#pocket trumpet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 8 months

Text

You Started It pt. 2(Buggy The Clown x F!Reader)

a/n: GMFU, that's all i have to say. this chapter was strongly inspired by the song Shikayat from the movie Gangubai Kathiawadi,

Warnings: General Asshole Behavior from The Man Of The Hour, Hostage Situation, Light Bondage (lmao), Some Good Old Smexual Tension.

Summary: The time for your great performance finally arrives, but the culmination will surprise both you and your captor.

Part 1.

You awake to the sound of music. Drums, trumpets and bells fill your ears, shaking you from some pleasant dream, where you could run free with your brother and his crew. Instead, your forehead aches from the way the bars of your prison dug into it, while you slept. Your legs are sore as well, dangling above the floor, wooden planks leaving marks on your thighs. Your joints crack, as you try to straighten yourself to the best of your capacity, an unpleasant shiver running up your back. Groggily, you wipe left-over tears from your eyes. The music wires itself into your brain, like a bug drilling inside your skull.

Then, someone yells. You know the voice all too well. The music stops immediately, and with a quickened pulse, you hear footsteps approaching the door to the backroom.

He waltzes in, a spring in his step betraying his barely contained excitement. It's been a week since your faithful conversation, and you haven't been moved from your spot above ground. Like a bird in a cage, he has kept you locked, visiting even more often than before. To feed you, give you some water, drink in the sight of you, pester you with questions you had no intention of answering. Truly, your purpose here must've shifted from solely being a Hostage, to providing Entertainment. Just like he's said when you first got here.

"Hostage!" he exclaims, as soon, as the door closes behind him.

"Captain" you answer, voice tired and still traced with the remnants of sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's not bothered by your sarcasm. You're not sure if he even registered it, with his giddy state.

"Today's your big day!" he jumps a few steps in your direction, wobbling on the balls of his feet,

At your confused, if slightly annoyed expression, he raises his hands, and that's when you notice the elephant in the room. A costume, folded neatly in his arms, one, you're without a doubt expected to wear. It's pink, baby pink and frilly to say the least. You can see an ungodly amount of ruffles, and sequins, and small golden bells. It makes your face involuntarily scrunch up. Never in a million years you'd be caught wearing such a pink thing of your own accord. But, as much as you hate the sight before you, the show must go on. You know it, and he most definitely knows so, too.

You flinch, when the Clown throws the costume to the side, lets it collide onto the table, bells ringing loudly. Then, he produces a key from the pocket of his trousers

"Be good, or else" he warns, and you nod, because what else can you do.

The soft click of the lock is like music to your ears, and as soon as the man opens the door, you nearly moan at the feeling of your legs finally being able to stretch. He watches from the side, as you unfurl yourself from the cage, limb by limb. Oh, the feeling of solid ground under your feet is almost too much

"I really cooped you up in there…" he muses to himself, and you contain the venomous look you were about to throw him.

Instead, you opt for stretching out your sore muscles, rising your hands as far above your head as you possibly can, and try to ignore the spark in his eyes, as he watches your shirt ride up your stomach, Finally, he clears his throat, crosses the room to the table and gathers the costume back in his arms

"Don't take long" he winks and points his chin towards the dressing room screen, tucked away against one of the walls.

Grabbing the amassing of fabric from his arms, and trying really hard not to touch him, you retreat to hide behind it. The screen is big enough to cover your body, but your head peeks above, and you shoot a cautious look towards the clown. To his credit, he hasn't moved any closer, rummaging through one of the chests at the end of the room. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something metallic and very sharp, disappearing into the inside pocket of his coat, and your heart jumps to your throat.

Your hands now shaking, you lay out the fabric, trying to get a good look at the costume, before you have to inevitably put it on your body. As you look at the full garb, it doesn't look as intimidating, as before. The ruffles, although pink and obnoxious, are flowing nicely with the entirety of the outfit. It is, however, much more revealing, than you've anticipated, and against your better judgement, you throw a single, judgy look towards the Clown, who immediately catches your eye at the other side of the screen

"Chop-chop, we haven't got all day" he smiles at you, full teeth on display.

Shaking your head, you begin to undress, movements slightly skittish, from the sudden anxiety running up your spine. The outfit slides against your body with ease, the fit being slightly too big on your figure. The expanse of your stomach lays bare, ruffles from the hem of the skimpy top tickling your ribs. Your legs are also, almost completely exposed, the lower half of the costume turning out to be a skirt with rather deep cutouts on the sides. It's a shame you don't have a mirror anywhere nearby, although perhaps it's for the best. You don't know if you could stomach to look at yourself in this ridiculous getup

"Ready, Hostage?" his voice startles you against your will, and after a couple of deep breaths, you step out from behind the screen.

His face remains blank, but his eyes feverishly run all across your body, taking in the image in utter silence. Again, anxiety rises in your gut, this time however, you begin to worry that somehow, this isn't enough. That this isn't the vision he has conjured up in his head, and anything deviating from his vision was sure to anger him beyond belief. You bite your lip in anticipation, as he slowly starts to walk towards you. Then, to your utter confusion, he kneels down just in front of you.

Silence envelops the two of you like a blanket made of tar. It pours into your lungs, making you unable to breathe. His hands are steady, as he reaches out and places them on one of your ankles. Your mismatched shoe slides off your foot under his gentle tug. Then, the other one. Your bare feet hit the floor and that's when you realize, you've begun to shiver

"The audience will love you" he breathes, voice quiet and reserved, almost unrecognizable from his regular, flashy persona.

Then, his hands retract to the inside of his coat. Your breath hitches, as he pulls out a golden cuff adorned with the same, small bells, which are currently attached to the rest of your outfit. Your brows furrow, and another, unexplainable feeling blossoms in your stomach, as you watch him lean down to clasp the cuff around your ankle, the second one following closely behind. His hands linger for a moment, and another surge of trembles runs through you. He's warm, and his fingers are calloused, but somehow, your skin doesn't seem to mind. If anything, you'd risk saying the way he softly slides his digits up your calf is enjoyable. Troubling and confusing, yes, but enjoyable nonetheless.

You sway in your place, as he rises from his knees

"Give me your hands, Hostage" since when has this nickname become so affectionate on his lips, you can't remember.

One part of your brain reasons, that it's a recent development, caused by the time you were forced to spend in his grasp. The other, more treacherous part supplies, that this strange intonation has been there from the very start. You were just too stubborn to notice it.

The tremors running through your hands, as you raise them to present to him, are honestly embarrassing. Your head hangs low, to shield your face from his gaze. It's no use, he can see right through you. The flush in your cheeks, your mouth falling slightly open, the shine in your eyes. He eats it up like a man starved. Reactions, that's what he's after, and with the way you've been acting, you've given him quite the show already.

It's quiet again, safe for the occasional jingle of the bells, as he gently locks two bracelets around your wrists, identical to the ones on your feet. His fingers toy with the golden clasp, brushing against your running pulse. Tension builds in your stomach, as his eyes finally look up to yours. You would've believed you were solitary in your confusing feelings, if his breath didn't come out in quick gasps through his painted lips. Lips, which in this quiet moment seem much too appetizing than they had any right to be.

