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qingxin-dream · 9 months

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“Righteousness”

summary | in another timeline, kunikuzushi never redeemed himself. he took interest in a different kind of heart—not the Gnosis, not a Vision—but yours. (art credits: @/Shiqaruki on twitter).

warnings | lore, kidnapping, kuni calls you ‘little songbird,’ profanity, brief mention of physical abuse, manipulation, praise & degradation, pining, obsessive/possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader (wears a dress & lingerie), dominant kuni, choking, yandere jealousy, murder/arson threats, worship, slapping, finger-fucking, mirror sex, kuni receives oral, deepthroating, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, mention of breeding

genre | yandere, smut with plot, canon-divergent

word count | 4.5k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

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In a time all but forgotten, a young boy sat on his knees, caressing a hand-sewn doll in his palms and looking up with childlike compassion to his companion.

“There once was a puppet solider whose greatest wish was to be with a ballerina doll forever and ever,” he began, his eyes reflecting the scene of his storytelling imagination.

He gently squeezed the doll in his hands, as if to comfort his companion before the truth spills from his lips. “But the solider didn’t have a heart and didn’t know where his feelings came from.”

“One day, his owner didn’t want him anymore and threw him away into a fire. But even in the flames, his eyes never left the ballerina,” he continued with a more somber tone, drawing attention to the gut-wrenching ending of a tragic romance.

However, his voice shifted, offering soft words of wisdom and hope to his distraught friend. “The next day, the people found a tiny heart in the ashes left by the fire.”

Instinctively, the beautiful puppet sitting before the young boy curled his lip in disdain. “Probably ashes in the shape of a heart… but that’s not a real heart.”

He could hear the affectionate smile pulling at the corners of the young boy’s mouth. “Maybe, but what if… hearts can be born from ashes?”

“What a joke. It’s just ashes,” the lonesome puppet can barely conjure up a breath in his agony. “Nothing left but ashes.”

As his chest twisted and clenched with the wretched filth of so-called human emotion, the divine puppet came to a profound realization. His body merely served as a hollow shell, cursed by the ghost of mortal weakness—a living testament to the depths of an Archon’s visceral mourning.

In his naïveté, he had trusted the boy he thought to be his friend. He had believed that silly little fairytale, that maybe he wasn’t as empty and worthless as he felt. There was no heart to be found in the cold vessel of a failed god.

Kunikuzushi would have to claim one for himself.

Sin.

The ultimate temptress of mortals. The manifestation of human greed and desire. That which demands repentance and atonement for fear of eternal damnation. It is hinged on the human condition that death is inevitable.

Mortals are easily persuaded by morals and ideology if it means life after death in a paradise that is not guaranteed. Humans create false narratives to exercise the sick satisfaction of controlling one other. When all is said and done, the real struggle is for power—namely the power to control fate itself.

For those who are destined to roam the world with no such motives, imprisoned in an earthly purgatory, sin and salvation are laughable notions.

There is no reason to live, for you cannot die; Sin knows no bounds and comes with no price.

“The sooner you accept this, the better,” Kunikuzushi laments, his face just inches from yours. The bewitching twinkle in his lavender irises has remained all these centuries, a cruel illusion masking the abyss beneath. “Nothing you say will change my decision.”

You were really quite the picture, if he was being honest, all tied up for him. Kunikuzushi loathed that just the sight of you was enough to make the void in his chest cavity ache with longing. A reminder of his imperfection.

Anyone else would have died a violent death for such a transgression. But you presented a unique opportunity.

“Kuni, please,” you whimpered, your pleas falling on deaf ears. On the contrary, he loves hearing your voice, especially when you beg so earnestly. “I-I don’t know what I did wrong… I’m scared. Please, let me go…”

The puppet hushes you lovingly, his lips brushing against your delicate skin toward your ear. “Hey, now. There’s no need for that. You’re safe with me, little songbird.”

You flinch, gasping and recoiling in fear, turning your head away defiantly. It’s not like you could push him away, your little limbs bound to a tall column in the kitchen nice and tight. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. It burns like hell.

