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writingsbychlo · 10 months

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SWEET LIKE SUGAR | 01

summary; azriel is lonely, and goes to the pleasure house. he doesn't get very far before his world is flipped upside down, and he's not the only one.

word count; 7646

notes; working title. working fic. everything is just a work-in-progress. not sure how I feel about posting this, so if we all hate it, lets not tell me, okay? because I love it. I just didn't know if I wanted to share it.

You stared up at the building before you, nervously tugging at the hem of your dress. Your lungs would barely open to take a breath, every pounding note of the music from inside reverberating out across the pavement seems to shake you to your bones, and your heart was racing so fast it might tear right out.

The smell of alcohol spilt out across the street, and the sweet tang of mirthroot smoke sat heavy in the air. It was cloying, probably even thicker inside. A voice cleared, impatient and deep, and you jolted out of your thoughts.

“You’re blockin’ the fuckin’ door.” He growled, words already a little slurred, and your cheeks heated as his gaze leered across your body, a smirk forming on his lips. “‘Less you’re goin’ inside? If that’s the case, let me escort you.”

“No, no. I’m— you go ahead, please.” Your words could barely be choked out, the male rolling his eyes at you before swinging the door open and stepping inside, the music loud enough for a split second to shock you once again. Stumbling back a couple of steps, your body slammed into someone else, a squeak leaving your lips, and your eyes began to sting at the overwhelm of emotions now. “I’m so sorry, I’m in the way, I’ll just—”

“Are you alright?”

A pathetic laugh left you at the question, beyond your control as the wet sound of your inevitable tears leaked into it, despite your best effort to keep them at bay. “No. Nothing is okay, not even a little bit. Everything sucks, actually. Everything is shit, and I’m scared, and I hate it. No, I’m not alright.”

With a heaving breath, one that seemed to shake through every cell in your body, you hauled a watery gaze up to the owner of the deep voice and ridiculous question. And up, and up. Good God’s, he was tall, even in your stupid heels. He had a sharp jawline, lips pursed in a flat line, a straight nose, and thick brows raised in silent question. Or judgement, you really weren’t sure. No matter what, he was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen, though. What he was doing here, you had no idea.

“I’m sorry. You should— you’re going inside, right? You should go inside, don’t let the sobbing girl in the street ruin a very fun night for you.” Stepping to the side, and raising your arm to wave at the club, he didn’t budge, and your gaze tracked back to his.

“You’re not going inside?” His sights dropped, scanning along the material that could barely be called a dress, that you’d had to buy from a lingerie store just to be appropriate, and you still felt exposed. Warmth rushed to your cheeks once again, that lump returning to your throat, and you shook your head.

“No. No, I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t work here?” His tone wasn’t so flat now, a slight tip of curiosity, and you shrugged.

“I was… hoping to. I was trying to work here, but I’m not sure I can make myself do it.” Your lip wobbled. “Not that there’s, y’know, anything wrong with it. Gods, I respect those who do it and I wish I had their confidence, everything would be a lot easier for me if I could, but it’s just not who I am.”

“So, if you don’t want to work at the pleasure house, why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” You shot back, and his stare pinned you. Observant, invasive, intense. It was enough to make you crack after only a second. “Why does anyone do a job?”

“Money?”

“Correct.” Blowing out a breath, you crossed your arms, the adrenaline wearing off as your decision was made, back turned to a club you wouldn't enter. The cold was beginning to leak into you, to take hold. “But, I guess I’ll just figure something else out.”

He watched you for a second longer, before slipping off the leather jacket he was wearing, over proud wings that were tucked tight into the darkness behind him. Swinging it around your body to settle over your shoulders, your first thought was that it was heavy, and large, but warmth soon followed, like a blanket by the fire on a cold winter’s night.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?” His hands stuck into his pants pockets instead, black skinny jeans that clung so tightly to his thighs it should be a crime, and you had to force your gaze away.

“You, uh, you’re not going in?”

“I’m getting everything I need right here.” Panic shot through you, your whole body tightening for just a second, and his eyes widened, those lips finally parting in shock and he shook his head. “That’s not— I’m not implying anything is happening here. You don’t owe me anything, fuck, okay—” He took a deep breath, head tipping back to stare at the sky for a second, and his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if I can go in, either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, I’d really rather walk you home, if you’ll let me, than stand out here in the cold for another hour debating my choices.”

Your lips flicked up at that, the first real smile you’d had in weeks threatening to spill over. What happened to your tears? “You’ve been out here even longer than I have.”

“I know. I saw you arrive.” A smile pulled at his lips too. With a single glance down the street, the not-so-good part of town you’d ended up in, and caved.

“You promise not to, like, murder me, or something?”

A laugh burst from him, sudden and rough, like he wasn’t used to making such a sound, but something in his eyes flickered.

“It’s not funny! Weren’t you ever taught about stranger-danger as a child?”

“No, we weren’t really taught that in the camps. They skipped right over trust, to how to stab someone in the back.” Your throat dried up for a second, before seeing the smirk still sitting on his lips, and you scoffed, a curse muttered under your breath that only made him chuckle more. “Alright, fine. I’m Azriel, and I promise not to murder you.”

A sharp sting on the back of your neck made you gasp, your hand flying to it, and your eyes widened. The burning sensation lasted only for a second, before fading to nothing but a tingle. “What the fuck was that, what did you do?”

“You made me promise!”

“And?” You pressed, fingers tracing the spot. They came away clean when you examined them, and while the skin was smooth to the touch, you could feel whatever had happened.

“You’re not from the Night Court, are you?” Amusement and curiosity wrapped his voice, and you shook your head lightly. “That would be your promise mark. Making a promise brands you, here.”

“What?” He tugged down the collar of his shirt, and even in the darkness, you could see slashes of dark ink across his collarbone, swirls and shapes. Your hand came up, before you could stop yourself, rocking onto your tiptoes to get a closer look, and tracing one finger across a whorl softly. “You’ve made a lot of promises.”

The clean, earthly smell of him filled your nose, and you backed away from him, letting him slip his shirt back into place as he watched you closely.

“Your hands. Are they promise brands too?” Those same hands formed fists by his sides, arms twitching to tuck behind his back and hide, and you could see the effort it took for him to straighten them out in the space between you instead. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have— that was so insensitive of me. I’m sorry, Azriel.”

“They were a promise of a kind, but not the marks the magic of this court gives you. These were promises from my step-brothers when I was a child, promises that worse would come. Worse could come.”

Silence settled between you for a moment, his sights fixed on his own marred flesh now as he turned his hands slowly, over and over before himself. Cupping his hands softly, your palms met his, thumbs smoothing across the rough skin. “I hope you gave them some promises of your own.”

“I did.” His voice was something darker, something sharper, as if daring you to be scared by it. By him. Your hands only squeezed a little tighter around his own.

“Good.” The moment lasted a little longer, his hands flexing briefly around your own, before he was pulling them back. “Do you still want to walk me home?”

“I do.”

“Well, I think I’d like that.” He only smiled again, offering you his arm, and you freed one hand from underneath the layers of leather to loop your own through.

Ambling down the sidewalk, you got as close to his side as possible, stealing both his heat and his protection as drunken fae stumbled past you on all sides, the streets filled with broken glass and litter. It was the worst part of the city, every Court had such places but you’d never thought you’d wind up living in such a place.

With Azriel by your side, even for the short walk it was, people seemed to steer far away from the tall, powerful man who was keeping you company. You’d received countless leers and stares since leaving the house in this outfit, but now, they didn’t even dare to look at you. The safety was something you’d never felt before, and you’d miss it when you were alone again in your apartment tonight, behind a door that didn’t lock and had a chunk missing from the bottom.

Slowing down on the pavement before the place you currently called a very begrudging ‘home’, you avoided a pile of vomit on the street, cringing a little internally and hoping Azriel hadn't noticed it. You weren’t sure why you were so bothered by his opinion, but you were.

“Well, this is it.”

Azriel paused, glancing up at the decrepit building you’d come to a stop before. The windows were boarded up along the bottom floor, graffiti lined the walls, and there were stains on the bricks you’d never bothered to question. Azriel took it all in, and shame flooded your body. The coat wrapped around your shoulders was probably worth more than several months of your rent here.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“You can’t be serious.” He continued to stare, up and up at the several layers, to the open window with shouting pouring out from one of the upper windows. “You can’t live here. We haven’t even left—” The bad part of town.

He cut himself off, but the words still sounded out between you both. Slipping his coat from your shoulders, you held it out, but he didn’t take it. He didn’t even look at it, still staring up in disgust at the apartment building. “Gods, this place makes Nesta’s last apartment look like the Townhouse.”

“What?”

His focus moved back to you, like he hadn't realised he’d even said that out loud, before shaking his head. “Would you like to have a coffee with me?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” The offer shocked you, but sparked a little warmth, like despite every shameful thing he’d learned about you tonight, he wasn’t disgusted by you yet. “When?”

“Now.”

“But nowhere will be—” His hands came out, holding softly to your elbows and tugging you closer, before cold shadows seemed to dart from every corner of the street, wrapping you in a black bubble. The earth seemed to fall out from under you as your vision was lost, everything was silent and cold, before you were stumbling in your terror, and the shadows moved again. “What the fuck just happened?”

The coat dropped from your hand, crumpling to a pile on the street as you stumbled backwards. Only, this wasn’t your street.

The faelights in the lampposts didn’t flicker in their stained yellow glass, but were a clear and bright white. No cracked street tiles or shouting, nothing but peaceful moths batting at the glass, and several houses lined up, spaced far from one another along the street. It wasn’t dark or damp, broken and stained, a part of the city you’d never even seen before. Only one row of houses lined the street, so far between each house it would take you ten full minutes to walk to the next, the Sidra bubbling quietly behind you over the bridge.

Azriel dipped down, picking his jacket up from the ground, and when he took a step closer to you, you took one back, a shaky hand coming up between you both to hold him away.

“Where are we? What the fuck just happened? Why am I here?”

He sighed, shoulders straightening a little. “It’s called… well, I don’t know what it's called, because I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can do it. It’s like winnowing, only with my shadows. I’m a shadowsinger, I control them.” As if to emphasise his point, the darkness lingering all around you on the street swirled slowly, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the darkness move. “You step into the shadows one one place, you step out of them in another. I brought you here for coffee, but that was just an excuse, if I’m honest. Really, I just couldn't bear the thought of leaving you in that place.”

“That place is all I can afford.” You muttered, arms crossing over your chest, a dull pound in your head as you tried to process every overwhelming piece of new information. “So, what are we doing here?”

“I live here.” He stepped up onto the pathway of one house, the gate squeaking a little as he pushed it open, and your jaw fell slack, staring up at the towering estate before you.

“Here?”

“Yes. Now, will you please come inside?” Tipping his head to the side, that smile was back, and you couldn't resist it, the pull toward him as your feet carried you in cautious steps.

“Fine, but I don’t actually want coffee. I hope you have tea.”

“I have plenty of tea. So many flavours that you won’t know what to pick.” His grin only widened as you stepped through the gate, letting him close it behind you, and following you up towards the grand house as you put every effort into not making a fool of yourself in these ridiculous heels. As you reached the porch, he swerved around you, producing a set of keys from his pockets and unlocking the door, holding that out for you too. “Welcome to the Bridge House.”

“That’s a pretentious name. All of these houses are on the river, and none of them are on the bridge.” You muttered, his chuckle following you inside as fae lights came on automatically, lighting along the long hallway, giving a muted glow to the space. He shut the door, and you spun to face him, watching as he clicked all of the locks securely back into place.

“I know, but Rhys likes to name all of his houses, and he wouldn't let me change it even when I bought it.”

“Rhys?” You echoed, deciding to skip right over the display of wealth you couldn't even begin to handle, and copy his actions, toeing off the shoes that had been torturing your feet for hours now, and giving a soft sigh when your feet flattened on the floor.

“My brother. Not biologically, but, it’s what he, Cassian and I like to call ourselves.”

With a warm hand on your lower back, he softly began to guide you through the house and into the kitchen, but the names lingered in your mind. “Cassian… Rhys— oh, fuck, as in Rhysand? The fucking High Lord?”

Azriel only smirked at your outburst, stepping away from the island counter in the middle towards the kettle sitting neatly on the stove. “So, their names you recognise, but mine you don’t? I’m almost offended.”

“Well, isn’t that supposed to be the point, spymaster?” You growled the word out, knees feeling a little weak underneath yourself, and you braced your hip against the counter. “Oh, Gods, this is so inappropriate. I can’t be here! You’re a part of the Royal Court, you’re—”

“I’m just Azriel, to you.” His voice had gone soft once again, pulling two mismatching mugs from the cupboard, and watching you cautiously.

“I’m wearing lingerie!” You burst, voice too high and shrill to even be remotely calm, and he clicked his tongue.

“I'm aware. You look cold and uncomfortable. Would you like something to change into?”

“Would I…” It was surreal. It was a dream. None of this could possibly be true. “I can’t be here!”

“Why?”

“Because… because you’re Azriel, the spymaster! You literally call the High Lord brother, and I am a pleasure house worker who can barely afford rent in the shittiest part of town, I came to your house in a pair of stupid heels that I had to tape the sole back onto, in a dress that barely even qualifies as underwear! Your jacket could probably have bought my whole apartment outright, and—” Azriel crossed the room before you could even process it, hands sitting on your waist to scoop you up and deposit you onto the counter just before your legs could give out fully. He planted his hands on the outside of each of your thighs, planted himself between them, and his nose practically brushed your own. “What are you doing?”

“Take a breath. You’re panicking. You’re going to give yourself a panic attack.”

“I think we’re way past that.” You whispered, but did as told, trying to take a shaky breath to match the one he took. You did it again, and again, each breath calming you a little more, but it didn’t help the chaos in your mind, just helped to slow your heart a little. “Azriel, c’mon, you and I both know it. I should go, and we should just hope none of your neighbours saw, because it’ll ruin your reputation.”

“My reputation is destroyed anyway. If anything, you’ll be wanting to hope nobody saw you with me, once you learn about me.” You rolled your eyes, head tipping forward to lean on his shoulder, and he slipped one hand up to rub softly along your back. You could feel everything, the sexy dip of the dress barely covered your ass now, and more embarrassment flooded through you. “Besides, you’re here now. You might as well stay for that tea. It’s not like anyone can see you in here, you’re not on a timer.”

“Okay. Just one cup.”

“Just one cup.” He confirmed, lingering for a second longer before pulling away. Disentangling himself, he filled up the kettle from the tap, setting it off on the hob. “What flavour tea would you like?”

“What’ve you got?”

Hopping down from the counter as he beckoned you closer, it was only when you were by his side that he opened a double-standing cabinet, both of the doors slowly opening on a hinge, silent as ever, to reveal the jars of loose tea within. Each one was lined up meticulously, labelled with the flavour of tea and the benefits underneath, your jaw dropping. “Told you I had plenty.”

“You could run a tea shop with this stash!” Your elbow flew out, nudging into his ribs to dim his laughter. “I have no idea where to even start. Why don’t you pick?”

“Alright.” Instead of getting one out, though, he closed the cupboard doors, backing you away from it slowly. “It’ll be a surprise, but how about we get you that change of clothes first, huh?”

You glanced down at yourself, giving into the urge to finally feel settled in your own body again, chin dipping in a single nod. His hand slipped into your own, warm and sure, before he was tugging you along behind him, and guiding you through the house. Up two sets of stairs, past far too many different rooms to count, before stopping at the doorway to the grand bedroom. It had double doors, for fuck’s sake. The one bedroom itself, as you entered, was bigger than your entire apartment had been.