"You look perfect" his breath brushes against your face, "There's just one little thing, that's missing, Hostage."

Your brows scrunch together, as you watch him reach into his pocket yet again. A beautiful silken scarf slides between his palms. It's pink as well, adorned with constellations stitched in with a shiny thread. Your confusion deepens, when he grabs your hand and turns your wrist up. Then, your heart drops.

Between the rows of small bells, you can see a golden loop attached to the cuff, identical looking back at you from your other wrist. You try to voice your protest, try to wring out your hand, but his grip on you tightens, and he tuts quietly under his breath.

"Can't have you flying away now, can I?" he weaves the scarf between the loops, and ties your hands together, leaving the fabric to drape in between

"How the hell do you expect me to perform with my hands tied?" your voice comes out much weaker than you've anticipated, betraying your growing fear.

To that, he looks up with a grin, yet his eyes remain cold, causing your whole body to shiver.

"You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

His finger detaches again, flying towards your nose and pushing it hard enough to make your entire face scrunch up. Then, he grabs a handful of the fabric, tugs on it to check the binds, and starts walking towards the door, not sparing you as much as a glance. And you follow, obediently, trying to make his head explode with your brain.

It's your fault, really, the feeling of disappointment and anger swirling around in your head. All this sudden quiet intimacy has clouded your judgement, and you've forgotten who you're truly dealing with. Oh, how you wish you could do anything to hurt him. How you wish, your brother would rescue you already, free you from this prison, not only physically, but mentally as well, so you won't have to think about this stupid, homicidal clown ever again.

If he senses you fuming behind him, he doesn't comment. And why would he? You're still following him, as he drags you through the stage, right to the middle of your future dance floor.

Your eyes dart around the place, trying to find anything, anyone, who could help you escape this predicament. To your surprise, and later, horror, the Circus is completely empty. Not a soul shares your fate. Not the public, not his Freaks, not even the Announcer. The silence makes goosebumps erupt all across your flesh, and words get stuck in your throat, as Buggy turns to face you with an unsettling grin plastered across his lips.

"I thought a private performance would be much more appropriate for you, my Hostage" his smile widens at your expression.

You want to scream at him, punch him in his stupid face, but all you can manage is glare daggers at his stupid face. Suddenly, the lights flicker on, startling you, as beams of light flow around you, only to fall right on the two of you. Buggy grabs your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms. His enthusiasm would be contagious, if you weren't scared shitless by this entire situation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a one-of-a-kind performance" he whispers inches from your face, "My dearest Hostage will dance for her life… and for your entertainment."

He lets go of you, forcefully showing you away, and you take a step back to stabilize yourself. The lights focus solely on you, and in the brightness surrounding you, you realize, you can't see anything besides the middle of the dance floor. Cackling like a madman, the Clown steps back, his hands clasped in front of his chest. You almost call out for him, as he slides into the shadows, but any sound dies on your tongue.

You're alone, again. Your breath quickens, as your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. This is not at all how you've envisioned this performance to go. Well, above all things, you didn't expect it would happen at all. Your brother should have freed you by now, and while you had your utmost faith in him, you couldn't shake the feeling of deeply seated worry. Which is why, you had to endure this torture. So you can see your brother again, when he finally comes for you. With a determined expression, you nod your head at the darkness and raise your hands, getting into, what you hope would look, like a dancing stance.

He holds you in anticipation for a moment longer, as any great showman should. And then, music floods the stadium. Bells and violins, distorted slightly by what you assume is an old gramophone. You recognize the song, thankfully, your face falling slightly, as you remember the meaning. A love song, of course, about hatred and affection. Bitter-sweet. Your limbs feel heavy and awkward, but you start to move nonetheless.

He wants a private show? You'll give him one, he won't forget.

The rhythm picks up and so do the movements of your hips. Bells jingle all around you, as you slide from one place to another, clouds of dust flying around your feet. The scarf turns out to be a major distraction, as you're unused to being bound. It takes you a while to get the hang of it, but once you do, you make the fabric dance with you, flowing around your body with satisfying grace. The song becomes even faster, and you twist and turn, ruffles jumping, as you run, accompanied by the bells. Your feet start to hurt from the roughness of the floor, but you ignore it completely.

The song drops before the second verse, and you follow the rhythm to the floor. Using all the acrobatics you've picked up through the years, you begin to writhe in the sand, adding a clap and a stomp, bells jingling to the music. That's when you finally see him, crouched down right in front you, watching your dance with a tilt to his head and something terrifying swirling behind his eyes. It makes you falter in your choreography, makes your guts twist with a feeling too close to arousal.

Then, a glint of something silver catches your eye. It swishes through the air, and plants itself right between your legs. A knife. Sharp and polished to perfection, it embeds itself into the wooden floor, splinters flying from the impact. The scream you let out would make a Banshee cringe, as you push yourself as far as you can from the weapon

"Now, now" Buggy calls out across from you, his silhouette barely visible in the darkness" The show must go on, Hostage."

He sounds terrifying, like some demon from your darkest dreams. But the music still plays, and you'll be damned, if this is what takes you down. So, you wipe your forehead with the silk scarf, contort your body and stand up, straight as a chord. Now, it's no longer a simple performance. Your blood boils inside you, fear giving space to anger and, strangely, some sort of misplaced ambition. You want to impress him, you want to make him frustrated, angry. Dust flows around you, as you resume your dance, movements much more confident, violent even.

He stalks you from the shadows, producing another knife from his pocket. It shines, when he lets it fly in your direction, but you don't even flinch, when it swishes right by your ear. Then another, grazes your torso, as you bend backwards. This one nicks you right below your ribs. You can feel blood running down the length of your stomach. No matter. Your eyes still follow him, and he steps closer to the light. Another knife, inches from your left foot. And closer he stalks. You can see the tips of his shoes enter the spotlight.

That's all it takes for you to make a decision. You won't play this torturous game any longer, and as the music nears its climax, you close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands flying to the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly.

You're panting, so is he, as you stare at each other, all innocence gone from your respective expressions. Fury, oh, fury, you're not sure if you want to kill him, or kiss him, and as he produces one last knife from his pocket, the sentiment seems to be mutual

"You started it" a growl frees itself from the depths of your chest, and under your tight grip on his shirt, he shudders violently.

There's heat pooling into those blue eyes irises of his, enveloping you completely in the moment. But then, his eyes follow your scowl down to your lips, and you realize, you've never tasted face paint. What an interesting experience it would be.

This moment of tension is broken almost immediately, as clouds of smoke fill the tent, seemingly out of nowhere. Suddenly, something yanks you backwards by your arm, something puts a knife in your hand and something yells for you to run. So you do, you turn from the Clown, his figure drowned in smoke, and you run as fast as you can, without looking back. He screams some words you're too scared to decipher, his voice breaking. A disembodied hand flies in your direction, but you dodge it expertly. One more tug from the hand gripping your arm, and you fall through a thick curtain.

