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rosieofcorona · 5 months

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All We Do Not Say

Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down.

In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again.

At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning.

But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.

Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging– an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others.

Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep.

Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.

It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone.

It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.

That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark.

Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people.

No trees, no light. No sky.

Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them.

He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness.

On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.

Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday.

He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else.

Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before.

Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep.

It starts the same way every time.

Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself.

He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light.

Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet.

A voice comes to him out of the darkness.

“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.”

“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.

“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection.

“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.”

She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes.

It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.

Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest.

Perhaps, he thinks, another never has.

“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.

“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.”

There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him.

Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.”

“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.”

It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking.

She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible.

“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.”

“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”

Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct.

“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.”

“Like this?” “Like that.”

The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned.

He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch.

Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved.

Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin.

The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…

“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.”

She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his.

Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?

Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance.

“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay up with you?”

Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always.

He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“As long as I’m able to concentrate.”

He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold.

A focus worth holding, at last.

“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says.

“None at all.”

Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.

Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.

For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this.

“Thank you, Gale.”

Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.

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inf3ct3dd · 7 months

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ellie headcanons pt.5!!!

warnings: nada

content: loser!ellie x reader headcanons

authors note : ellie dug a hole into my skull and moved in

⁃ against bags for no reason. like her pockets are constantly full of things. random receipts, money, headphones, EVERYTHING. she takes her pants of and they jingle cuz they're filled with COINS.

⁃ knows how to do a back bridge and just HAS to let everyone know. you're watching tv and she's just on the floor like "look"

⁃ i feel like shes the type of person to just start fully eating an orange in the middle of class. like ur listening to the teacher talk and you're just hit by the most aggressive wave of CITRUS from behind you

⁃ constantly fighting the air... like she's just in the kitchen punching and kicking at NOTHING just because. she's always coming up to you and like take punching you and doing her own sound effects like “PWAH PWAH WAM WAPOW"

⁃ jar hoarder 😞😞 every time you buy anything that comes in a jar she's keeping it. literally won't let you throw them away!!! you guys don't even have cups anymore, its just jars and mugs.

⁃ speaking of mugs, ellie has just as many stupid mugs as she does stupid tshirts. absolutely has a lot of garfield mugs be she LOVES GARFEILD

- would buy a dry-erase board for your fridge and leave u little notes and drawings

⁃ "Every single time I see you, I become horny like a triceratops" with a little drawing of a triceratops"

⁃ breaks into incoherent ramblings when shes sleepy... like insane hypotheticals

"what if our bed just completely exploded right now"

⁃ whenever ur on facetime and it gets quiet she just breaks out into song. not even like good, trying singing but BAD SINGING.

⁃ she does that whenever it's quiet !!!

⁃ is listening to music CONSTANTLY. her headphones are actually attached to her ears like all DAY she's listening to something.

⁃ HATES THE BIG LIGHT (iykyk) she lives for low/ natural lighting definitely has so many lamps and led lights

⁃ can never sit normal.... like she is not beating the gay ppl sitting weird allegations she sits so ODD

⁃ will spend literal hours in the pool. doing flips, pretending to be a mermaid, 'making up' her own tricks, she lives for it & !!!

⁃ refuses to dress right for the weather. it'll be like 90° outside and shes in a whole hoodie and jeans.

⁃ has the WEIRDEST subway order. probably puts banana peppers on her shit 😭😭 she swears its the best thing ever

⁃ love's campy comedy movies, esp lesbian ones and horror movies (but im a cheerleader, bottoms, scary movie, etc) also def loves coming of age movies

⁃ has a letterbox account and makes extremely thought provoking reviews

literally her

⁃ always taking candids of you, and they're literally her favorite pictures

⁃ every time she sees two things next to eachother she's like "oh my god it's literally us!!"

⁃ one time she crashed her car and it literally fully flipped over and she just crawled out of the trunk and called you like "you would NOT believe what just happened to me."

- absolutely a waffles girl she needs the texture she likes the CRUNCH

⁃ but like she also loves bacon pancakes. like she's obsessed w adventure time and she makes bacon pancakes ALL THE TIME and she sings the song while she makes them

- eats trail mix like all day....she buys the giant jars and you make fun of her cuz she "likes eating nuts"

⁃ the most secret swifty ever. like she refuses to let it be known but she fully sobbed when she listened to folklore for the first time

⁃ obsessed w those baby sensory videos. like she will literally be entertained for hours

⁃ LOVES the lego movies, esp lego batman

⁃ the MOST honest shit talker ever like you'll be like "yeah she's just a really bad person" and she'd be like "she's also like disgustingly hideous...

⁃ her search history isn’t even weird or gross its just…random. like she’s definitely googled “how do cotton candy machines work” before

⁃ family guy enjoyer.....

⁃ her cf story is like insanely long n its filled w random memes she reposts and insane ramblings

taglist!!!! if ur name is crossed i can't tag u :((

@syrenada @dinaissoprettyoml, @kingofmylastkiss @as2rid @greencacty @melissabarrerass @bratydoll @lov3lylotus @forelliesposts @echostinn @f3r4Ifr0gg3r @r3wbeef @leatheredhearts @mousymaven @mina-281@princessguardian444 @calystas-morning-tea @horror-whoree @slutshies @bearieio @mag-mfm @bubs-world @paran0id0blivi0n @sawaagyapong @bbygrIshelbs @gayh0rr0r @p|9ys @ellieslilsIvvt @dollietes @elliesmellsbadd @ibloom4u @ddreabea @beestar120 @brunettedolls-blog @girlwonderchloe @elliesgflol @maris-koffin @emonopolyman @iloveeyousblog @fr3sh-tragedies @ilovaffles @certifedcrybunny @elleatethat @baldph0bic @clouded-whispers @4rt3m1ss @saggykneecaps @swtsuna @ellesslutt @minixmel @yuyans-stuff @owmoiralover @thecowardwrites @lunascerebro @elliestrwbrry @iwantsoda @teeveegirl @dinasmoon @urnewghostfriend @k3ym4ra @bratzboydoll @ungodlyvenus @lav3nd3rhaze @scokslvoer @iloveunrealpeople @realwinehouse @nehemiahlicious @onedeaddreamer @teawithnosugar @r4t1ku5 @villainousbear @mentallymarriedtonatasharomanoff @gay4tiddies @uraesthete @lil-elliesgf @neighborhood-houseplant @sagessensationalstuff

#ellie williams x reader #loser!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou fic #tlou headcanons

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ghcstao3 · 3 months

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Im currently watching brave and it’s given me brain worms hehe

It’s to do with the will o’ the wisp!

Either soaps been seeing them his whole life guiding him to the task force or after a rough mission, totally lost/injured and with no way to contact anyone they guide his way back to ghost :D

Thanks for everything you write it genuinely makes my day to read all your works!!

ooh i really like this. also- apparently will o' the wisps are actually Not good in folklore so i wrote a little twist to fix that ;)

Throughout his life, Soap's nan had always liked to tell him stories about the many malevolent creatures he should hope to never have the misfortune of encountering—kelpies, redcaps, sluaghs; just about everything that existed in his homeland's folklore.

A little cruel in retrospect, Soap thinks, but for a while he'd just understood it as his nan's way of ensuring her grandson was to behave. They were myths, old tales and explanations for the unexplainable, and he can appreciate the determination to share tradition.

But now, as Soap is stranded in thick woods after an operation gone awry, blood sticky on his temple and a bullet stuck in his leg, he's not so sure they were just stories. Not as he's currently staring down an unnatural wisp of light in the darkness, hovering just a few feet away from where he'd collapsed against the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree.

Will o' the wisp, his mind supplies. Omens of death, his nan had told him, like many other creatures and spirits. They appear to the weary and lost like himself, flickers of glowing blue light almost hopeful as they guide one along a seemingly nonsensical path—but instead of leading someone to safety, they lure people to their doom.

The wisp just floats, unmoving, as Soap sits frozen. He tries his radio to no avail, and realizes with a great dread that he only has two options: attempt to find his own way back to his team, to anyone, anywhere, with the great risk of only getting more lost—or follow the wisp in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it may actually lead him somewhere useful, no matter how bad the destination. Soap could only hope that doom is something he can fend off with a gun.

His decision is made rather easily because... he supposes it doesn't really make a difference, does it?

So he pushes himself away from the tree and toward the light—it vanishes as soon as he steps toward it, but with another step forward, another wisp appears.

Soap limps along, following the wisps. They weave him through trees and take sharp, sudden turns, disappearing and reappearing endlessly as Soap pursues the trail they leave. His head is on a swivel with every sound that isn't the crunch of branches beneath his own boots, with every flash of movement in his periphery.

He feels like he’d been walking forever by the time the forest has grown less dense and the wisps fade away for good—and that's when Soap sees it.

The large, imposing silhouette. The hulking figure cloaked in black. The glimpse of a skull in the sliver of moonlight that had managed to break through the forest's canopy.

Soap swallows a laugh. The will o' the wisps must have led him to Ghost, not realizing doom would have only been certain for Soap had he been the enemy.

Funny.

Ghost spots him and raises his gun, pauses, then after a moment lowers the barrel.

"Johnny?" Ghost grunts. "Where the fuck've you been?"

Soap shrugs a shoulder, wincing as he steps closer. "Lost my way running from the facility. Comms were dead." He flashes a crooked grin. "Worked out though, aye?"

Ghost snorts. "Aye," he echoes. "C'mon, then. Exfil's waiting. Save your explanations 'til then."

Soap gladly follows, relief nearly exalting.

But as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, Soap can’t help but cast one last glance back at the trees from where he had emerged.

He wonders if the wisps had really made a mistake. He wonders if maybe they hadn't been done leading him, but Ghost had gotten in the way.

Questions he'll likely never find the answers for.

But regardless, now in safe hands—Soap thinks he had better refresh himself on his nan's stories as soon as he gets the chance.

He doesn't know now, whenever they might come in handy.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

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vampyrsm · 5 months

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER FOURTEEN | YUKI ONNA

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues down in the depths of a village that had burned to the ground, and within are enemies of the unknown and creatures that seem to be what they are not. A Queen surrounded by Rooks is quite a sorry state indeed.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 6k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, fighting scenes, descriptions of wounds, gore, dark thoughts, cursed energy usage, cursed spirits, body horror.

Snow crunches beneath your feet, so loud in the dead of night with nothing but the moon as witness to your descent from the temple, from your home. It guides you along the snow-covered rocky path, lighting the way as you watch the fox dance between the shadows.

The fur of pure white blends in perfectly with the snow, only the blackened tips of its otherwise white ears aid you in keeping track of the creature. It no longer whimpers, nor does it screech like it had. Instead, it bounds in leaps, the lameness in its paw long forgotten. Perhaps that should’ve been a warning sign, perhaps that should’ve given you pause to turn back towards the temple and seek refuge in the safety of Sukuna’s arms.

But something within you urges you to follow the Shikigami, perhaps the child it belonged to had taught it how to tell others its owner was injured.

So down the mountainside you go, following until you reach the scorched Torii gate you had passed through so many moons ago. It stands just as ominously as it once had before, an entrance to the burned village that lay abandoned at the foot of Sukuna’s temple.

The snow has long stopped floating around you, the snowstorm seeming to evaporate into thin air to be replaced with an eerie stillness that settles onto the village. As if even the wind doesn’t wish to further bring this village to ruin.

A whimpering cry has your eyes drifting away from the scorched marks on the Torii gate, only to find the fox has leapt further into the village — calling for you to follow. Your hand itches at your side, wanting to wrap around the blade you had foolishly forgotten in the safety of your bedroom.

With apprehension settling into your gut, your foot passes over the threshold of the village and you take steady steps after the fox. It doesn’t move from where it sits in the centre of the courtyard, beside a ruined shrine that once would’ve been the main offering place of the village. Its tail swoops around to cover its small paws, and it stares up at you when you grow closer.

“Where’s your master?” You ask, almost dumbly, you don’t expect the creature to reply but to rather guide you. Instead, it tilts its head, pointy ears flopping slightly before its eyes glance off towards the side.

The air shifts almost immediately, a pressure that climbs along your spine and tingles at the back of your skull. You don’t move from your position in front of the fox, instead, you only slowly turn to glance over your shoulder.