Clean, simply decorated and organised, and extremely homely, a sigh left you as you took it all in. “This is your bedroom?”

“Well, I am the only one who lives here.” He teased, dropping your hand and leaving you to observe in the centre of the room, as he made his way over to one of the wardrobes.

“Really? I couldn't tell, what with this place being the same size as my entire apartment building.” He laughed, and you hardly had time to turn and see the smile that would be accompanying it, before soft material was smacking you in the face, and falling to the floor. You looked down, agape, to see a soft blue t-shirt sitting in a pile at your feet. “Did you just throw that at me?”

“That’s what you get for sassing me.”

He opened another drawer as you crouched to pick it up, shaking it out to hold the material in front of yourself. When it was lowered, he threw something else, another bundle you were just quick enough to catch this time, but it didn’t stop you from scowling in his direction. This time, it was sweatpants, thicker and black in colour.

“I’ll give you a chance to get changed, and I’ll be back.”

He was gone, the door shutting gently behind him, and he was absolutely silent as he walked away, leaving you alone in his bedroom. It was an odd feeling, to say the least. To be trusted so deeply with someone’s things, when they had no reason to be, and Azriel didn’t read to you as the easily trusting type.

Then again, neither were you, and you were somehow still confident that this wasn’t all going to end with your untimely death. Your toes sank into the plush carpets, sore patches on the backs and sides of your feet already threatening to be blistered by the morning, and this dress had been irritating your skin since the moment you’d put it on. Cheap material, but the best you could afford.

Slipping open the ties across the front one at a time, the dress came loose, enough for you to slip your arms out of the tight sleeves, and begin to shimmy it down your body, feeling less than elegant as you worked your way out of it. Perhaps it was a good thing you hadn't gone in, you certainly weren’t cut out for this kind of work. How anybody could make peeling themselves out of that sexy was beyond you.

Azriel’s shirt was built to accommodate his large frame, with panels in the back that buttoned up for his wings, but even once it was on, with those few slits down the back, they revealed nothing compared to the dress on the floor at your feet. You didn’t feel so exposed any more, so vulnerable, and as you slipped the sweatpants up your legs to tighten at the waist, you finally felt more like yourself again.

A sigh slipped past your lips, hands smoothing down along your covered body, warm and comfy once again. You hadn't felt this settled in a long time, and already, Azriel’s house was feeling more like home than your shitty apartment ever had, and ever would. Scooping up your dress and folding it neatly into a flat square, you laid it atop one of the dressers, beside a half-burned candle and a book.

You were sniffling the candle when there was a knock at the door the knob twisting slowly.

“Can I come in? Are you, y’know, dressed?”

“I’m dressed, you can come in.” He nudged the door open, a tray in his hands, stacked up with pottery and plates, and you placed the candle back down to help. He didn’t need it, though, resting the tray down on the small trunk at the end of his bed, and straightening up. As he turned to you, his gaze found you again, running far more slowly along your body than he had out in the street, and the smile you were becoming fond of formed on his lips again.

“Feel better?”

“So much better.”

He patted the silky quilt on the end of his bed. “Come sit. I made cranberry and spiced apple tea. It’s very calming, a good late-night tea.”

“Sounds delicious.” Your legs crossed as you perched atop the plush mattress, a bed larger than you’d ever seen before as you took it in, spanning your gaze across the entirety of it. When you turned back, Azriel was pouring you a mug, watching.

“It’s because of the wings.”

“What?”

“My wings.” He flexed them out behind himself, stretching them taut to their full, glorious length, and your hands shook a little in awe as you took the mug and saucer from him. Black, leathery flesh was thinner in some places, enough to glow a softer purple and red as the light shone through, some patches had tendons and veins visibly moving under the skin, marred patches of scars in the shapes of slashes and arrow piercings. “So I can stretch them out in bed and they don’t touch the floor.”

“They’re sensitive?” You wanted to reach out, to trace one of the scars sitting right at eye level, to ask what had caused it, but he only chuckled. As he poured his own mug of tea, he pulled them back in, hanging comfortably behind his back once again.

“Very sensitive. You can bring an Illyrian male to his knees with just one touch in the right place.”

“This feels like top-secret information. Surely you shouldn’t be spilling all the ways to hurt an Illyrian male to me?” You teased, and he uncapped a jar of honey, his smirk growing as one brow raised at you.

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“Of course not.” He added two spoonfuls to his mug and stirred, before offering it to you, a fresh spoon to follow, and you accepted the scoops he made.

“Then why shouldn’t I tell you?” You had no answer to that, instead grinning into your tea as you stirred it, watching the ripples form as you tapped the spoon against the edge, and rested it on the saucer. Steam curled up from it, and as you raised it to your lips to blow, he hummed. It smelt so good, your mouth watered. “Besides, who said you’d be bringing me to my knees in pain?”

You jerked, gaze snapping back up to him, before a splash of the tea spilt over the edge of your mug, hitting your thigh and dripping onto the covers below, creating a small wet patch. “Azriel!”

He only laughed, your cheeks heating at his innuendo, but the flush on his face was worth it, even if he was laughing at you.

“Now look what you made me do, there’s tea on your covers.”

“Sweetheart, seeing that reaction would have been worth it if you’d spilt a bucket of mud on my bed.” Your cheeks flushed again at the drawl of his voice over his words, even if he didn’t know he was doing it, your heart jumping in your chest.

“I still might, as revenge.” Muttering your words didn’t make him miss them, laughter starting anew, and you hoped he at least couldn't see the smile the sound gave you as you sipped your tea. You finally let your eyes move to the tray, noting the large teapot sitting in the centre, the used pot of honey and your spoons, and the small plate stacked up with shortbreads. “Would it be already if I had one of those?”

He tracked your gaze, nodding rapidly when he realised and presented the plate to you. “I don’t normally have food in my bedroom, never mind my bed, but, I didn’t know when you last ate. I didn’t want to assume, and start cooking a whole meal, but I can—”

“Azriel.” His lips pursed shut, this time it was his turn to blush, an adorable shade of pink that suited him so well crawling across golden skin. “I love these, and I was hungry. They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Slipping from the bed to stand once again, you placed your mug back on the tray, and held up your saucer instead to catch crumbs as you ate the first circular treat.

“What are you doing?” Azriel’s voice was a little rough, and you licked stray crumbs and sugar from your lips, not missing his gaze following the motion.

“I’m eating.”

“Why did you stand up?” He flexed his fingers around his mug, watching you happily as you took another bite.

“I didn’t want to risk getting crumbs in your bed.”

“You can,” He stepped closer, putting his drink down and settling his hands on your shoulders, a look in his eyes you didn’t quite get a chance to read before he was moving you, pushing until your legs met the bed and you sat down slowly. “You can sit. I don’t care if you get crumbs. I’ll clean it.”

He moved to take the saucer, the one you had cupped under your chin to catch any loose crumbs, and you gripped it tightly, not letting him have that too. He was making all kinds of sacrifices for you tonight, you weren’t sure why, but this was one rule you could at least respect.

“You can sit up at the pillows, if you want. You don’t have to sit down here.”

Glancing back, the end of the bed felt miles away, and you shrugged, feeling him stack another pastry onto your plate as your attention was turned away. “Will you sit with me if I do? I mean, I know it’s your bed, but…”

“I will. Let me just change, first.”

He swiped up his pyjamas, which had been sitting neatly by the pillow on what you assumed was his side of the bed, and disappeared with a flurry of shadows into the connecting bathroom. Not all of them went, some remained, swirling on the floor, and a single tendril rose up, like a snake lifting its head.

It didn’t have eyes, a face, or any discernible features, and yet you had the distinct feeling you were being watched by it. You popped another shortbread into your mouth, whole this time, and placed the rest down, watching it just as studiously as it approached you across the floor slowly.

It slithered up, across the bedding, and snaked over your thigh until it found your wrist. It was cool, not cold, but a soft breeze across your skin. Soothing, to say the least, and it wrapped in coils around your arm. Up and up it went, crawling under the baggy sleeve-hem of the t-shirt you’d borrowed, across the pulse point in your neck and before re-emerging from your collar and darting into the hanging strands of your hair.

Another soon followed, this one tickling across the bare bad of your foot before snaking up your leg, toying in your fingers, weaving through the digits. Another came, curious like puppies, but this one never touched you. No, instead, it danced across the trunk before you, over the tray and swirled around your mug, again and again in whirling circles.

“What are you doing, little one?”

You reached a finger out, brushing it across the mist. “It’s trying to tell you to drink your tea.”

“Jeez, Azriel!” You jumped, shadows skittering like butterflies back to the corners of the room as he waved a hand, and you clutched your own over your heart. “You’re so fuckin’ sneaky, what is up with you!”

“Spymaster, remember? Sneaky is kind of in the job description.” He winked, winked, and wandered right past where you sat, up to the head of the bed. He looked good, too good for someone simply intending to sleep later tonight, with a fitted black shirt stretched taut across those muscles, and a pair of matching sweatpants to the ones he’d given you, except they looked much better on him. Pulling back the covers, he patted the mattress beneath, raising his head to look at you. “Come on, and bring your tea.”

You did as told, rising and grabbing both your mug and his, moving to sit on the space he’d learned for you, amongst fluffy pillows and cushions. He tucked the blankets back around you, caring for you in a way nobody ever had before, and you had to bite at the inside of your cheek to contain it. “Thank you.”

Your whisper was hardly audible, but he smiled nonetheless, one curl from his raven black locks flopping across his forehead as he nodded, before making his way around to his side. Sinking into the bed, he sat forwards, ruffling his wings for a moment until he was satisfied, before sitting back and taking the mug you offered.

Once one hand was free, you indulged yourself, leaning across to tuck that curl back up into his hair, his golden eyes tracking every movement. “Why are you doing this for me, Azriel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you looking after me? Why are you being so kind to a complete stranger? I’m here, wearing your clothes, sitting in your bed, drinking your tea. Why?” The words hung thick in the air around you, for so long you sipped your tea just for something to do as his lips pursed in consideration. You swore you could hear your heartbeat, drumming in anticipation. This was it. This was where stupid, ridiculous, blind trust from desperation got you. Into the bed of someone who could ruin your life, who would make it seem like nothing ever happened, who—

“I don’t quite know.”

“You— what?” It wasn’t what you’d been expecting, head emptying once again, and he shrugged. He sipped his tea, and didn’t continue. You placed your own down on the bedside table to your left, turning onto your side and propping yourself on the pillows to study him. “You don’t know?”

“No. I just saw you, and I wanted to talk to you. So, we talked. Then I walked you home, and I saw where you lived, and I just knew I couldn't let someone as good as you go in there again.”

“You don’t even know me! What if I’m a really awful person?”

“I don’t think so.” He smiled, tucking a strand of your hair away behind your ear as he smiled. His thumb came down, tracing slowly across your cheek in a way that made sparks fly along your skin, your heart skipping another beat, and his grin only got wider. “I’m pretty good at reading people, and you’re golden. Besides, my shadows are all shadows. They know these things, they don’t trust people easily, but they like you. That tells me that you’re good, that you deserve more.”

“That’s a lot of faith to have in them.”

“They’ve earned that faith over the centuries.” His confession brought another wave of silence, but nothing about it was awkward. He finished his tea, as did you, sitting side by side in his grand bed, where your feet didn’t even come close to touching the ends. “Azriel?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me something?”

His expression was sweet like sugar, and he rolled a little more to face you, a little closer to you, sharing your space. “What would you like me to tell you?”

“Tell me your funniest story.”

And just like that, Azriel was off, words flying from his mouth as he began to recreate the scene, and you slumped down into the pillows to listen. He told you about his brother, Cassian, and you laughed with him so much your sides hurt. You told him your own, your funniest tales of your time in school, pranks you and your friends had pulled, drunken nights out.

Just one cup had become two, had become three, into four, as the stories moved on, conversation flowing so easily between you both in a way it never had before.

The teapot was drained somewhere between talking about your childhood and his, when you’d returned the mugs to the tray, and found yourself braced in his arm, cheek on his chest listening to the rumble of his voice as he talked.

Somewhere around the time of talking about all the promises he’d made, you’d found yourself sat up, cross-legged to match him and knees touching, leaning in like you were talking in secrets, hiding giggled in whispers like you were kids getting caught talking in a classroom.

You told him about your trip to the Night Court, how you’d always felt so lost in Dawn, nothing seemed right, and after Amarantha's reign and the war, everything seemed to have fallen apart for you. He listened, he actually heard you, when you told him about your trip here, to see the City of Starlight and feeling more rooted here than you ever had in your home court. Something was calling you. You may not have the life you’d dreamed of yet, but you’d get there.

He swore you would, he believed in you. He told you all the places to visit, the best parts of Velaris to see, when you could spare the time and the funds. Most seemed like dreams, things you’d never get to truly achieve, but it was fun to imagine them.

By the time the sun had been rising again, you were laying on your back, his head on your stomach as he lay sideways across the bed. Your hand was in his hair scratching across his scalp as he explained to you the trials that had brought him and his brothers to victory as Carynthian warriors.

“Azriel, can I ask you a question?” You whispered, dragging your hand through his hair one more time, before he was moving, propping his chin on your stomach and offering a sleepy smile.

“Sure.”

“What were you doing at the pleasure house tonight?”

“Looking for this.” He mumbled, yawning to follow it, and your thoughts swirled. He crawled up the bed a little more, collapsing down half on top of you still, half beside you in the bed, sharing your pillow. “Looking for company.”

“Well, yes, but not this kind of company.”

“No, not this kind.” His lips still smiled as his lashes fluttered, those pretty eyes finally opening to look at you again. “I’m so fuckin’ lonely, all the time. All those stories are great, they’re fun, but it's the times in between that hurt. When I sit at the dinner table, surrounded by five happy couples, all alone. When I see them, and I want to be so happy because they’re so in love, and I’m just jealous. Sometimes, I just want to be touched, to be loved, to be the one getting attention. Being the eleventh wheel sucks.”

“Eleventh wheel?” Your chuckle made him roll his eyes, shrugging helplessly, and groaning as he readjusted in the pillows, propping himself up.

“I don’t know what drew me there tonight, just that I was lonely, and I want to feel love. Even if it was just a short time, even if I had to pay for it. Even if it wasn’t real.” He lifted your hand, weaving his scarred fingers through your own, and smiling fondly when he settled your hands in his lap. “Maybe it was fate that I found you instead. That, rather than pay for false love that would make me only feel worse after, I got to meet you, to help you. I didn’t bring you back here with this intention, I didn’t mean to bring you back at all, it just sort of happened. But, this has been one of the best nights of my existence, and all we did was talk.”

“Oh, Az…” Your voice cracked, leaning across towards him you pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling his smile pull under your lips.

“Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” You pulled back, settling your hand on his shoulder as your thumbs battled aimlessly.

That blissful silence settled between you both once again, exhaustion eating at your boned as you fought to even keep your eyes open, and watch the growing sun rays come through the windows you’d never even bothered to cover last night.

At some point, you’d have to leave. You’d have to give him his clothes back, and try to find your way home, living with nothing but the warming memories of this night to keep you from freezing in your apartment this Winter. It was all so worth it, because while you may not have confessed it in return, you hoped he knew it was one of the best nights of your existence, too.

“What if we did this again?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, words slightly slurred through your tiredness, and you wondered idly if you fell asleep here, would he let you stay until you woke up before sending you on your way?

“This. This, whatever this night was. We could make it an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” You snorted, cloudy amusement filling your veins, but he only hummed. “Would you like to pay me to cuddle you, Azriel?”

“I would, actually. That and… other things.”

