again, rolling his shoulders. “You make it sound like you’re gonna find this person and kill them.” He fought the urge to laugh at his own little joke. Your face remained calm and determined. You lowered your hand and stepped away from him, reaching for something in the sink. Jed’s shoulders tensed when he saw the glint of a blade, watching you turn, peaceful and concise as you looked at him. “Clearly, you don’t believe me. So I’ll show you.” His brows furrowed as you flipped the handle of the blade, only to feel a shock of surprise when you aligned the tip of the knife to your cornea. It happened so fast he barely had time to reach over the island to grab your wrist, the edge of the knife only millimeters from blinding yourself. You looked up at him. Jed looked between you and the knife, before he let out a breathy chuckle, smile twitching onto his face. “Jeez doll. Alright, I believe you...no need to go stabbing yourself.” He said softly. You let yourself set the knife down. Unbeknownst to you, Jed concocted a plan in his mind, wondering if he could really let you in on his hobby. You seemed dedicated enough. He smiled at the thought.

Billy Lenz

Billy’s gonna love hearing it, that’s for sure. It’ll get excited when you say it, it’ll probably send a lotta blood below the belt. Billy loves hearing your dedication to him, though it doesn’t think too much of it.

Whenever you say that you’d do anything for him, he’ll take it at face value, even if it makes him rather giddy. Having you show it will make him feel rather clingy, he’s not sure what he did to deserve having you be so sure of your adoration for it. But Billy certainly isn’t complaining.

Billy hugged your waist tightly, burrowing his face into your chest. He’d been peppering you with questions after your proclamation that you’d do anything for it. A large grin across its face. “Yes, Billy, I’d give up my money for you.” You said fondly, petting his hair. Billy squirmed before looking up at you. “Would...would you, would you st-tab yourself for me?” He questioned. You tilted your head, knowing the question wasn’t really that serious, still, you smiled. “Why of course I would. Where would you want me too?” You asked, recalling the switch blade that always rested in your pillow case. Ironically to protect yourself from intruders like Billy itself. The brunet man hummed, giggling a bit, he hadn’t been completely lucid the past two days but you didn’t seem to mind much. “Your uh...your hand!” It slurred. You shifted and reached behind you, feeling around in the pillowcase of the pillow you rested on. Billy tensed a bit when you revealed the handle, pressing the switch to send the shiny & sharpened blade up. Green-hazel eyes watching the knife with cat-like curiosity, pupils wide. “Alright then. Hand it is.” You took your other hand off his shoulder and held it up, open palm, taking the other and gripping the knife. Before the blade could enter the center of your hand, Billy’s hand blocked your wrist. It looked at you owlishly, blinking in awe. You rose an eyebrow. “You don’t want me to?” It shook its head slowly. You put the knife on your bedside table, letting your hands fall back into Billy’s hair as he leaned against you again, looking up at you. “Believe me now?” You asked lightheartedly. Billy nodded, relaxing again when you began petting his hair. “Cutie...” You cooed softly.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms expects this of you, but for some reason, he doubts you constantly. Believing you’ll eventually try to leave him, and to be fair, everyone else before you did. Brahms isn’t exactly used to people meaning what they say when it comes to loyalty.

Most of the time, he’s grateful that you say it. It brings him some peace, makes him feel more content that you mean what you say, that you’ll stay with him. However, there are some days and some events that tend to make Brahms inconsolable. These tend to be things like phone calls from old friends/family or when the grocery boy shows up. (We’ll use Malcom for an example). It’s times like these where Brahms becomes certain that you’ll leave him for whatever reason. Maybe because you miss your old life or because Malcom managed to charm his way into your heart. Even when you reassure him, he doubts you.

Brahms kept his arms crossed and his gaze at the floor as you both stood in the kitchen. “Brahms, I mean it, I promise Malcom is not going to steal me from you! He has to deliver the groceries and I have to be here to accept them. Even if he flirts with me, I swear to you, I don’t flirt back.” You said. You’d been trying to reassure him for the past twenty minutes, nothing seemed to be working. You sighed and approached him. He flinched away from your attempt to rest your hands on his cardigan-covered arms. “Brahmsy, I mean it. I’d do anything for you.” You whispered to him sweetly. Brahms turned his head to look at you, green eyes sharp as they looked past the sockets of his mask. “Prove it.” His voice wasn’t childlike this time, deep and demanding. You sighed again. “Alright, I will.” You said with a single nod, turning to walk away from him. He stared into your back as you grabbed a knife from the knife block. His face twitched in confusion for a moment as you turned to have him. His pupils shrank as you aimed it at your face. Brahms’ arms uncrossed and his hands twitched as you ensured it was lined up properly. He had to dive a few feet, moving quickly. He pulled your arm down, keeping the blade from coming anywhere near your face. You looked at him and heard him breathing shakily behind his mask, adrenaline lowering just as quickly as it had risen. You took a breath and set the knife on the kitchen table, turning to hold his face in your hands. “When I said I’d do anything for you, I mean it, Brahms. And I need you to stop doubting me on that. Okay, baby?” You asked. Brahms swallowed and slowly nodded, brown curls falling over his forehead. You gave a smile and pecked the porcelain cheek. “Good boy. Now, your lessons are supposed to be happening, so let’s get you to the piano.”

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pix3lplays · 4 months

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Argenti also came home for me today too!! Congrats on getting him :) sending you a request for Argenti x reader - maybe where you saved his life and now he’s honour-bound to protect you/pay you back and finds himself falling in love with you as you travel across the universe together?

Okay, I like this! And thank you! My goodness I’ve been working on requests but it’s still been. Like. A month since I got this one, so…sorry!

Alright!

Let’s do it!

So I know we’ve seen that picture of the supposed One and Only, but idk I feel like it should be a big spaceship so that’s what I’m going with.

-Argenti: Honor-bound-

You wouldn’t have really considered it…saving his life…but the Knight seemed to think he was honor-bound to protect you, until he has saved your life, or repaid his debt by staying by your side for…well he said a time frame but to be honest you don’t remember what he said, and at this point you didn’t want to ask.

Maybe it would’ve been okay…if he wasn’t so…eccentric.

He’s very glued to your side. Literally as soon as you’re up and about aboard the One and Only he’s by your side, helping you get ready for the day. A.K.A. just following you around as you bumble through your morning routine, and doing stuff for you.

Of course you don’t really Want him to feel duty-bound to make you your coffee in the morning, among other various things he does for you throughout your day, but at this point you’re so used to it, and any argument you might raise is quickly shut down…

If there’s one word to describe Argenti it would probably be ‘insistent’. He’s insistent. Insistent you let him stay right by your side, accompanying you wherever you may go, whether that’s the grocery store, the movie theater, the park…doesn’t matter. He’ll go with you. To keep you safe. To protect you from all harm. To ensure you are happy and healthy. That’s his job as your loyal Knight of Beauty.

He’s kind of like a bodyguard when you think about it…

At first he thinks it’s just immense loyalty that he feels for you. Not love. It couldn’t be love. He’s already dedicated to Idrila…there shouldn’t be room in his heart for another.

And yet here you were, the two of you together…it’s becoming harder and harder to know what in the Universe it is that he’s feeling.

I think he’d know deep down that what he was feeling was affection…love…for you. He has this genuine belief that he can’t be with you because of his loyalty to Idrila.

So he just denies. Pushes it down. Tells himself that it’s for the best this way, that he was just your companion, never your lover. That was how it had to be.

The two of you remain travel companions, him undeniably loyal to you, looking for his chance to repay his debt to you.

But then the day comes.

He saves you from the Swarm. His debt is repaid. So why does it hurt his heart to see you packing your things aboard the One and Only, ready to go back to your old life?

The man even helps you pack, his heart aching at the thought of never seeing you again, the thought of no longer being your loyal knight, the thought of losing you.

You made it to your home planet.

You’re walking down the ramp with your suitcases, not able to look back at him. If he wants you to stay, he has to say it first. That was the rule you made for yourself. You didn’t want to be a burden to him.

“Y/n,” you finally hear once you reach the end of the ramp.

You let go of your suitcases, turn around, wondering if this was it, if the Knight of Beauty was finally going to tell you what you needed to hear.

He opens his mouth, shuts it again. You watch him change what he decides to say.

“Safe travels, my dear.”

Not exactly what you had in mind, but not the worst thing he could’ve said.

You run back up the ramp, wrapping your arms around the Knight and burying your cheek against the cool steel of his chest plate.

“I’m…I’m not ready to go…” is all you say, holding onto him tight, then feeling the sensation of him wrapping his arms around you, carefully, like he was afraid you were a delicate object that would break if he held on too tight.

Even Argenti knows what you’re saying. You want to stay with him. Stay by his side for at least a little bit longer. And how could he turn you away?

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Argenti #Argenti x reader #Hsr Argenti x reader #honkai star rail Argenti x reader

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akashababy · 5 months

Text

Iroh II x Y/N: A Wholesome Love Story

Not that many people making stuff about him so here this one of my favorite character😁😁

Once upon a time, in the beautiful Fire Nation, there was a handsome and kind-hearted prince named Iroh II. He was known for his gentle nature and was beloved by all who knew him. The people admired him for his compassion and strong leadership, and he was destined to be the next Fire Lord.

One sunny day, Iroh II was taking a stroll in the royal gardens when he came across a lovely and intelligent young woman. She was the Y/N, a scholar, and an advisor to the royal family. The moment their eyes met, there was an instant connection between them.

As they spent more time together, Iroh II found himself falling for the Y/N’s quick wit and warm heart. He admired her for her dedication to her work and her unwavering loyalty to the Fire Nation. Y/N, in turn, was drawn to Iroh II's humility and genuine interest in her thoughts and ideas.