Five figures stand at the entrance of the village, to the entrance of Sukuna’s temple.

Each of them is clad in black clothing, dark armour covering the important parts. They wear no sigils, with no honoured helmets to signify who they fight for. Instead, they wear only simple black masks to cover the lower half of their faces. Immediately, you can tell the one at the front is a woman and the rest are men.

A set-up. That darkness within you whispers, coils painfully tight in your chest until it threatens to burst. Your eyes flicker over each of them, their souls burdened with a darkness that can only be granted when you take the life of another. They were most definitely not Samurai, nor were they ninjas that belonged to the Emperor.

Assassins.

“Don’t act hastily.” The woman at the front speaks, and her hands remain displayed at her sides. She bears no weapons, but you doubt she uses weapons to subdue her victims. “The Shogun has requested your return.”

To return to your uncle would be the same as impaling yourself on your own sword. He did not want you to return in the hopes of you rejoining the family, he wanted you back to punish you for disgracing the Zen’in clan.

Your eyes drift away from the woman at the front, you observe the others with her. One has dual swords strapped to his back, curved and glinting in the moonlight – something about them told you they held their own power. Another is cloaked in what looks like moving darkness, a thick black fog that curls around his body to hide him almost completely from vision. The other two are armed with regular katanas, yet their stature shows they are anything but your regular samurai.

You had to get out of there. Now.

That darkness within you grapples for control, shoving down any rationality on what you were about to do. It happens before you can even blink, you fling your arm out in their direction with your fingers splayed out. You feel it cut at your palm before the energy bursts forth from your hand and slices through the air, there’s a sudden rise in cursed energy from the ones who have come to take you back. No doubt one of their cursed techniques had to do with defence; they had to protect their own.

In the midst of their shock at the sudden attack, you twist on your heel; unaware of the white fox that now sat atop the shrine with its eyes now a brilliant gold colour. The air around you quietens, and the shouts of those who had come under attack fall silent before you vanish from the spot you’re in.

The air around you shifts and snaps back into place when you can no longer feel the pressure of their cursed energy nipping at your heels. You find yourself further into the burnt-out village, dilapidated houses falling to ruin around you. You had no way of knowing where to go, or more importantly, which way would lead you back around towards the entrance to Sukuna’s temple.

“There’s no use hiding!” A man shouts from somewhere in the darkness, and the cruel amusement in his tone has your stomach churning.

You dart into the nearest house, stepping on the parts of the ground that had been protected from the snow. The moonlight guides you over broken beams and through ripped shoji doors. A quick glance around tells you that this was a family home, snow-covered teddies and destroyed blankets are atop of a futon that had once been a safe place for children. Something painful churns in your chest at the thought, the last slither of your humanity tugging at your heartstrings.

You’re careful with each step until you find yourself crouched into the darkest corner you could find, you press your back to the still sturdy wall of the house. It’s silent outside, with no wind or creatures of the night wishing to disturb what seems to be slowly unfolding in the village.

Moments pass by slowly, and you chance a risky glance through the window up above. Your fingers hook against the cold wood, and you slowly raise until just your eyes are visible. The snow outside is undisturbed, no footsteps to tell you that you have been tracked down.

Something shifts, however, and you take a glance upwards. You watch as a thick darkness seeps from the sky, the stars wink out one by one and the moon is hidden from your view by a wall of thick black. What was that?

“Come out, demon whore! We’ll be nice, we swear.” A man lilts from the newfound darkness, new shadows form in places they couldn’t before with the moon above. Yet you do not see the man who calls out for you, his cursed energy is off in the distance. Not too far from where you could make a run for it, but he wasn’t aware of where you were.

A crunch of snow has your head snapping in the other direction, it’s a single footstep. Then another. Slow and steady. It grows closer and closer, each step slower than the next. You immediately drop back into the shadows, a hand clamping over your mouth and nose to smother any breaths that would dare to give up your position.

Something grabs at the wooden frame of the shoji door that you had entered through, in the darkness you can only make out the heaviness of a solid form filling the doorway. It stands there for a moment, completely still, and you wait for the unknown figure to leap for you.

Instead, the shadowed figure hums. A womanly hum. It sends shivers shooting down your spine, freezing you into place when that figure starts to move closer once again. It climbs over the discarded blankets and ripped paper on the floor as if it had climbed over them a million times before.

As it grows closer, you can hear the rasp behind its hum and the stench that follows it. It’s a sickly sweet smell, like fruit that was too ripe. The figure stops before you, and with it being closer you can make out the white kimono it wears and the paleness of its spindly fingers as it reaches out for you slowly.

You want to scream, to fight the approach of the cursed spirit that reaches forward until those ice-cold fingers brush along your forehead, sweeping away the stray hairs that had fallen over your face.

With the spirit being so close, you’re given the chance to see its face. It’s a woman. She doesn’t have horrific injuries or any abnormalities you had seen with the curse in the shadows, her lips are a pale blue and her skin is almost transparent.

Then it strikes you, like a shock through your system. You had seen this spirit before. She had called for you on the wind, tried to lure you closer and Sukuna had shielded your eyes from her. She found you. Sukuna had informed you that she would feast on your fear, prey on it until she had you right where she needed you to kill you. It’s hard to reign in that fear, to stop yourself from shivering beneath the icy feel of her fingers on your flesh.

You wait for the moment to snap, for the ghost-like woman to grasp at your throat and choke you. But instead, she repeats the motion of stroking along your forehead, those crystalline eyes hold no life as she watches your expression.

“They know you’re here.” She whispers, her voice akin to that of ice. Cold and rigid. “You must run.”

“I can’t.” You whisper in return, dropping your hand from your mouth and almost immediately the spirit drops her hand to run over the apple of your cheek. “I’ve never—I don’t know how to fight so many.”

Yuki Onna regards you for a moment, her pale blue lips pursed in a way that seems far too intelligent for a cursed spirit. Slowly her fingers trace down along your jaw, past stray hairs until it settles against the scarred portion of your neck. Her eyebrows raise, a spark of something in those blue eyes.

“Marked.” She whispers, quickly withdrawing her hand from you as if your skin had burned her. “Run.”

Something snaps near the doorway, and you look up from the Yuki Onna in time to see the figure of a man fill the doorway. He bears only a katana on his waist — one of the ones that were most likely used for defence. His eyes meet your own, an odd glow to them that has your spine stiffening.

You watch in abject horror as Yuki Onna shifts before you, her entire body shifting into something more fitting to her title as a cursed spirit. Gone is the facade of a woman. Her teeth become sharper, her face morphs into something from a nightmare. Her skin is torn and eaten by frostbite, and that glimmer in her eye is gone; replaced by a glaze that only belongs to the dead. She roars, a yowl-like sound as she rips away from you and lunges at the man.

The sound that comes from the man is nothing like you had heard before. He screams a sound that comes from deep in his soul. A truly terrified scream that could only be soothed by the touch of a mother. You take it as your chance to do as the Yuki Onna had instructed; you run.

You feel the air shift almost immediately the second you step outside of the house, there’s no light anymore. The moon was almost completely blotted out by the darkness that had seeped from the sky, sealing you in. The snow crunches loudly beneath your feet, and you struggle to lift your feet high enough to not trip over yourself.

Another guttural scream has you looking over your shoulder hastily, and you’re gifted with the sight of the cursed spirit spreading her long claw-like fingers into the air. She’s perched over something, holding them down with her entire weight and a hand around their throat, it’s Yuki Onna who laughs in delight as the man beneath her writhes and screams for help.

A slice through the air has that scream silenced into a wet gurgle, her claws sank into the flesh of his chest. Uncaring for bones and muscles, it tears through as if the man was made of nothing but paper. To your horror, you watch as Yuki Onna leans her weight off of the man and stands to her full height with the man still attached to her claws.

Another spindly long arm rises up, taking hold of both of his ankles in one hand. You see his arms fruitlessly rise to try and bat away the cursed spirit, but she does nothing but raise him higher. And then she pulls. His bones and muscles all simultaneously crack and snap, skin tearing and stretching as if it were made of rubber.

Blood sprays in every direction, intestines and other organs falling to the snow with a wet dull thud. The once pure snow is doused in the crimson rain, as is Yuki Onna who cackles like a witch. Her body further contorts, her jaw lowering until the length of the man's leg is dangled above the rows of sharpened teeth.

You move when she clamps down on that leg, the snapping of bones in her mouth is like that of a twig. Her kindness to let you run may only be fleeting, it wasn’t unheard of for creatures of such violent nature to turn against anything and everything in its immediate vicinity.

Inwardly you try to reach for that connection you had formed with Sukuna, perhaps you could pluck on the binding vow that tied your souls together and he’d know you were in danger. Yet when your fingers glide along that barbed wire connecting the both of you, it’s cold, cut off, dead.

That alone makes you stumble into the snow until you’re on your hands and knees, the cold bites painfully at your bare palms and melts through the waning warmth of your clothing. Why couldn’t you feel him? Why couldn’t you feel anything anymore? The dull pulse of cursed energy around you was muted, as if it were under a dense body of water. The darkness within you coils and uncoils, pulsing with the uneasiness that grows within.

You were utterly alone. Sukuna wouldn’t come to your rescue as he had in the past, he wouldn’t even realise you were gone until it was too late. Would he hate you for it? Would he think you betrayed him after everything? Your heart seizes in your chest and shatters all at once, that type of pain could only come from loving someone so deeply—so devotedly. To have Sukuna hate you was the same as having to thrust a blade into your own stomach, you’d rather die.

And now you were stranded, in the snow, surrounded by dangerous people who wanted to return you to the Shogun. You had never fought properly in your life, not in a true battle. The fights with Sukuna were just that, a fight, an emotional thing that grew out of control. These people were trained killers, hired swords from the Emperor most likely who had one goal; to return you to the Shogun. Dead or alive was up for debate. They weren’t going to hold back, and you had no idea what their strength was.

“Given up already?” A man croons from in front of you, your fingers painfully curl further into the packed snow beneath you. His footsteps are slow as he approaches. “I didn’t think it was true. That you were connected to that abomination. But by the looks of things, the talisman is doing its job.”

His words swirl in your mind, abomination, talisman. They knew. They knew everything about you and yet you knew nothing about them. Your anger curdles in your stomach, it boils over the edge and burns at your very insides. Who betrayed you? Would it be Sukuna? No. He wouldn’t give up his own power, he wouldn’t hand you over to them.

Kenjaku was a possibility but even she feared Sukuna, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to do something like this.

“When that brunette came to us with word on the missing Shogun’s niece, I thought she was just looking for a way out of the hell she’s made for herself with the Generals.”

Yorozu. The name spoken in your mind silences the ringing in your ears, it drowns out the crunching of the still-approaching footsteps. She did this, she’s the one who reported back to them after Sukuna had turned her away—after he declared you his wife before her. This was her revenge.

That slumbering darkness slithers along your spine and coils itself around your heart, until you feel nothing but the all-encompassing power of what Sukuna had given you. It whispers in your ear over and over that you had to kill. Kill Yorozu. Kill the ones who had come to take you away. Kill the Shogun. Kill the Emperor.

Feet come into view from your kneeling position, your hands still pressed into the cold snow and yet you no longer feel the chill in your bones. Darkness curls at his feet, a thick black fog that spreads out along the snow and creeps closer and closer. That same whisper in your mind tells you that if it touches you, you’re dead.

The air moves above you, and you snap your head up in time to see a hand coming down to grab at your hair. Energy pulses from you, slicing through the air and consequently colliding with the man before you. He recoils immediately, a torn scream pulling from his throat when he grasps at the arm you had poorly severed.

Instead of a clean cut, it’s a spiralled cut from his wrist upwards. His skin opens like a blossoming flower, the blood rushing from the wounds and pooling in the footholds he had formed in the snow. His working fingers attempt to grab at the loosening skin, to hold it in place but it’s all for naught. The bone breathes against the cold winter night, and the pooling darkness at his feet has scattered with the wind.

Unwilling to be caught in his retaliation. You strike again. You rear up onto your knees, flinging a hand in his direction and watch as his body flies backwards from the impact. His body slams into the undisturbed snow with a crack, the powered snow flinging up into the air before it resettles.