“Untie me, Kuni!” you shrieked, squirming and struggling against the binds to no avail.

He snatches your face firmly between his thumb and two fingers, squishing your cheeks to the point you felt pressure on your skull. “Ungrateful slut. Didn’t I explain this to you already? Your heart beats for me from this day forward.”

Frozen in shock, your body stiffens involuntarily as fear floods your veins, rendering you utterly helpless. Even as he gazed upon you with an icy, detached stare, you couldn’t find it within yourself to fault Kuni for this act of desperation. He could never make sense of himself and the pain that came with betrayal after betrayal.

Why even try to embrace humanity if it would mercilessly punish you for not having a heart?

You still remember the day you found him, it was but a coincidence you both crossed paths. Kuni was a wandering traveler, or at least that’s how he introduced himself. He seemed kind enough. You were particularly taken by his appearance, so lovely it was almost inhuman.

It just so happened that you were willing to offer him a place to stay. It took a bit of convincing on your part, actually, but you were worried about the string of murders near your village recently. Someone must have had an insatiable vendetta against the blade-smithing arts, striking them down one by one.

A small knowing smile pulled at his lips, his eyes creasing slightly with amusement as he marveled at how you opened yourself up so easily. This was the first time he had talked to a human in who knows how long. Perhaps since the young boy’s passing many dreadful seasons ago.

Kuni found the void in his chest persuading him to entertain his curiosity about you.

He had to admit, once you both got to know each other, it was quite the impeccable arrangement. During the day, you provided the kind of mundane tranquility and domesticity he had always dreamed of. Thankfully, your residence was in a rural part of the countryside, which offered much appreciated security and seclusion from the world.

Once you were safely tucked into bed and sound asleep, he would lie restlessly in the guest room. Puppets have no need for sleep. On some lonely moonlit nights, he would entertain his own fantasies of you. In the absence of such desires, he was compelled to satisfy his blood thirst.

Though Kuni had long forsaken the human emotions that afflicted his existence with disappointment and abandonment, his burgeoning relationship with you had quickly proven to be the last remaining vestige of his innocent supplication for a purpose.

In fact, he demanded it, after witnessing you day in and day out slipping from his grasp. He was growing impatient, waiting for something more. You had always stopped short of taking a little leap of faith to hold his hand or kiss his forehead, leaving him yearning for your touch and attention. Why?

Even in your presence, he was not alleviated of his turmoil. A number of possibilities plagued him. Were you dissuaded by his artificial constitution? Did he make a fatal miscalculation? God forbid, was there someone else?

No matter how many times he twisted, folded, and bent reality in his mind, trying to make sense of you, he never came to an agreeable conclusion. By the time Kuni realized just how deep you had nestled yourself into the empty husk of his heart, it was too late for the both of you.

All of this mental anguish and pining was unbearable. Unacceptable. He loved you, yes, but needed you more.

The puppet’s chest fluttered as you willingly complied, tears staining your cheeks, but that’s okay. His soft pink lips brushed against your cheek once more, kissing away your precious tears. It was his first taste of you.

Kuni cradled you in his palms like a delicate doll, his thumbs ghosting your cheeks. He leaned in closer, indigo bangs tickling your face and his mouth parted with a breathless question. “Is your heart… truly mine?”

He had broken you, and you had no choice but to nod slowly.

“Say it for me, little songbird,” he encourages you with a warm intonation. His eyes were trained on your lips.

“I-I’m yours,” you replied weakly.

No sooner than you could speak were his plush lips pressed to yours, a breathy hum of relief exhaling through his nose. In turn, you muffled a whimper, overwhelmed by the sensation. He had untied you, knowing you couldn’t hurt him but he could certainly hurt you.

Kuni was gentle at first, relishing in his first kiss with you. He carefully took your wrists to guide your hands to his body, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you against him. Still, you trembled in his grasp.

“There’s no need to fear,” he whispers between kisses, holding your face to his. “I will take care of you.”

He can’t bear to leave your lips. Guiding you towards him, he leans against the kitchen counter and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. A small prayer barely escapes his lips. “(Y/N), hold me… touch me… please.”