Their romance blossomed slowly, like the gentle flames of a hearth. They would sneak secret moments together in the palace gardens, sharing their dreams and aspirations. It was clear to everyone around them that they were meant to be together.

As their love grew, Iroh II and the Y/N stood by each other through thick and thin. They faced challenges and obstacles, but their love only grew stronger with each trial. Together, they worked to make the Fire Nation a better place for all its citizens, embracing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

In the end, Iroh II and the Y/N ruled the Fire Nation with wisdom and compassion, their love serving as a beacon of hope for their people. Their love story became a legendary tale, remembered for generations to come as a symbol of true love and devotion in the Fire Nation.

#iroh ii x reader #legend of korra #iroh ii #x reader #female reader #drabble #atla #avatar the last airbender x reader #legend of korra x reader #x fem!reader #fluff #Iroh ii fluff

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sonorousabyss · 1 year

Note

Can i maybe get a xiao or tsukasa male reader x hashiras if your doing requests or dont mind T_T

Hashiras x Male! Xiao Reader

AN: Thank you for the request Swivy! I'm not sure what format you wanted the post in or who Tsukasa is so I settled for the Xiao reader concept and some of the Hashira that I'm more familiar with!

Request: Yes Summary: Rengoku, Tengen, Sanemi, and Shinobu's thoughts on a male reader with Xiao's general attitude/Personality. Reader uses some derivative of wind breathing because Xiao and Anemo go hand-in-hand. Warnings: N/A

Kyojuro Rengoku

Does not understand M/N at all, but doesn't let it phase him either.

What do you mean you want to stay away from the other demon slayers? Karmic Dept? Such nonsense! Just come with him and you'll make friends in no time at all! Kyojuro knows just how to help!

He met M/N by pure happenstance, passing through a village shortly after nightfall. The H/C-haired man was dueling with a demon not too far from the outskirts- and doing just fine by the Hashira's standards.

M/N ripped through the sick creature with clear and concise strikes, showcasing great skill in his breathing form as he jumped around the demon he was fighting, dodging attacks and almost seeming to dance in the air as he counterattacked, leaving gashes quicker than the beast could regenerate. Then, with one swipe? It was over. The head was sent toppling to the ground, and the body along with it.

Rengoku could only beam at him and clap as he approached, congratulating M/N on a job well done. He didn't notice the apprehension in his body language at all as he set his hand on the smaller man's shoulder, a giant grin on his face.

He'd already been impressed at the show of strength from such a young-looking member of the force, but to learn that this was the 5th demon he'd had to deal with in the past few days? The sheer dedication was astounding.

M/N did not appreciate this in the slightest and was blunt in stating so. Rengoku might've toned down on the physical contact that made him uncomfortable but didn't do the same for his volume or enthusiasm, much to his subordinate's chagrin.

This kept up well into the future as M/N climbed the ranks, with the Hashira asking about his exploits and how his missions had been going.

More than a few times he ended up comparing his breathing style to Sanemi's thanks to the wind aspect, which M/N could quite frankly do without. Couldn't the kind and energetic blond just leave him alone? He didn't want his karma to rub off on him. For demon slayers, dying was an occupational hazard. He'd hate to see such a skilled swordsman perish because he got too close.

Their relationship appeared to get better once the blond discovered M/N's love for almond tofu, which he proceeded to use to bribe him into coming out to eat with him. Things slowly progressed from there, and M/N became fairly comfortable with hanging out with Rengoku. He even stopped protesting! How shocking!

Missions with him were even more interesting, considering their respective fighting styles. By the time their bond of trust had developed, Kyojuro needed only to say his name and M/N would be at his side, hand on the hilt of his blade and ready to shed some blood.

Loyalty and consistency, as it appears, seem to go a long way. Even if his loud voice does tend to hurt his ears.

Tengen Uzui

Tengen... well let's just say he also had a favorable impression of M/N thanks to his fighting techniques.

Leaping into the air and plunging down, striking his enemy with such determination and impeccable form? Dodging quickly and dashing about like he weighed nothing at all? He had to say that his fighting style wasn't half bad. Even a tad flashy.

Of course, there's no way he could ever hope to rival a god such as himself, though... if he were to become his tsugoku...

Not in a million years. Or at least, that's the attitude M/N is rolling with. If Rengoku seemed pushy before, Tengen was going to be an entirely different story.

Rengoku... well... He means well, even if things don't register immediately. The Sound Hashira though? You could tell him to put you down when he's got you over his shoulder and he wouldn't hesitate to not follow that request. He's a whole different level of deliberate stubbornness.

Of course, it's not like he doesn't have his sweet side. He can be downright delightful if you get to know him in the right circumstances. It's just that M/N was never particularly interested in getting to know said sweet side.

Every moment spent in close contact with that man he either witnessed or experienced something disturbing against his will... not that his sense of disturbing was particularly normal, anyway.

For that reason (among several others) the man, though good at killing demons, tends to get on M/N's nerves.

M/N prefers to keep things more on the business side with Tengen. He has an immense respect for the technique and skill he harnesses with his blades in the war against demons. He's an impeccable Hashira, and a reliable comrade to fight alongside. In fact, it's not just him that's impressive. His wives are as well. And- his...mice?

Don't get M/N started on the mice.

They certainly have personality, but they're just one thing on the list of things he didn't know he didn't want to see until he saw them.

How did he even get them that buff?

What is he feeding them?

Is it edible?

Is it almond tofu?

He was hesitant about the wives (and their more affectionate and kind nature) until he tasted their cooking. M/N didn't know something could rival his favorite dish until he had it. Food is also how Tengen bribes him into staying around.

M/N tries to avoid these occasions as much as physically possible, despite how much the food tempts him. Uzui's wives were good people, and he didn't want to risk tainting them with his karma.

Uzui was debatable. He wouldn't mind seeing the man get knocked around by a demon just a little bit in combat to make up for the times he tried to get M/N to embrace a flashier lifestyle. But his wives? Nah.

Sure, they're perfectly capable of self-defense and would put up a good fight against him... but still. Too precious.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

No.

Absolutely not.

Don't get me wrong, Sanemi is strong as hell and good at killing demons, and they might have similar mindsets on things in a certain respect- *cough cough* demons being horrendous creatures that must be dealt with *cough cough*- but the firey ball of anger is just too unpleasant to be around.

Quite frankly Sanemi returns the sentiment.

As cold, distant, and aloof as M/N is, Sanemi isn't looking to befriend him in the slightest, and the same goes in the other direction.

Just because they're wind users and operate in the same corps doesn't mean they need to be buddy-buddy, and they are cool keeping their distance.

M/N is more or less neutral in Sanemi's respect. He'd take almost any other Hashira over him if they were in it for the long haul in terms of missions. In public it's always going to be strictly professional. Very much a "respect is there, but no feelings are attached" type of scenario.

Until M/N climbs the ranks and get's Hashira status, Sanemi is just a capable superior and a benchmark to surpass.

I wouldn't say the respect is returned, but eh. Does it really matter?

Kocho Shinobu

She's by far one of the only Hashira he's comfortable around.

While the others on this list are generally too physically or emotionally present or looking for connection, it's just so easy to be around Kocho and keep things how he's comfortable with them being.

She's level-headed, quiet, clear, and concise, impeccable in the medical field, is well accomplished in a fairly unique style of combat in comparison to the other Hashira, and so much more.

She doesn't need size or brute force to earn others' respect, fear, or admiration. She's just uniquely her... and disturbingly intimidating, in an uncanny valley sort of way.

M/N is of the opinion that if he had to work under any of the Hashira, or at least work with any of the Hashira, she'd be the one he'd want to work under. He trusts her judgment.

Given his occupation, he's likely gotten injured and had to deal with her and those working under her plenty of times as he perfected his combat style, so he knows better than to disobey the doctor's orders.

He doesn't need to look at her face to understand her intent and genuine feelings. He just knows.

Shinobu, I feel, doesn't exactly dislike him either. She's dealt with enough "interesting" types that I get the feeling she can read him fairly well too.

Streamlined. Respect. Loyalty. And Communication.

That is their bond in a nutshell.

They both also have an amusing habit of just.. popping up out of nowhere and startling people, so I think she's gotten a laugh out of that.

Patients have now become aware of the fact that if you're at her place, you now have to watch out for more than just the doc.

I like to think of this place as M/N's Wangshu Inn equivalent. Just a place he chills out playing distant from other people, waiting for the next orders from the top.

M/N also has impeccable hearing, which makes it much easier for him to appear when called.

He's more than likely been ordered to help with rehabilitation training for patients during the times he stays around too long. He doesn't offer up many objections.

AN: If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it! Apologies if I didn't get all the Hashira you might have wanted. I hope I did this somewhat justice?

May your day be as pleasant as the ocean's abyss is deep.

For those who are new here, I take requests. You can find my rules here.

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coffee-430 · 10 months

Note

congrats on 100 followers!!! can I request no.12 from your event with sub!zhongli and fem reader?

—100 Followers Event!

No. 12: "Yes, that's right! Use me as you please— use me and only me!" With Yandere Zhongli

Character: Zhongli

Warnings: yandere themes, non-consensual touching, obsessive behaviour, drugging, double penetration, Zhongli being whipped in love but not in a good way, mentions of blood, rape

Note: Reader is fem as requested.

You were a kind-hearted and friendly individual, always open to making new acquaintances.

One sunny afternoon, while walking through the park, you crossed paths with a man named Zhongli, as you accidentally bumped into the man.