You’re on him before he has the chance to blink, the air around you is malleable with the density of your own cursed energy. It visibly dawns on the man beneath your body that you were more than just ‘connected’ to Sukuna, you harboured his energy—it lived within you.

“Filthy whore!” The man spits, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Your fingers tighten further around his throat, his words cut off into a gargled choke. “He’ll kill you. It doesn’t—doesn’t matter what you do. You’re dead.”

You lean closer to his face, pressing against his throat until you can feel the give of the muscles there. It cracks beneath the weight and his eyes widen in pain, yet no scream comes. “I have faced Death. Your threats are nothing to me.”

That same dark energy deep within you slithers along your fingers, coiling around the man's neck instead and you can only watch as his eyes bulge from his head. The whites of his eyes pop with blood vessels, and the blueness of his lips worsens with each passing second. Blood drips from his nose, from the corner of his eyes and leaks in rivers at his ears.

The tension in the air grows until suddenly… it snaps.

It comes in a bang, a pop, and you watch as brain matter and flesh are scattered across the snow beneath you. His blood is warm on your skin, almost scorching hot before it rapidly cools against your chilled skin. It melts into your kimono, staining you in the aftermath of what you had done to him.

Beneath you, his body still twitches, aftershocks of what had so suddenly occurred to his body jolting you from your place. You stand above him, watching his fingers twitch rigidly, grasping at what, you’re unsure. Then as quickly as it started, his body grows still. “I quite liked Hoshi. It’s a shame he died to the likes of you.”

A figure stands in the distance, their hands hidden behind their back but you spy no weapons. Their steps are slow, uncaring for the blood they step through to grow closer. As they come closer, finally do you see their face. The sclera of her eyes are as dark as the sky above and in the midst of them is an iris of pink. She looks otherworldly.

“I should kill you.” She speaks as if she were commenting on the weather, her head tilted to look down at the body that had already begun to discolour in the cold. “But He asked for you to be returned alive.”

“I won’t go with you.” The woman before you raises an eyebrow at the words you spit in her direction, eyes roving over the blood that freezes against your cheeks.

“He didn’t say anything about rendering you a cripple.”

You don’t get to make a move, not even a second has passed when you can only watch the world around her distort as if you were looking through an obscure piece of glass. Her fingers flex and raise up, and then she grabs something.

A sickening crunch comes from your nose, impacted on the hardened snow from the invisible force that had hit you from behind. Blood tinged your teeth and sinks into the back of your throat, a coppery taste that no longer disgusts you as it had only months ago.

Something moves in the air above you and you can only think of throwing your arm out towards her, angling all of your fingers tightly together as if your hand was a blade itself. Unlike the aching pain that comes with using Sukuna’s technique, you find it’s replaced with a tingling sensation.

You watch your arm bend unnaturally, distorted as if it were plunged underwater and you were observing it from above. Was this her cursed technique? You couldn’t put a pin on what exactly she was doing—something with the sky, or the space around her.

But you don’t get a second further to attempt and understand her technique, because the space surrounding your distorted arm further twists around until the palm of your hand is pressed against your bicep.

The pain is sharp and quick, it slices without remorse. The space that held your distorted arm falls away, as does your arm into the snow. She rebounded your technique. A quick glance at your arm is enough to confirm that it had been cleanly severed midway through your upper arm, and the blood that pours from it warms the side of your kimono.

How did Sukuna withstand this type of pain? You’d severed his arms more times than one should be allowed to, he even laughed in your face—... but you can only feel the chill in the air stroking along the edge of your exposed nerves and the bone that aches something fierce.

You stumble to your feet, and your uninjured hand swipes through the blood that pours from your now-sliced arm. It burns warmly against your fingers, thickening in the cold air until it forms a sticky substance on your hand. Your head feels light, the aching rooting itself deep into your bones. It was something else to see yourself mortally wounded, you’ve come to realise. It was a wake-up call that you weren’t anything more than flesh and bone.

The pink-eyed woman before you draws back an arm in your peripheral vision, and that swirling darkness in you roars to life. It bares its teeth and claws, if it were to have a corporal form then perhaps it would roar in fury at being struck with its own blade.

Like being plunged into icy waters, you watch the woman before you freeze in place. The muscles in her arms tensed under the pressure of unleashing your cursed energy, and her fist was just mere inches away from colliding with your already broken nose. Her eyes don’t move beneath your technique, and that gives you just a moment before she realises just how your technique works.

Bubbling hot energy pulses up your spine and spreads along the span of your shoulders, it thrums at the exposed nerves and the edge of the bone until that too starts to bubble and reform skin, bone and muscle in one fluid flick of your arm.

Takako’s eyes widen marginally when her fist connects with nothing but thin air. Her panic is palpable, you can taste it on your tongue, at the back of your throat, it tastes like triumph. Something flexes just beside Takako’s arm, you can see the space around her moving and bending—so you grab it.

With your remade hand, you grasp a hold of the intangible material. It feels cold beneath your fingers, like ice. It’s invisible to the naked eye, but you can see the shimmer of cursed energy that threads itself in the cracks between space and the sky.

Takako opens her mouth to speak, to scream, to question just what Sukuna had made you into. However, you tighten your grip on the invisible space gripped in the palm of your hand—and you throw with all your strength. The cursed energy within is immediately overpowered by your own, and it cracks like a fissure in ice.

Her body is thrown back from your own, tumbling over the body of the deceased assassin in a flurry of white snow. You can feel the grip on Takako’s cursed technique slipping. And so with a burst of cursed energy in your arm, you crack down the should-be intangible thread you had been holding hostage and you watch it crack and splinter further, bursting into a million pieces after it slams Takako down further into the ground.

Something swirls in your stomach, white-hot and roaring to life far too quickly for you to reign it in. Takako remains still in the snow, her body rising onto one elbow to meet your eye. Her body is torn and twisted awkwardly, yet she still lives. And for as long as she lived, she was a threat.

To you. To Ryomen.

That heat within grows hotter and hotter by the second, the snow at your feet melting away into slush, before that too starts to bubble from the heat the billows from you in pulsing waves. It feels like your very blood is on fire, your skin a mere thin barrier between a firestorm and the outside world.

You’d seen Sukuna only once wield his flames. He used it without any strain, you could do it. You knew you could—and truly, you had no choice but to wield them or succumb to the flames and burn.

So you shift on your feet, a side-ways angle, and you raise both of your hands. The fire roars to life suddenly at the tips of your fingers, it bites at the frostbitten skin there and before you can stop it, it expands suddenly.

You grasp it between two fingers, pulling back until you are poised like an archer. The flame lights up Takako’s face, and you can see genuine human terror on her face. Gone is the mask that had protected her from the elements, blood drips from her nose and stains the side of her face.

“Monster.” The pink-haired woman rasps, the blood wetting her tongue.

“Worse.” It’s merely a whisper over the hissing of the fire that continues to burn away at your flesh, wilting away the kimono that had been stained in the unknown assassin’s blood.

In one smooth exhale, you release the arrow made of flame. It roars through the cold air, lighting up the path between both you and Takako. Her body coils up quickly, arms held over her head as if that would stop what is to come—

You can’t stop the arrow on its trajectory, and a shot of surprise ricochets up your spine when something, someone steps out in front of the arrow. An explosion of light blinds you temporarily, and you lift a slowly-healing burnt arm to shield yourself from it. You can hear the snow around you hiss and steam from the impact of the fire arrow being splintered into hundreds of pieces.

Buildings around you splinter further and collapse under the intense heat of the splintered parts of the flame arrow. And when you look out from the safety from behind your forearm, you can’t see a thing, it’s as if you’re looking at a blank canvas of bright white light.

The snow is cold against your back, it nestles itself into cuts you were unaware you had and acts like a stinging salve to the burns along your arms. The night sky above you winks back to life, the inky blackness that had overtaken the sky melts away until the moon greets you once again.

What happened? Your mind screams at you over and over, you want to grasp at the snow beneath your fingers but you can’t move. Nothing feels right, everything feels—off. Something is wrong.

“I’m sorry.” A voice speaks to your side, and you can’t even find it within you to move your head in their direction. Instead, only your eyes move and above you is a man crouched down, looking down at you. His silhouette is outlined by a blinding light, his features darkened from the sheer brightness. “I should’ve intervened sooner.”

“W-Wha—” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, and your teeth ache as if you had been punched directly. Nothing is making sense.

“Sleep, Lady Zen’in. Your uncle is waiting.” His hand raises slowly, and as he grows closer you can scent copper—blood, a smell so ripe that it sticks your tongue to the roof of your tongue and you can only watch with widened eyes as he leans closer into your space, close enough that you can see brilliant golden eyes looking down at you.

“No—wait..” You try to move your arms, to raise a weak hand to stop him from touching you. But your body protests at the sudden jolting movement, a sharp pain that blossoms in your chest.

Fingers press against your forehead, and that darkness inside of you screeches at the contact. Something warm washes down your body from the fingers pressed to your forehead, it coils around your head and drags your eyelids down slowly.

The man above you remains with his hand against your forehead, but you swear something like colossal white wings unfurl from his back before it all goes black.

...

Sukuna lurches up in bed. His heart beating a rhythm akin to that of a war drum against his chest, his fingers curled against the flesh there, as if he were to reach inside and calm it by tearing it out. His fingers press harder against the side of his chest, it aches like he had been hit by something solid enough to knock the wind out of him.

His mind clears quickly, and he grows silent. Frozen in place with a sense of stillness only a predator could achieve, the chill of the wind from outside cools the sweat building at the back of his neck. But the warmth he had held so close to his chest last night is no longer there.

Sukuna sharply turns to glance down at your side of the bed, a large hand pressing into the mess of blankets and there’s no warmth there. Immediately he takes note that your weapon was still atop the dresser, mounted and displayed so proudly—something he had insisted on doing, to show you that you can be proud of your weapons.

The previous night had held an intimacy Sukuna didn’t think was possible, he had never spoken to someone so softly and so quietly. Sharing stories of the past, mostly your past, and he would share his life experiences in battles—he even found himself telling you his favourite season and the festivals that surrounded them.

But those memories have quickly turned to ash, melting away to be replaced with a fury that only he could wrangle. It bares its teeth, and long claws sink into the futon beside him where your body should be. He can’t smell you, can’t even taste the intensity of your cursed energy on his tongue—you weren’t here.

You weren’t in his home, your home. You were gone.

That thought alone pains him like no other, no wound he had ever received felt like this. It’s a type of pain that has his throat tightening, and his teeth bared to the world. He doesn’t even quite realise he’s out of bed until he’s staring at the sword in front of him. You weren’t stupid, he knew you weren’t stupid. You would’ve never left your weapon behind if you truly planned on leaving him.

And you most certainly wouldn’t disobey the binding vow, he knew you had researched further on the vows themselves. They were unbreakable. A vow between body and soul even more so. You couldn’t leave him, not willingly.

The dresser creaks beneath his hand, the wood splintering under the pressure. And like a raging inferno, he explodes. The surrounding walls and furniture are nothing to stop the slicing of claws and cursed energy, the room shatters around him as does the heart that beats in his chest tirelessly.

Someone took you. He knows that much. He can’t even sense you beyond the boundaries of his temple, the barriers there had been put up an age ago. He didn’t think anyone was stupid enough to enter his domain, to enter within the wolf's den and pluck his—...his other half from her very bed.

No one surviving, besides Uraume, knew you were important to the King of Curses, he was certain of it—

A face with thick eyebrows and long brown hair framing it fills his mind. A growl unlike any living beast erupts from his throat. Yorozu. He knew she was a fucking idiot, but this? She dared to spill her guts to the Five Empty Generals and no doubt they involved the group of assassins; Sun, Moon and Stars.

“Master Sukuna,” Uraume calls from the entrance of the room, careful to not step further into the room. Sukuna’s body heaves with each heavy breath, the sweat on his body burns away from just how hot his anger is.

His fingers, which had moments ago torn apart wood and stone as if it was nothing, pick up the sword from the display stand. The energy within thrums at the touch, calling for a part of him that had been mixed with your own energy. He would ensure this sword would return to you, and you to him.