The sun outside the Circus tent blinds you, nearly making you lose your footing, but a pair of strong arms hold you in place, and a familiar head of ginger hair turns around to face you

"Come on, the ship is not far" Nami yells, and you can't contain the smile blossoming on your lips.

The Hostage, freed at last… Or so she hopes

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #buggy the clown #my writing #besties idk how to do a taglist soooo

1K notes · View notes

flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

What if there was a dance to find the (insert whatever monster) king's mate so they can produce a heir(and many more kids)

And a regular human reader attends for free food not believing they'll be picked from but turns out the king had a eye on reader the whole time

Ahhh! I adore this idea! Anything that has to do with food immediately has my support and any reader I write would be first in line at the buffet :D

Shadow King (Zintius) x female reader

Word Count: 2.5K

W: sfw monster fluff, kidnapping, some sfw forced stripping

You smoothed the pointy clay tips you’d glued to your ears to make you look like a pixie, before you slipped out of the bathroom and back into the ballroom.

Around you Fairyfolk were gathered dressed to the nines, all covered in sequins and feathers to attract the eye of the Shadow King. No one paid any attention to you, as a human you were much too plain to compete with these otherworldly beauties. Sirens, fairies, lovely creatures you’d never even heard of before crowded the room, subtly elbowing each other in the ribs to be the first that the King laid eyes on as he descended the stairs.

Your focus, however, was the buffet. As a human in Fairy, you were unpopular to say the least and would never be allowed in a place like this, but with a little bit of pheromone lifted off of a witch and some micah powder to make your skin glitter you’d made yourself up to pass as a pixie so you could pilfer the feast. I

t was a con you pulled often, though this was perhaps your most bold move yet. This was the King’s marriage ball. He was looking for a wife so only the richest, prettiest, and most affluent Fairyfolk in the land had gone to great expense to travel as far as the Realm of Shadow to seduce him.

It didn’t matter that he was ten feet tall and mostly smoke and big teeth. He had power and that was beautiful. The realm of Light and the realm of Twilight feared him, declaring him their greatest enemy. He was known to be brutal and imperialistic, wanting to spread his darkness as far as the other two realms would allow.

None of that concerned you, however. While their heads were all turned to watch the King descend the stairs, you were pulling a sack from underneath your stolen, stained ball gown and loading it full of croissants, cupcakes, and whatever else wasn’t too sticky to fit. It wasn’t the flashiest con, but you were just a human, you did what you could to get by and this one was easy. You got away every time and ate for a week if you rationed everything out.

When you’d gotten all you could, you shoved the sack under your fluffy dress, one you’d stolen out of the trash pile of a seamstress’ shop, and blended back into the crowd. It would be suspicious if you bolted immediately, the guards were trained to watch for thieves who would do just that, so you had to stick around for at least another hour.

You’d slip out of the back, look a little drunk if anyone stopped you, find a quiet place and put on the stable boy outfit you also had hidden in your skirt and casually walk away looking like a servant carrying out the trash.

In the meantime, your eyes drifted over the crowd, trying to figure out if you could pilfer any loose valuables while you were waiting…these rich people wouldn’t notice a few baubles missing. You didn’t even bother to look for the King, though you heard all the trumpets and fanfare announcing his arrival.

Your eye caught on a jewel encrusted fan sticking out of the back pocket of a handsome goblin. Like a cat, you honed in on your target, drifting closer and closer to the sparkling prize.

“I throw a whole ball just for you and I can’t even catch your eye,” a rumbling voice boomed just as you raised your hand to snatch the fan.

You whirled around, cheeks red, trying to look innocent, eyes widening as you took in the figure looming over you. The Shadow King looked down at you with six eyes glowing gold from the dark space that was his face.

“Um…I…Um…what?” you stammered.

A wide, white smile appeared on his face, no lips, only teeth.

“Finally, you look at me,” he said.

You instinctively took a step back, unsure what was happening. Was he confused? Was he teasing you? Surely this was some cruel joke because he’d caught you stealing, though you didn’t entirely understand it.

“Come,” he said, holding out a large hand. Whirls of black smoke drifted up off of it. The whole room was looking at you with obvious hostility, so you shakily took his hand, unsure what else to do. Your heart was hammering in your chest. The one rule of conning was commit to the bit, you had to let this play out, but what was happening?

He led you to the center of the room and music began. Your mouth fell open as he put one hand on your hip and with the other he clasped your hand and you started to dance. You had no idea how to dance, so you simply stumbled over his feet. He chuckled, revealing his white teeth again and lifted you up a bit, depositing your feet on top of his.

“Here, like this,” he said, before swinging you around the ballroom to the music. The guests blurred around you as he spun across the shiny marble floor.

His six eyes, all with different colored irises blinked down at you with utter fascination. He remembered the first time he saw you at some silly party he’d been compelled to attend. You’d done quite a good job hiding you were human only, as he’d wandered onto the terrace to get some air, he’d looked down to see you undressing. He’d watched in fascination as you’d unloaded a sack full of food and a handful of valuables, before peeling off your dress, plucking the tips from your ears and hurriedly disguising yourself like a servant boy with some pants and a low cap.

He’d snuck off, following you, curious about your life and where you were going. Humans were all but extinct in Fairy, the fact that you were alive at all was a bit remarkable. Hiding as a cloud of smoke in the shadows he watched you dangling your feet over the dock watching the boats on the river while you munched on your ill gotten gains.

It was impossible to keep his eyes off of your plump lips as you chewed and your pretty hands as you wiped crumbs from your cheeks. His heart had dropped when he’d watched you curl up in a barrel near where they dumped the trash, your head resting on your bag of pastries to sleep.

After that he’d used his own disguises to move through the nobility. It would be obnoxious if the king came to every party, but transforming himself into an unassuming orc nobleman, he eagerly waited for your arrival at every flashy party in the capital. He found your disguise rather clever and the way you slipped in and out, making yourself unseen despite how beautiful you were, very impressive.

It stunned him how well you could read your marks. You followed the cadence of the room, striking just when someone was distracted with new love or jealousy. Too wrapped up in their own drama to even care that whatever they lost was missing.

He never bothered you, afraid to disturb what seemed to be your main source of food and income. That is until he set this little trap to catch you.

“How long I’ve waited to have you in my arms,” he purred at you.

You blinked your eyes at him.

“You have?” you gasped, “are…are you sure you’re not mistaking me for someone else?”

He just shook his head, the song ending. You were aware the entire room was looking at you with a mix of disgust and envy. As the next song began and some partners filled the dance floor a plucky witch dared to shoot her shot at the King, sure she could easily pull his attention from you. You almost let out a relieved sigh when you saw her approaching. She was a perfect excuse to make your escape and pretty enough to probably succeed.

Only when she reached you he waved her away.

“I’m busy,” he growled before she could even open her mouth and your hope scurried away.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, pet,” he said, scooping you up in his arms to the dismay of you and the entire room and the two of you disappeared in a puff of smoke.

You immediately panicked when you realized where you were, struggling in his arms. They were impossibly strong for appearing to be made of nothing but black mist. He’d brought you to his bedroom. You could only assume it was his bedroom because it was the nicest one you’d ever been in. The walls were draped in glittering gold fabric and jewel encrusted weapons humming with power were mounted where they parted.