“Kuni,” you choke out, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. You are silenced with increasingly fervent kisses, one of his hands trailing down to your neck just by his fingertips, giving you goosebumps in the wake of his featherlight touch.

“You are going to give yourself to me. Your heart is my heart, and I will not have you hiding any part of yourself from me,” his voice grows a bit more insistent, closing his fingers around your throat as a threat, but not yet squeezing. “Do you understand?”

You give a feeble nod, unable to look at him directly. Every time your gaze locked with his, it sent a pang of terror jolting through your fragile body. He brings you closer by your neck, kissing you with more confidence than before. There is a little part of you that is worried you are unable to discern fear from excitement.

The puppet lets his hand slip further, fingertips finding the contour of your chest. He hesitates briefly, then allows his palm to feel your plump breast. The act was enough to elicit a little whine from you, and he knew right then and there that he had to hear it again.

“Do you… have any inclination of how long I waited for you?” he whispers hotly onto your lips, feeling down your waist at an excruciatingly slow pace. He smoothed each wrinkle of your dress with his thumb, tracing the silhouette of your figure down until he felt the hem of your underwear through the thin fabric. His breath caught.

You were still not as receptive to his advances as he would like, and suddenly he scoops you up to hook your legs around his hips, pressing your back against the nearest wall in the hallway. Kuni was beginning to reveal his desperation for you in more ways than one, breathing a little heavier. He was determined to have you submit to him and if you weren’t responsive to his soft side, then so be it.

“Answer me,” Kuni lowers his voice with a commanding edge, his lips just inches from your neck while his messy indigo bangs tickled your jaw. You whimpered, involuntarily moving your hips against him at the mere thought of his mouth on you.

At long last, you found your voice—delicate and decadent with a tinge of spine-prickling anticipation. Perhaps you had lost part of yourself, your humanity, in him too. “H-how long, Kuni?”

You shivered slightly, feeling his mouth spread into a satisfied smile against the sensitive skin of your neck. His voice deepens further, sultry and needy, “Lifetimes… I’ve been so goddamn purposeless for too many fucking lifetimes, just waiting for you.”

Without warning, the touch-starved puppet sunk his teeth into the crevice of your shoulder at the base of your throat, sucking at the weak spot to bruise the skin with his mark. A surprised yelp fell from your mouth, and you so nicely turned your head to offer him more. He clutched your curves tightly, as if he was secretly wishing your bodies would just melt into each other.

Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum…

Your precious heartbeat echoed through his chambers of his chest. Kuni craved that little pulse of yours, chasing it up your neck in heated, sloppy kisses. All the while, you encouraged him with sweet little sounds of pleasure, softly asking for more under your breath.

“It’s mine,” he reiterated, perhaps to help immortalize the sensation against his lips. With a faint growl and yet another love bite, he added, “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

If only he could be bothered to pull back and catch a glimpse of how the puppet had unraveled you beyond recognition, equally as intoxicated by the heat of the moment. No matter. He will have his fill of you in due time.

“Y-yours, mhmm,” you capture his wet lips halfway, experimentally swirling your tongue with his passionately. You were clinging onto his shoulders, entangling your fingers in the soft ends of his pretty hair resting on the back of his neck.

With a faint moan against your mouth, Kuni lifted you once more by slipping his hands under your dress to feel his digits press into the soft flesh of your ass. It was light work to carry you, giving him the opportunity to squeeze and smack your ass with a smirk.

Slipping into your bedroom, he set you down and turned you around by your hips so that you were facing the tall mirror just a few feet away from the mattress. He leans over your shoulder from behind and you blush heavily at the image reflected by the mirror. Both of his beautiful hands traveled up your body simultaneously, one feeling your stomach, ribs, breast, and resting around the bottom of your throat.