“Make the preparations. They’ve taken what is mine.”

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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strangelittlestories · 8 days

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If that year’s winter had not been cold enough to crack the air, or if it had not overstayed its welcome like a troublesome relative, then the village never would have called upon the woman with all the skulls.

But the warmth came late and, worse, when it did it brought the sickly sweet smell of blight on the wind. The people tried to hope it away, but it clung in their nostrils, the ghost of future hunger pains.

When spring finally limped into view, the first long-term crops emerged shrunken and sickly. Barely thawed earth was dug up to reveal blackened roots beneath. The farmers toiled to get their first plantings of the spring in the earth, but a second snap of frost killed their progress and many of the seeds.

So, with a hard and hungry year promised, Evelyn (the village librarian) volunteered to make the journey to the Tower of Skulls and Soot.

Evelyn was no fool. She took all reasonable precautions. She brought gifts: a small jar of her own baby teeth, saved by her parents in case she ever saw such desperate times; and a parcel of old poetry books that no-one ever checked out as they were long past the fashion.

She took protection too: from beneath the library’s floorboards she excavated the Quiet Stone, a worn piece of marble that resonated with all the silent moments of revery that echoed above it. With it, she could take any place she travelled to into a library. She also brought a knife (because some people didn’t respect libraries).

When she reached the tower, she was struck by its strange appearance; the impossibly elongated femurs and humeruses of its pillars; the lightning blackened spire; the hanging baskets of death-pale flowers. Inside herself, she noticed a new feeling squirm at the sight and it was … not unpleasant. She gulped and raised a hand to the jawbone knocker on the front door.

The door creaked open, revealing a light and airy corridor - totally empty. Most people would have asked, in a similar situation: well, who opened the door? Evelyn was left wondering: how on earth does a hinge made of cartilage creak?

Soft whispers coming from nowhere and everywhere guided Evelyn through the hallways and winding stairs (mostly made of stone, but with some bone accents). The way was lit by skulls mounted on the walls, with small patches of glowing fungus growing from their mouths. Eventually, the gentle susurrus guided her to a solar near the top of the tower.

Evelyn had never been in a solar before, but had read descriptions in books and had always thought they sounded most elegant and sophisticated. She was glad to see she was correct, as this room was spacious but not gaping, well appointed but not gaudy, and comfortable but not too cosy. It was filled by crisp morning sunlight that spilled through a huge window that took up the entirety of the east wall.

Sitting by the fireplace was the lady with all the skulls. She rested on a chair with a frame built from the skeleton of some fierce and hunched creature, but filled in with plentiful soft cushions. She wore a sleek robe of pure white; it looked soft.

“Greetings, fell mistress. I bring you a gift of-” Evelyn began confidently, before tripping over the final step.

The jar of teeth went flying from her hands and shattered on the floor. Molars and broken glass covered the floor.

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement on pitchforks and flaming torches.” The lady’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly. “But your aim certainly needs work.”

She flicked a finger in the direction of the teeth, which transformed immediately into a dozen tiny creatures that began to gobble up the glass. They were like a cross between cats, ferrets and tiny dragons. The shards went crunch in their teeth (Evelyn’s *teeth* had *teeth*).

“I, uh, also brought poetry.” Evelyn held out the books. “It’s quite old, I’m afraid. But I like it.”

“A poorly flung tooth grenade *and* classic poetry?” An eyebrow was arched. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to assassinate me or court me.”

Evelyn blushed.

“If I might ask-”

The lady waved a hand.

“I already know what’s on your mind. And yes, I will raise your village’s crops from the dead.”

“Actually,” Evelyn continued to blush, “I was going to ask you where you got those robes. People in towers - especially with so many skulls - always seem to have robes. And I’m sure no-one nearby makes them. At least, not ones so fine as that.”

The lady looked at Evelyn properly for the first time. Once more, Evelyn felt that strange squirming sensation and again realised that she didn’t mind it.

“I keep a small colony of zombie silkworms. They’re picky eaters, mind, but they do make the most delicate threads.” She paused, noticing something in Evelyn’s eyes. “I could gift you some, if you like.”

“Um…”

“Now come on, let’s get to your village before they think I’ve eaten you or harvested your clavicle or some nonsense.” She rose. “I swear, folks may think all the skulls are a *bit much*, but … when the killing winter comes, they remember they need a necromancer.”

---

With thanks to Character of the Month member Ellie Williams for the character of Evelyn.

Want to join the Character of the Month club and suggest character pitches for my stories? Support me at £10/month on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #wtwcommunity #writeblr #creative writing #character of the month club

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 8 months

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❝ just wanna be one of your toys, tonight❞

creepypasta x incubus!reader | drabble, how you meet, general dating headcanons | graphic descriptions of violence, descriptions of nsfw/smut | not proofread

warnings: yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationship habits but it's okay because everyone in this fic is unhinged, cannibalism with a sexual context, piquerism/knife kink, tentacles, teratophilia, pheromones used by r!, canon violence, LJ's section alludes to r! mutilating a p*de,Slenderman controls r!s food intake (?), guys this is kind of messed up pls

Eyeless Jack | Jeff The Killer | Laughing Jack | Slenderman | Toby Rogers

req: OMG. creepypasta fics. i love them. can you uhmmm. can you write headcanons for an incubus reader. with like eyeless jack, toby, masky and hoodie? ignore this if you dont do that sorta stuff im just jumping on a request train rn ghnjgjkejnjngf

authors note: unfortunately, I'm not super informed about the Marble Hornet boys so I did not include them ;'3 Also I did want to do the typical sexy incubi reader but then I didn't so enjoy demonic, somewhat feral, reader and his equally as fucked up lovers

Eyeless Jack —

There was silence when you first laid your eyes on him. As you're both demons who preyed on humans, it was akin to throwing two hungry wolves into a fighting ring.

Your prey, emphasis on yours, had been yours for damn near a week. You've been sneaking into their dreams, draining them of slivers of their essence by bringing them to climax in their wildest dreams. They would grin brightly the first few times but as the week progressed, they began realizing how exhausted they felt and those sexy wet dreams suddenly felt more morbid than exciting.

So your lips curl as you hunch over their head and bare your mouth full of fangs. Your hiss sounds like nails on a chalkboard and your jaw unhinging more than humanely possible as your forked tongue drips with viscous liquid. Jack steps back, his scalpel glinting in the moonlight as he returns the hiss with a gravelly snarl.

Oh, people think of "Sex on Legs" of a man when they imagine an incubus. That's the aim of your pheromones and magic after all. Everyone's ideal of a masculine body is what you morph into. Muscular, fat, hairy, clean-shaven, short or tall; whatever their genitals desire is what you distort their brain into seeing.

Your true form was a whole other story. You were a demon. It didn't matter if you were once human or if you were born in Hell itself. You were different now.

"They are mine," Your lips twitch and curl with every syllable. Fingers digging deeper into the skull of your prey. You don't know this demon's name and you're unsure of how strong he truly is but you dig your heels into the ground.

Jack pauses. His growling ceases as he loosens and tightens his grip on his scalpel.

He's had his run-ins with others "like" him. Eldritch beings, proxies of eldritch beings, and such others. However, incubi was new for him. He half-expected a stout creature with leathery wings and horns like those illustrations in the yellow pages of demonology books.

"...What do you need from them?" He wants to bargain. He doesn't have to but he does anyway. Partly from curiosity and partly from his own hunger...for you.

He wonders what you taste like. Jack wouldn't admit it then but he licked his needle-sharp fangs at the thought of your flesh in his mouth and your blood flowing down his throat like the most decadent wine.

"Soul," you answer as a sickening crunch resounds through the room just as your index finger burrows deeper, "Their brain, need".

"Good, I don't need that." Jack points the sharp end of his scalpel to his stomach. "Here, everything I need is here," he then aims his weapon at you with a loose grip; "Share, yes?"

Your lips hide your fangs and you tilt your head, swaying your head as you try to weigh the options. Other demons could be rather tricky. Sharing wasn't in most of their vocabulary. However, this one was...different.

"Share, yes".

That is how the two of you met. His masked visage and the tar-like substance that escapes from his humanoid eye sockets intrigue you. You had watched him cut open your prey with medical precision so he could carefully remove the organ he craved.

"Name is...?" Jack's pointed ears twitch from beneath his hoodie. He turns his head towards yours and if he were human he might have flinched from the way your nose brushes the bump of his mask. But he isn't, so he doesn't.

"Jack. My name is Jack," he brings one leathery hand to rest upon your cheek. It stains your skin and Jack's thumb rests precariously close to your lower lash line. The silence is a prompt for you to continue and you whisper your name, chewing on your lower lip after which makes Jack scoff in mild amusement.

Your relationship initially begins due to Jack's desire. He craves you in such a visceral way he doesn't know what to do with it anymore. It pains him that he doesn't sleep because he is certain that the number of times he's unravelled at the thought of you should already beckon you into his brain. But Jack isn't a human.

He's a demon. So, he decides to use victims to lure you. He wasn't sure how to go on about it at first but after tilting his head down at the moaning woman writhing in her bed, whispering your name, he takes her to his home.

When you visit your prey's dreams it's plagued with images of the eyeless demon and once you manifest into thin air he wastes no time pinning you to the wall with his inhuman strength.

"Jack!" you snarl in alarm and he releases you, smiling. His blue mask was placed elsewhere, instead, he hid his eyes behind tattered bandages. His teeth were so sharp you felt yourself tense.

You become something akin to a pet. Jack learns how to keep you captive in his home, locked behind bars and ancient runes written in blood. Despite the lack of freedom, you couldn't say he doesn't spoil you.

He brings you his victims. Dazed from whatever supernatural effect he has and sore from his impromptu surgery. They always scramble in alarm, panicked and disorientated before they spot you.

Then, Jack relishes in your vicious lunges. Watches from the outside as you crush their skulls open to fill your stomach.

When he eventually makes you trust him enough (Stockholm Syndrome is one beautiful side effect) he brings you to hunts with him. You're the shadow that hangs upside down from the ceiling when his victims wake up and shake, paralyzed as Jack digs through their layers of skin, muscles and fat. Your grin is hauntingly ethereal and inhuman as you lean down to kiss their trembling lips.

Jack wonders if you smell his desire. You do. But it's normal. Your pheromones were meant to attract sexual partners after all but your gaze does linger on Jack the more the scent of charred earth burns whenever you're pressed to his back.

"Teasing me?" He would mutter. Silence would be his reply and all he'd feel is your supple skin brushing on his ashen grey skin, nosing insistently to his neck. "I know you can talk (Y/N)" his needle and thread continue threading through the patchwork of skin.

"Why won't you touch me?" that makes him freeze. Jack had thought about it. Every time he saw you kiss your victims, or rip them to shreds. You were fire dancing in the wind and Jack can't justify his need to own you but he doesn't care.

"Because if I touch you, I won't be able to stop"

"Who said I'd want you to stop?"

Jack tugs on the blood-soaked thread. It glints in the harsh lighting of his desk lamp, briefly looking like a sliver of light.

"I'll sink my teeth into you, tear you apart and consume you".

His head turns as you grab his chin. His bandages tugged away and you chuckled as you saw the ugly gored-out holes. He hasn't told you the whole story but you know what scars he did have were all human-made.

"You can take my flesh if you want, Jack".

The thread snaps.

Jack belatedly realises that since you were not human either, your resistance to pain was just as crazy as your regenerative abilities. He takes you in a way that feels genuinely primal. Two animals going at it, blood smeared along the floors and walls while claws and fangs puncture into flesh.

You two give sex a whole new meaning. Jack finishes inside of you as he laps up at the gash on your neck, groaning as his dexterous tongues (yes, tongues) feel your pulsing veins dancing on them. You encourage his ferocity with saccharine sweet calls of his name.

Sometimes, as silly as it sounds, you make him feel human again. He swears the shrivelled thing in his dusty ribcage beats thunderously whenever you dig your fingers into the back of his thighs.

You were a never-ending feast. A banquet he will never tire from. The cell he kept you in wasn't in use anymore but he swears if you ever even think of going away from his side he would keep you in there until the sun exploded.