Apologetic, you offered your hand to help him up, unknowingly setting the wheels of destiny in motion. He seemed charming and charismatic, and your casual conversation quickly turned into a friendly encounter.

Unbeknownst to you, Zhongli had been secretly infatuated with you for quite some time. He had meticulously planned his approach, carefully crafting his words and actions to win your trust. Zhongli knew that patience was key— as he was a patient man himself— and he gradually manipulated your emotions, subtly pushing you to rely on him more and more.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself spending more time with Zhongli. You would meet for tea, go on long walks together, and have deep conversations about life or anything in general.

You, unknowingly falling into his trap, became increasingly dependent on his presence. Your other relationships began to wither away as the brunet strategically distanced you from friends and family.

However, as time went on, a subtle unease began to creep into your heart.

You couldn't put your finger on it, but something felt off about your friendship with the charming man.

You started noticing how he would manipulate situations to his advantage, subtly controlling your decisions and molding your thoughts. Your instincts told you that this was not how true friendship should be.

One evening, as you sat alone in her dimly lit room, you reflected on your life.

The walls seemed to close in on you, and a sense of suffocation enveloped you. You realized the depth of your mistake and understood the true nature of your relationship with Zhongli. It was a prison of manipulation and dependence, and you felt trapped with no way out.

In a desperate attempt to escape, you confronted and pleaded with Zhongli, begging him to release you from his clutches. But instead of granting your freedom, he simply laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

He smiled at you, amber coloured eyes glinted and it did not ease you one bit. "My dear, there is no need for the outside world. You have me, I will cater to you."

He placed a hand on your shoulder— an attempt to comfort you, to reassure you that you don't need anyone else. "I pledge you my unwavering loyalty, my everlasting love, and my unyielding service. I will shield and fight for you— your protector and accomplice. Simply use me and I shall dedicate my existence towards fulfilling your every desire."

With those haunting words, you understood that there would be no happy ending for you. You had unknowingly become entangled in a web of deceit, from which there was no escape. You was trapped with Zhongli, isolated from the rest of the world, forever.

You felt so broken that day, your mind so numb that you didn't even notice how he slowly led you to his bed, whispering in your ear softly. "Let me show you just how far I'm willing to do things for you."

And that was when you quickly snapped back from your trance and stared at him in shock. "N-No! I don't want that—!" You tried to yank yourself back from his grip, but naturally, he was stronger than you.

He grabbed both your wrists and pushed you on to the bed, he held your wrists above your head. Pinning you down, preventing you from moving as you helplessly struggled.

"Wait— no, please! Zhongli, don't do this!"

"Shh, my dear. It will be alright, just let me prove it to you."

The next thing you know, your clothes were ripped off from you and you screamed in fright, but was silenced when he crashed his lips upon you. You squirmed, eyes slowly brimming with tears.

"You have no idea what you do to me." A soft whine left his lips— surprising you.

He took your arm and he guided your hand to feel the bulged forming on his pants. He whimpered at the sight of your shocked state, a red hue dusting his cheeks. "This what you do to me, my love." Words that sound so sickeningly sweet came out of this serpent's tongue.

Grinding his hips against the palm of your hand. Purring and whining at the sense of your touch. "You drive me mad." He huffed, "I need you now."

He then pulled away, ripping off his own clothes, his hand never letting go of his hold on you.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his size, and he has not one— but two. A squeal left you as you began to panic. "Please! Don't do this! L-Let me go!"

The man on top of you merely kissed your tears away, he continued to shush you— his free hand began venturing to your lower parts. You gasped and tried to close your legs, but his form prevented you from doing that.

His hand then found themselves on your core, slowly rubbing your clit.

"Mmh—" You let out a surprised sound, eyes widening and your tears formed again. He played your cunt and gradually he smirked.

"You're wet already." He hummed, placing a kiss on top of your head, as if rewarding you for the moistness between your legs. "S-Stop..." You weakly pleaded, but your words fell on deaf ears.

He then slowly began to position himself properly in front of you, spreading your wetness down to your other hole. A squeal came out when you felt his finger enter your hole.

"—!" Crying, you begged. "Z-Zhongli... Please don't..."

"Hush, my dear, you'll soon come to love this." The brunet leaned closer and captured your lips once more. Inserting his tongue whilst feeling every inch of your wet cavern.

Soon, he pulled out his finger and with one hand, he began to align his cocks on each of your holes. "Soon, it'll just be you and I."

"—?!"

You gasped at the sensation. He slowly entered and every moment of it felt like he was trying to tear you apart. Screaming, you whimpered and squirmed.

Zhongli let out a low intermittent sob, feeling your walls clenching around him so tightly. "Ngh, s-so tight." He spoke with gritted teeth, continuing to push inside you even further.

Once he was full in, he paused to take a breather, almost wanting to bottom out.

But your peace didn't last long when he suddenly pounded into you without a warning. "Ah—!" You screamed in pain, closing your eyes tightly— and you were so sure you were bleeding down there.

Your eyes rolled back as he slammed inside like there was no tomorrow. The room was filled with pornographic sounds, both yours and his. Arching your back, it earned you a small smirk from him.

"See? I told you you'll love this." He panted in your ear, amber coloured eyes gazing down at you with a mixture of love and madness.

"Use me just like this." He begged, a small whine coming from him, "Use me for your pleasure— ah~"

His breath fanned against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "I am the only one you need."

It didn't take long for the Geo Archon to move inside you at an animalistic pace, sending you all the way to ecstasy.

"Yes, that's right! Use me as you please— use me and only me!" He cried, panting whilst abusing your insides. You were now left into a mere moaning slut, gasping and whimpering at every slam of his hips.

It felt good, but it made you so sick.

You didn't want this. If you had known everything would come to this, you wouldn't have interacted with such a man— if he was even considered as one.

"Z-Zhongli...!" You whined, feeling yourself getting close.

"Mh, let it out, dear. Just let it out." He breath, his pace going harder and faster than before. "Cum together with me, my love— please..."

He continued his relentless thrusts, amber eyes rolling back from the intensity of being inside you. Each movement hitting deep within you and driving you closer to the edge. His sounds of submissive pleasure match yours as he revels in the tightness and warmth that surrounded him.

"Mmgh—!"

Your body shakes as you experience an orgasm. Seeing you so defenseless and giving up touches off a voracious appetite inside him.

With one final thrust, the brunet succumbed to his own peak of pleasure. He grunted loudly as he spilled himself deep inside you, marking you with the evidence of his possession.

As the waves subside and your bodies gradually turned normal against each other, Zhongli leaned down to press a soft kiss against your trembling lips.

"You're mine." He whispered, "All mine..."

Letting go of his hold on you, he pushed himself inside you, making you squeal at the sensitivity of your body. Your walls clenching made him softly hiss, blushing profusely at the warmth you emitted.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, humming softly. "Never ever leave me, my love."

Days turned into months, months into years, as you lived in your personal prison. Your spirit withered, your hopes faded, and your dreams dissolved into dust. The once vibrant and independent woman had become a mere shadow of your former self.

You resigned to living your life within the twisted confines of his affection, as your attempts to break free have failed.

No happy ending awaited you— the one who had unknowingly befriended a monster, for you were doomed to endure an endless nightmare with no hope of escape.

#co430event!#co430requests #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #thank you so much for 100 followers!

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snuggleboots · 5 months

Text

have a word-salad kisame drabble thrown together while i was ugly crying over my fav mitski playlist :' ) *blasts my love is all mine on repeat x 1000*

tags: canon character death, canon character x reader,

kisame is less of an 'i'm going to make you mine' and more of an 'i want you to make me yours' man

always to a cause has he been dedicated, always to the aspirations of those higher on the chain than himself has his life been devoted.

he wants little and has nothing; even his sword, the gluttonous behemoth of gnashing teeth and merciless scales forged to rip and shred, could one day find its fill of his chakra and rebuke him for another.

his body, his power, and his life have never been his to declare dominion.

and belonging is something life has always deprived him of. to a friend, a team - or even something so small as a warm body that wanted him anything other than fighting or dead.

grandiose confessions and flowery words are two of many things that exist beyond the realm of his ability. never could he be a man who whispers heartfelt declarations of love and light, but he is a man who could devote himself to you.

his blade, his blood, his body, to his last breath.

only if you choose him.

the words 'i love you' may never fall like honey from his lips - but in the sanctum of the sun's waning light on a sodden, bloodied battlefield his brow could find its home against your own, the ghost of affection unfamiliar twined in his words when he offers himself in his entirety to you.

'let me be yours' is just as much a promise as it is a claim, spoken uncertainly and in feigned jest, through a sawtooth grin that always follows a battle hard-won.

heart pounding and lungs pitching their protest in the dry burn of every breath drawn, he is a man that lays his life like a token at your feet; if only you promise his fealty is kept true in the iron of your loyalty, and unyielding in your times of need.

never will you be his, not by his own word, because nothing in life that belonged to him has survived safe or untainted by the blood pouring like wine from his leger.

kisame wasn't born a monster, he doesn't know why he bites. death and bloodshed only found him young, and never has he been able to find its exit. too late is it now for him to ever hope for an end found in quiet or peace.

so in this world of manipulation and hypocrisy, please, let him belong to the lone pillar of sincerity that he has come to know as you. let his faith, his trust, his life belong to something more kind than the monster that became his namesake.

just so he might be able to - in what time he has left - drag his war-weary bones back to the first person that ever felt like a home, and wrap that someone so precious in his body, like a fortress impenetrable by all that might hope to harm you.

in this life, short and cruel, let the last memories his dying neurons fire be that born from the gentle warmth of your loving compassion for a man so unworthy and broken.

let him die knowing that, in this life, the love you shared was the one thing that belonged completely and entirely to him.