“Shhh, shhh,” he shushed you, snapping his fingers and the cold fireplace lit bathing the room in warm light.

The sudden sparks startled you still. In the glitter of firelight the shadow king’s black skin almost seemed to have a bit of a sparkle to it. Looking down on you and smiling again with his eerie Cheshire cat smile, he plucked the clay points from your ears.

“You don’t need to hide from me, little human,” he said, “you’re perfectly safe…but you must tell me…I’ve been dying to know your name.”

“Maurine,” you lied and he frowned at you, his smile inverting.

“It’s not wise to lie to me, pet,” he growled, his six eyes narrowing and the colors in them flashing.

“(Y/N),” you squeaked.

His mouth flipped again, creepily and he brushed your hair.

“There’s no reason to lie, anyway,” he assured you, depositing you into a chair in front of the fire before he crossed the room to a pitcher of water and a bowl, “whatever petty problems you may have you can rely on me to solve them.”

Wetting a rag he returned to scrub the micah from your cheeks that was giving you the pixie-like sheen. Pinching your cheeks with his shadowy fingers, he scrubbed until every bit of your disguise was off of you. From then on, Zintius wanted you to look like yourself. You’d never have to steal for a living again. He’d stuff you full of so many pastries you were plump and round.

You gasped, surprised as his large hand slipped up your skirt and fished around, brushing your bare thigh. His smile got brighter as he retrieved the sack of food and the other bag of supplies you carried on you, pulling them from under it.

Your eyes widened in horror as he tossed the bag with the food in it casually into the fireplace as if it weren’t your only source of sustenance for a week. You were almost afraid he was going to toss in your meager belongings, but he only rummaged around in them for the bottle of pheromone that apparently offended him. He was sure to toss that into the fireplace as well.

When his eyes returned to you they were laser focused on the smelly dress you’d pulled from the garbage and you started to climb over the back of the chair to escape him. He was much too fast and much too big, yanking you back down. The sound of fabric ripping filled the room as he shredded the poor thing.

“So lovely,” he gasped in his throat as he took in your body, bathed in golden light. It was so much more than when he’d imagined it. It had been impossible to see the appealing figure you’d been hiding under the ill fitting dress and boy’s clothes.

Folding himself down to you as you squealed and shrank back into the chair, he breathed in your sweet scent, underneath the annoying pheromone you were wearing. He was much too impatient to wait to scrub you, reminding himself to tell the maids to take the bedding immediately in the morning when he got around to giving you a bath. The sooner he never had to smell that stuff again the better.

Scooping you up, he hurried to the bed.

“What are you doing?!” you snarled, beating your fists against his chest, which he conveniently made smoke when you struck him so your hands slipped right through. It was not a funny joke, but he found it very amusing, smiling down at you as he climbed across the spread with you in one arm.

“I’m going to mate you,” he explained innocently.

You gasped, scandalized.

“Me!? But…but…mating is forever and I’m human! The goddess doesn’t make human mates. She hates humans!”

He snorted.

“The Goddess long ago betrayed me,” he snarled, “She cursed me to never have a Fairy mate, but I can and will have my own. You…I can feel it…perhaps the God of man blessed me just to spite her. I’ll never stop thanking him for his kindness, delivering a human angel to me. If he wants me to spend my life crusading against her creations, I will, if it means I can keep you.”

You’d prayed to Adam, the God of man so many nights as you’d slept near the dock, wondering if his reach stretched all the way to Fairy. Only what you’d prayed for was that a stray portal would open up and you’d be taken back to Earth where you’d learned the rest of the humans lived, not this…but Gods were a fickle, spiteful bunch and sticking it to Freya by undermining her curse sounded like just the sort of thing Adam would do.

The Shadow King practically purred at you, his smokey fingertips drifting over your bare skin as you cowered into the pillows.

“I can be a good lover, pet,” he promised you, “I have the power to give you whatever you like. Do you want jewels? Castles? Servants to step all over?”

You shook your head.

“I-I don’t need all that,” you stammered, “I-I just…”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to say.

His eyes narrowed on you and you saw a sliver of tooth as he smirked at you.

“Aren’t you just a little bit curious?” he asked, “don’t you want to know what it’s like not to scrabble in the dirt as you have your whole life? I’ve seen you sleeping in the cold trash, love, you never have to sleep on anything but the finest silk in front of a warm fireplace for the rest of your life. I watched the way your eyelashes fluttered as you woke, terrified of what had found you in the dark. You never have to be afraid to close your eyes again. All you have to do is give yourself to me.”

The simple lure of a warm, safe bed was enough to break you and you nodded slowly. Pleased, his smile stretched to opposite ends of his face in a terrifying grin, his six eyes eating up your body now that you'd given him permission and glowing fiery gold.

“You’ll never regret this (Y/N),” he assured you, as his fingers tore the frayed undergarments you were still wearing, “I promise you.”

#monster x girl #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster lover #yandere male #yandere x reader #x reader #monster x human

5K notes · View notes

spicycinnabun · 2 months

Text

pt. 1 2 4 5 6 7 💐

The third time Eddie stopped by Harrington Floral, it was simply because he felt drawn to it.

The world had been dumping on him lately, and looking at the arrangements was a nice distraction from another college application rejected, another job prospect gone down the toilet because he just “wasn’t the right fit”, his friends leaving Hawkins because they had gotten into colleges, Corroded Coffin officially disbanding, and losing his D&D group, having passed the torch on to Will after he graduated.

Real life wasn’t shaping up to be very metal at all.

The only good thing to transpire was the news Wayne had broken to him last night over their Swanson TV dinners. He had met the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

They had been dating for a few months now, much to Eddie’s surprise. Wayne said when you got to his age, you didn’t fuck around with time. When you knew, you knew.

He wanted Eddie to meet her before he popped the question—not that he needed Eddie’s blessing. It was great for him. He deserved to have someone, especially after going so long denying himself the chance.

Maybe Wayne could finally start his own family that didn’t include his mooching failure of a nephew.

Eddie had about a month to get his shit together, find a (legal, decent paying) job, a place to live, and scram. Wayne told him he didn’t have to be so hasty, that the trailer was his home and he could stay as long as he damn well pleased, but there was no way Eddie was about to crash Wayne’s newlywed life.

It was time for Eddie to finally make his own way in the world. He just wished he knew what direction to take.

In his pocket was the phone number of a dude who needed a roommate. He’d torn it off an ad he found taped to a payphone outside the mall.

He would call tonight. Maybe it would pan out. Maybe it wouldn’t.

The When I Think of You bouquet had long since been sold and replaced. The new one in the display window was called Wedding Bells, Eddie guessed, because it had bell-shaped flowers. They were an assortment of white, reds and yellows, with baby’s breath layered in between.

Maybe Eddie would place an order for Wayne’s wedding. He wondered, too, if he would ever get married. Probably not. It wasn’t legal and most likely wouldn’t ever be.