There'll eventually be a balance in your relationship. Once you gain his trust, you might as well carve out his insides to nestle between his blackened bones and allow his tar-like blood to keep you warm. He'll do whatever it takes to ensure no one, human or non-human, will keep you apart.

He thinks it is absolutely healthy if you return the sentiment.

Jack doesn't stray from you. He is devoted. The type of person to ensure you're always full, from his essence or from others, he will provide whatever you need.

Close-promixity. He doesn't have to be touching you, just wants you near.

Will bite you. Hard. Not in a cute nibbling way. Legitimately bites you to sustain himself and thinks it's romantic that you're inside of him.

He is more human than you at times. He enjoys human comforts. The internet, a bed, a shower. He doesn't need it, you're both demons after all. But they're a luxury that he treasures.

If "others" wander into your territory, Jack's growls turn spine-chilling. A chittering, gravelly, snarl that heightens in volume as he curls his lips. He'll unmask, scalpel forgotten as veins bulge into the back of his hands and his footsteps suddenly get heavier. The one time someone had stumbled on you while you were feeding, you swore you saw wisps of black smoke smoulder from Jack's skin and the faint sound of fire crackling.

Miiight be the most protective one of the bunch.

You having sex with your prey does not bother Jack. Your sex with him is much more solidifying, oath-binding and skin-scarring. Besides, he knows you need actual souls to be sustained.

Jack's not sure how long he will be "alive" but if he's dying you're coming with him, (Y/N). He would burn the world down for you but death won't keep you apart.

Jeffery Woods, Jeff the Killer —

"What. The. Fuck?" Jeff's damaged facial muscles could barely twitch or tug on his cheeks due to his insane self-mutilation, however, he manages to furrow his brows hard enough that he feels his cheekbones spasm as they attempt to frown.

The married couple he had been stalking laid dead on their mahogany bed and there was some sort of freak over them.

Your eyes were almost as wide as his as you slip three of your fingers into your bloody mouth, sucking them clean with an obscene sigh of satisfaction.

"Too...late," Jeff's "nose" burns as he surges forward. His boots track mud and water across the bedroom and your grin is maniacal as he unsheathes his hunting knife from his hip.

"You fucking bitch!"

Truth be told, you spotted Jeff during one of your nightly visits to the husband's dreams. His white outfit contrasts so sharply in the dark it almost seems haughty. A little "look at me"-sy if you could put it into words.

Jeff brandishes his hunting knife and you twist out of the way to instead latch onto the ceiling. His bloodshot eyes earn a pleasant shiver that spreads warmth to the thing between your crotch.

He was goddamn grotesque. Skin leathery, eyes so painfully dry and irritated it rimmed red and that cut-up smile? His yellow teeth and red gums are splashes of colour since they're no longer hidden by his cheeks. His jet-black hair whips furiously against his face as one hand reaches up to grab your ankle.

Your yell is more of a screech and Jeff wrestles you on the body of the wife. Her bones and nipple piercings dig into your back as Jeff digs his knife into your shoulder.

"They were fucking mine! You goddamn cunt! Stupid little bitch!" he's more robust than a regular human. Then again, a regular human would've died from his "cosmetic" surgeries a while ago.

You can still his heartbeat in his chest though. Slow but there.

He pulls the knife out and you exclaim once he stabs you once again. The toothy edge of the blade was meant to inflict pain every time he pulled out and Jeff's cheeks lifted into a gleeful expression as he watched you writhe in pain.

But then.

"Mom?" Jeff locks up. You turn your head to the shadow under the door but Jeff puts the knife to your eye and your snarling lowers into a hissing.

Jeff does not hurt kids. The way he stares down at you with stormy grey blues shows that though he has no idea how to slaughter you he will try to if you even think of laying a hand on her. Much to his relief, you close your eyes and go lax.

You don't hurt kids either.

"Momma?" The doorknob shakes and Jeff knows the kid probably smells iron but the two of you are as rigid as the corpses on the bed.

"Did you need something, Kavi?" The voice that comes out your lips isn't yours, it's the father's and Jeff only loosens his grip from surprise. Kavi's feet shuffle nervously and whatever stuffy she's holding squeaks lightly in pressure. "I heard noises...screaming" She hears the smile in your voice as you tell her to go back to bed.

"But-"

"Go to sleep, Kavi" This time it's a command and Kavi's shadow straightens up before her footsteps fade away.

Jeff's breathing had slowed throughout the interaction. He's good at being quiet when he needs to be. Not so flashy when the situation calls for it. A soft spot for children. How noble.

He presses on your chest with the heel of his palm but then gets up and sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. You turn onto your stomach, pushing the husband onto the floor as you watch Jeff glare at you with contempt as he paces.

"I've been watching them", Your eye roll makes him grunt. "I know, I saw. But, he's mine" He huffs at the sight of the twitching body on the floor. "Could've left me the wife, asshole" Jeff follows the trail of blood down your chest and stomach before ripping his eyes away as you pluck her eyes out to pop into your mouth.

Jeff swears he's never been harder.

"I was hungry".

Your grin like the cat that got the cream when Jeff rushes towards you and grabs the column of your neck to push you down.

For a guy who hasn't gotten laid, ever, he sure knew what to do. You helped, obviously. When Jeff's fingers tremble and hover you would goad him to do better, huff that you're getting bored and he needs to fuck your hole/s with more passion. That'd get that freak going.

He sure was in love with his knives too. Obsessed with the way you shiver and shudder every time the blade cuts into your skin or when he digs the tip of it in and you arch into the edge.

Jeff thinks his first time suits him. His life is fucked up in all sorts of ways so of course, his first time was with a demon. He remembers you bouncing on his lap, eyes glowing as you squeeze his dick and moan his name before he saw white.

When he wakes up, he shoots up straight and throws the rag away from his face. The bodies are stiff now and Kavi's older sister is pulling into the driveway. He wears his clothes and isn't quiet about it as he hears Kavi crying about nightmares while she rushes out.

Jeff's DNA being all-over the crime scene is something he does not give a shit about. What are the police going to do? Arrest a dead man? Hah! They'd need to catch him first and he's been dodging them since he was 13 years old and he's 24 now. They're shit at their job.

That one night spirals into Jeff fucking into his fists for a week straight. Unable to properly think without your whispers breezing past his ears in the wind. He's already insane but you've turned the broken notch higher.

Thankfully for him, you're just as hopeless. He isn't quite sure how long you've been stalking him but when he finally senses eyes on him he's excited because he knows it's you.

Your relationship is physical at first. Love isn't quite in either of your vocabulary but this relationship turns something close to it. He whispers your name in the wind and then he feels your weight on his back as your arms materialize from thin air and squeeze him.

"What do you need, executioner?" Jeff snorts at the title, shrugging you away as he unbuckles his belt and pushes the hanging body as he passes it. Jeff sits on the desk and pats his thighs.

"The fuck kind of name is that?" You cage him between your arms and lean in to lick the scratches near his eye.

"You don't like it?"

"I ain't no one's fucking executioner"

You roll your eyes and he clicks his tongue at it. "The fuck's that for?" You're still not sure what the fuck Jeff is, for all intents and purposes he's just something in limbo. Dead but not quite. Alive but not quite. But his ego is still that of a man and you're in your own purgatory as you decide if you enjoy it or not.

When Jeff realises he does care for you, it's a strange time for him. He won't ask if you've eaten or if you're hurt because suddenly he knows just from a glance. It's frightening to him. He doesn't call for you for a long time and he grits his teeth as you don't come for him either.

Stuck in-between again. He's relieved but he's angry. He's furious but sad. Are you alright? Do you hate him? Do you not care for him? How dare you!? But, also, great! He doesn't have time to be anything more! But how dare you? Do you not realise how much he cares about you!?

When Jeff finds out it's because some idiots in a cult managed to trap you?

He feels numb as he prepares to absolutely destroy them. With a one-track mind, he kicks open the doors of their stupid, dilapidated doors and lays waste on whoever isn't you. He burns their church down. His senses only rush back towards him when he has you in his arms.

That night, he's tender and sweet. It disturbs you a bit but you preen under his hands as he watches you heal your wounds in your own demonic ways.

"You came for me"

"...I'm your executioner, aren't I?"

Don't expect labels from Jeff but he does expect commitment to an extent. He won't be angry if you fuck around but he will fuck you harder if you mention that flesh bag being good.

He's bad at talking but once you manage to pry his mouth open he can be insightful about certain things. He's an observant man just so fucking egotistical.

You are his and he's yours but don't mention it too many times, he can get spooked. Did you expect stability from Jeff? Good, because you aren't getting it.

He wants you to participate in his kills. It's a great bonding activity! He is glad he has you as his buddy/lover. At least one person in this hell-forsaken world cares for him.

This does mean he can get a bit clingy at times, maybe even bordering on obsessed, but he doesn't give a shit. Even if you are a demon from hell, Jeff will find a way to find you.

Carved his name into you. No questions about it.

It will take years before he even says anything close to an "I love you" but he says in his own ways. He's tightlipped about you when his enemies catch up to him and if he feels that you're even a bit threatened he will fight tooth and nail until you're safe.

Jeff knows he's the last person that deserves a wish to be granted but he squeezes you tighter in his arms when he thinks of growing older. He's scared of dying, always has been, but the thought of leaving you alone/being without you? It terrifies him.

When his hair starts getting more salt and peppery he gets quite grumpy every time you mention it. He does soften when he notices you "ageing" as well - he knows you aren't and it's just your shapeshifting but he swears he'll do anything to stay by your side for as long as he can.

Laughing Jack —

Oh, he was familiar with your kind. Laughing Jack mainly targets families but he's been terrorizing the world since the 1800's, he knows the vices of men. He shoos them away (which is a nice way of saying he disembowels them if they get territorial over their prey).

What he didn't expect was to see you panting raggedly with your chin dripping with blood and pieces of what once was a man under your claws.

Laughing Jack's eyes shoot towards the child he had been "befriending". He knew he was suffering and Laughing Jack truly did not care — he wanted to have fun mutilating the entirety of his family and was only here because he wanted to visit his "friend".

The hair on the back of your neck pricks and your jaw unhinges as your eyes land on the lanky being.

You know of him too. This entity that was once brought to earth to help a lonely child turned into a demonic entity that relished in the pain of humans.

You're also aware he has an affinity to target children to bring back to his circus of horrors under the guise of "saving them" and even though you're a creature of hell, you stand in front of the cowering boy with your teeth on display.

"This is new", Laughing Jack giggles out. His claws curled in front of his mouth as he stalked forward. Oh, he knows why little Carl wanted to run away from home. His mother did a shit job at protecting him from his drunk stepfather and Jack was going to do just that.

He was going to let Carl run away. Never said Carl would be alive when he did. But Carl never asked.

"Usually you whores are busy with the adults, not the kids". The very implications of what he said have you snapping your teeth. He raises his hands in faux surrender with a mocking grin.

"Gone soft? Who were you here for?"

Your lips twitch and Jack pauses just as he's about to step out of the shadows. Carl's weeping and sniffling echoed in the room. Jack's plastered smile turns sour as seconds tick by.

You know better than to anger him. So you will yourself to speak: "His mother". Jack bounces back like nothing had happened and gleefully strides over into the light.

"J-Jack? Jack!" "Carl!" Your hand shoots out to grab at the boy but he rushes into Jack's claws and sobs freely into his chest as Jack shushes and cradles him. Jack gingerly plucks the stretched-out shirt back over Carl's shoulder and rubs his back.

"Then you can go!" Jack cheers as he cradles Carl. "Go, go! Go and get that bitch of a woman!" You march up to him and grow taller tower over him. Jack's neck cranes to meet your eyes and he swears his neck creaks. He's never had to look up at anyone before.

"The boy isn't yours!" Jack's claws envelope Carl's head as the boy covers his ears. "Protective? Your kind usually has a one-track mind, never known demons to have sympathy", Jack's eyes squish into crescent moons.

"Have you gone soft, demon?"

Carl isn't sure what happens next. He just knows that when he wakes up the next day, he isn't scared and his mom isn't there. Instead, there's you. He isn't scared of you, he trusts you and he knows that you're his older brother.