#kisame #kisame x reader #akatsuki #akatsuki x reader #naruto #writing tag #reader insert #can you tell i watched a kisame compilation and binged a bunch of mitski directly after?#can you tell i still have Big Feelings about kisame's death?#lifehack: when ur sad just write sad rambling abt ur fictional babies

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miquella-everywhere · 27 days

Text

So I wrote a small little fic about Malenia addressing her newly anointed Cleanrot Knights.

Feel free to read it if you'd like lol

Finlay along with the rest of her comrades stands before Malenia, Blade of Miquella, in the Haligtree City of Elphael. They all stand at attention before their General, their leader, and for many of them, their personal trainer to which they owe their fighting skills as Knights.

Today is a special day, a commemoration of sorts, the Haligtree grows strong and the divine trees first bloom of scarlet flowers fills the air, with dancing crimson petals and golden leaves blessing all those who stand in its gentle rain, and in particular, making the Demigod Malenia look strikingly sacred.

Her helm is off and the breeze rustles her vibrant scarlet hair, and with her remaining eye, showing signs that it too shall soon be claimed by the Rot, she watches her loyal band that stands before her.

And with a firm voice she addresses them all:

"As you all know, Rot has a hold upon my very soul. Never have I know relief from this pain, and even with the fullest efforts of my dearest brother, your Lord Miquella, I still suffer despite his unending kindness. So if you truly wish to dedicate yourselves to my name, know that if there is no hope for me... then there is no hope for you."

Silence falls between the Cleanrots.

They've known this for a long while now, one does not pledged loyalty to the Demigod cursed by the Scarlet Rot without the knowledge that they too shall one day decay into nothingness, but hearing the truth come from Malenia herself is jarring.

It's as if she is testing their faith and loyalty.

"Should you have any doubts come forth with them now." Malenia says, "But do not take my words as ones of judgement. Because I wish for you to know, that there is no shame in wanting to live."

Malenia's remaining eye lacks light, the rot having eaten away at the illustrious gold that she was born into, with all that remains a dull sheen. But despite the lacking radiance, her eyes are still warm, gazing at her loyal Knights with such gentleness, along with a deep sadness that cones with the understanding of the fate to those close to her.

Finlay steps forward, and speaks on behalf of all of the Cleanrot Knights; whose hearts beat as one.

"We shall fight by your side until the bitter end Lady Malenia."

Malenia smiles.

The Empyrean brings her blade to her face in a single elegant motion. The fallen leaves and scarlet petals on the stone flooring rustle from the movement, and the Demigod warrior addresses her loyal band of Knights:

"Then upon my name as Malenia, Blade of Miquella, I hearby anoint you all as my Cleanrot Knights. May our battles in the name of Miquella and his Haligtree be fierce, and our determination even fiercer!"

As if on cue, the wind blows as Malenia raises her sword skyward, and the fallen golden leaves and scarlet petals whirl around her and the Cleanrot Knights, who proudly salute their General.

Finlays eyes follow the long elegant curve of Malenia's marvelous blade, and as she reads the prayer etched upon the marvelously crafted unalloyed gold up to the sharpened tip, curtains of light drift down from the balcony above, and from that light: sits Miquella, watching the ceremony from the balcony wall with a tender smile.

Miquella's presence always leaves Finlay breathless. Truly the most fearsome Empyrean indeed, when all he has to do is smile and it makes Finalys heart ache so tenderly.

Miquella's eyes meet Finlays from behind her helm and his smile only grows gentler. The young boy then closes his eyes, bringing his hands up to clasp them in prayer. His lips move but Finlay can hear no words other than the breeze and rustling of leaves.

But it's in this moment that she knows, deep within her soul, that the Cleanrot Knights are truly the most blessed of all.

#super headcanony regarding the haligtree in its prime #id like to think that it had its own flowers at some point #scarlet flowers that represented mals importance to miqs golden tree #and where does this take place in the ER timeline exactly???? idk 🤷#this is just for fun lol #uri posts #elden ring #finlay #malenia blade of miquella #miquella the unalloyed

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writeroutoftime · 6 months

Note

hey! can I request sam winchester x demon!reader where their love is forbidden, but he just can stay away from her and realizes he's fallen and hard for her 🥺

pairing: sam winchester x demon/morally gray!reader

warnings: mentions of torture/going to hell, you are a morally gray individual (read: demon)

words: 1.3k

a/n: okay I am in love with this request, and this is what came out. there WILL be a part 2 where it actually gets more into the relationship between you and sam, but I wanted to set up the backstory to start off. please let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy! (also, I am SO sorry it's taken me so long to post this story)

oOoOo

Our story starts, as so many do, with once upon a time. Though, as a warning, there is no princess in this story who gets rescued by a knight in shining armor from the evil dragon that locked her away in the highest tower. There is no happily ever after as the two ride off together into the sunset.

No, this story starts with you - just a normal girl who took a wrong turn and fell in love with the wrong man. What felt like love at first sight to you was lust at first sight for him. But despite the warnings and the whispers around town, you ignored the naysayers and dedicated your life to this one man.

So much so that you would have done anything to keep him from harm's way. (Though the same could not be said about his loyalties.) And when danger came knocking on your door in the middle of the night, looking to collect their dues, you knew you had to step in.

It took endless nights of searching, but you finally found an answer that would solve all your problems. When you told him what you found, he didn't plead for you to keep yourself safe, instead he scoffed in your face and went out to lose himself in the drink - again.

More determined than ever, you found your crossroads and nearly screamed when you saw the flash of red eyes standing before you.

"Well, well. What is a pretty thing like you doing out here? It seems you may be out of your element." the demon taunted as he looked you up and down.

"I-I want to make a deal." you stuttered out. "My boyfriend, he needs help. His debts need to be repaid."

The demon merely smirked. "And why isn't he the one here begging for my help?"

"This is what you do for the people you love. Now, can you help me or not?"

"I can." he smirked. "But it's going to cost something pretty big - your soul. And in ten years I'll come to collect." he explained, no trace of humor on his features.

"Deal."

Stepping closer towards you, the demon chuckled. "Well then, let's seal this deal, sweetheart." he said and suddenly pressed his lips against yours. You could feel heat inside your chest, like your soul had been branded. "See you soon." he spoke, disappearing and leaving you alone.

The next day, everything the demon promised came to fruition. Your boyfriend's debts had been paid, and you felt it was going to be a new leaf for the two of you. But instead of eternal love and gratitude, he repaid you with sleeping through half the town and leaving you high and dry only three weeks later.

When ten years passed and you started hallucinating, you wished you could give anything to go back in time and change your fate. However, fate was not that kind, and so, you were dragged down to hell in shreds, kicking, screaming, and cursing his name the whole way down.

The decades you spent on the rack were literal torture. Just when you thought there was no other ways you could be taken apart and put back together, they managed to find a new one. Every day you were told the hell could end if you just gave in. At first, you tried to hold onto the tiny shred of humanity you had left.

But after so many decades, it just was so much easier to give in.

And, so, when you whispered a timid "yes" when asked for the nth time, it all changed for you. Whereas you used to be the one tied up and torn apart, now you got to be on the other end. Each cut and slice into a soul was like a weight off your shoulders.

You thought of the man you had given it all up for. The man who abandoned you after you sold your soul for him. The man who you were going to pay a visit to as soon as you got strong enough to get topside. After a few more decades you finally broke the surface, cracking your neck, smiling devilishly.

It didn't take long for you to find him, drunk and stumbling out of the local bar. Hiding in the shadows, you leant against the cool, rough bricks of the building, biding your time. While he fumbled with the keys to his car, you slowly stalked behind him, hovering over his shoulder until he noticed your reflection in the window.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, dropping his keys and furiously scrubbing at his face. "How much did I drink to start seeing fucking ghosts?"

"Not quite a ghost, but also not quite human." you said, flashing him your deep, black eyes.

He let out another scream and dropped to the ground, pieces of gravel sticking into his skin. As he tried to scramble away, you rolled your eyes and hauled him up by his jacket, scoffing at this pitiful excuse for a man.

"What? Didn't think you'd have to come face to face with the woman you cheated on and left high and dry after I sold my soul for you?"

"No, no. You died, got mauled by an animal or some shit."

A humorless laugh left your lips. "Is that what they called it? That's putting being dragged to hell and tortured for decades mildly." you growled. "But don't worry I pulled myself out just to see you and thank you after all this time."

Your words were punctuated with a fist to his jaw, relishing the resounding crunch that echoed into the night air. Fist after fist was thrown in his direction using every ounce of anger you ever felt towards him boiled over the surface. When you grew weary of throwing punches, you flicked your knife out, cutting into his skin regardless of his please to stop.

It wasn't long before you knelt over his crumpled body, a satisfied smirk curled on your lips. This was the moment you had long since pined over, waiting to end his miserable life, hoping his time in hell would be even worse than yours.

But something in the back of your mind wouldn't let you finish the deed. The knife in your hand clattered to the ground, unable to plunge itself deep into his chest. He laid there, a whimpering mess, as you pushed yourself out of the gravel, and smeared the blood that coated your hands across your clothing.

You thought of this moment for so long. Assumed it would bring you a sense of closure. Of vengeance. Instead, you only felt empty, confused, purposeless. Without looking back, you left him there to pull himself together - a small act of mercy.

As you roamed the empty streets, you kept thinking of what brought you to this moment in the first place. Why didn't it feel right? You knew there was no going back, this is what you were now. But maybe, just maybe you could stop what happened to you from happening to anyone else. A way to use this curse for good.