“What?” That cut through the haze, your head snapping up to look at him, your hand pulling back from his own as an icy feeling filled your chest. “I’m not— that’s— if I was going to do that, I’d be at the pleasure house right now!”

“What are you— no! Not those things!” His eyes widened as he released, shooting out to hold onto you once again as you searched for the edges of the covers to fling back. “Not like that. I just mean, there are things I want. I want company, I want someone to talk to over the dinner tables in the evening and hold like this, someone to make me feel less alone. I need affection, and just look at us tonight. Just like this, this was enough for me. And, there are things you need.”

“What do I need?” Huffing out the words, he gently smoothed your fingers from gripping the blankets, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze again.

“You need a place to live that isn’t that horrible building. You need a real address, in a good part of town, so that someone will hire you. You need a friend in this city, and I want to be that friend.”

“So, you’d, what? Have me move into your house, live here with you? You’d change my whole life all for the measly price of cuddling you at night? You know, a girlfriend would do that for you. You wouldn't have trouble finding one, Azriel!”

“You’d be surprised.” He muttered, rubbing his thumb over your chin as he still held it. “Most people are scared of me, or want something from me. Even after that, I’m hard to put up with.”

“Oh, c’mon, Az.” Your eyes rolled, and he pinched a little in response.

“Sometimes I have to go away for days at a time, weeks at a time. I have a hectic and unpredictable work schedule, so planning dates and getting to know someone isn’t exactly easy when you might have to inexplicably stand them up and not be able to explain why. Even so, I’m meticulous and pedantic, and people don’t want to date someone like that. Even with all that aside, actually connecting with someone is something I struggle with.” He let it all off his chest in one burst, and you felt the weight of his troubles and confessions like a rock on your chest. “You’d be perfect for me.”

“You don’t even know my name!”

“I do!” His eyes sheened over, thinking back across the whole night, and you watched the moment he realised that perhaps he’d given you his name, but he’d never asked for your own. “Names don’t mean a thing when I can see your soul so clearly, already.”

“You know this is insane, right?”

“Totally.” He confirmed, smiling a little at your scoff. “But we should still do it. You can live here, with me. You can get a job, make this your home, and have the life you always wanted in Velaris. In return, I get to not feel like the darkness, like I’m alone, all the time.”

“Would I have my own room?”

“Any you like. You’re not going to be a prisoner, or some kind of kinky hostage. This will be your home too.” Your shared snickers at his wording only brought you closer, until your forehead was resting on his own, staring at him through warped vision at your closeness.

“This is madness. How would it work, what are the rules here?”

“The rules are whatever we want. We do what makes us happy, what makes us comfortable. I care about you, I like you. I don’t know what it is about you, but you’ve had me since the moment I saw you.” Your breathing stuttered, his hand cupping your whole cheek now instead, and you settled down into the pillows to face him. “It may be crazy, but I am crazy, you’re gonna’ learn that. Let me change your life, sweetheart. You’ll be changing mine too.”

Your voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper, accompanied by a smile. “Then I think you’ve got yourself a deal, Azriel.”

#SLS #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #acotar x reader #acotar/reader #acotar x you #acotar/you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #acotar

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maeby-cursed · 6 months

Text

KISS ME, TRY TO FIX IT…

𓂃 COULD YOU JUST TRY TO LISTEN ?

a/n: starting a new series of songfics ! this one is very obviously inspired by sad, beautiful, tragic, so you can see where this might be going. enjoy the results of my brainrot ♡ (also, i’ve never written for gojo before, please have mercy)

✧ synopsis: you’ve been waiting for satoru gojo for ten years, but there’s no trace of the man you fell in love with when you were sixteen years old. it’s time to let go, but he might not want to.

✧ pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader

✧ wc: 2k

✧ rating: angst. so much of it, angst to drown in. might get suggestive at some points.

✧ cw: mentions of drinking, of the great jjk tragedy of 2006 and its aftermath, implied cheating, gojo may be ooc, toxic relationship ??

An ice-cold wind blows through the window as you wait.

It’s not even December yet but it’s already snowing.

Soft snowflakes the size of stars, far away in their firmament, enter your living room. When they land on the sofa, they dissolve, leaving in their wake thousands of specks of water that look disturbingly like tears.

It doesn't matter. You don't think he's going to notice anyway.

It's been ten long years of waiting. Ten long years of fighting, of fixing what's broken and denying that it's ever been broken.

It's over. Let winter freeze everything in its path.

When Satoru walks in through the door, you hesitate for a moment. A moment of madness when you see his hair, as white as the snowfall that has invaded your home. Just a moment when you see him in his burgundy turtleneck sweater, his tight-fitting coat. One single moment when you recognize the cold in his pink cheeks.

But it's all over when you meet his crystalline eyes. The fault is theirs.

"Is the window broken again?" he asks, dropping his keys on the entryway’s table.

The window has been broken since September.

You nod and he grunts, running a hand over his face.

"I'll call someone tomorrow, although you could have said something," he says. This is your fault. Of course.

You keep your eyes fixed on the snow. From the living room you can see the sidewalk across the street, covered in a blanket of white that sparkles under the street lamps. It's so painfully beautiful it makes you nostalgic.

You and Satoru moved into this house three years ago, when he got his teaching position, and you can't quite get over the fact that it's time to say goodbye.

You've spent three years of solstices here. You've seen the sidewalks covered with dead leaves, with thousands of little flowers that broke the pavement in their wake. But it’s never snowed.

It’s not fair, not one bit.

Satoru says no more. He goes to your room and undresses; he replaces his street clothes with a black outfit that seems very appropriate for the occasion. Since you’ve known him, he always takes off his glasses when he crosses the hall of your building, but for once, you wish he'd put them back on.

When he returns, his hair is dripping over his forehead. You hadn't even noticed that he was taking a shower.

But he hasn't noticed that your bedside table is empty, either; that your slippers are missing, that there's a seeping coldness in the hearth of your house, and it's not coming from the window.

"What's for dinner?" he asks, plopping down on the couch with his cell phone in his hand.

You get up.

9:26 p.m., November 8. This is where it ends.

"I don't know. I'm going out to dinner," you say.

He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Hmm, where are you going? Are you bringing something back or should I order myself a pizza?"

It's painful to watch as nothing seems to touch him. He’s infinite — always infinite.

"I'm going to a work friend's house."

"The one with the lovely curly hair and those pretty hazel eyes?"

Christ.

"No. I'm moving in with Rhea. Dark-eyed, blonde, leggy."

"Hmm, how nice."

A moment passes where he just keeps staring at the screen, and you despair.

"Satoru."

"What's up, baby?"

"I'm moving."

At last – at last – he looks up. In his eyes you see nothing; two blue marbles that have sworn you two to an unjust fate.

"You're moving out? Why?"

Where to begin? Because you have been loving a man destined to save everything and everyone for a decade, because you have been trying to fill a void that is not your size for eight years, because the windows are broken and the bed is cold and Satoru arrives several nights smelling of anisette and the perfume of another, because you don't want to live looking at the Strongest, the possessor of the Six Eyes. Because you thought that in some hidden corner Satoru Gojo was still there, and he isn’t.

"Because it's killing me to live like this.” You settle for that as your explanation and try to keep your stare unwavering.

"Like this how?" he questions, suddenly irritated. "In a luxurious house?" He gestures around him with the cell phone in his hand. "Comfortably, with your dream job? Knowing you'll never have to worry about money?"

"No, Satoru. Like this, without you loving me."

That chills him to the bone.

"Of course I love you."

"Do you? Do you want me for anything other than to warm your bed and your cock? Do you want me here, as your partner? Do you need me for anything at all?"

You don’t gesticulate, you barely move from your spot in the middle of the room. Everything in this fucking place is white and uncannily clean; the sofas, the coffee table, the walls, even the snow; but you and Satoru. He’s in all black, you’re in all red. It’s almost dreamlike, and you struggle to stay grounded.

The only thing you could remove from this house that would grab his attention would be you.

"Yesterday you weren't complaining about any of this, what the fuck is the matter with you today?"

And you can't stand it anymore. The winter current lifts your hair, soaks the back of your neck and disguises your tears.

"THE MATTER IS THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN YEARS. WAITING FOR YOU. WAITING FOR THE MAN I MET AT SIXTEEN TO COME BACK, SLEEPING WITH A MAN OF ABSENT GAZE WHO STAGGERS INTO MY BED WHEN HE'S TIRED OF BEING IN EVERYONE ELSE'S. I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR DOG, SATORU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME HOME AND FEEL OBLIGATED TO GIVE ME A WALK, A PETTING."

The words come spilling out of you without remedy, every wound bursting open through the stitches. He just looks at you.

"You think I don't love you?"

It hurts to hear him say it, it fucking hurts. You were prepared for the yelling and the coldness, even for a quick vulnerable stare. But never for his trembling voice and soft frown.

You inhale deeply.

"I don't think your love is of any use to me any longer."

Satoru stands up at that.

He's tall, tall and beautiful like Michelangelo's David. All your life, you've been feeling like you had no right to touch him. His infinity assured you that was the case.

He takes a step in your direction and whispers:

"Then what should I do now?"

Your eyes, fixed on the ground, rise to meet his. There's something in the void and you're not sure if it's just your reflection.

"What?" you mutter.

"How do I fix it? What do you need that I can't give you? Do you want me to quit work, for us to leave, for me to come home and kiss your temple, to cook for you, to listen to you, to cherish you in bed?” A heartbeat. “I will."

There’s something about the desperation in his tone, you aren’t sure of what to say next.

Satoru knows how to lie, but you don't know how to tell the difference.

"I don't want anything, Satoru. I'm tired," you whisper back, eyes full of water. "I want it to end. I want you to let it end."

He shakes his head, frowning, and through the mist of your tears you recognize that he is crying too.

"There has to be something. Anything. Something I can do, I can do it all."

It's partly true. He's Satoru Gojo; all-powerful, all-knowing. Eternal and young and beautiful and tragic as a poem.

You are just another person. You cried when Suguru left, when Haibara died, when Kento gave up the Jujutsu world and when Ieri locked herself in her office. You clung to Satoru, who resembled an empty seashell more than a person.

You remember those nights back in 2007. You remember blindfolding him so he wouldn't activate infinity by accident, by reflex, out of overstimulation. You remember cutting his hair when he couldn’t and looking for him in his old antics. You remember taking care of Megumi – always reluctant �� and Tsumiki – who you felt was too mature for her age. You remember the burden of being eighteen and having lost a world.

And, above all else, you remember Satoru under the rain. Under the pressure of the world you had lost, the one that he was trying to put back together. There was a month where he seemed catatonic; no smiles, drinking anisette as if it were his one source of life. A thirty-day period followed by the rebirth of a person who looked like the one that stood before, but who seemed cold and alien to you.

"Don't you love me, my darling?" he seeks for you, reaching out a hand to brush against your cheek.

Of course you love him. You love him even like this, like you have loved each and every one of his versions.

"I adore you, Satoru. But I can't stay; you can't fix it."

"Of course I can," he reaches out to you, holding your face between his fingers, "Of course I can."

His lips connect with yours — one last attempt, you don't know by whom.

Snow fills the room and it's cold, but you drink from his mouth, from his everlasting warmth; everything in him lasts forever.

Between kisses, you show him everything you have been for years. Ten years of kisses, of hands looking for hands and flesh searching for flesh.

He moves backwards, keeping you between his hands and guiding you towards the hallway and from the hallway to your shared bed.

This is where it ends.

"Satoru..." you whisper.

"I'm here. I'm here, beautiful, my favorite girl. Talk to me."

A sob escapes you as he utters those words. My favorite girl. That’s what he used to call you. Talk to me, he used to plead, that year at sixteen, when everything was about to start.

Isn't it beautiful that it ends the exact same way?

"Satoru, I'm leaving," you press a farewell kiss to his jaw.

"No, you're not leaving," he murmurs, smiling against your mouth, searching for your lips.

You back away and look at him one more time. And you smile, because there's nothing left.

"I'm already gone. Just let go of me, please."

"But..." he starts, his smile hesitant, "But I'm going to fix it."

You take one of his hands between yours and kiss it as it presses against your cheek, before lowering it to your lap.

"Satoru..." You pronounce each syllable of his name carefully and he stifles a cry. "I'm not going to go any further. I've already made the move and Rhea's expecting me at her house in an hour. I love you, I’ll love you until I run out of kisses, but it does me no good to love you. It is of no use to me, this love. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you one last time. Wasn’t it my turn to be the selfish one for once?"

He watches you, and his mouth shuts close. You've never seen Satoru lose.

No, that's not true. There was a time, one time, where you saw him lose everything.

His eyes fill up with you one second and empty the next.

This is his second time.

He lifts his chin with an arrogance that no longer means anything and lets go of your hands.

"Go then, if you want. I'm not going to do anything to stop you,” he drags the words with feign disinterest. “I can't do anything."

That's the last gift he can give you. An honesty unbecoming of him, a truth that will never belong to Satoru Gojo ever again.

From god to human in three kisses and a goodbye.

"Thank you," you say to him. Then you get up, heading for the living room, where your coat and your escape door await you.

He stays in the bedroom – with himself as he always is – after you leave.

And he hides you where he always hides the things he breaks, in the back of his eyes, where no one can reach to see anything.

(reblogs are appreciated !!)

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing !#jjk imagines #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you

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chadillacboseman · 5 months

Note

OKAY OKAY OKAY

IDEA

WHAT IF THE READER IS PREGNANT WITH MAKAROV'S KID AND HE'S HELLA PROTECTIVE AND THEY'RE OUT AND ABOUT AND SOMEONE IS STUPID ENOUGH TO LIKE. GET ANGRY AT HER AND BECOMES THREATENING AND UNFORTUNATELY (not really) MAKAROV IS AROUND??

"Walk carefully," Makarov rests a protective hand on the small of your back, rough fingers massaging the fabric of your shirt as he guides you down the curb.

"I'm fine, V," you protest indignantly, "I'm pregnant, not frail."

Makarov grunts and his dark eyes find yours, "With my child, yes? I need to keep you safe."

"From the curb?"

He ignores your sarcasm, instead scanning the street for any threats, any faces he recognizes. The neighborhood is rough, littered with refuse and graffiti.

You bury yourself in your phone as you trot along beside him, thumb swiping past articles that didn't catch your eye. Perhaps if you'd been more observant-

You crash into something-no, someone, bouncing back a few inches as your phone clatters to the pavement and shatters on impact.

"Oh! I'm sorry-" you scramble to pick up your broken cell.

"Watch where you're going, bitch," a loud, slurred voice booms from the figure you had bumped into.

You look up into his face, stubbled with dark halos around his hate-filled eyes. He smells of whiskey, positively reeks of it, and he looks unsteady on his feet.

"Excuse me?" You straighten and instinctively place a hand on your stomach.

"I said-" the man moves his face closer to yours, "Watch where you're fucking going!"

It happens in a split second.

He shoves you, hard, and you stumble back, losing your footing and falling unceremoniously to the concrete, wincing at the unwelcome contact.

The man takes a step forward, his face a twisted visage of rage. Genuine terror takes root in your chest as you try to scramble backward and out of his reach.

In an instant, the man's head jerks violently to one side and a spattering of bright red blood showers from his temple, painting the ground at his feet.

You watch with wide eyes as he crumples in a heap and Makarov shakes his hand, ridding it of the crimson that smears his knuckles.

The man groans and tries to roll to his feet; blood rolls in thick, red rivulets down the side of his face. He's drunk and pain clearly isn't an issue.

If there's one thing Makarov loves, it's a challenge.

His foot connects with the drunkard's ribs, taking the air from his lungs and sending him back to the concrete once more.