Not only that, but he would have to find someone willing to spend their entire life with him. That seemed… as likely as hell freezing over. Eddie knew he was a lot to handle for a single week, let alone years or a whole damn lifetime.

Eddie leaned over to smell one of the dramatic, bridal white Angel’s Trumpets.

He’d always enjoyed flowers. He had a tattoo of one on his inner arm, another small ode to his mother, but he wanted more. He wished there wasn’t such a stigma about men liking them. It wasn’t fair, but neither was most shit in life.

🌷🪻🌻🌹

co-writing this with @batty4steddie 💕

steve’s pov is next!

#fic #wybmb #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie au #florist au #stranger things #florist!steve harrington #wilted flower eddie #🥀#little bit of angst

424 notes · View notes

asleepyy · 4 months

Note

Lovely art! I love how you add so many details to your comics, is there a detail you added that many people missed? Or is there one that you would like to bring up again?- Youre definitely Very good at putting that old men yaoi in your work. Its like if im watching good omens but its a comic!!

oh, there's always something that some people miss! somethings i'm fine with people missing, because then it becomes a pleasent surprise for later! here's a couple of things that some people (but not all) have missed in oopsie omens!

Uriel was the first one to have possession of the flaming sword!

Azazel has memories of the book of life associated with their fall!

jophiels black pocket square across his heart, and star pin on his tie!

azazels giant goofy bow ribbon laces, their first appearance is in 1941! oh and jophiel cleaning azazels glasses for them

in 2007, jophiel has a picture of a certain demon on his corkboard

azazel pressing his lips, reminiscent of the EVERY kiss, and he owns a copy of Good Omens

'Noctua''s first appearance in 2007!

i dont think anyone has *missed* this, persay, but (angelic) trumpets are quite the reoccurring talking point

did you know ooga booga?

this watch exists in real life! and it's about 6 million dollars.

and of course, i like to say hello to you guys via cars HAHA

#oopsie!omens #ask #good omens #long post #theres plenty of other details but i think u guys have noticed alot of those!#cr0owley

451 notes · View notes

pileofmush · 17 days

Text

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood.

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares.

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold.

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed.

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him.

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?”

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.”

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows.

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?”

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it.

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first.

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.”

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin.

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts.

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly.

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?”

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something.

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen.

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it.

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple.

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yeaaaah. It’s true.

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used.

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again.

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open.

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you.

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?”

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you.

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his.

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen.

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods.

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe.

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life.

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return.

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again.

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes.

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you.

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask.

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—”

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out."

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean.

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones.

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu.

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs.

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear.

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart.

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly.

…You don’t know if you want to.

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close.

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh.

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?”

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement.

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it.

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done.

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment.

You scrub, and scrub.

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command.

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body.

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting.

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.”

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night.

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together.

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on.

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—”

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—”

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him.

You look at him.

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you.

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish.

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?”

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach.

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams.

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta x you #yuta x you #jjk x gn!reader #tw: blood #tw: death #m.jjk #m.yuuta #battle scarred;#yuuta my beloved <3

260 notes · View notes

lesbianminou · 1 year

Text

no one was gonna tell me piccolo trombones r this cheap?????? (for reference: an intermediate trigger trombone cost 1.2k in usd in 2017)

#luna.txt #next instrument to buy ig lol #its the same price as like. am ebay pocket trimpet #*trumpet

2 notes · View notes

strapathon · 3 months

Text

★Flirt your way through it★ E.W teaser

Summary: You've always told yourself that you hated Ellie Williams. That you hated her smug face, her earthy scent, and a voice that puts people on their knees. But shit, you couldn't resist her, which is why when she asks you to help her get Cat back- again... It still perplexed you why you said yes. So here you are, once again, you're helping her make Cat jealous.

Content: Typical Queer longing, stupid gays, flirting, sexual intent, sexual content (soon don't worry).

Tropes: The Queers are stupid again, Hopeless Romantic, Fake Dating, One bed trope, Not so friends into Loves, School Photographer x School Libero

A/N: English isn't my first language and I'm mostly doing this for fun so don't expect the writing to be flawless. Also, comment to be on the tag list

You often question the definition of Friendship, does someone count as a friend even if the only thing they've done was cause destruction onto your well built sandcastles in the park when you were 12? If so, then Ellie Williams was not a friend. It may be for her since even after the constant bickering and avoiding you do she still manages to be in your daily life. Life really is unfair, you think as you glare at auburn haired bitch. She smiles as the girl next to her continues to twirl her hair and bite her lip. You look at them with disgust.

You heard from a friend of a friend that Ellie recently broke up with her girlfriend Cat and seeing this sight right now makes you want to throw your head into a trash can and vomit your lungs out. You've heard of Cat before, mostly from Ellie when you were kids. You swear, the girl could talk your ears off. You distinctly remember, you cinema hopped with the two when you were younger. There was never much of a Romantic chemistry between the two but things may have changed. It was in the Cinema bathroom, just as you were waiting for the staff to turn your head, Ellie whispered in your ear, "Cat's super pretty." you looked at her with a blank look on your face and scowled at her. That moment was confusing, because when she got the option to sit next to Cat she didn't take it and opted to sit next to you and Jesse. Guess she's not as bold as she looks.

You snap out of your thoughts when Ellie turns her back and catches you staring. You weren't scared to show her your disgust, looking at her up and down with your eyebrows scrunched and your eyes still glaring. Ellie winks. Typical. The period ends smoothly despite Ellie churning your eyes red from glaring when she purposely knocks your perfectly lined stationaries off your desk. You held your breath, closed your eyes, and counted one-to-five. It was a technique you found in a magazine for anger management; it's easy to say you use it a lot.

"Hey." You heard the birds stop singing, snakes in the Nile river devour their prey, and the angels cease the blow of the 7 trumpets. "What do you want, Ellie?" you hiss. "Woah, Woah, chill out tiger, just wanted to say Hi," Ellie put her hands in her pockets and smiled devilishly. "What do you need?" you ask her as you stand up and swing your backpack on. "Can't I just talk to my best friend?" Your head snaps at her with a look.. "Woah!" She says, swiftly putting her hands in the air. "Guess, I'm not your Best friend then." "Good thing you know." You replied.

"Look, I have a favor to ask." she says. This little fucking bitch. You roll your eyes at her. "You know how me and Cat broke up, right?" Mhm, you hum and roll your eyes.

"I need you to help me get back with her."

"And how do I do that?" You tell her. Gosh, she smells good. That was one more thing you hated about Ellie, other than her angel like looks and voice, her natural scent that drives you fucking crazy. Crazy angry, yeah.

Ellie takes a step closer, leaning towards your face. You take a step back, your knees hitting your desk and you stumble. Ellie smirks, leaning ever so close, her lips pursing near your ear. "You know what to do, sweetheart." You stare at her bare neck. 'Flirt your way through it' Deja vu sends fireworks throughout your body.

In that cinema years ago, Ellie inches close to you. "Help me get her, flirt your way through it."