And from that moment on, you roamed the state, looking for players, cheaters, and guys who liked to manipulate those around them. You'd get wind of their deeds, pretend to fall for their charms, and then go in for the kill, offering them the same pain they caused others. You knew most people probably saw you as a criminal, but you saw yourself as a vigilante.

In fact, your little routine worked quite well for the next few months. It seemed to bring you the senses of purpose and justice you were looking for. That was, at least, until you heard through the pipeline that the Winchesters were on your trail. Shit!

oOoOo

Dun, dun duhh!! To be continued in part two, I hope you enjoyed!

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #sam winchester x demon!reader #rita writes

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sukunasdirtylaugh · 2 months

Text

a/n: another one????

part one, part two, part three, part four

as time passes, you learn that toji prefer to be addressed as "my lord" and especially "lord toji" by you and only you. he turns down the name of a god, and certainly anything to do with that as you've noticed others within the island refer to him with other formalities that aren't exactly like yours or that of a god's.

lord toji comes every few days from business. the flower girl, ameera, tells you he's off debating with gods, passing souls to the underworld, and doing what a being like himself does. he's been kind to accommodate you here, with free food, a clean home, and the liberty of peace. when you ask the girl what her reason for being here was, she simply shrugs, "he found me wandering the hills of olympus," she says, "I figured my human parents had no need for me, but his excellence has found use in me. at least for harvesting flowers and pottery." she chuckles, a faint smile upon her features. you think if you were to end like her, then surely life here was better than back home. by now, sukuna would have either wed another or burnt the village to the ground. but you try the second not to get the best of you. "what about you, my lady?"

"lord toji found me in the woods, though I think I was the one who called him," you chuckle, helping ameera collect the berries in the basket you hold. "it was not my proudest moment. I was set to marry a man I did not love, and he made room for me here. so I think that makes two of us." ameera's words interrupt your chuckle.

"his excellence does not bring woman as you, especially those fleeing marriages." she speaks softly, "the rest of the women here are either orphans, old widows, or nuns dedicating their lives to maintain the temple." she speaks, "so you're certainly a first."

"perhaps," you say, "but I hope my presence is not a threat to the peace of this home."

"oh, not at all." she smiles brightly, her eyes sparkle as two shooting stars. "in fact, I think his excellence visits the island more often thanks to you. he's been able to create more improvements, and he's also well up to date making sure you have everything you nee-"

"-is everything alright, ladies?" the two of you turn, and you notice ameera has said something she may not have been allowed to say to you with the look she and lady mildred exchange. lady mildred, you learned, was a widow. she lost her husband to famine and landed here, taking care of the meals and food preparation.

"yes!' the both of you reply, flushed. "we were just..."

"...picking berries?"

"yes."

"I would have finished my pie by now if you ladies would have just minimized the chit chat," she sighs, then glancing at you and then at ameera, "but I suppose it is good that ameera is getting you out of that shell, isn't that right dear?"

it had been a long time since another woman treated you as kindly as lady mildred. she had a character, but a warm heart. offering anyone food or beverages at any hour with no complaint. no matter what, she believed all deserved a warm bed and meal at the end of the day. and she has ensured that upon your arrival.

the rest of the day was relaxing. you often help setting up laundry to dry, the cool wind blows against the green grass tickling your ankles and the white sheets flow gracefully. peace seems attainable here. no war, no intruders, and certainly no distress so long as lord toji ensures it. everyone in the island sees him as a god, a savior to whom they owe their loyalty to, and as a result, a warm community is built. one you would have liked to grown in back home. but it was never too late to begin to grow in a new one.

#toji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji x y/n

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shanbinswf · 9 months

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BABY, I'M JEALOUS — lee jaehyun [repost]

landing page. main masterlist.

pairing: enemy jaehyun x afab reader

genre: mild angst, mild fluff, suggestive (mdni)

plot: hyunjae claims he is too good for the life of a lowly office worker. that is until you open his eyes and show him he isn't all that he thinks he is.

wc: 1701

warnings under the cut.

warnings: there are talks of class seperation, but that ends quite quick. hyunjae is a little petty when he's jealous. there are mentions of a sexual relationship, but no smut included. TECHNICALLY this is the first part of a two parter–depends how you decide to look at it.

TO SAY LEE JAEHYUN INFURIATED YOU WOULD BE AN UNDERSTATEMENT.

He was the image of beauty and grace.The image of loyalty and dedication. The image of delicate innocence. And you really fucking hated it.

You didn’t hate him because you believed yourself to be the polar opposite to the image he displayed to those round you both; in fact you were often compared to being very similar to him. But only you knew the truth, the real Lee Jaehyun. The real Jaehyun is why you grew to hate him. Well… hate is kind of a strong word. You harboured a strong dislike for him.

But you knew it all. The dark, dirty truth behind who Lee Jaehyun was.

The sweet smile he gave everyone as he walked through the hallways held some anger behind it. He looked down on those he worked with, but he had no choice to work in the department as his father, the owner of the company, refused to make him a director without experiencing the everyday hard work of the ‘normal every day’ employees firstly—just as his own father had done to him some decades earlier. The Lee family believed in working hard for the things you had, and there came no difference when it came to Jaehyun (be that it was against his wishes—he wanted things handed to him the easy way).

The whispers he often leant over your desk to grace you with were the worst of everything else that made up the existence of Lee Jaehyun. Everyone thought he was being sweet, building a budding office romance. But they would never, could never, know the truth of the words he was uttering to try and get a rise out of you

At first, the whispers started off as insults. Insults at the at you dressed, insults about the way you did your hair that day, anything he could do to bring your day down, he would find a way to snuff any happiness you showed.

But when the new team leader—Sangyeon—took over, the insults turned into dirty talk that almost had your thighs clenching. Key word, almost. He hoped if he said just the right thing to push your buttons, he would get a high enough rise out of you for you to finally explode which would end in him finally being the victor in this rivalry you had both grown to become obsessed with.

You were adamant that only you knew the real Lee Jaehyun.

The Jaehyun who drove in the middle of the night at high speeds down motorways on his motorbike with a new woman behind him every night. You knew the Jaehyun who acted like every nightclub was his country, and he was the King. You knew the Jaehyun who snaked his hands around your waist as you swayed your body to the thumping music. You knew the Jaehyun who pushed you out of his bed when he was satisfied, even if you were still wanting, needing, more.

You hated the effect he had over your body, and you made a good show to not let him know the truth—that he was the one you dreamt of when your hand wandered between your legs during lonely nights. Which made it easier for you when you sat across from in the meeting room with your hands laced on top of the desk, his own hands lazily rubbing his necks as he acted like he was exhausted from to sleeping much as he was working hard and long into the night. But you knew better.

His foot linked with yours under the table, but both your faces remained stoic. Little did you know, he had been missing your presence in his bed. And further to that, little did you know he had grown genuine feelings for you that slowly encouraged his cocky smiles in the hallway to become actual smiles of happiness at seeing his colleagues. When he helped them, his tone no longer sounded condescending but rather he even asked them further questions to make it seem like he needed their help just as much as they needed his.

You could never admit he had grown on you, but everyone could see, could tell that he had some kind of effect on you.

And you had an effect on him.

Which became very much clear to all those around you when during the meeting when the team leader sat beside you, even sliding a cup of freshly brewed coffee your way. He made no effort to make anyone else coffee—or any drink at that. His smile was often reserved for you, as was his attention.

You smiled, thanking him. You felt a small kick at your ankle and winced, but chose to ignore the slight tinge of pain as you turned your body to better face Sangyeon. “What did I do to deserve this?” You asked, knowing he was often too busy to make his own coffee, bear in mind some for someone else.

Sangyeon shrugged, his cheeks ever so slightly heating up. “No reason, I just wanted to do something nice for you since you looked kind of tired today. Late night?”

Your smile was sugary sweet, and Jaehyun felt like his mouth was growing with cavities at the sight. His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent and unmoving, deciding to patiently bear witness to the scene playing out before him.

Sangyeon’s fingers ghosted over your arm for the full hour and a half of the meeting each time he had to slide papers your way. He was determined to keep your attention on him at all times, even thought he had the sense Jaehyun had laid claim on you. Surely trying to give a nudge your way so you’d end up in the arms of the man who wanted you wouldn’t deem Sangyeon a villain, he liked to believe.

YOU TYPED THE CODE TO HIS APARTMENT, THEN TRIED TO PULL THE DOOR OPEN WITH NO LUCK, A LOUD BEEP TELLING YOU THE CODE INPUT WAS WRONG.

You frowned, sure you had typed it in right. You tried the code a second, third time. Each time the door beeped red instead of the usual blue.

You sighed and rapped your knuckles against the door, waiting patiently until the door opened. Jaehyun looked mildly surprised to find you at his door, but he soon recovered and side-stepped when you entered his hallway. You kicked your shoes off, then slipped on the white slippers he kept at his door just for you.

“Did you change your door code?” You asked, dropping your tote bag on the floor before you made yourself at home in his apartment, walking to the living room before you allowed your body to relax and flop down on the comfort his his couch.

“Yeah, I did,” Jaehyun replied as he made his way into the living room after you, taking his time. He didn’t elaborate as to why, so you raised an eyebrow and turned your head so you could assess his facial expressions.

“Any reason why? And is there a reason why you failed to tell me? We always tell each other when we change codes…” Your voice wandered off as your words turned into a sleepy mumble.

“No reason. Didn’t think I had to tell you everything, though. It’s not like you’re my girlfriend,” His words sounded harsh, piercing.