"Stay down," Makarov snarls.

"Fuck you," the man spits through wheezing breaths. He attempts to get up once more, blood now staining his rumpled shirt.

Makarov hits him again, this time with his fist, connecting his sharp knuckles with the man's face with such force that it sends him toppling onto his back.

This time, he does stay down. But Makarov isn't satisfied- another kick lands, this time in the gut, and the man lets out a wet, heavy cough.

As the man lays in the street, Makarov comes to you, his face painted with concern, hands reaching for yours as he pulls you to your feet.

"Are you alright?" His eyes flick up and down your body, searching for injury.

"I'm okay," you pant, nerves still wrung taught like rubber bands, "thank you..."

Makarov waves a hand at you dismissively, his eyes still full of worry. Calloused fingers find the swell of your stomach and he runs a rough palm over the bump.

"Any time."

#makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader

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zeraaachan · 1 year

Text

hypothetically

if i died hypothetically… what will you do?

summary: in which the reader asked them a hypothetical question and they curse the day it becomes reality. alternatively, how the genshin! characters react to reader's death

content warning(s): major character death, angst/ no comfort

character(s): scaramouche, xiao, venti

modern au! scaramouche

"babe, hypothetically speaking…"

scaramouche's head adorned by his crown of violet hair lays on their lap, his dark locks being gently combed by their nimble fingers. he hummed and closed his eyes to urge them to continue.

"if I die hypothetically--"

"no."

"babe, i haven't finished yet."

"no."

"no, like seriously," they said with a chuckle. scaramouche's eyes are now already wide open, glaring at them with obvious hate for the topic. yet the sharpness of his gaze is a sharp contrast to the way he currently holds their hand: soft yet firm, as if even the reaper is not allowed to take them from him. "if I die hypothetically what will you do?"

"no."

"what do you mean no?"

"no."

"babe…"

"no."

"scara, love…"

"no."

"no!" scaramouche's breath hitched as the only word that escaped his constricted throat is a mere one syllable word. he repeated the short word with another despaired cry. an anguished wail as the two cones of ice cream on his hands fell to the ground, completely forgotten and melted at the mercy of the hot pavement. "no…" another horrified murmur escaped his lips as he take in the sight before him. he can not even hear anything except for the sound of panic and cries to call the ambulance. "no, no, no…"

scara, felt himself shut the world, as the very person that stabilize him to the ground is in front of him… immobile. they sleep on the pavement of the road as a thick, warm red blankets their body. their eyes didn't even met his. it's inanimate, gone… just like as how the rest of the words that the cunning boy once knew became replaced by one word that fully express his grief. all that was left for him was to say, "no…" in pure guilt, in agony.

no, no, no, no… he screams and tear himself in his head as he blame his stupid self for everything. his hands found its way on his dark hair as he cries in pure pain. no, please, no… no… he bemoans, tears continuously falling from his eyes, the same thing he despised yet he now hated even more. no, no, no… what if he just stayed with them instead? what if he didn't stepped away for a moment and bought ice creams for the two of them? then maybe he'll still be holding a warm hand and not a cold and bloody one. no. oh no… no, no…please no. if only he was with them… if only he was there when someone accidentally pushed them… if only the car didn't hit them… "no…no…"

as scaramouche, the ever prideful, kneels on the harsh pavement with both of his knees… as the red started to seep into his entirety, he remembered the words they hypothetically asked that day. in which he answered 'no', repeatedly, it's a 'no'.

how ironic that when the hypothetical question became a reality and his only response truly became… 'no'.

modern au! xiao

"babe, hypothetically, if i die,"

a sharp hiss escaped xiao's throat as soon as he heard those words slip past their lips. the mere thought is blasphemy for him, an unimaginable imagine that he'd rather not have. and that's why he can not blame his eyes for narrowing in alertness and unsettlement as he waited for them to continue.

"what will you do?"

the edge to his gaze didn't lessen nor dull. solid amber remains cold, rigid, as the thought freeze each blood cell in his body and cold fear gripped his being. his gaze remained hard on them, unreadable of the muddled thoughts that run in a frenzy in xiao's head.

"i…" he started, trying to makes his voice softer. he racked his mind to find the right words to give them but in the end, what his tongue presented to them was his honest, straightforward answer. "i will never let that happen." he stated, full of conviction, more to himself than them. it is a vow that he etched to the very fiber of his heart's muscle and there it'll stay 'til his heart beats. "just call my name if you're in danger, call my name whenever you need me… i'll always answer your call."

a static noise suddenly filled his ears. it blurred his memory and drowned his reminiscing.

twenty missed calls and one that he actually received. the first twenty are from them, the last call was from a hospital. all that registered to xiao alatus' muddled brain are a few words from the call: heavy injuries, we did our best, and… their name.

he promised them immediate answers. he swore to them an instant response. he vowed to them his presence with their every beckon and call. he made an oath, to be there whenever they need, to be by their side whenever they were in danger… to answer whenever they called.

and the one time xiao alatus didn't answered… the one time he failed to check his phone… the one and first time he dismissively said that everything was fine… was the last time they'll call.

ah, xiao is too stupid. a fool. a whole fucking circus! and the weight of the joke fell heavy on his shoulder, made him drop on the morgue's floor, and laughed as he sing the hymn of bereavement. stupid! how can he easily make a vow and eat his own words? how can he swear to protect them and be nowhere near when they indeed need him? how can he not take their call…? when now he realized how every call of theirs matters…that each time they call him, his name, is the number of times that he actually lives.

how can he let it happen?

the one call xiao failed to answer… is the one he should have.

venti

"hypothetically,"

they started as venti serenade them with his lyre. his ears strain to hear the melody of their voice above his strumming of musical instrument and the lyrics that he sings with pure affection. he listens intently to their next words, just as how he listen to the rhythm of the wind.

"what will you do if I die?"

it made the harmony pause. the orchestra experienced a hiccup in their synchrony as the silence became its new conductor. venti's fingers hovered over the strings of his instrument, his gaze now fully trained on them as a mixture of horror, shock, and fear, play like the wind in his green eyes.

"windblume, what made you say that? are you in any sort of danger?" the bard asked in evident distress and their dismissive shrug did nothing to soothe his worries. it terrified him. yet when they urged him to answer, venti sighed in surrender. his mouth that sings the most beautiful and sweetest verses voiced his mind. it made his tongue, expert with the taste of wine yet is never a liar, let a devoted oath fall from the archon’s lips. "if you die… i'll sleep… and choose to never wake up."

"venti!"

"but that won't ever happen, windblume. as long as i am one with the wind, you are cherished, loved, and protected." he vowed, a tone of sincerity in the bard's beautiful voice that made its sweetest song when he swore to them. "there's no place that the wind doesn't reach."

oh, but there is a place where the wind can't reach.

and they fell to it, drowned in it. without the wind, the turbulence took them and took their whole being away from the anemo archon. they spiraled downwards, down to the deepest depths, pulled to the deepest place… at the end of death's tornado. and he wasn't there to save them. the wind can not reach them… he can not reach them. until all of the air in their lungs was gone… and not a single arm of wind reached them.

they escaped the wind's grasp and turned to death's clutch.

ah, venti, barbatos, forgot how to cry. he should have been used to this. he should have prepared for this. he lost one too many already… and it seems that everyone he cherish can not be protected by the wind, by him. anemo must be a hateful element and death is a more enticing option. since how can everyone leave him? always alone with the wind.

ah… venti, the bard, feels tired. the words he swore to them that day rang in his ears. he can still hear their voice, their sweet music that sings with the wind… and he can still hear his promise to them that day.

just as promised, venti, barbatos the archon, went to a deep slumber… to another place that the wind doesn't reach.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin scenarios #Genshin #genshin venti #genshin scaramouche #genshin xiao #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin modern au #venti x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche angst #xiao angst #venti angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x gender neutral reader

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midnightarcheress · 14 days

Text

it wasn't my initial plan but let's go stalker!gaz again <3

cw: nsfw. stalking. obsessive gaz. perv gaz in denial lol. f!reader. part one | part two

Kyle sees you again. it's totally coincidental, of course.

the first time was in the market. he had postponed a grocery run for far too long, and a man can’t live solely on takeout, so he headed to the nearest store. walking down the pavement, he sees the familiar blue logo across the street, the same one from your hoodie, and the image of your pearly smile comes fully into his mind for the first time after the encounter.

he had been too obsessive that day, and a part of him felt disgusted by his behaviour. he’s a good man, a good soldier, not one of the creeps in white vans studying women like a hunter waiting to attack their prey. so he shoved the temptation to search for you in the back of his brain, tucked away in a corner with the rest of his dysfunctional urges.

but the other side, the one he maintains caged when he’s home, kept calling for him, itching for the surface, almost slipping his fingers to his cell phone so he could engage in the pursuit of the sweet little thing that invaded his lustful dreams. a side that he managed to hide until his gaze laid on your form on the frozen food aisle.

you looked just as stunning as he remembered. glossy lips, pretty plush thighs, delicate fingers pushing the shopping cart around. your hair was in a ponytail, easy grab, sports bra neatly holding your soft tits, could be my hands, a small drop of sweat sneaking down your exposed lower back, the mere sight making his cock twitch in his trousers. of course you go to the gym. i can train with you. how about some hip thrusts with you on– no. he can’t be thinking like that again.

he bites back the urge to follow you. or even spark a conversation, to test if you’re good with faces. it would be weird. but then he gets lost in the movements of your hips, in how gorgeous you look slightly bent down at the waist, reaching for a lower shelf and prancing your ass up, in how easy it would be to cause you any harm in that position. wouldn’t even hear me sneaking up with those headphones on.

the second time was outside of a cafe. he had just ordered a coffee and was waiting by the counter, aimlessly looking out the front window when he saw you, walking out of a bookstore with a big bag. hi, sweetheart. he promptly steps out the door, the barista calling his name fading in the background as he rushes to you. or at least, rushes to a safe distance from you.

he wishes nothing more than to take the heavy bag from you, interlock his fingers with yours and stroll back to his flat like a perfectly happy couple. he’d even build bookshelves for you. buy you an entire library, if you wanted. make you tea while you read, caress your hair, lazily eat you out for hours, hearing your muffled moans as you try to remain focused– fuck, quit it, Garrick.

but he doesn’t quit. he can’t. not when you’re so beautiful, so easy, so soft. such a good girl. not when he notices some guys eyeing you up on the street and he silently curses the lack of a weapon on his hand. not when you look over your shoulder and don't see him as a threat. do you recognize me, love? not when he finally looks at his surroundings and realises that he’s in his street and that you’re entering the building across from his.

he takes that discovery as a sign from the universe. it must be fate that you’re so close to me, right? it’s a blessing, a sign from god that his thoughts are justified. the green light he was waiting to reveal the worst part of him, to unleash the demon gnawing at his self-control.

with a few clicks, he finds all of your socials. too easy. some were restricted, some were open, and some barely had content, but he doesn’t mind, the few pictures on your instagram are enough. at another time, he’d teach you about online safety – how there are bad people out in the world who yearn for an easy catch, and how a smart girl like you shouldn’t allow it.

his dick aches in his boxers as he studies every pixel of your photos. he feels it throbbing, leaking, painfully craving for any kind of friction, but he refuses to provide. he knows that once he starts, he would never stop, and the idea of spending his cum on anywhere that isn’t you – your cute little mouth, displayed on your tummy, your warm cunt – is not worthy.

the third time was in a pub. he had finally caught you on your kitchen window, looking a little too dressed up to be staying at home and downing what seemed like a shot of vodka. so, when you stepped on the sidewalk, he knew he had to follow you. pretty girl going out at night? alone? not on my watch.

the bar is a couple blocks from where you live, known for being filled with college students. very different from his crowd, but he doesn’t care, watching you from afar acts like a remedy for the headache caused by the loud noise of the place. just a peek at your sheer blouse, exposing the lacy bra underneath was sufficient to clear his heart of any cracks.

but, not everything is perfect, and he immediately tags the face making its way to you. Marcus. just as ugly as in the tiny contact picture he saw. fuck, is she back with him?

he gets his answer quickly – you push him aside and go back to your friends, chugging the rest of your pint like a lifeline. good girl. the man's left with an open mouth and shocked expression, and Kyle doesn't miss the flash of anger in his eyes.

the next few minutes are a blur. Marcus stepped out in the back for some fresh air after nearly throwing up due too many drinks, and he didn't notice the guy following him. stupid prick, should've used your brain.

Kyle re-enters the bar in no time, thumb brushing the edge of the switchblade in his pocket. he admires you in your booth – lips parted in a laugh, locks of hair cascading on your face, and a hazy aura pairing over you. well, aren't we tipsy, sweetheart? good thing i'm here to look over you.

he heads to the counter to get a drink, and he almost jumps when you appear by his side, finishing your tab for the night. your eyes shine when they land on his, brightness shared by your wide grin, “hey, i know you! you're the plane guy!”

you do recognize me. fate. he gives you a once over, feigning that he doesn't instantly recall your face to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest. like he hasn’t been dreaming about stuffing your pussy with his thick cock and hearing your mewls every night. “yup, that's me.”

“nice seeing you again– oh, are you alright? you got some,” you motion to his forearm, “blood on you.”

shit. he forgot he needed to clean up after his last activity. his mind scrambles to find an excuse, but a thought pops in his brain and he can't contain the growing bulge in his pants. look at you worried about me, love. such a sweet girl. “it's nothing, i was just a little clumsy,” he brushes off, watching the concern on your face evolve into a timid smile, “you leaving already?”

“yeah, got an early day tomorrow. shouldn't drink too much,” you answer, putting your jacket back on. he stays glaring at you, mind too blank to form a coherent sentence. alone? this late? drunk? do you even know how many men are lurking outside, waiting for a minor slip-up to rip you open? “so... goodnight, then.” you say, giving the counter one last tap and heading to the door. think fast.

“wait!” he calls out, “you shouldn't go alone, it isn't safe.” your head tilts to the side, and his eyes trail down your pretty neck, just begging to be bitten. focus, Garrick.

“it's just a couple blocks from here, it's alright.” no. no it isn't. don't be stubborn, sweetheart. do you want me to throw you over my shoulder for being a brat? give your pretty ass a slap?

his eyes narrow, but the soft smile on his lips does a damn good job of luring you in – a trick he learned over the years. “may i walk you home then? i'd hate to see something bad happen to a sweet girl like you.”

you ponder for a moment. you shouldn’t accept, he’s still a stranger, and if the alcohol wasn’t fuzzing your brain, you would say no. but his smile is so convincing, the dog tags around his neck are so reassuring of his good intentions that you don’t even notice when you nod.

he smirks, and the tent between his legs gets even bigger. he’s such a good man. won’t let anything stain your soft, pure flesh. i’ll protect you, sweet girl.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x reader #gaz x you #stalker!gaz #gaz smut #kyle garrick smut #cod mw #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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tenth-sentence · 1 year

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Following amplifying divisions of the meristemoid, the resulting SLGCs can differentiate into pavement cells, which are the most abundant cell type in the epidermis of a mature leaf, or they can divide asymmetrically (spacing divisions) to give rise to a secondary meristemoid.

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

#book quote #plant physiology and development #nonfiction #textbook #meristemoid #slgc #stomatal lineage ground cell #plant cells #cell division #epidermis #pavement cells

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dabisqueen · 8 months

Text

Relax (It'll hurt less)

Yandere!Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 2.3K

⇢ plot: Dabi only knows of one way to make you remember his name

⇢ warnings: Minors DNI, NONCON, use of fire quirk, arrogant and cocky Dabi who is a virgin (fight me over it) and fucks for the first time, user is tied up (bondage/rope play?), size kink, no prep, unprotected penetration, Dabi is a bit rough towards the reader, creampie, lots of cum

⇢ thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta again!