Fucking Ellie Williams. You just can't resist.

tags: @paqerings

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #Spotify

268 notes · View notes

twstgarden · 5 months

Text

❀ ❝ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗶𝘁 ❞

━ riddle rosehearts x gn! heartslabyul! reader x trey clover (separate) ━ you would have never thought that your precious childhood friend would have a crush on you. (f/n means first name)

requested by: anonymous <3 request type: oneshot requester's message: Hello! I see your request are open🌱🌱 May i request oneshots or scenarios romance with Trey Clover and Riddle Rosehearts, with crush [Reader] who was their childhood friend and based on white rabbit from alice in wonderland. The Reader are in Heartslabyul dorm as well! Feel free to ignore this request if its make you uncomfortable or breaking the request rules. I hope you have a good day💙💙 florist's note: hello, dear anon! i wasn't sure if you wanted them together or separately, but here it is! apologies for the wait~

this work does not contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

— 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 —

painting the roses was always a regular task, but painting one with your dearest childhood friend and crush made the task even better than usual.

riddle’s recent incident was a lot to handle. you were there when riddle lost control and overblotted right in front of your very eyes, and you had to fight hard alongside the other involved parties to make sure he comes back to his senses and stop the mess he was creating.

the attempt was successful, save for the fatigue you and the others felt right after battling a magician in their overblot state. since then, riddle has been getting the medical attention he needed to ensure his entire state is well and healthy, and things in the dormitory were starting to return to its usual joyful chaotic state.

it has been a few days since that incident, and you were all preparing for the unbirthday party once more. you stood alongside trey with a clipboard in hand as you checked out all the required items, “white tablecloth, check; pastries including the tarts, check; tea set, check; chairs, check. okay, what else?”

as you continued to mumble under your breath, trey laughed a little as he spoke, “you’ve been going back and forth with the preparations for hours ago. everything is all set now. no need to be nervous.”

“well, yeah, but… it’s my duty to make sure all is well and done,” you spoke with a sigh as you glanced at your vice leader, making him hum in response. “your sense of duty is always admirable, but take it easy, f/n. riddle wouldn’t have your head if one spot goes wrong… i hope…”

trey mumbled the last two words under his breath, but you were well-aware of the words he said, causing you to grow even more nervous as you spoke, “aaaahhh… i better recheck everything!”

before he could say anything else, you ran off and inspected the venue.

“…and there they go.”

…

after assessing the venue, you checked on your pocket watch to see the time, realizing the party starts soon. you quickly went back to where the venue was and held your trumpet, blowing it as you announced, “make way for our leader, the red ruler: prefect riddle rosehearts!”

right after announcing, the crowd started cheering, “three cheers for prefer riddle!”

riddle then came into view as his eyes scanned the entire area, nodding his head in satisfaction, “perfect. the roses are red and the tablecloths are white. truly a perfect unbirthday party. i assume the dormouse is inside the teapot as expected? …well, i guess it doesn’t really matter now.”

“you don’t have to change so suddenly, you know?” spoke trey, “and we can use the jam on the scones, if you’d like. we don’t have to stop altogether at once. we can take things slowly.” riddle hummed in response as he glanced at trey, “yes, you’re right.”

you sighed in relief, causing riddle to glance back at you as you quickly straightened your posture and kept quiet. riddle smiled at you before looking around, “…wait!” he then pointed at one rose that was white in the sea of red roses, “that white rose…”

immediately, cater panicked and started questioning ace and deuce if they forgot to paint the other roses. at that moment, it seemed like chaos was about to erupt and trey was quite ready to console riddle, but unexpectedly, riddle smiled.

“i’m joking~ i won’t get mad over every little thing now,” spoke riddle, causing you to smile a little in response, “and it will be quicker if we painted it all.” the other heartslabyul students were relieved and thrilled to know their heads won’t be chopped this time.

you and riddle stood side by side as he held his staff and used his magic to quickly colour an entire rose bush red in a blink of an eye, making your eyes twinkle in admiration. “woaah~ you were always so cool when it comes to magic!” you stated as you painted the roses with him, “hehe, i remember when you tried to make a tart appear out of the blue, but you couldn’t!”

your giggles were met with riddle’s embarrassed huff as he spoke, “i was not as advanced as i am now, n/n…”

“but you’re still cool!”

riddle blushed lightly as you kept complimenting him, ‘and you’re beautiful…’

you two continued painting the roses as he grabbed one red rose and took off its thorns, making you pause your painting as you looked at what he was doing to the flower.

before you could speak, he tucked the rose behind your ear with a small smile – you could sense how nervous he was at that point.

“there… you look nice…”

— 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙮 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 —

losing your precious pocket watch is actually a blessing in disguise.

“where is it? where is it?!”

you fumbled around your belongings in search for your pocket watch that you lost earlier. you had remembered placing it on the lounge as you were working on something over there, then you went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and came back with no pocket watch beside your study notes.

“i can’t lose it, no. maybe i was imagining things…” you told to yourself as you rushed back to the lounge and started taking off the cushion and even lifting the flower vase settled atop the table. during your search, the vice leader came across the lounge and feigned curiosity, “what are you doing, n/n?”

hearing the familiar voice made you look up as you sighed, “i lost my pocket watch. can you help me find it?” you were frowning as you said those words, and he immediately agreed to your request. you spent a few minutes in the lounge until trey suggested some other place, “maybe you left it outside and you did not remember? let’s check the tea garden.”

you were a little hesitant.

“i had it in my possession when i was in the lounge, though… it would be impossible to see it in the garden…” you spoke, causing him to smile at you reassuringly. “trust me, n/n,”

and so, you did.

you were quick to reach the tea garden as you were naturally a fast walker and runner. upon arrival, you saw a single table that was set up so perfectly as if someone was about to have tea with a partner. the tablecloth was laid perfectly along with the flower vase, the plates, the utensils, and of course, the sweets for dessert.

and right there, beside the sweet platter, was your precious pocket watch.

you gasped and immediately rushed to the table, grabbing your pocket watch before looking at the table. from your side of the seat, there was a folded piece of paper that had a smiley face on, making you glance back at trey to see him smiling at you.

you instantly knew what he was doing. you laughed a little as you crossed your arms, “you sneaky little guy.”

he laughed in response as he spoke, “sorry, n/n. i initially wanted to properly ask you out, but i… kind of chickened out. i didn’t mean to make you anxious, though!”

light-hearted laughter was heard from you two as you replied, “don’t worry, if anything, i like the way you executed this. it gives me a sense of adventure and the result was sweet. well then, shall we?”

222 notes · View notes

viperrot · 1 year

Text

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 1

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

there's a new guy in town, and he's pretty damn cute. too bad he hates your brother, though.

content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, tbh? mean leon, cliches, minor religious/christian themes, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

3037 words

song rec: "kutsuro gish" by hiroshi takaki

pt. 2

what's this? the blossoming of a series? yes, yes it is! very self-indulgent. i love tropes like this so much. enjoy some mean leon content and a sweet enemies-to-lovers concept, little dove :]

Life in Everglade is... interesting, to say the least. Actually, it was extremely cliché here. Every Sunday and Wednesday, people would go to church, every Friday night was a football game, and the rest of the days were just busy nonsense. The people here rarely ever leave town, and people never really come in. It's been like this for years.