You frowned and sat up, your lips pouted ever so slightly. “Wow, that was a little mean of you.”

“Not my fault you’re too busy cosying up with the new team leader. You made the choice, not me,” He sounded petty as he made his way to the other side of the couch, throwing his own body down against it.

You raised an eyebrow and turned to face him, watching as his head was thrown back, his hands resting on his thighs but in closed, tight fists. You smiled, moving closer to his body You rest a hand on his stomach, your lips pouting. “Is someone jealous?”

“Me? Jealous? You need to learn your place, in a few years I’m going to own the very company you slave away for. Why would I need to be jealous over a measly team leader who’ll probably move onto another job in five years maximum?”

You hummed, unconvinced, while your hand gently rubbed over the material of his t-shirt in an attempt to try and soothe the anger he was undoubtedly feeling. He was never one for telling you how he felt outright, but lucky for you both, you had grown to know him well enough to be able to read his emotions even at the slightest of eyebrow raises. He could never admit it to your face, would never, but you were his perfect match in some ways.

“Okay, fine,” He finally uttered after several tense seconds of silence. He closed his eyes, trying not to get too caught up in the close proximity between you both. “Maybe I am a little bit jealous, but who wouldn’t be? You’re so beautiful and hard working, it’s hard to not want you.”

You giggled, but Jaehyun only frowned at your lack of a serious response. His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping it from wandering all over his body. “You need to take this seriously for once. Quit playing around,” His tone was harsh, harsher than he intended, but it only made your smile grow wider.

“You like me,” You said in a sing-song voice, to which Jaehyun groaned and threw his head further back, his eyes screwing closed. “Fine, maybe I do. But if you run your mouth off about it, then I’m going to take it back.”

“It’s not like I’m going to walk through the office screaming that the company owner’s son is madly in love with me,” You joked, Jaehyun opening his eyes and tilting his head so he could get a look at your face. His face held a stern, threatening look which you knew meant to him that you ought to listen, or there will be hell to pay when he manages to tackle you into his bedsheets.

#the boyz #the boyz smut #the boyz scenarios #jaehyun #the boyz jaehyun #the boyz lee jaehyun #lee jaehyun #the boyz jaehyun smut #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #hyunjae smut #the boyz hyunjae #the boyz hyunjae smut #the boyz hyunjae scenario #hyunjae scenario

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fumblingmusings · 1 year

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I wish Malta would get an appearance because I feel you could get a series of jokes revolving around them (ideally a her) and Arthur's relationship. Either for why don't you love me jokes or something a bit more nuanced. Reasonings are:

Malta has been host to several odd fanatical religious groups and switched ownership between multiple hands multiple times. One reason Britain won out in the end was because they would allow the people to speak Maltese, which went down a treat with the local population.

During the war, if England was America's unsinkable aircraft carrier, then Malta was Britain's unsinkable hospital ship. The assorted sieges of Malta, the legacy of nursing and hospitals, and the general protective nature of Britain to their independence gives way to the idea of a rather caring but almighty stubborn character.

Malta at one point very much wanted to become a part of the UK, not as a colony but on equal standing as England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland, or, at the very least, a Dominon like Canada, Oz and NZ. Despite being repeatedly refused home rule at various times in the 19th Century, they flip and then at some points it looked like Britain was trying to shake Malta off only for them to cling real stubborn, like no 😠 love me.

Of course, it's more complicated than that, and when integration to the UK failed, it kind of set the precedent that UK overseas territories would not end up like in the French or Dutch model and instead would not be fully integrated into the country...

Anyway. Malta. I think you could get quite a funny character out of them. Very devoted to God, nursing, and just a little bit too cosy with the UK bros in a way that they find really off-putting (what do you mean you want to stay? Nobody wants to stay. Who hurt you, Malta, to make you like that? Wait. Don't answer that question). They still give the UK points at Eurovision to this day. Like that is dedication and loyalty right there.

#hetalia #hws england #headcanon #hws wales #hws scotland #hws northern ireland #hws malta #🫠 unless you count those knight order characters #should note that in hindsight what britain did to malta was the equivalent of a demented stockholm syndrome #so like... it was never a good relationship #but what colony and coloniser exists that did???#usual business of 'any positive impact was incidental and not planned by whitehall'#but the proposed integration is a somewhat funny story nonetheless #op

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princess-of-the-corner · 8 days

Note

Had a realization on that Civil War AU what could have been timeline.

Its resolved in season 2 if: Adrien s the one to bring Chloe in through the manner I described. THe reason being it brings the tension in brewing out much sooner and ensures that no one's loyalties are gonna be shifting majorly between identities.

Thus once everyone has a bit of a dust up and then have to collaborate to take down Hawk Moth names are revealed, there's some shock and they resolve to work together with Fu admitting he should have done this sooner.

It bleeds over into season 3 as the main focus if: Marinette is the oe to bring Chloe in with the main shifts being:

Adrien doesn't know Chloe has the bee & is too tied to his father to help when Chloe's obviously having a breakdown cos of Audrey.

Marinette however, kind of overwhelmed by 'all that' does end up trying to help and gets Chloe out of there before a reveal.

Chloe resolves to show everyone how exceptional she can be & the same general stuff happens as outlined in the original idea.

Except Marinette does discover Queen Bees identity & she has a talk with Chloe, does get the Miraculous back, but tries to fix things with Audrey.

Malediktator happens excuse Chloe needs to be mean to please her mom, wants Marinette as a friend now. That self destructs & as she can't be Queen Bee she tries to leave, and Marinette chooses her as Queen Bee again.

This is when Chloe actually figures out her identity but keeps it to herself, but because of the combo of Marinette trying to help as a civilian despite all that baggage & Ladybug choosing her, Chloe basically shifts all her dogmatic dedication to her mom to Marinette.

Basically: If she was willing to see passed the last four years of crap I gave her & is giving me a chance to be a hero as I want to be, she can be my new god.

Meanwhile Chat's getting more and more frustrated.

This leads to him revealing himself to Nino who does a 180 on the identity issue now that he knows his buddy is totally in the dark.

& this, along with Alysa's preference for truth causes her to also switch in favor of Chat's side post Catalyst/Hero Day, in part cos the identity thing created some issues with who could get what to who.

Meanwhile Kagami despite her civilian ties to Adrien, would overall default to Ladybug both due to her relationship with Marinette and generally viewing Ladybug as the more responsible hero.

Because the identities are still revealed, but this only compounds the hurt, so the schism remains present into season 3. & leads to strange seating arrangements in their first year at high school with it now being two trios:

Adrien, Nino & Alya,

Marinette, Chloe & Kagami + a confused Sabrina sometimes.

None of them can aptly explain how this happened and as their respective teams grow a bit, it gets more ???? to outsiders.

Funky!

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maaarshieee · 1 year

Note

im just gonna dump this here :'D

y/n, a renowned fighter of liyue and a secret agent of ningguang who is going undercover as a millelith (who was a part of the osial fight), was tasked to make the fatui harbinger, childe, leave without making it seem forceful. the fatui in liyue means that peace would never be with them. they awakened osial, therefore they had to make the harbinger leave without diplomatic issues. they had to do it in every single way possible without mistakes.

and what's the most effective way to win the harbinger's heart? it's to acknowledge him with kindness and pure and gentle heart. treating him in a nice way, greeting him and gifting him trinkets or handmade gifts.

y/n's plan is to act like his friend, someone he could trust. someone he could love. someone to build his future with. and after he falls for that, they push him away. curse him and tell him to never come back to liyue. blame him for everything. tell him that he's scary, that they will never trust someone like him. that he doesn't deserve anything.

except there's one clear flaw in their plan. they never anticipated that what if, they were the ones to fall in love with the harbinger? what if they get too attached to him to even break his heart?

of course, this completely tore apart y/n. not knowing what to do. break him and save liyue or be free and let liyue be. both have different consequences. and what did y/n do? they chose what their heart says.

- weekly anon

i know this is very similar with the scara one but but but but

⎯⎯ ୨ 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 ୧ ⎯⎯

➢ Cʜɪʟᴅᴇ x Gɴ!Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➢ 4.4k ᴡᴏʀᴅs ┊ Hᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴀɴɢsᴛ

➢ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

a/n - GOD WEEKLY ANON WHY. YOUR REQUESTS ARE SO GOOD BUT HONESLY ME AND MY BOO (who helps me story board) ARE AT A LOSS BC THE CONFLICT IS TOO GOOD. also weekly anon blame @iyagato for making me go through with this idea. not me writing your request again, I SWEAR I DONT HAVE ANON FAVORITES, this is actually punishment! /j. I'm not good at angst but i hope i delivered it nicely. OH YEAH THANKS FOR 700 FOLLOWRS! HOPE YOU LIKE THIS AS A GIFT >:))) titled "unintentional", have a nice day/night! also theme song? veil by keida suda

↬ cw: canon typical violence, major character death (guess who?), sword wielder & pyro user reader, reader just... experiences really sad shit so uh, tw, kinda some sexual innuendo at one part but you can read it both ways, blood, gore

The mission was simple enough, wasn't it?

Gain his trust. Shed him off his walls and deceive him when he least expects it. To allow himself to be vulnerable to you, to see you as a reliable comrade. To pretend to be someone he could love, to hold in his arms, to share his troubles with, to talk to about whatever comes to his mind, to be with someone he thought he could have a future with.

Truly, it was simple enough.

Lady Ningguang has entrusted this task to you, for you are capable enough to complete any mission the Lady has ever assigned to you. Be it 'cleansing' Liyue Harbor of 'filth', or simply gaining needed information, her beck and call. You were even graced by Lady Ningguang's access inside the Jade Chamber, which she's only ever allowed to her 3 secretaries and people she deeply trusts.