The other, however, caught the frilly ends of your dress, sliding it up your skin at a painstakingly slow rate. Kuni’s violet irises shimmered with obsessive desire, admiring every inch of your body that was exposed to him. He bunches the dress in his fist as he raises it above your hips, revealing the most angelic lacy undergarments accented with cute little ballerina pink ribbons. Kuni chuckled, his breath tickling your neck.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. He takes his time to unveil your breasts, each one perfectly shaped with lovely nipples begging to be pinched. “Open your mouth.”

You comply, watching yourself in the mirror with curious fascination, before Kuni stuffs the thin, light fabric of your dress into your mouth. He nibbles your ear playfully. “Hold that for me.”

His eyes marvel at your body. If you told him you were a goddess, he would believe you without hesitation. Divine or not, the puppet was hell-bent on worshipping you like he had been dreaming of. Kuni played with the intricate lace of your snow white lingerie, his thumb brushing your pelvis teasingly.

Instead, he takes two fingers and caresses your folds outside of the undergarment, pleased to feel your panties dampened with excitement. You quiver at the touch, moaning faintly. Kuni is enthralled by the sweet noise, taking the tiny lingerie by his thumbs and sweeping it down your pretty legs.

He immediately sits down on the edge of the bed, quickly pulling you into his lap and spreading your legs apart with his knees. There it was in the mirror. Your glistening flower framed with the loveliest soft petals.

Kuni couldn’t possibly restrain himself when you were presented so exquisitely, wasting no time to slide his fingers over your pussy. You groaned in pleasure, muffled by the dress in your mouth, relaxing against his chest as the puppet focused on rubbing circles around your clit. He kissed your neck and shoulders endlessly, admiring your reactions in the mirror and whispering lowly, “So good for me. So, so good for me, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

Your thighs trembled. You desperately wanted to close your legs as his movements became faster on your clit, the stimulation swiftly overcoming you. Breathy moans soon evolved into incoherent pleas. Kuni held you steadfast with his legs, keeping you spread all nice, admiring how you twitched beneath him.

“What did I tell you?” his tone is one of warning, groping your right breast and littering your skin with a few more marks. “There are consequences to hiding yourself from me.”

The puppet suddenly swipes his middle finger over your leaking hole—causing you to moan lewdly—before slapping your pussy. It was a light but firm slap, sending an addicting concoction of both pain and pleasure through you.

After a brief moment, he returns to your folds to trace and admire it, then continuing his ministrations on your clit. Occasionally Kuni would let a finger slip to tease your entrance, finding that it drove you crazy.

“P-please, please, Kuni,” your words quivered like your body, bending easily to the pleasure he was so kindly bestowing you. It had to have been the hundredth small cry for relief tumbling from your throat, you were on the precipice of your climax. “I-I need it. Something, anything… fuck me.”

“You better not cum on my fingers,” the puppet orders, gathering your slick and gently inserting two fingers into your warm walls. You whined in frustrated pleasure as he stretched you slightly, pumping his digits in and out of you barely an inch but keeping you stuffed.

“I c-can’t, I’m…” you babble. Kuni knew you were on the brink already, but he wanted to at least try to prepare you for his cock. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, and with it escapes your climax. Tears were almost pricking your eyes. You could definitely feel them beneath the surface.

He slaps your pussy again as punishment for not listening to his commands. “Greedy sluts are not rewarded.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble and he grunts, pushing you off of him and to your knees in front of the bed. Kuni makes quick work of his clothes, tossing his shirt aside and pulling his pants down enough to spring his throbbing cock free. You had certainly felt his hard length while you were in his lap, but seeing it rendered you speechless.

No different from the rest of the puppet’s beautiful body, Kuni’s cock was perfect. A few veins wrapped around his hard member, bulging under the flesh. Towards the tip, it was gradually flushed pink with hot need, a pearl of precum on his slit. You took him in your hand, butterflies swarming your stomach with the realization that he had more girth than you expected.

Kuni grabbed a fistful of your hair and shoved your face toward his cock with a simple demand. “Suck.”

You experimentally drag your tongue underneath his cock, licking your lips, and working your mouth on his tip to lubricate him first. Kuni’s eyes roll in the back of his head, resting one hand behind him on the bed as he moans deeply. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

The sensation of you smiling with his cock in your mouth sent warmth through him. You eagerly fit more of him in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue just the way he likes it when you received praise. Yet, Kuni needed more.