He goes to school with you by his side and when he comes back, you've made food for him. Carl doesn't know where all the money comes from or why there are foggy memories of horror when he stares into space but your voice always snaps him back to reality.

Carl doesn't know where you go off to at night but he knows he isn't scared because Laughing Jack always pops up in the house.

Carl doesn't know how lucky he is, not really, but as he grows old he does feel gratitude. He doesn't know nor care why you're not his brother on papers or that his mom isn't in the picture. He knows he loves you though.

And he likes Laughing Jack too. Even if he's scary sometimes.

"Honey! You're home!" You glare at Jack as you step into the kitchen, wiping blood from your chin as you shed your jacket and your human skin. Jack looks comically out of place. He waits for you to shed before he gathers you in his arms.

This arrangement was odd. Out of place. But you learned not to hate it. Maybe Laughing Jack was right, maybe you were getting soft but you were glad that Carl was safe. Even if you had to pretend to be his older brother and then deal with Laughing Jack at night.

He sways with you in the kitchen, humming an old tune and you groan as your shape settles. He grins as he runs his claws down your back then holds you firmly.

Jack wasn't interested in sex and you were okay with that. He just wants to hold you like this, an affection growing within him as he inhales your scent.

"Carl's at a sleepover, must be having fun", Jack twirls you and you allow it with a ghost of a smile. "If he was at my circus, the streamers would be intestines and the snacks! Oh, the snacks, (Y/N) Darling!" Your lips cover his and his brow raises as he returns the kiss.

"Carl's fine with regular streamers, Jack. He's human, let him remain as one", Jack's smile almost seems sincere as he looks up at you. "Speaking of humans, (Y/N) Dearest", Jack thwacks a roll of newspaper on your chest.

"Humans are getting scared of you, rabid incubus, and Carl's mysterious older brother isn't holding up! You need to scram", You sigh deeply as you pull away. Jack chases to cling to your back.

"He'll miss his friends"

"I'll bring them to my circus! He'll always see them whenever he wants!"

"You're not saying no", Jack purrs and cackles after you close your eyes and nod. He didn't really need permission but you appreciate him asking either way. Besides, he had a point! Carl could play with them whenever he wishes to so he won't be too sad.

Your relationship with Laughing Jack might be the most curious one out of everyone else. Carl made you more human than you'd like to admit and you made Laughing Jack more colourful (on the inside) than he'd ever tell.

He doesn't love Carl. Cares for, sure. He doesn't love you. But he wants your affections, that much he knows.

He brings you gifts, some of your real food, toys and all sorts. Even some for Carl because he knows you like it when he does it. Jack becomes a sort of family guardian. Anyone who tries to harm Carl doesn't just have you to worry about, Laughing Jack's looming over your shoulder too.

You share kisses, hugs and hand holdings if he's being annoying about it but both of you know Laughing Jack prefers not to go below the belt. He prefers that you seek physical pleasure elsewhere. He claps with glee every time you toss him the body, turning the corpse into a new throne or cake or whatever he wishes.

When Carl grows old and moves out, he knows that the porch light will always be on for him. He knows his "older brother" isn't human but he doesn't care. He also knows Laughing Jack isn't just his imagination but he doesn't care. Carl knows you're family and that's all that matters.

You tend to the house at times but after Carl moves out, Jack all but whisks you away into his circus. The spirits of dead children crowd around you, sharing an affection towards you due to Laughing Jack's own emotions. You tolerate them enough but spend most of your time with your Jack.

Laughing Jack doesn't know if he'd die for you, he doesn't even know if he's able to die really, but he would slaughter millions if it meant that you'd be content.

"Do you love me, (Y/N) Darling?" Laughing Jack tickles your side, giggling as you swat his hands away. You turn to face him and he relaxes in your hold, minutely but you still feel the way his muscles unbind.

"Do you love me, Jack Dearest?" His eyes soften and you swear you see the way baby blue bleeds into the monotone grey.

"I do, I love you more than I'd like to admit".

Slenderman —

Your head tilted at the shape in the trees. The person beneath you twitched and rattled out a groan as they clung to the little bits of life they still had. A quick snatch and grab of more of their brains puts an end to it rather quickly.

Swivelling your head you gaze at the drawings on their walls. Among the illustrations of the forest views that they drew and the maps, you note the odd scribbles.

This prey had odd dreams at times. Some nights, you find yourself fighting against a force just to invade their thoughts but you think of it as nothing but their own will. Some humans had quite a resistance to your kind.

You squint at the marker drawings, getting up from the bed to walk closer. Plucking the note that peeked from under the map only to gasp as the map fell onto your feet. It revealed more deranged scribblings and your stomach twisted into knots as you realised what entity your prey had been hunted by.

Your breath shudders and you take a step back only to stiffen as a cold wind whispers up your spine.

"Forgive me!" You kneel, bowing your head as you stare at the wooden floors in fear. This being - it was the very thing that crawled out of Hell. It was older than most if not everything that roamed this earth and you had taken its prey.

The crackling of trees makes tears brim your eyes. It sounds thunderous and it only grows louder. You force your eyes shut as the branches drag along the glass windows and you plead under your breath as you feel Him getting closer and closer.

When he speaks, your brain feels as though it's being pulled apart. Was this punishment from your past victims? You're struggling to understand what he says but his voice soothes into something tangible.

"Wha...What?" You lift your head and turn to face the empty, open, window.

"Come".

Slenderman was intimidating even for an incubus like yourself. As he towers over you, you feel your prey climb up out of your throat. But then, then, his spindly fingers stroke the side of your face.

"Please me, incubus", his tendrils sway in the wind and they lower and slither through the dead leaves to curl around your ankles and thighs.

His "suit" pulses and throbs, particularly between his legs and you see the slit glistening with wetness, white cockheads poking out.

Oh.

Well. Who were you to say no?

Slenderman doesn't speak in a language familiar to humans, it brings some semblance of comfort to you; his words and expressions are more archaic but it's undoubtedly the language of hellish creatures like yourselves.

His cocks are just as inhuman and long as everything else about him and those tendrils that sprout from his back? Oh, they make the best restraints. The barely there scales on them shudder every time he's close to an orgasm and since they're so close to you, the rattling of it makes you whimper in pleasure.

Slenderman allows you to go but he keeps his eyes on you.

The way you kill and tear into humans, the pleasure you take in it - you're nothing but an incubus but Slenderman wants you.

And like his other "toys" he is merciless in making you just his.

You're not allowed to hunt anyone other than the ones he tells you to. Not allowed to even think of craving anyone. You're his incubus and his alone.

Who are you to say no?

It wasn't all that bad. Sometimes, he would push the limits of your hunger if he wanted to "test" the prey but you were obedient to his whims.

Sometimes, he'd crawl into your mind to truly see if you were all his and though painful and vomit-inducing the rewards after were enough to make it worth it.

After all, compared to the rest of his toys, you were the most pampered.

"Master", a purring noise is all around you but with your sight taken from you (a feat that only a few beings could do). The only thing you can do to locate Slenderman is through touch. But the thing is, he's touching you every-fucking-where.

You were suspended in the air, legs spread with tendrils and arms bound to your back as your cloudy eyes stared aimlessly at the night sky.

"Patience, incubus"

Love is hard to pinpoint in this relationship. It's more of an endearment. His feelings for you were the same feeling as someone would feel towards a dog. If you disobeyed and bit him, he'd put you down no question - that much you knew.

He doesn't mind when you kill other incubus or succubi though. Not that he seeks them with the same intent he had with you, he is a bit addicted to you, he seeks them with the intent to make you jealous.

He knows you had feelings for him. Depends on him. His word was law.

He likes seeing his dog get jealous. He doesn't assist in your fights with the other demon, you have to be the strongest to be his and so he merely watches and rewards you once you win.

The one time you lost though? Oh, he was so disappointed, (Y/N). The incubus stood over you, clutching the stump of an arm as he hisses at you. You know he is about to rip your throat and you kick your legs as he kneels over you.

He grabs your chin and forces your head to be tilted up, exposing your neck. You were going to die, you were going to die!

"You're pathetic, pet", the incubus over you chokes, blood spurting out from the hole in his chest before he all but crumbles into dust. One of your eyes is swollen shut, bruised and bleeding all over and Slenderman cradles you in his arms as he helps you stand.

"I'm sorry, Master" Your tears are wiped away. His tendrils lift you into the air and close to his chest as you weep.

"You'd be dead without me, pet. Completely useless".

Toby Erin Rogers —

"...Get out of the fucking way" Toby had the coldest eyes you've ever seen. He had been tasked to kill the man whose skull was being split open by your hands.

He must think Toby was here to save him because he swipes a hand towards him, groaning desperately as his eyes shake. Toby's nose scrunches up in distaste. The man looked like a goddamn pug. His eyes bulged out and gaping his mouth like a dead fish.

"He's my kill". You furrow your brows as you stubbornly dig your thumbs deeper into the crack of his skull.

"Oops".

Toby throws a hatchet and it slices through your shoulder, pinning you to the wall from the strength he used. You claw at the handle, kicking your feet to try and push yourself from the wall but Toby simply ignores you to slash the man's throat with with his other hatchet.

"You asshole! He's mine!" Your thrashing makes him grunt as he slams his hand on your other shoulder. He grabs the hilt of his weapon and squints his eyes at you.

"S-Shut the fuck up, cunt. You can still eat the bitch, shithead", Toby isn't nice about tugging his weapon out. His brows furrowed at the sight of your torn flesh.

Toby has seen it all. After meeting a monochrome clown and a burned woman with a mask hunting for a guy named Jeff, among other creatures, Toby is unphased at the sight of a demon.

This means the already cold, unfeeling, man was not at all impressed. His eyes wander to your chest and your legs but scoffs as he cleans the edge of his hatchet on his sleeves.

"You asshole!" Toby waves his hand nonchalantly as he retreats. His plan is foiled as you latch onto his back, teeth sinking through his clothes and into the protective pads. Reaching back, his gloved hands grasp onto you to throw you across the room. The desk lamp shatters onto the floor as you lay out on the surface.

Toby rolls both his shoulders, sniffing in annoyance as he picks at the deep marks on the plastic of his protective wear. "Shit, your teeth suh-suh-sunk...through" his eyes glower as you peel yourself from the office table.

"Now, you're just ask, asking for it".

After that rough night, you stayed away from ever-crossing paths with Slenderman and his stupid proxies. Even with your supernatural regenerative healing, he slashed so deep at one point you're certain he had his hatchets go through you.

Your body ached for days. Not in a sexy way.

Toby, however, found it hard to get you out of his head. He knows an incubus' pheromones linger when they experience intense emotions and subsequently, so do its effects. But after 2 months of aching for you, he has had enough.

He takes a while to track you down. He's only human at the end of the day but when he finds your prey he reenacts the first time you met.

"You," venom was dripping from your words as you hissed at him but Toby simply raised from the armchair in the corner. The office of the poor psychotherapist you hunted reminded him of his childhood so he gladly focuses on your figure to focus.

He pays close attention to the way you get into the defensive, climbing the desk to put distance as you show him your fangs.

"I've got a pro, proposition for you" Toby walks towards the closet and to your surprise, your prey is tied up like a goddamn turkey. He falls flat on his face, breaking his nose, and squirms as muffled pleas come from him.

"You don't have to waste days making your prey succumb to you. I'll wrap them up...luh-like a fuuucking present and...you can munch on 'em"

"...In exchange?" You can't tell if he's smiling. But you hear it in his voice as he says:

"Fuck me".

For Toby, you provide relief and comfort. The beginning of the relationship was tough waters to navigate through, mainly for you. Despite providing you with food when he craves some physical intimacy, Toby is one scary motherfucker to be bare of clothes with.

It's a feat considering who was the demon in the relationship here.

Toby keeps his mouthguard on. For a whole 2 years, he never once took it off. By the time he does though? His eyes are closed and he's muttering for something to leave him alone. His anxiety crept up on him as he stared at the popcorn ceiling of the motel he had chosen for that night.

"Toby" his hand trembles and not because you're deep inside of him. His scarred chest falls and raises in rapid motions and you're aware that he needs to breathe. So, despite his heart-clenching whimpers you tear his hands away from his face to pull his mouthguard off.