⚠️This fiction contains yandere-themed dark content! Proceed and read at own discretion⚠️

If you'd known that the night would take this turn, you'd have chosen to stay home.

After missing the last bus home due to running late and then not having enough money to call a cab, you are forced to walk home. As a gust of wind blows some leaves across your path, you imagine what might happen if some thug jumped out with the intent to rob you... But stuff like that only happens in movies, don’t they? You quietly laugh. The thought is a bit silly. You'll probably just continue walking alone down the murky street like you always do, with nothing happening. Reassured, you stick your hand into your pocket and focus your attention on the pavement below, occasionally checking on the map to make sure you're still heading the right way.

You blindly follow the directions on your cell phone, completely oblivious to what part of town you are passing through. It’s not like there are any signs warning you "Stay the fuck out, villains ahead!"

You make the foolish decision to try and comfort yourself during the tedious walk home. Popping your earbuds in, you put on your favorite music to drown out the sounds of the night around you.

A quick movement ahead catches your attention. Your eyes snap up, your heart suddenly beating frantically as you spot the cause of the abrupt motion. A man stumbles backward from a door with a terrified expression on his face, followed by an enormous blue flame billowing towards him which engulfs him completely within seconds. The force of the sudden combustion knocks you right off your feet and you fly backward, a weightlessness encompassing your body before gravity cruelly pulls you back down.

Your back and head crash against the blacktop street and everything instantly fades to black. You don't know how long you'd been unconscious, but as you open your eyes, all you see is darkness and streaks of blue. The stench of burnt flesh creeps up your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You struggle to get up but your body doesn't respond. Instead, you hear a man's husky voice speak near you. "Well, well, well, who do we have here? Such a pretty little thing."

His voice sounds muted like he’s talking through a wall. That's all you hear before nausea and pain take over and the world around you fades again.

You stir awake with a jostle, a thin mist clouding your vision. Your body is cradled against another. It’s warm, but smells of burnt hair and smoke. It would be comforting if only you would know whose arms you are in. You try to move, but a pain instantly shoots up your spine, overwhelming you until your vision goes dark again.

As you regain consciousness this time, your eyes slowly adjust to the low light, dimmed to almost nothing. Your head still slightly throbs, but the worst of the pain is gone. Blinking a few times, the foggy veil lifts from your eyes and you start to take in the details. You're in a small room. Despite the lack of any decoration, it is very tidy and clean.

Then you notice him and freeze, the fog in your mind instantly clearing.

He stands a few feet away. He is tall, dressed in black pants with stitching and a white shirt. Raven hair standing in spikes, marred skin under his eyes and from his cheeks down to his chest. The tip of a cigarette glows an eerie red as he takes a drag and slowly exhales again. His teal eyes, bright in the dark light, pierce through the smoke, taking you in.

"Finally awake, huh?" He rasps.

Frantically, you try to get up but a sharp pain shoots through your arms as the ropes around your wrists dig painfully into your skin. To your horror, you realize that you're tied up to the rods of a rusty bed frame, immobilized with your wrists pulled taut, lying on a shitty, sunken mattress.

"Just some precautionary measures, sweetheart." He cocks his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Please, untie me!" You stammer but he just flips the bud of his cigarette across the room and ignores you.

"Man, killing always makes me so tense." Interlocking his fingers, he raises his arms, his obliques tightening and biceps bulging as he stretches until his knuckles crack.

Cocking his head left and right, he slowly lowers his gaze. His bright azure irises focus back on you as a cheeky smirk starts to form on his face.

"Sir, please let me go.” You whimper as your hands tremble violently against the bonds.

"Sir?!" A brow quirks as he clicks his tongue. "I think you know my name."

He takes a few steps, closing the gap between you and him. Leaning forward, his long finger trails along your cheek with false affection. "Say it."

You writhe, eyes pricking with tears. "Mister, I-I can't–"

"Don't piss me off." His expression turns sour. "You seriously don't know who I am? Don't you watch the news?"

"I-I don't have a TV," you stammer, your cheeks burning at his harsh tone.

"Well, that's too bad." His hand slips into your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your gaze to meet his. He's so close, that you smell the stale cigarette tainting his breath, the faint scent of burnt flesh on him is almost nauseating.

"I'll tell you, then. And I’ll make sure you never forget it." He spits, crystalline blue eyes so cold that they send a shiver down your spine.

It's then that a pertinent memory comes flooding back to you– you’d overheard some people chatting on the train. A villain. Black spiky hair, scars all over his body, and eyes like the endless depths of the ocean. One with a quirk that summoned blue flames so hot they melt the flesh right off of bones. His name–

–Dabi.

Your throat tightens, and you gulp as your eyes widen in recognition.

Dabi notices, causing his lips to curl into a smug smirk. "Ah, so you’ve figured it out, huh?"

"Y-yes Sir–or, no– Dabi!" You almost scream out his name, "I promise, I'll never forget, please untie me!"

But he doesn't seem to hear your words, his gaze is far away, an impassive expression on his face.

"Man, I really need to unwind." Lolling his head to the side. "Sako always says the best way to blow off steam is to shoot a load."

His eyes fall back to yours while his smirk widens, showing his canines. A pit forms in your stomach as it dawns on you where this is going to lead.

"I know of a way to make sure you'll never forget my name–" Dabi kneels beside you, the cheap bed dipping and squeaking under his weight. He's looking down on you in a way that makes your hair stand on end. As he reaches for your legs, you're trying your best to keep them closed. But he is much stronger, spreading them with ease.

Positioning himself between your legs, he moves his body close, his hips pressing against your core. It's then when you feel the heat from something huge – a bulge – in his pants, right underneath the stitches. You gulp in disbelief.

"I have to admit, I've never done this before," he chuckles, hooking his thumbs under the seams of his pants, slowly pulling them. "So, cut me some slack, will ya?"

A thick, pierced cock slaps against his abdomen, enormous in length and girth. Your eyes feel like they’re bugging out of your head as you look at his engorged member. Shaking your head, you plead, "It's too big, it won't fit!"

Dabi's gaze drops to evaluate his throbbing dick and he laughs. "Yeah I know, the Doc kinda went overboard with the replacement."

His eyes snap up to your face, his smile vanishes as he hums in that sickly sweet voice. "Regardless, better too much than too little, right?"

His large calloused hands wrap around your hips and you fidget and try to squirm out of his grip but it only strengthens as he pulls you back towards him. Your arms straighten out, painfully so, straining against the ropes cutting into your skin.

Panic sets in, making your blood rush and your limbs shake, as he lays a hand flat on your mound, blue flames starting to flicker across the fabric of your pants and then undies, incinerating them. The pain from the burn loosens the tears as they start streaming freely down your temples now.

Accompanied by your sobs, he takes his thick length in his palm, his free hand sliding over your now exposed folds, calloused fingers spreading your cunt.

"Damn, what a sight.” He chuckles as he aligns himself at the entrance of your quivering cunt. "Hope I'm doing this right."

You sob as he drops a gob of spit on his cock and edges against your entrance, shushing you. “Relax, I know you can take it.”

Without further warning, he plunges the fat tip of his cock into you. You cry out at the stretch, your dry walls burning without any preparation. You try to get away, to lessen the stretch, but he has your petite body pinned beneath his larger, muscular one.

With an enraptured expression on his face, he watches his dick inch its way in. His thick, rough fingers dig into your squishy waist, as he continues pushing his way into you. You whimper when Dabi stares at your soft tummy, admiring the bump that forms where his dick bullies against your cervix.

"Well, fuck me, ain't this the shit?" he chuckles, slightly breathless already.

The grip on your waist remains firm as he pulls out his cock, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. But before you have time to react, he’s slamming himself back into you again.

Then his hips start moving at a slow and gradual pace, pulling you back each time to meet his thrusts. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. your whimpers seem to only spur him on as he continues thrusting into you.

"Oh fuck, this is amazing. I'm gonna—" Dabi groans, slamming his cock into you even faster, "—shit, if you keep gripping me like this, I’m not gonna last."

“Please, stop!” You sob, but he is beyond listening. With his eyes closed, sweat dripping down his temples, he is lost in delirious pleasure.

“You're so tight, taking me so well, doll." He laughs when you whimper in response.

Involuntarily clenching down on his cock, you squirm each time he bottoms out. He makes sure you can feel each barbell of his piercings, every pulsing vein of his thick cock. The harsh force of his quick, rough thrusts makes your mind go blank.

"Gonna cum soon. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I won't be able to pull out." He groans, smooth and deep, admonishing you as if any of this is your fault.

All you can do is respond with a whine, your body completely helpless.

“I’m close, baby, look at me,” he digs his fingers into your flesh, pulling you even closer. "What's my name? Say it!"

"Dabi– please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but you're hurting me!" You beg between sobs.

He doesn't hear your words, or he doesn't care. He's slamming into you now, his thrusts growing deeper and harder.

"Oh yeah, take it –fuck– I'm gonna fucking fill you up so good–" Dabi gasps, groaning unabashedly.

Then he tosses his head back, and with a low growl and a last stuttering thrust, he shoots his white release inside, coating your inner walls with his cum. You feel him twitch inside you, feel his warmth filling you up and seeping out, it's so much.

Dabi collapses on top of you, breathing hard. His head falls forward to rest against your cheek, the sweat from his forehead mixing with the tears on your damp skin.

After his breathing evens out, he pulls back to face you, strands of his black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. "Shit, that was so fuckin’ good.”

He stays like this, his cock slowly shrinking inside your sore cunt, while his hot cum drips down your ass. The feeling of it creeps through your spine, making your face glow with hot shame. You turn your head away, closing your eyes in defeat. His weight on you suddenly feels suffocating, adding to the crushing, inescapable heft of anxiety on your chest. It feels like an eternity, with him draped over you, both of your breathing starting to even out. Eventually, you muster the courage to speak.

"C- Can I go now?" You whimper, hopefully.

"Yeah, yeah…" he sighs and moves to pull out. Using the bedsheets to wipe the remnants of his release from his skin, he continues by tucking himself away.

Finally, you think of going home, for this nightmare to be over and to forget this god-awful night. A sharp-edged euphoria washes through your limbs and your eyes flare with excitement as hope spirals up inside you.

"On the other hand–" he stalls, contemplating. "This definitely helped me wind down."

Stepping close, he lowers his face to brush his lips against the rim of your ear and dashes whatever hope you had left with a final, whispered sentence. "I think I'm gonna keep you."

#dabi smut #dabi x reader smut #dabi x you smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi todoroki #dabi #dabi my hero academia #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #mha smut #bnha smut #lov smut #tw noncon

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strawberry-whorecake · 8 months

Text

Hopeless | K.R.

pairing: Kylo Ren x fem!reader

summary: Love? Kylo Ren wasn’t in love… was he? How could he be in love? How could someone like you make him feel like this?

word count: 4.4k

warnings: fluff, slight graphic depictions, swearing, kylo ren is in denial

requested by: @artemiscrios

A/N: i’m sorry this request took so long but i hope you like it !!! if you’re interested i’d be more than willing to make a pt 2 that includes smut- this prompt just felt so fitting to be a fluff

He was utterly kriffed.

He was Supreme Leader of the First Order— the man single-handedly going to bring justice to the galaxy. He was strong… powerful.

Yet here he was. And here you were.

He remembered how everything had started.

“Eat.” he ordered, he couldn’t help the demanding tone in his voice as he looked at you.

You sat with your back to him, refusing to look at him. “I’m not hungry.” you retorted.

His eye twitched, but even though you wouldn’t turn to him his mask concealed it anyway. “You haven’t eaten in four days.”

“I’m not eating anything you bring me.” you spat.

Gods he wished you would just give in. To stop resisting him.

With a quick-drawn and sharp inhale he keeled forward, placing the tray on the floor of your cell. He watched as your head turned ever so slightly, peering from the corner of your eyes over your shoulder. He stood to his full height, clasping his hands behind his back.

“You’d be wise to do as you’re told. You’re not going anywhere. You have nowhere to go.”

He’d almost thought he’d imagined it… but no. It was there. That ever so soft sniffle that gently echoed off the walls. He stood utterly still for a moment, swallowing down the urge to huff as his eye twitched again.

“Eat.” he mustered up once more. Hands still clasped behind his back he swiveled and exited your cell, his composure as collected as ever.

But Kylo didn’t want to admit it… you enveloped him.

He remembered your first night upon the Finalizer you were rowdy, kicking and screaming, baring your teeth and snarling. Combative. Your second day wasn’t much different. He could feel your indignation— your anger.

The third day greeted him with the silent treatment, your newfound attempt at torturing him since you discovered your pugnaciousness got you nowhere.

Then, day four, he could feel it. The dejection.

You were no longer in denial nor angry, but you refused acceptance, settling yourself into despondency.

Kylo stalked the halls, the influxes of greetings and polite bows seemed almost blurred in his mind as his brain raced a mile a minute.

Regret? Kylo Ren didn’t feel regret— he shouldn’t feel regret.

“We’ve acquired an escapee, Supreme Leader.” a pair of Stormtroopers dragged a shaking and writhing little thing towards him, shouting and arguing against their hold on her body.

“Let me go! PUT ME DOWN!” sobs wracked your words, your breaths gasping as you tried to swallow down oxygen.

He didn’t blame your hysteria. The scene unfolding before your eyes was a gruesome one. Bodies splayed the streets of Cardota, blood soaked the pavements. Structures crumbled, dust filled the air. And it was all his doing.

He stood watching, silent, as the Stormtroopers forced you to your knees before him, you still fought against them, but the trembling made you weak in comparison to them. “Should we kill her too, Supreme Leader?”

He parted his lips beginning to order that everyone was to be terminated— until his eyes fell onto yours.

Wide, brimming with tears of pain and anger. His words paused in his throat. You had no way of knowing, but as soon as your gazes locked, it was game over.

“No.” he ordered instead. “Release her.”

He saw the relief flood to your system, but that’s not what he’d meant. The Stormtroopers slackened their grip as Kylo watched you fall to the ground before attempting to scramble upward.

With an eased outstretch of his hand your movements ceased, the Force straining your muscles and pinning you to the ground, your eyes still wide, still enraged and sorrowful, but now they glimmered with a hint of confusion.

He crouched down, waving his leather cladden hand across your face and gently ordered, “Sleep.”

Watching as you had no choice to compel, your eyes fluttered shut as your consciousness drifted away.

“Pull out the divisions, our job here is done.” he ordered the Stormtroopers, ignoring the chorus of “Yes, Supreme Leader.” as he kept his mask locked on you.

He swept forward, effortlessly pulling you into his arms, cradling you like a small and defenseless child. Your unconscious head laid against his rapidly beating heart, his thoughts reeling— what was he doing?

Why did he feel this… this need to be near you— as if he wanted to protect you?

He carried you onto his ship, transferring you into a cell as he carefully, as if you’d shatter with too much pressure, laid you on the floor.

Safe. On his ship. His.

Kylo didn’t regret the blood that was shed, that tainted his hands. He didn’t feel sorry for any of the lives he’d taken… right?

But something possessed him— something soiled his spirits the moment he met your eyes, and it only worsened when he’d carried you in his arms.

Who were you? You were nobody, surely. Just a Cardota local girl. You had no affiliations with the war, with his plans for the galaxy— one half of him argued.

The other half begged to differ. You were someone. He could sense it within you every time he was near you, and kriff’s sake he couldn’t stand to not be near you… that was definitely something.

But what was it about you?

He’d whisked off to his private quarters, his mind still reeled with you— it was completely encompassed with you… why?