“You can do better than that,” he scoffed.

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing your throat completely down on his cock just to feel it once. The puppet twitched in your throat, letting out a seductive growl of pleasure. You gagged slightly, before pulling back with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You coughed a little, but he cupped your chin and wiped it from your mouth sweetly.

“That’s my girl,” Kuni coos, guiding you up on the bed next to him and pushing you down onto your back. As much as he’d love to see you taking him in your mouth all evening, he had a prize more tantalizing waiting for him. Clothes on the floor, moonlight pouring over you both, the puppet vowed to never forget how you mewled as he dragged the pulsing tip of his cock along your wet folds.

Gasping, you achingly bucked your hips in tandem, utterly drunk on the delicious sensation of his thick length parting your pussy lips. You loved to be teased, that much was for sure and Kuni ate it up—the desperate crinkle of your brow in pleasure and how your breath became short.

He presses his tip at your warm hole, but never pushes it in.

You groan dramatically, sweat already forming on your forehead and you haven’t even began. Every bit of pressure he applies has you smitten, imagining the moment he finally fills you. “K-Kuni…”

The smug puppet smirks down at you knowingly, grinding his cock against you repeatedly, rubbing your clit just right. “Yes, my little songbird? Have something to say?”

Before you can speak, he kisses you to muffle your answer. You grow even more impatient, using your legs to keep his hips locked close to yours. Kuni peppers your jawline and neck with kisses and little playful licks of his tongue. “I’m listening.”

“Please,” you beg.

Kuni’s tone is unreadable. “Please what? Use your words.”

You give him a flustered look of desperation and he pins your hands on either side of your head, interlacing your fingers with his. You reply, biting your lower lip, “Fuck m-me, Kuni.”

A smile graces his face and his eyes soften, thumbs caressing your hand comfortingly to brace you for his length. “Is this… your first time, (Y/N)?”

Though you were a shy and kindhearted person, he should’ve known from the way you deepthroated his cock earlier that it wasn’t your first. He wasn’t your first. That means someone else was. Someone else defiled you.

Kuni’s electric purple eyes darkened like an impending storm as you shook your head.

“Indulge me,” the puppet asks. “What other men have been in my position?”

You are not in the right state of mind, still insatiably yearning for your climax and grinding your wet folds on his length. However, Kuni doesn’t accept your nonsensical mumblings and half-answers. His hands tighten around yours, pushing his cock into you with a guttural moan inch by inch until he bottoms out completely.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sputter out, sighing in sweet relief and a bit of pain. Your pussy is filled to the brim with his cock, stretching you out good. You try to turn your head away and close your eyes, but Kuni refuses to let you.

“That’s right,” Kuni’s voice is nothing short of alluring in the most raw way possible. “Treat me like your god and fucking look at me while you take my cock.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t also utterly euphoric as he sinks his large member into your tight walls. Gritting his teeth, he’s taken aback by how you squeeze him unknowingly, even your subconscious is unable to deny the pleasure he’s giving you. It took you a few seconds to adjust to his girth, your eyes drifting down his muscular chest and toned abdomen in admiration.

With the first drag of his cock out of you to his tip, hushed hum of pleasures are murmured by each of you, until he buries himself all the way back into you. Kuni continues in this rhythm with a few thrusts, unable to his stifle his own moans. He was no better, his climax already building within.

Pulling back, the puppet releases your hands to push your legs against your chest by your thighs to get just the right angle and perfect view of your folds. He hovers above you, fucking just his hot bulbous tip into your needy hole. In mere seconds, you cursed to yourself at how good it felt when he brushed against your sensitive entrance.

Your clit pulsated for attention. How could he not press his palm onto your pelvis and drag his thumb across the slightly swollen bud? His half-thrusts became shakier as you unexpectedly tightened around his cock—moans freely and loudly erupting from your throat. The feeling was beyond exhilarating and convinced him to push you to your limits.