Until recently.

This fall, a handful of strangers tumbled into the little town of Everglade, proud home of the Everglade Ravens. Lucky for me, they even moved in across the street.

From my little window nook, I watch a dingy U-Haul pull up into the driveway across the street, and out comes four people. The first is a man that looks to be in his mid forties, dressed in khakis and a navy polo. Next is a little girl, who looks like a middle schooler. She's got a long skirt on and a flannel sweater, coloured with warm red and browns. After her is what I assume is an elder sister, but she doesn't look much older than the little one.. She's dressed in messy, paint-stained jeans, a black tank-top, and a pink windbreaker jacket to top it all off. She's the only brunette one out of the blonde family so far.

Then comes out the son.

Dragging himself out of the passenger seat was the most dashing boy I've ever seen. The smile he gives his sisters make my heart race—it honestly put Danny Zuko's smile to shame, and I love Grease! His blonde hair is parted to the side, hiding his eyes a bit. He's dressed up in blue jeans that grip around his thighs perfectly, a black t-shirt, and a navy-blue bomber jacket that had the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. From my spot at the window, I couldn't help but ogle. The mystery family all gathered around the front door of their new home to get a good look of the inside, and I couldn't help but keep my attention on the only son of the family. I noticed how their was no mother to be seen...

"Hey, thumper," a voice calls out from the door of my room. I tear my eyes away from the window to see my father, leaning against the frame of my door with his arms crossed. "He's been calling me thumper ever since I was little, seeing as how I stomp my foot when I laugh.

"Hey, pops! What's up?" I cock my head to the side questioningly.

"Mom's done with dinner. Meet ya downstairs, or are you gunna keep 'practicin''?" He smirks teasingly, looking at my unused oboe on the foot of my bed. I blush, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be down there... and I was practicing, thank you very much!" I huff. Dad just laughs at me and waves his hand, mumbling about how he'll see me at the dinner table. With that, I get up to collect myself. I take a quick look out the window one more time just to see if the boy next door was still outside, but the front door was shut tight.

I stumble down the stairs, my bunny slippers skidding down the steps as the smell of baked chicken filled my nostrils. Upon entering the dining room, I see my dad at the head of the table accompanied by my mom and my older brother, Damien, who sighs at the sight of me.

"Finally, you're here," Damien huffs. "Can you sit down now? I'm fuckin' hungry," he stretches his hand out to me so I can sit down and say grace with everyone. My dad throws a pen from his breast-pocket at my dumb brother, telling him to watch his language.

I sit at the other end across from Damien to avoid saying grace with him, holding hands instead with Mom and Dad with my head bowed down.

"Ahem... Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen," my mother says. Immediately after the prayer, Damien scarfs down the first piece of chicken he can get his hands on. I pick at some au gratin while my parents converse and scold Dami for being such a disgusting eater. I clear my throat to catch my parents' attention when they grow silent.

"So... uhm... There's new people across the street. Do you maybe... know about them?" I ask, giving my parents side glances. Mom shakes her head as a no, and before Dad can say anything, Damien coughs up a response.

"That punk Leon's the ace player from Greensmell's soccer team!" My older brother snorts, seemingly a bit angry.

So his name's Leon...

What Damien meant to say was Greenvale, which is a town over. They're probably Everglade High School's biggest rival in ever aspect—academics, sports, and even parties (apparently, I wouldn't know). The only thing I can confidently say they're bad at is marching. Their band is horrendous.

"Seriously?" I cringe at the information. "What are they doing here...?" I wonder under my breath.

"Probably got so embarrassed we beat 'em at state champ this year, the wimp probably got kicked out and thrown into Everglade!" Damien shouts with a mouthful of rice. I cringe at the sight, looking back down at my untouched au gratin.

"Cool, cool..." I mumble. "Uh... can I be excused? M'not really hungry," I ask Dad. He nods, going back to his food. Wordlessly, I take my plate to the kitchen to clean it up. As I wash dishes, I stare out the window blankly, eyes set on the house across the street. No one was out still.

I decide it's best to just go to bed after washing dishes, putting my oboe back in its case and setting it next to my backpack. I flop into my bed, part of me hoping to see this Leon guy again soon...

I hate gossip.

I can never tell if people are talking about me, the people around me, or to me. As I walk the halls of Everglade High School, oboe and trumpet cases held tight in my hands, I hear the little murmurs of the cliques of the school. Punks mumbling, girl's that try too hard to look like Sandra Dee whispering behind their palms, and some jocks laughing loudly about Leon.

Wait, Leon?

My converse-clad feet are walking through the hall faster now. As I bump past a bunch of students, I speed my way down to the lunch room, needing to see my friends as soon as possible. Luckily, one of them sticks out like a sore thumb today. Sporting a red blazer, blue flannel tennis skirt, and black socks, I see Samantha Grey in all her glory sitting on top of our usual table, talking to a few of our little group. I stomp up to her, the charms on my instrument cases clinking softly with each step.

"Sammy!" I whisper-yell. Her brown eyes immediately look over to my position in front of her, her black hair swaying.

"Hey, sweet pea~!" She coos happily, a big smile painting her face as she gets down from the tabletop to give me a hug. "Glad you aren't too late. Me 'n' the girls were just talkin' about the new hunk in town," she pinches my cheek before helping me set my cases down on the table. I sit next to her, getting settled.

"Hunk? What's this about?" I stare, acting like I didn't know who they were chittering about. Across from Sammy and me is Lucy Brail and Patti James, who I've known since diapers along with Samantha. Lucy is the first to speak up, clearly excited to talk about Leon.

"This stud just moved into town yesterday! Apparently, he's got two little sisters at the middle school, 'n all the boys here have been howlin' about how he probably got kicked outta the Greenvale soccer team after losing nationals this year!" She says with a grin that reaches her ears. My eyebrows knit together at the information that I had heard the night before.

"You call almost every meathead here a stud, Lucy," I chuckle. She gives me a weird look before scoffing.

"This one's different, sweet pea," Sammy jabs me in the side softly, and I yelp. "He's got this look in his eyes that just scream at me like he wants me!" She sighs dreamily.

"Are you sure it wasn't his pecs you were lookin' at?" I click my tongue. Another jab to the side, and it hurts a little more than the last. I roll my eyes.

"Whatever, I'm sure he's just like the oth-"

"Oh! Oh!! There he is, sweet pea, look!" Sammy grabs me by the jaw to turn my sights to the new guy.

There he is...

Across the lunch hall is Leon, dressed all pretty in a forest green letterman jacket with his initials on the right bicep. There's a few patches from some bands he likes and a big ole "11" on the back of it with "Greenvale" above it. He's still in tight jeans, but they're black this time, as well as his t-shirt beneath the well-worn coat.

"He's got some nerve wearin' that here," Patti mutters. We all hum in agreement as we watch him saunter over to the lunch line to get a carton of strawberry milk.

"Ain't he just a dream~?" Sammy breathes out. Lucy's got this blush that could be seen from Mars, and I swear that Patti's mouth is gunna get dry with how much she's drooling. My gaze is trained on the back of Leon's head, looking at how well-trimmed his hair is.