It infuriated him, part of him wanted to kill you, be free of the drawing compulsion he felt towards you. But he couldn’t seem to do it. Just the idea of killing you filled him with a feeling he hated more than his affliction for you. A feeling he thought he was better than to feel.

Even on the other side of the ship he could hear into your thoughts as if you were clearly speaking to him. He could hear your indignation toward him and the hint of exhaustion in your scorn. You despised him— he’d taken everything from you.

He crossed his chambers, ripping open the door to the private sections where the remnants of his grandfather’s mask laid awaiting him.

He crouched, not much unlike a pleading child. “Help me, Grandfather.” he whispered, his eyes shutting and his hand hovering over the mask. “Help me understand.”

His desperate calls came unanswered, swelling a low broiling anger in his stomach. “I need to know what it is about her.” he demanded.

Nothing.

He ripped his eyes open, lip curling in irritation. Why was she in his head? What made her so special to make the Supreme Leader feel like this?

Practically leaping off the ground he turned his back on his grandfather’s mask, making his way to his sleeping quarters as he tugged off his own mask, throwing it with little care across the room.

He sank onto the edge of his bed, his elbows propped on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. His head throbbed and that constant simmering, slow-churning anger seeped through his skin, rolling off of him in waves.

Why her?

He was about to throw his fist into the nearest piece of furniture when something washed over him. Something replaced the meek dullness he felt.

As he sank himself deeper into the sensation, he allowed himself to feel. Ravenous and fulfilling.

She’s eating.

The realization surged over him with complete understanding. He could practically feel himself sigh.

Good. Compliance.

He’d kept you for a while now, almost like an experiment. Testing himself, his limits around you.

He allowed himself to feel how he felt when he was near you. Trying several different approaches— spending too much time with you, staying away from you.

All he gathered from this was being around you calmed him, it relieved that dull rage that constantly coursed through his system, and when he left you, it’d return.

In the time he’d kept you captive he’d learned everything he possibly could about you. Who you physically were, where and what you came from. Your lineage, your occupation on Cardota. Every fact he could absorb, he did.

The information he wanted to know, and still didn’t— which bugged the everliving stars out of him— was why you still made him feel this way.

When he was away from you, he could feel it swelling inside him. He scrutinized himself for the way he just wanted to be in your presence again— the way he craved it. The serenity you seemed to bring.

Kylo lost sleep over you. It was pathetic.

Every night was the endless cycle of not hearing your thoughts while your mind was at ease, caught up in the bliss and the comfort of sleep. If he focused hard enough he could hear your soft breaths. He wondered what you looked like as you slept… if you slept more pleasantly than him.

Sleep haunted him, his demons clawed at him when his eyes shut, it was never refreshing. He wondered if you felt refreshed when you’d awaken.

He wondered if you dreamed blissfully, whereas he was cursed with nightmares. Then a thought wafted over him— you were pure.

The only time he managed to fall asleep and stop thinking of you was if he imagined holding you as you slept.

Pathetic. He reminded himself.

You made him feel unstable yet at peace all at the same time and it drove him insane.

He’d indulged himself in your company, even if you were begrudging. Under his mask he quirked a smirk, watching as you crossed your arms, looking around the room to anywhere but him.

You didn’t have to speak, he could hear you nonetheless. Your thoughts.

“You’re restless.” his modulated hum rang out. His words were direct, but his tone was gentle.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” you bit back.

“Where else do you have to go?” he returned.

He cursed his words as soon as he’d uttered them. That indignation, that dull ache of your own rolled off of you and onto him.

“That wouldn’t be the case if you hadn’t raided my planet and destroyed the Hosnian system.” your tone oozed with bitterness as your hands gripped your arms.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, “You’re going to stay upset about that, are you?”

You scoffed, “Yes.”

“Then I regret to inform you you’ll have quite the unpleasant while.” he leaned his head back, his eyes still glued to you.

“You could always just kill me.” you spit.

“I’ve already told you that’s not going to happen.” his voice hardened. Your continuous pleas for him to just finish you off were growing tiresome.

‘He’s a horrible monster in a mask- and he’s insufferable. He keeps me around like some little pet, refusing to let me go or kill me.’ your thoughts reverberated around his own skull.

His lip quirked upwards again, entertained.

Pet? You saw yourself as a pet to him? Oh, how delightfully wrong you were. If only you knew how you drew him in— if you only knew of the pull you had on him.

“Insufferable, am I?” he almost cooed.

“Get out of my head.” you spat.

Monster in a mask, he thought. Was he a monster? Maybe his actions were ‘monstrous’, but were they not justified? Every decision he’s made had led him to where he is now.

Oh right… to being tormented by this girl.

He stood, eyeing you for a moment as you watched him, swallowing down your hopes for his departure. Funny you’re not used to his company by now.

“Monster in a mask…” he repeated your thoughts back to you, earning a disinterested hum in response.

“You can’t deny your curiosity.” As he looked at you, you looked at him. His hands seemed to move on their own accord. They found the edges of his mask, and with an eased sweep he pulled it from his head. His eyes fell on you— and your eyes looked into his, unconcealed for the first time.

He watched your eyes drift over his features, soaking in his appearance. He ignored the way his heart rate picked up. You were quiet, completely thoughtless for a moment, and he couldn’t hold back his smirk. He’d taken you by surprise.

“I suppose it’s time we met, face to face… after all, you’re not going anywhere any time soon.” His eyes drifted over you, soaking you in as he set his mask on the cot he’d been sitting.

He relished in the soft little hiccup sound you made at hearing his unmodulated voice. How your eyes gently widened and how your heart skipped a beat.

But as quickly as these appeared they faded. Changed into something else—

Confusion, he finally recognized.

“What do you want with me?” you piped up, making him cock his head in intrigue. “You won’t kill me, you won’t let me go… so what is it you want?”

A little voice in his head seemed to speak up for him, You, but he quickly stifled its words.

“I want to know why you have this hold on me.” he spoke truthfully.

He watched as your forehead crumpled but your eyes remained wide in disbelief. “Hold I have on you!?” you practically squeaked. He nodded, “Yes.”

You scoffed, which normally he’d have taken offense to, but it oddly piqued his interest. “You’re holding me captive.” you reminded him.

“Yes, I’m aware of the circumstances.” he clasped his hands behind his back, still not removing his gaze from you, and it pleased him that you didn’t shy away from looking back.

He looked to the ground for a moment as he took a sweeping step forward, bringing himself closer to you, his eyes falling on you again as you looked up at him from the floor.

“What is it you’ve inflicted on me?” he asked, utterly serious, and a twinge of annoyance struck him as you let out an incredulous laugh.

“Why is it that you are all I can think about? That when I’m around you I find myself at ease?” His expression hardened as he spoke, his eyes almost glaring. His desperation for the truth was affecting him.

There was a beat as you stared at him and he looked back at you. “Tell me.” he ordered.

You scoffed again, “I don’t know what this obsession is you have with me- but I didn’t inflict you with anything.”

Obsession? Surely it wasn’t obsession… right?

He stared at you, his eyes still slightly glaring as he looked at you just as incredulously as you looked at him.

“Why?” he asked again.

Your brows furrowed as you shook your head. “I don’t know why you’re in love with me!? Gods you’re insufferable!” you spat.

His brows raised before he let out an almost jeering laugh. “In love with you? I couldn’t be farther from in love with you.”

You looked at him for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours as you both silently sized each other up.

“Let me go then.” you finally broke the silence. Your words took him aback, not that he wasn’t expecting them, but they did manage to surprise him.

“That’s not happening.” he turned away from you, shaking his head. He heard you scoff once more, but he ignored it. Your rising agitation only made the feeling gurgle within him, and he knew his visitation for the day was over.

He pulled his helmet back on, looking at you for a moment. When you’d turned your head, crossing your arms once more, he tutted softly before exiting your cell.

He remembered how his mind had reeled as he retired from your cell.

In love? In love?!

What did the Supreme Leader need with love?! It was preposterous. First Order sympathizers looked up to him, practically ate out of his palm. He could have the whole galaxy and he would soon enough, so what did he need with love?

The word ‘love’ reverberated around his brain like a blaster shot bouncing around a contained room.

He didn’t feel love– the idea that he did brought a low boil of anger to his gut. Love was useless to him, how dare you suggest he was in love with you.

Sure, he’d give it to you, maybe he was a little obsessed with you, with the way you made him feel– but him in love with you? No way. He refused to accept it.

He needed to reach out to his grandfather again, to beg for answers. He needed to know why it felt like you had him in your grip when he was the one with the hold on you.

Crouched once again on the floor before his grandfather’s mask, his hand hovering above it, he pleaded out. “Please, Grandfather. I need to understand.”

His desperations came answered, but not in the way he expected– or the way he was ready for.

He was met with a vision of your eyes on him again, looking into his eyes. He saw you reach out for him and he wanted to cower away, but he just couldn’t seem to do it, and a moment later he found your hand in his before he pulled you tightly to his body.

He held you for a long moment, and he almost swore he could actually feel you against him, but as soon as he thought he could, you vanished from his grip and he was filled with a feeling of longing and emptiness.

‘Love’ echoed around his brain again.

“Fuck.” his eyes shot open and his hand withdrew rapidly from above his grandfather’s mask. He recalled the way he’d met you, the way he felt when he first looked into your eyes.

The obsession he had for you, the way he wanted to protect you, how he felt at ease in your company.

He wanted to ravish you, show you things you’d never experience without him. He wanted to watch your eyes light up as he showed you unseen parts of the galaxy… from beside him.

The draw he had to you… it was… love.

What was he to do with this realization? Surely you couldn’t love him back— for stars sake he took you captive. You were prisoner on his ship.

How could he make you see he only did what he did because he was, in fact, in love with you?

That’s when things changed. That’s when Kylo extended an olive branch and after a while, you accepted it. That’s why you were where you were now and Kylo Ren was completely and utterly kriffed. He was Supreme Leader of the entire galaxy… he could have anything— he could get anything, what did he need with you? Why did he need you?

Yet here you were. In his quarters, lying beside him in his bed, so sweet and gently sleeping.

As soon as you willingly moved from your quarters to his, he knew it there was no use arguing how he felt. While he was comforted by your presence, so much so as to almost lure him to sleep, he couldn’t stop himself from peering through his closed eyes at you every time you rolled over, sighed, groaned softly– or worse– moved closer to him.

You moved restlessly as you slept, and it slightly annoyed Kylo, that’s why he couldn’t seem to stop himself when he threw his arms around you and tugged you against his chest, keeping you pinned against him. But to his surprise, you stilled. And you stayed that way as long as he held you.

He constantly wracked his brain wondering why you’d meant so much to him. You were a prisoner, you were his captive. And yet without you knowing, you had him wrapped around your finger. Why? What was it about you that drew him into you– and after a while, you into him?

Regret.

You should hate him, he’d hated himself. Not only for what he’d done, but for what he did to you. He’d taken everything from you and left only him for you to know, so why did you give in?

He remembered that switch in your brain. When you finally stopped fighting him– wanting to escape, being defensive and aggressive– and you gave in. As if you’d accepted that he was your new normal, and you didn’t fight it, in fact, you welcomed it. Why? What changed?

Was it him? He supposed he had been trying to be nicer to you. He granted you your own quarters, he allowed you to have a little more freedom, all the while you were his prisoner.

Maybe it was when he opened up and he talked to you. He told you all about his desires and his aspirations not just for himself, but for the galaxy… and you listened. He liked that you didn’t just accept everything he said, that you were a little combative. That you argued against his means and questioned his motives.

He wasn’t sure why, but you liked listening to him talk, and even more confusing, he liked talking to you.

He couldn’t seem to help himself from telling you anything and everything, even the minute details about his life such as what he ate for breakfast, and what his favorite color was. He liked that you listened, really listened.

You didn’t listen like everyone else who just accepted what he said as fact. You listened and processed what he’d tell you, and you’d respond.

He also liked that you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore at least, though, he’d argue you never really were. Even the moment he took you on board the Finalizer, you never once showed him you were afraid of him. You were strong. Something else he supposed he liked about you.

He could easily destroy you, and in a way he had, but he didn’t want to, at least not anymore. Something about you made him want to protect you, to care for you. Why?

You thrashed gently in his arms, tearing his attention down to you. When his eyes met yours he found you looking up at him with your tired, but ever so gorgeous eyes.

“Do you ever sleep?” you hummed half-consciously. “No.” he said mostly jokingly, though his tone was firm and serious. He was relieved when a small smile pulled on your pretty lips anyways.

“I don’t keep you up, do I?” you yawned, shifting in his arms a little. He froze– you were worried about him? His lips parted to speak, to question why you cared, but he couldn’t seem to find the means to ask.

“No. If anything I sleep better when you’re near.”

This time you froze– and he scrutinized himself. Why did he say that? Why did he think that was something he should’ve ever admitted?

Time seemed to slow as you looked up at him, and him down at you. Part of him argued to let you go, release you from his hold, but the other half of him begged to pull you closer.

You pulled away from his arms, and he hated the way it felt like his heart sank– how he felt disappointed, but he acted as if it didn’t bother him as he watched you pull yourself up on your arms. He feigned a look of indifference as you looked at him, your emotions so strong he could feel them radiating off of you.

Confusion, intrigue… want.

Then you did the unthinkable. Your hand gently met his cheek and he had to fight the urge to snatch your hand off and push you away, after all, he didn’t want to scare you, not anymore.

He watched as your eyes fell from his to where your hand laid against his cheek, then they moved to his lips.

Just enough time passed for his heartbeat to quicken and thump against his ribcage before you leaned in and your lips were on his.

He stilled for a moment, watching, waiting as you took the lead, but he finally allowed himself to kiss you back.

When you pulled away you both eyed each other, like you were silently sizing the other up. “Why did you do that?” he asked, breaking the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“To see what you’d do.” you answered as if it was the most obvious answer in the galaxy. When his eye twitched slightly, you giggled, “Well? How do you feel?” you asked, as you pulled your hand away from his cheek.

Hopeless.

Kylo Ren— Supreme Leader of the galaxy felt hopeless.

Hopelessly in love with you.

You possessed him, you made him feel things that he swore he’d never feel again. He was supposed to be angry, cruel, the embodiment of revenge and power… and yet he was in love with you.

He wanted to give you everything. He’d pluck every star from the galaxy for you if it meant he’d get to see that smile of yours, to see the way your eyes would sparkle. He needed you.

He snatched up your face with much more haste than he’d meant, but it didn’t matter. He needed to feel your lips on his again, to feel the feeling of you against him and the way everything felt right when you were near. And you didn’t fight.

You let him as he wrapped his free arm around your waist, tugging your body against his as his lips pressed to yours.

He kissed like he was a drowning man and you were the smallest bit of oxygen that would give him a second wind to keep going. Because that’s how you made him feel.

Kylo Ren was drowning. Drowning in responsibilities, in expectations of what he needed to do and who he should be, but around you, Kylo Ren could breathe.

All responsibilities and expectations died away, and he could simply be.

Your arms tangled around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer as your lips worked in synchronization, each of you battling for the upper hand to kiss with the most passion. To kiss with love.

As much as it didn’t make sense to him— you did. Everything felt at ease with you, and here and now, he was finally accepting that he didn’t need to fight it. That everything you made him feel wasn’t weakness, but that you gave him an unknown source of strength.

You were intoxicating. He couldn’t even pinpoint what it was about you that he liked the most. He liked you as a whole. You pulled him in and made him feel safe… like he belonged, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly felt.

You were supposed to be his, he was supposed to have you wrapped around his finger, eating out of his hand, but he was so wrong.