"No!" Toby tries to cover the scar on his cheek. You shush him and pull out, carefully arranging your limbs so he can wrap his arms around you.

That night ended sourly. He shoves you away and dresses in a rush.

When he reaches out for you again, you don't pry. You've grown soft for the man but know he isn't exactly the touchy-feely type. Toby wonders if you're thinking of his face as he plows into you and his thoughts are so loud he has the audacity to grow flaccid.

As an incubus? That was a first for you.

"...Ugly mug, huh?" You eye him as you suckle on his cockhead. Now? He was going to talk about that night, now? Okay. Sure.

"No, I like your face" Toby grunts, clearly not believing you. "Just sayin' that 'cuz my dicks in your face". Well, at least he is aware of the timing too.

He exclaims as you push him down on the bed and straddle him.

"I like your stupid face, Toby. I like your stupid fucking voice, your body, your sarcasm and your shitty personality. Is that so hard to believe?"

This relationship turns warmer after this night. He throws extra snacks your way and he appreciates it when you help him with stitching himself up from his "assignments".

When his paranoia and anxiety get the best of him, he finds it...nice...that he doesn't have to ice out his emotions anymore. He feels so human.

Toby is aware you're fully capable of handling your own affairs and so, he doesn't interfere. He's terrified of the Slenderman and even growing slightly curious about you too. It's a tough balance for Toby - it's not like Slenderman cares about work-life-balance.

So, don't expect to spend cosy days spent together somewhere sweet. Your version of date nights will be following him along on his missions or him watching you hunt and then spending hours together in the victim's home.

It brings Toby comfort. You're not human but the way you move through the house with him, it reminds him of simpler times; a past he no longer remembers but knows he cherishes. He thinks about the two of them being a domestic couple a lot.

"Remembering?" Toby says nothing as he kisses the nape of your neck. The two of you had washed up in the shower and the victims were neatly displayed in the living room with symbols all over the room. You two had all night to just...be.

"Never got muh-my memories back then, not...gonna get 'em now" He pulls away to grab the bottle of wine from you. When he settles on the office couch, you drop onto his lap with a plate of sandwiches.

He groans as you teasingly try to feed him but soon relents. He feels a bit ashamed as he struggles to eat "normally" with the open gash on his cheek but as he peeks at your expression he sees nothing but love.

So, Toby squeezes you closer and you say nothing as he allows you to care for him.

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petit-etoile · 6 months

Note

Congrats on 200 followers!!!

I've got a drabble idea

Tav has foiled Ethels plans one too many times So it's only fair she return the favor.

She seems to love giving out apples, it would be a shame if poor Tav we're to eat one unknowingly 🍎

the folly of a human heart

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 945 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, hurt/comfort, whump, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here

summary: 'I was going to offer Auntie Ethel her freedom,' you say, 'in exchange for a wish.'

‘I wanted a cure — ’

‘You wanted immortality.’

‘I wanted to save — ’

‘You wanted forever,’ Auntie Ethel says condescendingly. ‘I’ve given it to you, sweetums. Don’t you like it?’

You don’t like it. Your stomach is cramping so hard you can hardly stand, and every time you try to take a step, nothingness crunches at the base of your skull. Your vision has gone from blurry to nonexistent. You try to follow her cackle. You try to follow her anything, but all you can hear is keening from a wounded animal. You claw at your stomach and stumble forward.

How utterly stupid you’ve been.

Had you asked any of your companions, they would have told you that trusting Auntie Ethel after everything you’ve done to her was insanity. It’s your own fault. You have no one else to blame for how miserable you feel. But she had dangled a carrot in front of you, a wish and a promise, and you had wanted so desperately to reach out your hand and take it to let bygones be bygones. You had been hopeful, stupid, naïve to trust Ethel.

Your knees give out beneath you and you collapse on the floor of the Blushing Mermaid. Ethel regards you coolly even as her features shift back into Captain Grisly’s. She leaves you with nothing. When you wake next, you expect nothing but excruciating pain.

You expect your lungs to be pulled from your chest. You expect insanity, and yet there is nothing but Shadowheart’s frigid hands against your cheeks dragging you back to reality. She healed you. You gaze at her blearily, but she can’t even open her mouth to scold you before Astarion is shoving her out of the way.

‘You,’ he snaps, ‘get out.’’

Shadowheart won’t take it to heart, you hope, but she does scurry out of the inn room before anything else can be said. Your vision is still rough around the edges, but you can see Astarion as clear as day. The sight of him makes you smile stupidly, and even though he’s practically snarling, baring his teeth and grasping your blankets with his hands, you’re not afraid of him. But after remembering how Auntie Ethel betrayed you, your heart sinks into your stomach faster than you can stop it and you sob uncontrollably, pushing the palms of your hands against your eyes roughly.

‘What is wrong?’ he asks, suddenly frantic. He wraps his hands around your wrists. ‘Are you still hurt? Shadowhea — ’

‘ — nothing, nothing,’ you weep. Your head feels too full and your stomach hurts.

‘If that wretched hag still has a hold on you,’ Astarion says fiercely, ‘I’ll rip her throat out with my teeth.’

‘No,’ you say. ‘I don’t think — I don’t think that’s it anymore.’

Astarion takes a little time to contemplate what you mean by that, but you like the way he dotes on you rather than the way he scolds you for your mistakes. You stare at him miserably. He frowns back.

‘What were you thinking?’ he asks, looking terribly sad and wrecked. ‘Why did you go alone?’

‘I was going to offer Auntie Ethel her freedom,’ you say, avoiding his eyes so you don’t have to see the curiosity in them, ‘in exchange for a wish. I was going to give her a tadpole disguised as the one from the Emperor in exchange for…a wish scroll.’

Astarion raises his chin as he attempts to process the information. Confusion, pride and then terror flickers across his face as he digests what you said, and then he’s reaching for your hands and holding onto them tightly.

‘But she didn’t want to help me,’ you say. ‘She really, really hates us, Astarion.’

‘What could you have possibly wanted a wish scroll for?’ he asks.

You aren’t sure if he’s serious or if he’s being obtuse on purpose. You peer at him cautiously, watching him as he watches you shuffle up the headboard so you’re sitting up more than you are resting. You have a raging headache and your stomach hasn’t stopped rolling since you woke up, but that won’t stop your endless altruism from puzzling Astarion or you from trying to comfort him.

‘For you,’ you say shyly.

‘Me?’ Astarion scoffs.

‘I was going to wish it away,’ you say. ‘Your vampirism. You’re so beautiful in the sunlight, I wanted to see it — ’

You aren’t able to finish your sentence before Astarion is toppling over you. He burrows his face in your hair and cradles the back of your neck to help with the strain. He kisses your forehead next and studies the way your hands shake in your lap.

‘You’re silly, I don’t think you even realize it,’ Astarion says softly. He reaches for your hands and smooths his thumbs over your knucklebones. ‘You’re so fragile, so human and yet…you inelegantly strike at gods and mystical things without fear. I could learn so much from your bravery.’

Astarion does not laugh at you. He does not applaud you for your attempt at deception. He doesn’t even mildly ridicule you for what a ridiculous plan it was. He sits with you until your stomach hurts less and you feel hungrier, and when it’s time for you to eat, Astarion carefully feeds you spoonfuls of Gale’s soup.

‘If I could make a wish,’ he says when you’re warm and cozy, basking in the attention as he smooths your hair away from your face, ‘I’d wish for you to be alive forever. Being a vampire spawn wouldn’t be so bad if I could have a thousand and one days with you.’

You don’t tell him it’s what you dream about.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #honeybeebuns #* a thousand lives，and one #THIS KINDA FIT THE REQUEST IF YOU CLOSE BOTH EYES #BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT #I'VE HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THESE

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bored-storyteller · 8 months

Text

Warning: gore, cannibalism (between ghouls)

Author's note: I realized that I was much braver with Uta at first. Let's try again.

Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x Human!Reader

What is mine

There is a smell of blood in the putrid air. Your blood.

The ghoul holds you in its arms like a sacrificial victim.

“That's mine.”

“I didn't know, sorry...I'm not the type to go around stealing other people's food, believe me.”

Looks nice, him. He has dyed blond and blue hair that escapes from his wildly done bun. His locks fall on a face that would look like an angel's, if it weren't for those veins that flow like streams from the black and red eyes of a demon. He doesn't have to shine with intelligence since he doesn't wear the mask, or maybe he trusts too much in his abilities, for someone so average.

Uta picks you up when the younger ghoul hands you over to him: you are cold, you are shaking, you are crying. He doesn't know if you're paralyzed with fear or blood loss from that wound on your shoulder.

Your blood tickles his sense of smell, and his palate. Your fingers grip his sweater, and he holds you just tighter. He doesn’t blame the other one, your perfume is intoxicating now that your flesh is uncovered.

He mustn't be happy to give up on you, he wouldn't if Uta weren't so much stronger than him.

The Mask Maker gently puts you on the ground, he feels your fear: you are afraid of everything now, even him.

That person tried to take you away from him, to keep you for himself. And that person expects him to get you now.

“Luckily I'm hungry.” He says as he looks into your eyes. If you can be more afraid than you already are, he doesn't know. But it doesn’t matter.

The ghoul with the beautiful face was going to say something, but it's hard to talk when your vocal cords are torn.

The carotid artery hangs from the bite mark like a slack string, part of it between Uta's teeth; a flick of the tongue and it disappears between the lips.

The eyes of the predator victim are wide open, incredulous. Gorgeous, perhaps.

How long can it take for that slit throat to heal? A lot of time. Too little.

Uta bites again, blood gushes, there is a muffled scream.

The taste of that meat has nothing to do with the smell you give off, but Uta is hungry.

He's hungry, and your broken skin makes him lose control.

Someone must be eaten by him.

That ghoul wanted to eat you.

He wanted him to eat you himself.

He was about to lose you, in a way or another.

His hands dig into his chest, the intricate black patterns on his fingers covered in ferrous red.

“What a greedy you are... you already ate, huh?”

The stomach of the other demon is full, Uta wonders who is in there: “It was he a boy? A girl? Young or old? An unfortunate student? All of them?”

Uta smiles. That won't be of any use now that it's out of the body, it's not right to waste it.

He won't even need his intestines, right?

And the heart? What does the unfortunate one do with his heart?

The bones crunch as they crack and open, like the crust that covers the filling.

Maybe it still moves, or maybe it doesn't, but it doesn't matter.

The teeth sink in like in an apple, they tear it, now there is no more life. But is the soul still there?

Uta is full, but still gobbles it up. He devours that body that is not meant to be eaten, that modifies his, that drives his mind crazy. Assuming Uta can go any crazier than that.

No, he can't freak out, there's you. But Uta is crazy to love you.

“Uta!”

Your voice sounds desperate. How long have you been calling him?

He looks at you with his delicate face smeared, the top of the other ghoul's skull hanging from his fingers gripping his blond hair.

Now he comes to you, he promises you. He just has to make sure you don't get eaten too.

“Is there still a soul in these eyes?” He asks the half head as he brings it up to his gaze. He can't even tell where the jaw and tongue have gone, but that's not a problem.

Those eyes that stare at him glassy and half open Uta hates them. He doesn't even bother to remove them from the eye socket; he rips the first one off with just his teeth and swallows it whole, then does the same with the other one. It's not difficult, and if inside there is the core of that stupid, then he lets it rot in his depths together with the remains of his body.

Now there is no more danger for you.

The head rolls away, no one will wonder what happened to someone like him. It's a ghoul who disappeared in the fourth ward, at the end.

Uta calls your name as he leans in front of you, sweet and gentle as ever.

He watches your hand press on the wound on your shoulder: "Let me see." He asks you softly.

You obey, but you still smell of terror. You've never seen him eat like this, not someone like him.

The fingers that used to butcher now fearfully touch the edge of your wound.

"It's not serious... you’ll be ok, everything is fine." He murmurs reassuringly, barely licking the blood that drips from you. It will be enough to remove that hateful taste from his tongue.

His hands take your face, holding it like never before. His thumbs wipe away your tears and massage your cheekbones as he contemplates you. The blood is now on you too.

He looks into your glassy eyes and something unknown stirs inside him.