"He's... he is pretty cute," I mumble, jaw hurting a bit with how tight my best friend was gripping onto it. I hear her giggle.

"Don't get sweet on him now, thumper!" She reminds me, using that silly nickname. “God knows your brother would tear you a new one if he found out you wanted to get a piece of Leon Scott Kennedy," she lets go of my jaw, and I roll my eyes.

"M'not sweet on anyone, Sam," I grumble. Lucy giggles, twirling a strand of her blonde curls in her fingers.

"Isn't he right next to your house, (y/n)?" She asks me. I nod.

"Yeah, actually... How did you know?"

"Oh, sweet pea?! Please, please, please tell me you gotta good view of him from your room! If so, I'm comin' over every weekend!!!" Samantha begs, shaking me by the shoulder.

"H-hey, quit it! I dunno if he's gunna be upstairs or not, and that's c-creepy!" I gasp as she shook me. Lucy and Patti laugh as I get thrashed around. From the corner of my eye, I see Leon get closer. He's got a mean look in his eyes, like he's ready to bite someone if they get near him.

I guess he's trying to protect his peace...

The girls grow silent as he walks past our table, not showing any mind to how noisy we are. They all watch Leon like dogs to a bone when he scoots past us, tossing his milk carton in the air like he hasn't a single worry in the world. When he's gone, it's like we can all breathe again.

"Oh lord, he even smells good," Patti fans herself, a blush covering up her little freckles. Sammy grins in agreement, clearly happy that she got to see the new guy so close. I stick my tongue out in disgust.

“You guys are so gross…”

“Everyone, please welcome our new student,” Mrs. Bradshaw, the advanced chemistry teacher here at Everglade High, drones, motioning her hand to Leon near the back of the class.

And also next to me.

The blonde boy stands up, puffing up his chest a little.

“Name’s Leon Kennedy. Nice to meet you,” he says curtly before sitting right back down. Everyone’s giving him looks ranging from “I wanna rip his throat out” to “I want to kiss him behind the bleachers”, and it’s clear that he doesn’t care about it either. Mrs. Bradshaw clears her throat to stop annoying students from whispering.

“Now, let’s get started on our calorimetry unit. To begin…” The old hag’s words begin to go process in my brain as I get to writing notes. At times, I look at Leon from the corner of my eyes.

He’s writing on a piece of paper instead of a notebook, his blue ballpoint pen scraping against the surface as he messily jots down his notes. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he actually cares about his education! I can see Leon’s tongue poking out between his plump lips, and I can’t help but stare a little. He doesn’t seem to notice me, until he looks up to check the blackboard up front.

Leon’s blue eyes set their sights on me, locking with mine. Quickly, I avert my gaze back to my notebook, trying my best to act like I was still writing notes. I hear him laugh a little next to me, but I make no effort to speak up.

When the class ends, and the bell for the next period rings, I gather my things to head off to the band room. Backpack slugged over my shoulders, I’m getting ready to pick up my trumpet and oboe case before someone else grabs of for me. Big, veiny hands take the cases by the leather handle, lifting it before my eyes. I look up to see Leon with a devilish smile.

“Caught you staring at me. Mind if I walk with you?” He says confidently. I’m a bit taken aback by his attitude, but I nod nonetheless. I’ve never really had a boy offer to walk me to class other than Damien…

“I can hold my-“

“Nah, don’t worry bout it. I carry my sister’s euphonium all the time,” he chuckles, his shoulders shaking a little as he does. I blush, not expecting him to even know what a euphonium is. So, he’s cute AND he knows the difference between a tuba and a euphonium..

“Are you sure? I-I mean, I don’t want it to be a hass-“

“Don’t worrrrryy,” he exaggerates. “Where are you headed? This is my study hall period, so I got time,” he grins.

“Uh… the band room. A-and thanks,” I tell him, nervously fiddling with my fingers. We walk out of the science lab together, me trailing slightly behind him as we walk.

“So, I’m guessing you and your little posse this morning was talking about me?” He asks, and I feel the blood rush up to my face.

Samantha and her big ole mouth…!

“Y-yeah…” I stammer, unsure of what to say. “Sorry about that… It’s just… we never really have any newcomers here, so the girls were just excited,” I bite my lip. I can feel the stares of people around us in the halls. Whether it’s out of jealousy towards me or hate for him, I’ve no clue.

“I see,” Leon hums. “It was kinda funny, so don’t apologize.” He says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. His fingers are gripping the handle of my cases tight enough to make his veins bulge a little, and I can’t help but stare. After our small talk, it’s quiet, and when we make it to the band room, we stop next to the door so he can give me back my things. As Leon hands over my instruments, footsteps thunder toward our position.

“You know, I thought it was just some sick joke hearing about my lil sister hangin’ around you, but I see that the rumours are true,” Damien growls, walking towards Leon and me slowly with his hands in the pockets of his black letterman. The blonde boy in front of me is still holding my oboe case as he looks at my older brother with an unamused stare.

“Well, had I known she was related to you, I would have never offered to carry her junk,” the ace smiled. I felt my heart drop at his words.

And then it felt like the world came crashing down on me.

Like it was fire, Leon let go of my oboe case, and it clatters against the floor. He’s staring my brother dead in the eyes as he does so, and I can feel tears swell in my eyes. I watch as my reeds, feather, and parts of the oboe pop out of the hard case, scraping against the floors of the hall.

“N-no!!” I yelp, unable to hold back my tears as I drop to my knees to gather the parts. A key or two had bent, and a few corks were damaged. I hear Damien shout at Leon, slamming his body into a locker. I don’t understand what they’re yelling about, too busy trying to pick up the bits of my instrument. More voices erupt, and I assume they’re people trying to pull my brother off of Leon Kenne-dick. My feather gets swept away amidst the commotion. When everything but that is successfully stuffed back into my case, I snap my head around to glare at the ace soccer player behind glossy eyes.

“You’re fuckin’ paying for this, you piece of shit!” Damien screams, thrashing against some teachers who dragged him away from the scene. Leon’s being escorted away as well, not giving me a chance to say anything. I’m left alone in the hall with my broken oboe before Samantha scurries out.

“Sweet pea! We heard all the ruckus, but Mr. Kay said it wasn’t safe for us to be out, and—oh, sugar…” she gasps lightly, crouching down next to me. The ravenette looks down at my open case, seeing the broken and bent keys and chipped corks. “Who did this…?” She asked me gently, setting her chin on my shoulder.

“Leon…” I hiccup, tears falling. The silence is heavy when I tell her this, and I know that Sammy can only see red. Without a word, she wipes my tears with her thumb before helping me into the band room.

I’m starting to regret wanting to see him again.

woohoo! chapitre un, fini :] i know it’s a bit lacking, but it’s just the beginning. hope you enjoyed! pt. 2 here!

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil/biohazard #biohazard #angst #leon kennedy angst #>>high school sweethearts: LSK #leon kennedy x reader angst #leon kennedy x reader au #high school au #slowburn

409 notes · View notes