You didn’t know it, and he may not be ready to tell you, but he was yours.

Kylo Ren was yours.

#adcu #adam driver #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #adcu x reader #kylo ren fluff #star wars fluff #whorecake fics

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strangersmunsons · 1 month

Text

bloodletting

you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.

"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."

Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns. Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood. Word Count: ~5,000 Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!

The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.

You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.

You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.

They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.

You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.

But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.

You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.

Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?

You’d rather not find out.

The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.

You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.

Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.

Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.

You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.

Is that gonna grow back, or…?

“Help you find somethin’?”

You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.

The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.

He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He’s hot.

Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.

You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.

He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”

You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.

You take a cautious step back.

“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.

With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.

Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.

Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?

Kill me?

You snicker.

Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.

Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.

Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.

Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.

He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.

He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”

Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.

His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”

He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.

It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.

Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.

Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.

“Uh…I can explain.”

“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.

“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.

He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”

You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.

“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”

You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.

“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”

Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”

You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.

He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”

You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.

Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.

He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”

You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.

Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” you admit.

“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.

He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.

He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head.

Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.

You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re very calm. How is that?”

Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —

Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.

You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”

Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”

Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.

But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.

Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.

Yes. Admittedly.

His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”

Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.

Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.

You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”

He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”

You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”

“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”

“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”

Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.

“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.

Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”

“Uh-uh. Do you?”

Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”

You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”

His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”

“Weird.”

“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”

You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.

“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”

Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.

You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.

“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.

The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.

You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?

You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.

Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.

You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.

If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.

The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.

Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.

The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.

Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.

You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.

Interesting.

Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”

You frown. “I’m not there yet.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.

You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”

“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”

You nod. Mostly, anyway.

He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.

You mimic his expression. “What?”

“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”

“No.”

He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”

“I don’t think I n-need to.”

His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.

That’s one way of putting it.

Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.

“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”

You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.

A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.

You offer an apologetic smile.

Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”

“Yes. I found your stash.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”

You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.

“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”

Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.

“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”

Oh. Okay.

Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”

“Really?” you whisper raggedly.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”

You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”

The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.

During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.

It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.

When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.

Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.

Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.

But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.

The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.

The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.

This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.

So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.

Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.

He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.

“Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”

You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.

His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”

A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”

His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.

It’s not like you need to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.

“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.

thank you for reading!! ❤️

btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #monster!eddie munson #monster!eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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daydreamvalley · 5 months

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October Sunsets (1) - nanami kento

𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 Summary: You daydream about a sweet conversation you had earlier in the day with Nanami, right before he left for a job in Shibuya.

Content: Fluff + slight angst

7:00 pm, October 31st, Haneda Airport, sounds of passengers trying to find their seats and infants crying filled the air while you sat in a frozen state, looking down at your phone screen with furrowed brows. The single ticks next to your images still stared back at you. Pending. It had been ten minutes, yet he was not owning up to his part of the request he made. Nanami asked for two images, one containing evidence of the bread he recommended you try at the airport cafe. The other is a photo of your choice, just not a picture of yourself since you'll already be bombarding him with plenty throughout the flight.

Your second undelivered message read: "Bossy much? Here you go, it's a pretty sunset, don't you think?"

In your opinion, it was. It was taken while facing a large airport window that gave you a view of the departing planes. The autumn sky was free of clouds, with only clear hues of orange and purple in the image. Its quality made up for the previous blurry bread photo. Exhaling in defeat, you accepted that he may have begun the big task he hinted at having to do that evening. Denmark was fifteen hours away. You'd hoped to depart in a better mood after an anticipated message from your ex-coworker making fun of your poor photography skills. Even two grey ticks would suffice. Your cheeks started to warm just at the thought of his teasing, but you couldn’t let your mind wander or else you wouldn’t stop. Turning to your right, you realized your isle seat was going to be empty, freeing whichever lucky soul from witnessing the nightmare of you smiling at yourself alone. Though, he didn’t deserve that much since you should be upset with him. After shutting off the power on the phone, annoyingly shoving it into your tote bag, and then letting out a scoff, the last bit of your parting conversation with him suddenly replayed in your mind.

The two of you walked side by side on the pavement to your apartment building, “Did you pack the neck pillow?” He had already begun interrogating.

“The one that you bought for me. Now imagine the drama if I forgot it.”

“I’m the only person who owns your extra apartment key, so try not to forget anything. Shoko wants me on call later tonight, and I most likely won’t get your messages.

“Okay, but you keep dismissing what I asked earlier. Are you sure there’s nothing you’re curious about in Denmark that you want me to relay to you while I’m there?”

“Nothing my family hasn’t already told me. At this age, I only care to know that I have lineage there. I doubt anyone related to me in Denmark knows I exist. I'm also a sorcerer, and jujutsu sorcery is a shitstorm. Can I ask that you bring me lots of pastries?”

“I could run into your distant cousin and you’re still thinking about bread.” You stop mid-walk to face him in disbelief. Still curious as to how he could address such a deep part of himself like it's an uninteresting topic.

“I'm not curious about it. Baking, on the other hand. Where do I even begin? Is the bakery outside your office building still there? Nothing will compare to that place. Expensive but it was worth it.” Nanami asks, stopping your walk to the entrance of your apartment building to pull out his cell phone.

“It’s not a historical monument. Of course, it’s still there.”

“Then I’ll replace your presence in the cafe while you're away. The leather couch in the back corner is still your favorite right?” He was now taking pictures of the bright dawn above him.

“Replacing me also means talking to my coworkers. Your ex-coworkers.”

He cringed at the idea, “Hmm. You were the only person I talked to there.”

You giggle at the current visual of him leaning back like a photographer with one eye closed. “Exactly. You can admit you miss your bread. Don’t use me as an excuse. Also, the sky isn’t that pretty at this time why’d you take a picture?”

“If it feels right to me, I snap the photo. Not thinking too much about it at the time makes looking back at it more special.” He firmly states while he showed you the image. “It’s a feeling.”

“Don't take offence, but I’m not sure I get it.” You give a sheepish smile, honestly wishing you could understand his vision.

“None taken. It’s nothing complicated. Try it today. When you have a gut feeling that your memory won’t serve you in the future when you reminisce about a specific day, document it with the sky.” He advises while slipping the phone back into his cream-white blazer's inner pocket. “Send them to me too. I’ll create a folder for our sunsets.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You get pastries, sunsets, and travel photos. I want more than a folder in your camera roll when I return.” You sternly said, with your hands on your hips, but quickly lost your confident stance when the brisk air pricked your bare arms, causing a full-body shiver.

Nanami maintained eye contact while removing his blazer to snug it around your shoulders.

“You’re right. How about a date then?”

Your eyes widened. For the new warmth that blanketed your skin and the fact that he had finally said it. The one word you’ve been yearning to hear from him since you started spending time together after he left the insurance company. The event that could lift the barrier. The barrier which maintained your label as his good friend. An ex-colleague. Turning the potentially one-sided crush you’ve had on him into a mutual pursuit.

“Not at the bakery.” You mentally slap yourself for being so quick to respond. Thinking you had removed all the chances to come off as cool.

A deep, raspy chuckle left his body, “No. Not the bakery. I’ll worry about the location. You just show up the same as always, lovely and perfect. The experience will be befitting of you.”

“If you say so.” You bashfully comment. Not being able to meet his eyes, you lifted a hand to playfully shove his arm, but he gently held it in place.

With the same gentle manner, he interlocked your fingers. His swift action made you ponder, whether the blazer was doing its job or the brown eyes beaming at you was increasing your body temperature.

Softly grazing his fingers across your knuckles, he brought the back of your hand to his lips. Placing a tender kiss.

“Don’t become a stranger.”

“Impossible.”

11:14 pm, October 31st, somewhere in the air.

A hand tugged on the cream-white blazer you used as a blanket, succeeding at waking you up from a nap.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. I’m delivering the next meal to you now.” The soft-spoken flight attendant apologized. She placed the tray on the vacant tray table.

Almost forgetting where you were, you half sleepily heartened to her, “It’s not a problem. Thank you.”

Barely looking in the right direction, it took a couple of seconds, paired with an infant's cries to recall your location.

I’m not suffering again. Where are my EarPods?

Digging into the blazer pockets, you felt a heavy metal. Shit. The weight of your heart had become heavier. The chances of you shitting yourself were on par with the crying infant on the plane. You might have just ruined the chances of having your first date with Nanami.

You hijacked the guy’s phone. Any audacity you thought you had to be frustrated with him for not responding to your texts instantly vanished.

Okay! First time writing a longer piece so be nice.

Will probably do a part two if anyone wants it!

Edit: we did it (Part 2)

This is rough idea so let me know what details I can articulate better.

It’s also on Ao3, if you would prefer to continue the rest there!

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crypticslytherin · 3 months

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Rescued || Sebastian Sallow

————————————

Parings: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: A few years after Sebastian was sent to Azkaban, you couldn’t bare for him to be there anymore. You felt guilty for his imprisonment, and your love for him had never truly left.

Word Count: 2805

This is my first One Shot AHHH I hope you like. C:

⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤

"What have I done?" you whispered to yourself, standing amidst the ruins of Feldcroft, once a lively hamlet now reduced to ash and bones. The air was heavy with the scent of burned flesh, blood, and smoke, a grim reminder of the recent battle between villagers and goblins. Weapons, tainted with goblin silver, lay about, silent witnesses to the violence that had unfolded.

Before you stood the remains of the Sallow home, a mere shadow of its former self. Books lay scattered among the rubble, their pages torn and tattered, while scraps of fabric bore witness to the ferocity of the flames. A tear traced its path down your cheek as you clutched your wand tightly, half-expecting some lingering threat to emerge from the devastation around you.

If only Sebastian were still here. He would have known this was happening when it happened. But he wasn't, and you couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavy on your heart. Ever since Sebastian murdered his uncle Solomon, you'd felt guilty. You had helped and encouraged him in his quest to find a cure for Anne. You never could have imagined it would lead to such darkness.

When Ominis suggested turning Sebastian in to the authorities, you remained silent, paralyzed by indecision and fear. He was sent to rot in Azkaban. Now, years later, Sebastian's haunting cries echoed in your dreams, accusing you of betrayal, of abandonment. He pleaded for your help with tears in his eyes, and you found yourself suffocating.

You loved Sebastian, fiercely and unconditionally, and the thought of him suffering tormented you to your core. You knew what you had to do, what you should have done long ago. You would find a way to make amends, to seek forgiveness for your silence. You would tell Sebastian the truth, apologize for failing him when he needed you most.

And you would do whatever it took to make things right.

As you stepped back, the click of your feet echoed along the pavement, filling the heavy silence around you. With your wand clenched firmly in your grasp, you drew in a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs. Closing your eyes, you felt unsure without a precise destination in your mind. All you knew was that you would reach Azkaban, though Sebastian's exact location remained unknown. You conjured a vivid mental image of the fortress's interior, a place you had visited once during your fifth year.

"Apparate," you uttered softly, your wand tracing a swift arc through the air. Instantly, a sensation of pressure enveloped your body as you hurtled through space. As the disorienting spin came to a stop, you felt the solid ground beneath your feet transition to cold, unforgiving stone. The once-brilliant sunlight vanished, replaced by a darkness that seemed to swallow the very essence of light. A wave of nausea briefly washed over you, prompting a hand to press against your chest as you steadied yourself. Your eyes adjusted to the dimness as you gazed down a wide, shadowed pathway.

The walls were lined with cells on both sides, the desperate screams of prisoners echoing off the cold stone, sending a shiver down your spine. Gathering your courage, you took a hesitant step forward, knowing all too well what awaited you.

Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, began closing in on you.

As they drew nearer, you could feel the chill of their presence enveloping you, draining the warmth from your body. Their hooded figures glide effortlessly, their eerie movements sending a sense of dread through your veins. The air grew colder, and a thick mist seems to swirl around them, obscuring their ghastly forms.

With trembling hands, you raise your wand and summon the courage to cast the spell. "Expecto Patronum!" you shout, the words echoing through the oppressive atmosphere. A silvery mist bursts from the tip of your wand, taking shape and form. It materialized into a powerful Patronus, a radiant shield against the darkness.

The Dementors recoiled at the sight of the Patronus, their spectral forms shrinking back from its brilliance. They let out unearthly wails, their icy grip weakening as they retreat from the protective barrier of light. With each passing moment, the threat diminishes, until finally, the Dementors fade into the shadows, defeated by the strength of your Patronus.

"Revelio, Sebastian Sallow," you whispered, wand poised as you hurried down the pathway. Inside their cells, prisoners' wails echoed, a symphony of despair. Above, a faint green outline materialized on a higher floor, pacing restlessly. Sebastian. With cautious determination, you navigated the corridors, the air thick as inmates hurled profanities at you. Some resorted to self-harm, slamming their heads against the stone as their desperate cries fillied the air.

The environment was suffocating, the weight of Sebastian's presence in Azkaban bearing down on you once more.

How could you have let this happen?

The staircase stretched seemingly endlessly as you continued to cast Revelio, refusing to lose sight of Sebastian. Finally reaching the correct level, a metal door blocked your path. "Alohomora," you whispered, the lock yielding effortlessly to the flick of your wand.

Your heart raced as you cautiously navigated the dim hallway, the atmosphere just as somber and bleak as the last one. The chilly air caused the hairs on your arms to stand on end. Approaching Sebastian's cell, doubt gnawed at you. Was coming here a mistake? You wondered how he might appear after all these years in Azkaban—whether he'd be a mere shadow of himself or if the glimmer still remained in his eyes. Your breaths grew unsteady.

"Oi! What are you doing here?" A grim voice pierced the air, and you turned to see an elderly man to your left, his hands clutching the steel bars of his cell tightly. His eyes were sunken, the darkness beneath them almost consuming, and his head was bald, his prisoner garb stained with sweat and blood. His gaze drilled into you like black holes. A predatory hunger gleamed in his eyes as he licked his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. "You'd make an excellent toy."

"Silencio," you whispered, flicking your wand toward him. His head jerked back, hands flying to cover his mouth, rendering him unable to utter another word. Pressing forward, you approached Sebastian's cell.

Standing beside it, you leaned against the cold stone wall, uncertainty flooding your mind. Your heart pounded against your chest, your palms growing clammy with anticipation. Each step felt heavy as you moved to the front of the steel bars, peering in cautiously.

There he was, pacing back and forth. As your shadow cast across the floor on the other side of the bars, his restless movements ceased. Sebastian's gaze met yours, a mixture of surprise and recognition flickering in his caramel eyes. You let out a soft breath of air.

Sebastian stood tall, his figure appearing slender within the confines of the cell. His once vibrant auburn hair now hung in unkempt and greasy strands, a stark contrast to its former lively tussle. Despite his exhaustion, there was a lingering trace of his former charm. His eyes, still resembling caramel, held a weariness that spoke volumes, yet they retained a glimmer of their former warmth. Freckles adorned his face, their playful dance seemingly unaffected by his state of despair

As you gazed upon him, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you. Relief mingled with sorrow, and the guilt pressed even harder. This was the consequence of your actions, of the choice that led Sebastian to this desolate place. Yet, there was a flicker of hope. You believed that perhaps, with your help, he could become himself again.

With trembling hands, you reached out to touch the cold steel bars separating you, the barrier that had kept him imprisoned for far too long. There was a palpable ache in your heart, a silent plea for forgiveness.

Sebastian's lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, silenced by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban. His shoulders, once squared with confidence, now slumped. You could sense longing in his expression, the yearning for freedom that mirrored your own.

Taking a steadying breath, you reached your arm out to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "Sebastian," you said softly, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. "It's time to go home."