He is losing you. It's the only thing he can think of. You seem so distant now.

How he can stop you, unarmed as he is. Not even the idea of consuming your body to hold you within him brings relief, and he doesn't know why you upset his functioning.

But Uta is bizarre, there is no situation in which he follows a rule of his.

You are so different from Renji to him, your delicacy makes you complicated and elusive. Your delicacy prevents him from breaking you.

He can't afford to lose you too, he understood it when his chest tightened on smelling your blood. You and Renji are the only things that still make him walk in this world, which still allow him to experience lively emotions. It's not the RC cells that risk driving him crazy, it's you.

“I love you.”

His whisper is so sweet you might think he's about to cry.

It seems strange to say, those are not words that are well suited to a language like his, especially in a world where secrets must be kept between the ribs. But that's the only thing worth letting you know right now. A ghoul love, a clown love, but it's love.

And he almost gasps when he sees your eyes light up with life again, as you look at him as if you were seeing him for the first time.

He doesn't expect to find your arms around him, nor to meet your lips.

You kiss him like it's not okay to do, like he hasn't just eaten someone. You don't seem to mind the blood smearing your face, the metallic taste on his tongue. You seem to ask him to swallow you, but there is no room for you.

The lovers: two crazy people kissing among the remains of a corpse.

It's a good stage for you two.

“He wanted to put you in his place…” He whispers as he holds you like he never held you.

“You wished too?”

Don't you already have your answer?

Your eyes travel from him to over his shoulder, but his hand covers them. He stares at the grimy tattoos on his knuckles for a split second, wondering how they got there.

It's to protect you, perhaps, or to protect him who is wrong and rotten even among monsters.

“Forget it.” He tells you.

You shake your head. He's covered you so much in ghoul blood that at first glance you wouldn't be able to tell who the perpetrator is between you two, but all those red marks on you are testament to his touch.

“I don’t want to do it. I don't want to lose anything about you” You tell him, and there's an adoration in your voice that he always pretended not to hear.

“No?”

“No. Will you take me home?”

He gives you a quick nod, and just watches you as you climb onto his back. Your grip around his neck is reassuring.

“You'll make it?” You ask, as if he's never brought you like this. He scoffs at you as he settles your legs on his hips.

He's so grateful to feel your weight on his back and not in his stomach.

“I feel heavy actually, you say it's your fault?”

You huff, and your heel taps playfully on his thigh. He pinches you lightly, affectionately.

You are alive, he wants you to be alive. There is no one in the world who could look at his melancholy and smile as you do, marveling at a monstrous beauty.

What criminals you and he are, walking off into the night, away from the eyes of the world, leaving behind the trail of sinful blood.

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x reader #uta x you #tokyo ghoul uta #uta x human reader #human reader #reader insert #cw gore #cw: gore #dead dove do not eat

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scary-lasagna · 3 months

Note

Headcanons of Cruel!Slenderman and his proxies are chasing after the teen fem reader who is incredibly good at getting the pages only to find out at the end she was a ghost all along and she wanted to mess with them? You can just do slendermans POV

At this point I should make a character page about him cause he's getting pretty advanced on his capabilities!

TW: Gore

Cruel!Slender

Absolute vigorous screaming sounds.

Imagine wasting your already sparse energy, simply to just be fooled.

He is starving, living from meal to meal, never knowing when the next one might come, and this shit happens?

He is enraged, and throwing a proper sized tantrum.

Also, noting, Cruel!Slender doesn't do 'pages' per se, but rather camping out at landmarks.

Y'know the lovely tunnel, poolhouse, and the rock gulley in the game. He's not advanced enough to place pages yet, nor does he have the smarts for it.

However, he will camp out and stalk an area, with his branches intertwining and vining toward a spot in the open, camouflaging to look like something hidden by vines and leaves.

But really that 'something' is a tendril ready to spear whoever stumbles upon it. He'll also release some pheromones are humans are more drawn toward it.

But this takes effort, and more importantly, energy. He usually runs quite low, considering how large of a creature he is, considerably needing more food to keep surviving properly. On top of that, he's carrying the extra weight of his proxies.

And while he's throwing his tantrum, watching his proxies desperately attempt to kill this being, a tendril emerges, and spears right through this ghost, and ripping through the skull of his very own proxy.

The bone cracked and split in various places, their brain matter oozing out of the wound. Dead instantly. At least they won't have to suffer under his command anymore.

Slender slowly pulled the corpse toward him, inspecting it. He was curious why the other proxy has gotten so upset.

Meat is meat.

The teenage ghost only stared in horror, knowing that it was them who caused this.

The sickening crunch and squelch of spurting blood was the last thing they decided to hear before disappearing.

Slender bit off the proxy's head, and what a lovely meal he has discovered. Although, this means he needs to find a new worker.

But this body will last him a few days.

He has time.

And maybe, he'll even dip into the other proxy if need be, considering they're agitating him with the screaming.

#cruel!slender #cruel slender #slender #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #creepypasta blog #slender x reader

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skullaton · 11 months

Text

cold hands, warm hearts

Wally Darling / Gender Neutral Reader oneshot

Rating: G Genre: Fluff, friends to lovers Summary:

It's a chilly autumn evening and the neighbours are hosting their own fall festival! You decide to partake, enjoying the time with your friends. It just so happens that one of your friends is also your biggest crush.

Ao3 link: Here Welcome Home belongs to Clown a/n: It's autumn in the southern hemisphere, so I wanted to write a cute, fluffy one shot for the season! Enjoy!

Read Below ↓

Your boots crunch into the dry, crispy auburn leaves as you make your way through the small town of Home. It was this year's autumnal festival and you couldn’t wait to see what hijinks your friends planned!

The road was covered in an array of leaves, muting the already colour rich town in a blanket of yellows, reds, and browns. You marched up a hill, seeing the outline of the festival’s banners from a distance. You huffed, exerting yourself as you trekked, seeing your breath poof up in a cloud of smoke. The cold nipped at your bare fingertips, but you didn’t mind.

You can finally hear the commotion of your friends scrambling around and having fun. You tilt your head to read the banner - clearly in Howdy’s handwriting - ‘Home’s Fall Festival’. There were some elegantly painted designs, as well as some crudely decorated ones. It was definitely a whole town effort to make it.

“Don’t keep starin’! Come on in!”

You break out of your thoughts to look at the towering caterpillar who stood behind a food stall, beckoning you over with one of his long limbs. You happily skip over, grinning, “Hey, Howdy! Nice handwriting!”

“Oh, that thing?” He glanced up at the sign before waving dismissively, “Shucks, I write so often, it’s really nothin’.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “If you say so, Mr. Pillar.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, looking down at you with big eyes, “Say, you reckon you want some food? We got hot popcorn, hot chocolate, hot dogs, hot peppers, you name it!”

Being around him was so amusing. He always made such amazing pitches. How does he keep having endless stock? And hot peppers ? Who’s ordering that?

You could only assume Barnaby.

“Maybe later!” You waved him off as you started to hop away.

He simply waved back, “Alright, I’ll be here if you change your mind!”

You went to see what your other friends were up to.

A crackling bonfire lit up the centre of the festival, its fiery warmth emanating throughout the tiny faire.

You could see Sally atop of a makeshift stage, playing out a dramatic scene from a play. Her monologues were emotive, filled with passion and drive. In this scene she was holding a plastic… skull?

Wait, was this Hamlet?

You decide not to question.

Julie sat next to Frank in the audience, arms linked as they watched in awe of the brilliant star’s performance.

Looking on, you can see Eddie and Poppy sitting at the arts and crafts tent. Eddie was gently trying to instruct how to make the perfect leaf wreath. But… Poppy would often glue her fingers together and cuss a little ‘Oh, feathers me!’

Eddie, as sweet as honey, would insist she was doing amazing.

Finally, you see Barnaby next to a wide oak barrel. A crudely painted sign stuck next to it, saying ‘Bobbin’ fer Applez.’

Then you see him. The perfect deep navy blue hair, the lazy smile and half lidded eyes of the guy you’ve totally been crushing on since you moved here.

Wally Darling.

He was casually picking up the crimson apples from the chilly water, all while flatly remarking, “See, I’m bobbing.”

Barnaby released a booming laugh, practically barking, “I’m gonna bob you on the head in a second!”

Wally just tilted his head, offering a confused smile.

The giant canine cracked his neck, positioning his hands on either side of the barrel’s opening. “Watch the professional at work!”

Then he dunked his head down into the frigid liquid, splashing it like a tidal wave onto the unsuspecting Wally. When he finally emerged, two whole apples were in his toothed maw.

Smug, he looked over the shorter man. Then his expression immediately dropped.

Wally stood, blank faced, the front of his puffer jacket absolutely drenched.

Barnaby popped the apples out, “Oh, shoot, Walls! Didn’t mean for this to be a Wet n Wild ride! I’ll be back!” He hurried his way off to Howdy’s stall, probably in hopes for something to help.

You took the opportunity to duck closer to Wally. “Looks like you’re having a splashing good time.”

You internally cringed at yourself. Damn that Barnaby!

“Ha ha. Ain’t it so?” Wally held his kind smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You decided to unbutton your jean jacket.

“Tradesies!”

He gave a flat “Huh?”

You slid off the fabric, offering it to the shorter man. The chill bit at your skin, causing a ripple of goosebumps to run up and down your body.

He blinked slowly. “You’ll get cold.”

You shivered, offering a sweet smile, “So will you!”

He reluctantly unzipped his jacket, tugging it off to replace it with yours.

It practically engulfed him. His fingers barely peeked out from the sleeves. You wish you could take a picture of him. He looked absolutely adorable.

You held onto his puffer in the crook of your arm, feeling the wetness seep into your bones.

Another chill ran up your spine, causing you to exhale another puff of smoke.

Then in a split second, a giant wool mass would plop over you, encasing you in a tent of darkness. Wiggling out of your wool chamber, you peeked out to see Barnaby grinning above you.

“Didn’t expect ya to switch with Wallers! You can’t catch a cold now, ya hear?”

You fixed the oversized blanket so it was slung over your shoulders. You stuck a tongue out to the giant canine. “I’ll be fine! ”

“Just wait! Your tongue will be frozen like that!”

“Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

Wally popped in, copying Barnaby, “Will too!”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to side with him!”

He gave his signature cat-like grin in response.

***

It wasn’t long until night cloaked the town in darkness. Stars twinkled and danced overhead, with the moon showing half of its beautiful glowing face.

Everyone was gathered around the bonfire, enjoying the crackling warmth on this brisk night. Julie and Sally were playing with rainbow sparklers, twirling out a magical light display. Frank and Eddie sat cuddled next to each other, staring dreamily into the snapping wooden flames. Howdy was passing out hot apple cider, while Poppy was instructing Barnaby how to make the perfect roasted marshmallow.

That only left you and Wally, sitting next to each other on a wooden bench.

You sipped on the hot cider, allowing the toasty beverage to heat you up.

You both let the snaps and crackles of the logs fill in the silence, simply enjoying the sweet moment with friends.

That is, until you could hear a soft mumble leave the puppet’s felt lips.

“I wish I could paint you right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced over to Wally, watching as the flames danced shadows across his face. It casted an orange hue, accentuating his soft, plush features.

A pink blush tinted your cheeks. You definitely wanted to blame it on the bonfire for licking at your exposed skin.

But you knew it was because this silly little artist was staring at you with this most love drunk expression. His adoration filled gaze made your stomach twist in happy knots.

You found yourself inching closer to him, your spare hand just barely brushing against his fabric one.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

A blissful sigh escaped the man. He reciprocated the gesture, scooting closer. You could feel his knee bump against yours playfully.

It wasn’t long before you both tentatively laced your chilly fingers together, basking in the heat of eachother’s flesh.

“Maybe we should schedule something?”

“That sounds wonderful, Wally.”

A quietness lulled between you as you enjoyed the moment. Despite the silence, you could feel your limbs tingle with exhilaration as your tummy burst with millions of fluttering butterflies.

You may have cold hands, but at least your heart is full and warm.

#wally darling #wally darling / reader #wally darling x you #wally darling / you #wally darling x reader #welcome home #welcome home fanfic #writing #fluff #nom nom nom so cute

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