You swore loyalty under her command, for she never ceased to amaze you. From her glorious beauty, her dedication to her work, and her never-ending kindness to the inhabitants of Liyue, especially toward children.

"I have confidence that if this task were given to someone, rest assured you, out of everyone, can complete it." She says with a smile whilst you stood before her, hands behind your back with a bowed head, taking her words with immense gratitude. "The longer he, a Fatui Harbinger, stays in Liyue Harbor, peace will never be upon us."

You wholeheartedly believed in your Lady's words, nodding along as she continued to speak. She pushed a small unsuspecting folder toward you and allowed you to take it from her. Upon opening the folder, your eyes immediately scanned all the information in the papers.

"That folder is important. It contains his name, age, occupation, locations, favorites, and many more. Use it all to your advantage." Nodding once again, you held onto the folder tightly, giving your Lady a deep, respectful bow. Her last words to you ever since that day rang in your ears, engraving themselves into your brain because Archons forbid you to forget; "Don't fail me."

With pride, you took upon this mission in a stride, completely overestimating yourself. You may be a renowned warrior of Liyue, Lady Ningguang's trusted agent known for your prowess in battle and your seemingly endless adherence to your job, but there was something you never took into consideration.

That you were simply human.

Getting along with the Fatui Harbinger was a rather easy feat. He was friendly when you first approached in a guise; a part of the Millelith. From the information the papers inside the folder Lady Ningguang lent you, he loved battling against strong foes. So much so, he gains thrill even if he was injured. So how did you first greet the 11th member of the Fatui Harbingers?

Into a spar of course.

Soldiers would often say that archers were the weakest among the different sorts of fighters. That they cower behind in the backlines and only have knowledge for support. That they rely on long-range attacks merely because they freeze at the first sign of danger up close. You knew better of course. Archers are incredibly powerful on a battlefield. One skilled archer is enough to turn the tides of war; like death itself. You never know when an arrow would pierce through your chest or your forehead.

True fighters would know to never underestimate an enemy.

And you were proven right when you first battled Childe. You've never fought against an archer one-on-one but he fought vigorously against you, a sword wielder. His moves were fluid, flowing like water, an endless stream of aggressive and deadly strikes, similar to the Vision he has. It crashes upon you like tidal waves of stormy nights that shakes sailing ships until they flip and sink. With each strike he landed, the more you admired the strong fighter in front of you.

Childe fought differently than the other archers you've met. It was as if he merged the gracefulness of an archer with the violent characteristics similar to a berserker. He wore an exhilarated smile on his in the whole duration of your fight, you even heard him laugh when you catch him off guard.

He didn't underestimate you either, despite coming off quite arrogantly with each blow he dealt to you. It was a simple approach, yet you couldn't bring yourself to lose against him. How a person fought was enough to discern one's personality, in Childe's opinion, and he always finds himself breathless when you adjust the grip on your sword, baiting him and swinging in a direction he didn't expect, almost resulting in his loss.

You were cunning, a fighter who uses their boundless knowledge in the art of swordsmanship to the fullest. Dirty tricks? You've used them with a smug smirk on your face. Impenetrable defense? Powerful offense? You had it all, and it caught his full attention.

His water would extinguish the flames of your blade, but as quickly as they dispersed, they would flare back up like the burning determination in your eyes. He found himself truly captivated by the mesmerizing flames that licked and singed his skin.

In the end, you won. Nevertheless, seconds passed after Childe's defeat, you fell to the ground along with him, catching your breath and swallowing down the pain that was slowing growing in intensity the more the adrenaline that ran through your veins slowly faded.

Childe was admittedly impressed. The Millelith hadn't given him an impression by their rather lacking strength, but you? You must be one of the higher ranks! He learned a lot just by fighting you and felt awestruck by how remarkable a fighter you were. Unlike any battles he had recently fought, you displayed true sportsmanship with it comes to duels, commending his skills as an archer. When he told you that he uses the bow simply because he was less adept with it, you expressed genuine shock.

"Really? Most archers aren't capable of fighting well as you are against sword wielders on one-on-ones, and you're saying you're weakest with a bow?" You gave him a toothy grin, eyes wide and filled with wonder whilst the both of you walked towards Liuli Pavilion. Since Childe lost the spar you had moments ago, he had invited you for a dinner together, offering to pay for the expenses.

You accepted his offer with a fake smile (was it really?) on your face after you've shaken hands, putting away each other's weapons. "Mhm, believe it or not! You're quite a strong opponent, where did you learn how to wield your sword like that?" He queried, his gaze stuck on the person who defeated him.

You suppose you had nothing to hide, crossing your arms with pride as you said; "Well, my father was quite famous in Liyue, as I, for being an outstanding swordsman. He taught me everything I needed to know." With a nod, eyes meeting his azure ones. His fingers rubbed his chin, invested with your words.

Then, he nudged you with his elbow, a wide smile stretching his lips. "Care to share some of that knowledge?" He asks, wearing a hopeful expression.

You merely scoffed, raising a brow at the taller male beside you. "And why should I?"

Without missing a beat, he shot a smirk your way, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes. "So I can surely beat you in our next duel."

Breaking into fits of (genuine) laughter at his cocky attitude, you shook your head. "Oh? Then that gives me more reason not to tell you then." You remarked. But he only tutted at you, hair flowing prettily against the winds, "Awww, scared that I'll find your weakness? That an archer like me can beat your ass to the ground?" He said teasingly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

For the first time in a while, you felt your heart race in anticipation. Though, back then, you had mistaken it as the fleeting sensation of victory beating in your heart. You had thought he had fallen into your trap when, unknowingly, you had fallen as well.

"Alright," You'd huff, "Bring it on."

It has been... months since you've seen the last of Lady Ningguang. Usually, you'd report to her Lady every few days, updating her about the progress of your mission.

Lately, though, a sense of dread would creep up toward your heart whenever you thought of visiting the Jade Chamber. Oddly enough, you felt eyes following you with every step you take, and because of that, you've grown incredibly weary and paranoid.

But you have a guess on what makes your heart waver when it comes to Lady Ningguang and your duties.

Childe.

Even the mere mention of his name makes you grit your teeth. For the past few months, the more this mission of yours went on, the more you grew to hate him.

You absolutely abhor him.

He made your seemingly effortless task drag on longer than you'd like. And despite being aware that gaining a person's trust was not like a leisure walk through Liyue Harbor, you hated every passing second you spent with him.

Childe was annoying, arrogant and you can't stand him. He would nag you for a spar so much that you'd have to hide across Liyue to avoid him, often asking a kind gentleman working in Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, named Zhongli, to distract the bothersome ginger who refused to leave you alone for some reason.

Asking him why he wants to stick around you so much was utterly fruitless, for he would blatantly lie to your face (just as much as you lie to him). "I want to score higher than you in our spars!", "Why can't I? Aren't we comrades?", "Getting tired of me already? Too bad!", and so on.

The moment he opens his mouth, you want to bury yourself in the ground, never to listen to his senseless blabbering. You hated so many things about him that you can list them.

You hate the cocky smile he'd always have when he walks up to you, asking you for a spar, his voice that would always get on your nerves, his bright, blue eyes that always seem to spark back to life whenever he looks at you, the way he always perks up when he hears you approaching because it's totally normal for people to memorize the sounds of another's footsteps, the way he's always eager to treat you dinner—

The way he makes your heart skips a beat whenever he laughs, the way he touches you oh so gently even though you're the one who kept beating him in fights, the way the tone of his voice changes whenever he speaks to you or says your name—

The way he makes your cheeks burn hotter than when you use your pyro vision whenever he shamelessly flirts with you 'as a joke', the way he makes butterflies flutter in your stomach whenever he sends you the most loving smile you've ever seen in your life, the way he never fails to make you feel so special because, for some reason, he's always so drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

You hated Childe, and you had so many reasons for it, including making you fall for him. Hard.

At the moment, you were hiding from Childe again, watching Zhongli lead him away from where you hid. He had a pout on his lips, arms crossed as he clearly looked upset. You were a master at hide and seek, and he had never caught you once amidst your foolish games.

Once they were both out of sight, you leaned back against the tree you were on, the smile you once wore simply because you saw Childe acting so foolishly when it comes to you quickly morphed into a frown as you looked up into the skies, eyeing the Jade Chamber that infinitely hovered in the skies, casting a shadow all over Liyue. A place you once wanted to be part of, now a sight for sore eyes.

You wondered if Lady Ningguang knew. Of your inner turmoil, of your struggles, of your evident betrayal to your Lady, to Liyue. Thinking about it made your chest hurt, your hand clutching your chest. A younger version of you would surely be disgusted at your pathetic state. You? Who vowed to serve Lady Ningguang until your last breath? Whose resolve began to waver simply because of a man who's supposed to be your enemy?

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. How cruel. You once thought that this mission was the easiest one you've ever gotten. But it just grew harder when Childe ultimately asked you to be his lover.

And that was it.

A rejection followed by a fearful look, words that you knew would crush his heart and fake tears would be enough to wrap up your mission. To restore the faith Lady Ningguang had instilled in you, to make up for your traitorous mind...

But the way he caressed your cheek so tenderly, features softening at the mere sight of you, eyes both wary and filled with hope— Archons, you just couldn't. Not when you've dug your own grave, not when your heart beats for him.

On the day of his confession, he mistook your tears for joy. Instead, your tears were laced with unfathomable pain from the conflict that tore your heart. To serve Lady Ningguang and abide by your mission, or to betray your whole nation for the man who stole your heart?