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he extended his arm, fingers trembling as they reached out to touch yours. For a moment, his hands lingered in the space that separated the two of you, then bridging the gap. In that fleeting instant, it felt as though time stood still, the weight of your shared history heavy in the air.

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you offered him a small smile, a silent reassurance. His hands felt like ice, and as you stroked the top of his hand with your thumb, you could almost feel his skin defrosting.

"Hold on tightly, Sebastian," you whispered, quickly glancing around to ensure no one had approached. He tightened his grip on your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Apparate."

The familiar squeezing sensation of apparition enveloped you as you whisked away to a new location. Your feet touched down on wooden floors, your hand still firmly clasped in Sebastian's, reluctant to let go. Shaking your head lightly to dispel the brief wave of nausea, you opened your eyes.

There you both stood, in the comforting surroundings of your cottage nestled in the hills of Clagmar Coast. The familiar scents of firewood and pumpkin pastries filled your nostrils, and the warm, cozy environment provided a stark contrast to the bleakness of Azkaban. A crackling fire danced in the hearth, casting a comfortable glow over the room.

You glanced at Sebastian, noticing the toll the apparition had taken on him. It seemed he hadn't traveled that way in a long time, if ever. Guiding him gently, you led him to the worn sofa by the fireplace and helped him settle down. Grabbing a folded knit blanket from the back, you draped it over him, providing comfort and warmth.

His eyes met yours in the soft light, revealing the paleness of his complexion and the exhaustion etched in his features. His cheeks were hollow, and dark circles marred his under eyes, evidence of sleepless nights endured in imprisonment. As the nausea subsided, his gaze held yours as you knelt before him, your hand resting gently on his lap.

"Sebastian, I am so sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you poured out the thoughts that had weighed heavily on your mind for years. Tears welled in your eyes as you blamed yourself for his suffering. With a tender touch, you cupped his cold, hollowed cheek in your hand, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch.

"When everything happened, I froze. I didn't know what to say to Ominis..." Tears began to stream down your cheeks. "So I said nothing. I could have prevented this, but instead... I was a coward."

Sebastian softly nuzzled his face against your hand, finding solace in your comforting presence.

"This is all my fault," you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I couldn't bear for you to suffer any longer. I had to do something. I had to get you out of there."

Sebastian tenderly lifted his arm from beneath the blanket, gently placing his hand over yours that rested on his cheek. A soft smile graced his lips as he closed his eyes, breaking the heavy silence with a whisper. "Finally," he murmured, his words carrying a hint of disbelief. "I'm free. I've made it to the afterlife."

Your heart wrenched at his words, realizing the depth of despair he had endured. Swiftly, you reached your other arm out, gently clasping his other hand in yours. "No, Sebastian," you murmured, your voice filled with compassion. "You've not gone on. You're here, with me. You're still alive."

Sebastian's eyes fluttered open, and you felt a pang in your heart as you gazed at the man you loved. The man who occupied your thoughts every morning and every night. With a tender squeeze of his hand, you rose from your kneeling position and settled beside him on the couch. He turned his fragile body slowly to face you.

"I can't be?" he whispered, disbelief coloring his voice.

Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him, your leg brushing against his. Releasing his hand, you gently reached out, running your fingers through his disheveled hair and letting your hand rest on the side of his neck. He lifted his arm, placing his hand on yours as it extended toward him.

"You are, Sebastian. This is real. I am real."

Sebastian's expression softened, gratitude and wonder shimmering in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned into your touch, his hand tightening around your arm as if anchoring himself to this newfound reality.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought... I thought you couldn't bear to look at me. After... what I did." His gaze fell to your lap, tears escaping his eyes, leaving wet paths along his cheeks. "I'm a monster," he trembled.

"No, Sebastian," you said firmly, stroking his cheek with your thumb, gently wiping away stray tears. "That is so far from the truth. You are not a monster."

Drawing closer, you locked eyes with him, determined to make him see himself as you did. "You are incredible," you began, your voice soft but unwavering. "You're funny, and intelligent. You have a heart of gold, and you've shown me kindness and compassion like no one else ever has."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as you continued. Feeling the bones of his shoulder beneath your hand as you moved them, you gripped him softly. "You're the best person I've ever known, Sebastian. I have missed you so much. Every day. I should've rescued you sooner. If anything, I'm the monster. For not stopping Ominis. For letting this happen to you." Choked up, you stared at the broken man before you. "Merlin, Sebastian. I cannot tell you how horribly I feel."

"Stop," Sebastian whispered, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. He released his hand from your arm, and with shaky fingers, he reached out to touch your cheek, mirroring your gesture. His touch, though cold, was comforting. You felt warmth spread over you, relishing in the moment you thought would never happen. He was here, with you, in your home. "You are no monster, Y/N. This is not your fault. Thoughts of you were the only thing that kept me sane in that place. You consumed me. You were my light in the darkness. I love you, Y/N"

The lump in your throat returned, and tears relentlessly began to stream from your eyes. He smiled softly, a smile you thought had disappeared forever. The sight of it sparked a rush of emotions within you — relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of love. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from your chest, and you couldn't help but return his smile, your heart swelling with affection. "I love you, Sebastian."

As you gazed into his eyes, you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. Every feature of his face seemed to hold a lifetime of memories — the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, the lines etched around his eyes from countless smiles shared between you. In that moment, you were overcome with gratitude for his presence, for the chance to hold him close.

Without hesitation, you rose slightly from where you were sitting, your movements guided by a yearning that had lingered in the depths of your soul. Moving your hand back to the side of his neck, you savored the coolness of his skin beneath your touch, the sensation grounding you in this moment of raw vulnerability.

As you leaned in to press your lips to his, you felt a surge of longing flood your senses. His kiss was like a balm to your wounded heart, a reminder of the depth of your connection and the strength of your bond. Despite the chill that lingered on his lips, you were enveloped in a warmth that radiated from deep within you, filling every corner of your being with a sense of completeness.

His hands found their way to you, one resting on your side, the other tangling gently in your hair. With each caress, each tender touch, you felt a rush of emotions — passion, desire, and an overwhelming sense of belonging. In his embrace, you found solace.

As you melted into him, the boundaries between you blurred, and for a fleeting moment, you were lost in the intensity of your connection. It was as though time stood still, the world falling away around you as you surrendered to the embrace of your love. And in that moment, as your lips moved together in a silent dance of longing and desire, you knew that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart again.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow fluff #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts #Azkaban #oneshot #fanfic

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forthechubbies · 6 months

Text

Roadkill°{Rated X} Drabble ->Series

Criminal!Woosan x Victim!Chubby Reader

W! MOMMY KINK!, MILF! Reader,Strong Language, Sexual themed , mentions of prostitution, Alcohol, and pissed off San yummy 😋...Wooyoung is a mean drunk by the way.

"I said take a left, dumbass!!!"

It is often mentioned that nobody can bear the burden of a guilty conscience. However, have you ever considered what happens when someone or a group of people shamelessly disregard feelings of regret, remorse, and the basic principles of humanity?

Instead, they prioritize their own selfish desires for greed, wealth, and personal gratification, even if it means hurting others.

"ITS HARD TO FUCKIN HEAR OVER THESE SIRENS"

The individuals are the Korean bonnie & clyde; Jung Woo-young; the man driving the getaway van and Choi San the man poorly reading directions. Not much is known about these menances besides them being nothing but a handful of trouble.

Cutting through a rural region facilitated the pair's escape. The guys puffed, drawing in as much breath as possible before bursting into nervous laughter between the duo.

“Oh, sh*t, that was close. Lucky us, huh?" remarked Wooyoung.

San sat in despair and rolled his eyes, saying, "Drive the fucking car.." He had had enough of his beloved for the day.

.....

The stillness between the lovers was uncomfortable following today's somewhat botched theft. San was the one who broke the stillness. "I'll be back," he said casually over his shoulder as he crossed over the motel entrance. Wooyoung huffed, hot on San's trail. "Where are you going?" he inquired, without shoes in the crisp autumn air.

"For a walk." San said, plainly

Instead of confronting San's emotions based on his actions, Wooyoung answered, "Okay." Wooyoung steps furiously into the van before speeding away into the night..l

San didn't bother giving him a moment's glimpse.

What the hell is this place?! Wooyoung was driving through this dump of a town, venting his frustration. He was cruising down the deserted streets when he stumbled upon a crappy gas station. "Just in time," he muttered to himself as he pulled up to the pump. But of course, the tank was empty. "Fuck!" Wooyoung screamed as he punched the steering wheel in anger.

....

In the depths of despair, San painfully acknowledged the vast gap of time without his foolish lover. Anxiety consumed him as futile calls left him restless. Where could that ass be?

By the roadside, the van sat motionless, as if devoid of any purpose. Within its confines, a wooyoung, heavily intoxicated, slumped over carelessly, encircled by a sea of discarded beer bottles. His supposedly peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by the obnoxious blaring of his cell phone...again

Wooyoung bellowed furiously through the speaker. "Ugh, What..what- Ah! Shit!.... Quit goddamn yelling in my fucking ear!.. ... How the fuck am I supposed to know where the hell I am?! I just woke the fuck up!.....wah! I'm not some damn drunk-asshole! You've been a colossal asswipe all day.. I fucking saved your sorry ass and all you gave a shit about is the dead bitch on the pavement...... He. would have..fucking killed you!... You dumbass."

San's mind was filled with a disturbing idea - were they heartless murderers or courageous outlaws? The reality was horrifying. They were criminals, but taking a life was an entirely new level of wickedness. However, San couldn't ignore the fact that they were not entirely innocent either. The truth was staggering and left San in a state of shock.

During their incarceration, whispers circulated about his involvement in sinister dealings that involved the disappearance of both guards and fellow inmates. But he was not acting alone, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

However, Wooyoung was a different breed altogether. His thirst for blood was almost demonic, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a sweet poison.

He reveled in it, relishing the taste of fear and the power it gave him. It was as if he had made a deal with the devil himself, and now he was paying the price in flesh and bone.

San's point was clear: Wooyoung possessed the power to decide the fate of that man, whether to merciless slaughter him or spare his wretched existence.

The man, feeble and defenseless, posed no immediate danger. Yet, in a twisted display of sadistic pleasure, Wooyoung coldly pressed the barrel of his gun against the man's vulnerable skull, relishing in the anticipation of the impending explosion. And then, with a resounding bang, the man's life was abruptly extinguished, his blood mingling with the already crimson-stained surroundings.

In a state of intoxication, Wooyoung seized control of the wheel.

Tragically, lost in his drunken haze, he dared to shut his eyes for what seemed like a mere moment. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air, jolting him awake... Shit. He hastily pulled over, compelled to investigate, only to be confronted with a shocking sight - a lifeless woman sprawled before him.

He gnashed his teeth, the very last thing he wanted was the hassle of concealing a dead body. Wooyoung's gaze crept up your limbs until it met your face...Shit, she's bleeding a bit but she'll live...I must have scared her out of her wits and she passed out. The longer Wooyoung stared, the more he discerned your profession.

At first, The school girl uniform puzzled him but there's no way in hell, Parents would allow their daughter out the door the way your dressed.

He audaciously dropped to his knees in the grass beside your form, your name tag proudly displaying "Yn" with a heart-shaped flourish. "Bunny Lounge..." he uttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, "My dear, you are far too beautiful to be a whor-"

His intentions abruptly shifted towards your forsaken purse, mere inches away from your body. A wicked smirk danced upon his lips as he scoffed, relishing in the sinister thrill of his impending actions.

"Just hold on a minute, Sweetheart," He sneered.

With a savage force, Wooyoung tore through the contents of your purse, his hands ravaging through the remnants of your personal belongings. And then, amidst the chaos, he stumbled upon a collection of cherished family photographs, capturing the essence of your existence alongside your innocent baby twin sons.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his twisted mind. "You... you're a mother..."

A wave of sorrow washed over him as memories from his troubled childhood resurfaced. He was raised by a single mother who tirelessly struggled to provide for him, doing whatever it took to ensure there was food on the table.

He sensually pressed his ear against your heaving bosom, captivated by the rhythmic melody of your steady heartbeat... Wooyoung wasn't the cuddlyist person in the world but he found instant relief being against your skin.

San was teetering on the edge of madness, his mind consumed by fury, when his spouse burst through the door, guzzling down yet another bottle of the delectable soju. "Daddy's finally graced us with his presence," San sneered.

Woo-young's freakin' good-looking mug was all shiny, like he'd been doused in oil or somethin'. "Sannie-ah!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" San exploded, launching himself at Wooyoung and forcefully slamming him against the door. "It's fucking 3am. Where the hell were you?"

"I... I killed an angel," Wooyoung whispered, a sinister giggle escaping his lips as he leaned in close to San's ear. "She's so soft n' sweet...like you." His tongue grazed San's stud earrings. "So I had to keep her-..I had no choice.."

San brushed off Wooyoung's words, tossing him aside like a rag doll as he stormed out of the motel room. But as he took a few steps away, doubt began to creep into his mind. Could it be possible that his drunken lover was actually telling the truth?

As he crept towards the van's rear, his heart pounded with fear. San's hands trembled as he reached for the cold metal handles of the doors. With a deep breath, he pulled them open, and his breath caught in his throat. In the center of the mattress lay a woman.No angel. your dirty body was bound and gagged, your blouse ripped open to reveal a lacy bra. The sight was enough to make San's blood run cold. He knew he had stumbled upon something truly terrifying.

San held his breath slamming the doors shut before rushing to confront the murderer. Wooyoung flinched at the sound of the door. " You look pissed." He chuckled. "Did you see my piece of heaven? Beautiful. Right?!"

Meanwhile, in the cold. As you slowly regained awareness, your foot landed on a glass bottle, knocking it against others. Bringing you up to speed on the issue.

Your heart races as you feel the panic set in. The pressure is crushing you, and you can't even sit up because of the damn rope tying you down. You look around frantically, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Are you outside? In a shed? No, it's a van. Your mind races as you try to figure out how to escape this nightmare.

"You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A man's voice was the last thing you heard before you fully lost consciousness.

As your captors' voices grew louder, the chilling realization hit you like a ton of bricks - would you ever lay eyes on your beloved boys again? Tears threatened to spill, but you had no time for weakness.

Upon opening the doors, The men found you conscious and confused you stared at them as if their aliens. "Oh shit, She's alive." Wooyoung slurred, "See, Sannie, you hit me for nothing." He happily crawled into the van climbing up your body as you struggled. "Easy, mommy, you don't want to hurt your-"

San aggressively punished his lover upside the head. "Ya! The fuck is wrong with you?! This isn't us." He snatched his lover against the wall of the van with a Slam.

Wooyoung groaned, enjoying the feeling of being manhandled. " We're criminals, Dickhead, bad stuff is what we done." He couldn't take his eyes off your exposed legs. "We should reap the benefits. Don't you think, Sannie?"

San snatched Wooyoung's jaw forcing him to look at him. "There's a fine line between Criminals and monsters and that " He uses his head to movement towards your shaken figure. "Is going overboard!"

San had clearly had enough for the night, but Wooyoung wasn't going to let him get away with it. In a drunken rage, he snapped back, defending himself with all the aggression he could muster.

"Sleep in the damn van!" San barked at Wooyoung, not bothering to look back. "Fucking animal " He hoisted himself onto the bed, forcefully wrapping the rope that restrained your wrists around his neck, and effortlessly lifted you up.

As you observed the furious Wooyoung venting his frustration on the van, you instinctively leaned closer to San, finding some solace in his comforting presence.

..to be continued ♡

#ateez imagines #yandere ateez #woosan x chubby reader #ateez woosan #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x chubby reader #choi san x chubby reader #choi san x reader #ateez au

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