The moment you realized you had fallen in love with Childe, a Fatui Harbinger, you willed yourself to avoid him at all costs. And when he sought you out, only to confess? You were devastated that he had fallen too. Fallen to the trap that fate had led you into, a trap both of you blindly waltzed in.

Once in a relationship, you prayed that he wouldn't notice. How your hands would tremble when he nears you, how your bottom lip would quiver when his were inches away, how your eyes grew teary when you feel his hot breath against your skin. It all felt so surreal, so addicting, you wanted more of him, to love him with all your heart, but indulging him made you feel sick.

Touching him felt like a sin, both to him and the country to which you once devoted yourself. His skin against yours burned you, accidentally flinching whenever he reaches for you, and your heart felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly.

You were so desperate for him, yearning for him, yet your heart ached when he utters those sweet words in your ears.

"I love you."

Archons, what have you done?

The words you spoke felt like shattered glass rolling off your tongue. Who knew simply talking would hurt so much?

But the weight was lifted off your chest once you finished speaking, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your trembling body, reassuring, but shaky words being whispered to your ear. You clung to him, hands gripping the back of his shirt.

To say that he was shocked was an understatement. He has his suspicions toward you (and ignored them), but he never would've thought the burdens you carried were to that extent. Childe understood now though. Why you acted so strangely despite accepting his confession. You truly did love him, but the guilt in your heart ate you from the inside.

He understood how you felt, so he held you in his arms tightly, refusing to let go of you until you tell him so. To quell the pain in your heart little by little, to kiss you whilst you shed tears, to touch you as if you were bound to fall apart as you unraveled yourself completely bare only for him to see.

And when you agreed to his suggestion, his heart rejoiced.

"Join me. Let's leave Liyue."

But things never go the way they should.

Lady Ningguang knew. Of course, she did. She knew of your plans of departure from Liyue, and she wouldn't stand idle anymore for a traitor like you.

It happened all too fast. One moment you were on patrolling as a faux Millelith soldier, and the next thing you knew, you were being chased by your peers all across Liyue Harbor.

They were at every corner you turned to, surrounding you and cornering you. You can't escape anymore, you were trapped. It was then that realization struck you; she had finally made her move.

You will regret this later on, but you summoned your sword and pointing it threateningly at the multiple soldiers that blocked your path. You were to join the Fatui soon enough, so there won't be any harm in starting now, right?

But before you could even swing your sword, you heard his voice, calling your name and clearing a path toward him. Your breath got caught in your throat as you almost cried in relief, turning to run to him, to finally leave Liyue once and for all. His arrival saved you from lifelong regrets of spilling blood.

But—

Childe's eyes widened, arm outstretching towards you as he shouted your name once more. But he was too far. Too late. You ran as fast as you could, but you never reached him. The world around him grew dark as the once peaceful, beautiful nights at the harbor grew distant and hot. It suffocated him, to watch you fall to the ground, the brilliant scarlet colors painted the road, reflecting disgustingly gorgeously against the moonlight.

"Ajax—" You choked out, more of the pretty hues of red splattering out your mouth as the sight of a spear piercing your chest—

Childe was skeptical of you at first. Who would just randomly go up to a stranger and ask them for a spar? He was glad he accepted it though, despite his doubts, because you proved to be a suitable sparring partner from then and so forth.

You fought like a true warrior. You reminded him of fire that blazed continuously no matter complication. A flame that refused to go out, a fire that with even the slightest spark, would burst into flames with dangerous heat. You refused to back down, even if he was a Hydro user, you ignited your flames once again, forcing your sword to burn him to ashes.

And you almost did, and it made his heart tumble inside his ribcage. His smile was difficult to contain, not when he's never felt such excitement in ages! You were different, you stood out among the foes he's fought before. You were unique and he needed to know what made you so special.

You gifted him the knowledge passed down by your father to you. Although he never understood why you would do such a thing to him back then when he was merely just of your acquaintance, you brought him into a whole new world when comprehending the art of weaponry.

"My father focused a lot on training the eyes." You'd state, holding a wooden sword for training purposes while Childe sat on the ground, crossed-legged, listening to every word. "The eye is an essential part of our art. If you trained hard enough, you can peer into someone's soul, quickly make a rough estimate of one's muscle structure, and pinpoint their weaknesses."

Childe, like the child he is, raised his arm as if he was a student wanting to inquire about his teacher. You loudly huffed at his behavior but never told him off. "Yes?" You arched a brow at him, a hand on your hip.

"Is that really possible or just an exaggeration?" He asked, and you were surprised it wasn't in a mocking manner. With a smile and a hum, you nodded proudly, gripping your sword, and got into an offensive stance.

"Hah! An exaggeration?" You snickered, "I only speak of the truth, my dear student. With it, you can anticipate your opponent's next move." Childe blinked, doubtful of what they just said, but nodded nevertheless, waiting for a clearer explanation.

"We sharpen our sights until it's comparable to a hawk's vision. We can see how a hand would clench the weapon it holds, the way the joints would move, the way a body's trajectory would shift, and much more." You recited as if you'd said this hundreds of times before. "We observe each movement, be it big or small."

He let out a sound of awe, eyes wide as he stared up at you, obviously impressed. "And you're teaching me such arts? Something passed down your family?" He asks, growing unsure as a small frown tugged the corners of his lips.

But his heart merely thrummed hard against his chest when you turned to him with a smile adorning your features, an unreadable emotion lingering in your eyes, but still shining brightly against the warm sun. Perhaps if he had this ability, then he would've known what you felt that day.

"For some reason, I trust that you would honor my family's way of the blade more than anyone in Liyue." You sighed, your gaze shifting away from him as you let a stray butterfly perch on your finger, the wind making your clothes flutter. "Of all the people I've fought, you bear what it really takes to be a warrior, despite the lust for battle hidden deep inside." Childe felt himself stiffen when you mentioned a part of him he hasn't shared with you just yet, but you simply giggled at his reaction, winking.

"It's what I've gathered by watching you how to fight."

And he let himself relax at that. After all, Childe was a firm believer of those words; How a person fought was enough to discern one's personality.

"But you did give it away rather obviously." You teased, only for Childe to frown once more, confused. "You laughed on the verge of losing."

His cheeks grew warm at that, a sheepish smile stretching his lips as rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Did I?" He chuckled, looking down at his lap, a sullen expression overtaking his features despite the laughter he forced. He knew at that moment that you'd think he was a weirdo. A creep who gets thrilled in bloodshed battles.

Though, you never cease to surprise him. Stepping in front of him, your shadow loomed over his figure and he raised his head to look up at you, expecting a look of disgust or mockery on your face, but it was just the same gentle face you always wore. Offering him a hand, he accepted it, and let himself be pulled upwards by you.

"I see no fault in it, Childe." You reassure, patting his back as you gave him a wooden sword to finally begin training. "Somethings are out of our control, so lend myself to you."

Childe sputtered, once again, surprised by your words and taking a step back, but you just chuckled at his reaction. "I'll spar with you if it helps quell this insatiable desire. Well, if that's what you'd like."

Speechless, he stood there dumbly, stuck in thought. A permanent sparring partner? Just to help suppress the consuming feeling to seek chaos and destruction? Torn, he couldn't help but crease his brows as he tried to make out any lies. But no, he couldn't see any. Your eyes only held sincerity, a patient smile carved on your lips.

Why are being so kind to him? Why, from then on, you decided to allow him to be your friend? Why did you crawl through the cracks of the faulty walls of his heart and made yourself a place inside it without his volition?

How cruel you were to invade his mind on a daily basis.

Your laughter reminded him of the sounds of chiming bells that hung outside of the homes in Liyue, harmonizing with the gentle breeze of the wind. Your smile held a warmth that he never knew he could once again feel in his heart. Your kindness, concern, gentleness— it made him weak in the knees.

You sparked life back into his dead, soulless eyes.

And you quickly snuffed them out once more, as if it was never there in the first place.

Like everything else that exists, your artistry of weaponry had a fatal flaw, and he could remember those words clearly.

"Our backside is one of the most vulnerable spots to users wielding this art. If an opponent was too quick for our eyes to reach them and attacks us from behind? We're good as dead if we don't improvise."

Maybe that's why you couldn't see the spear aimed at your back, piercing through your chest, right at your heart.

Childe grew to love the rains in Liyue, mostly because you loved them. You'd stomp onto puddles, running through the rain as you let the drops of water completely soak you entirely. You'd take his hands in yours, and dance with him under the rain. But no matter how dark the clouds were, you'd brighten up his surroundings, all it took was your loveable smile.

Though now, the intensity of the rain was not enough to clean the stain of your blood off his hands.

In the middle of the sea of bodies and diluting blood, Childe had your limp body in his hands. He couldn't save you. He wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough. Even with knowledge of your art, he couldn't have anticipated this.

In his veins, he only felt anger and despair, his heart torn to pieces as the one good thing in his life was stripped away from his hands once more. There were so many things he still wanted to tell you, to show you the beauty of Teyvat, to introduce you to his family—

But you were gone. The Vision that hung on your waist, dull and gray, the vibrant reddish-orange glow it once illuminated, gone, similar to your eyes that once held so much life. The fire that burned fervently has been completely extinguished. You have never felt so cold in his arms.

Was this your punishment for loving him? Was this her doing?

In the rain, he let himself break, burning hatred engulfing his heart as he glared at the Jade Chamber that proudly hovered amongst the stars.

There was one thing in his mind as he continued to grieve; the Jade Chamber will be no more.

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