“You think I’m going to let any other man put his hands on you like this?” Kuni sneers with jealous envy reflecting in his irises. “I’ll fucking snap his neck. I’d kill him.”

Impulsively, the obsessed puppet roughly plunges his entire cock into your soft pussy. He relishes in your loud moan of shock at the pleasure and slight discomfort in splitting you wide open. His cock pushes against that wonderful spot deep inside you, incredibly sensitive after all his torturous teasing. You were seeing more than stars.

“I bet they couldn’t fuck you like I can,” he scoffs, possessively pulling your closer by your legs and holding your ankles on his shoulders as he fucks you mercilessly. “Make you scream like I can. And—nghh—breed you.”

You were finer than a work of art, truly, in all your fucked-out glory as you chase your high on his thick cock. His thumb flitting over your clit messily, primal groans of bliss echoing throughout the bedroom at every divine flutter of your pussy milking his cock so well. Your words were simply unintelligible, mumbling breathy prayers wishing for his seed.

“No one can take you away from me,” Kuni himself is beginning to tremble with pleasure, but nevertheless he keeps up his brutal pace. Every crevice of your walls and your womb will know his essence. “You’re mine, and I’ll burn the whole damn world for you if that’s what it takes.”

In a rush of jealous envy at the mere thought of losing you, the puppet abruptly pushes your legs back onto your beautiful breasts by his chest. The erotic melody of your fluids coating the base of his cock and v-line with every sloppy thrust pushes you both over the edge of an impossible free fall of euphoria.

“Cum on me, (Y/N). C’mon, cum all over my fucking cock,” Kuni demands with salacious desperation, pounding into you again and again until you’ve ridden out every second of your climax. The sensation is indescribable as he swears he could feel your rapid heartbeat through your walls—your heartbeat in his hands like he’s the supreme god of your body.

And as such, he blesses you with ropes of hot cum to drown your pussy in his everlasting love. Kuni collapses and cradles you, wiping the tears of pleasure from your sweet, angelic cheeks.

Righteousness means nothing to gods, for whom salvation is too late and sin knows no price.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

#IDK WHERE 4.5K CAME FROM I JUST REALLY LIKE SCARA OKAY😩💜#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin fatui #genshin scaramouche #genshin kunikuzushi #genshin wanderer #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche smut

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tarotwithavi · 10 months

Text

You from the eyes of your future lover/future spouse

Read part 1 here

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Kindly ask your spirit guides to show you the right pile for yourself and then open your eyes. Whichever pile catches your attention is the right pile for you.

For my female audience , I'll be using she/her pronouns in this post.

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Pile 1

When I'm with her, I feel an overwhelming sense of strength and confidence, as if I could conquer any challenge that comes my way. She embodies everything that brings me joy and fulfillment. Being in her presence makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world because I have her by my side. Her mere existence has the power to make my wildest dreams a reality. Not only does she inspire me to reach for the stars, but she also motivates me to become a better version of myself. Her influence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of life. Just knowing that she is there for me, supporting me, and believing in me, helps me heal wounds that were never caused by her. Her presence alone has a transformative effect on my well-being, bringing me solace and restoration. If her love were poison, I would willingly drink it without hesitation or remorse. Such is the depth of my devotion and the extent to which I value her affection. I yearn to be of assistance to her, to be a reliable pillar she can lean on. I aspire to be her rock, her unwavering support, providing comfort and strength whenever she needs it. Being with her fills me with an indescribable sense of empowerment and joy. She is my beacon of happiness, encouraging me to strive for greatness and inspiring me to become the best version of myself. Her love and presence heal me in ways I never thought possible, and I am eager to reciprocate by being her steadfast support and ally.

Pile 2

Describing her is a challenging task, for she possesses a depth that transcends the confines of ordinary words. She carries an aura that attracts wealth and prosperity wherever she ventures, as if they were faithful companions by her side. From a distance, she appears strong and bold, yet I sense a vulnerable little girl hiding within her, fearful of the harshness this world can wield. She has distanced herself from those around her, for nobody has truly comprehended her essence. No one has made an earnest effort to unravel the intricate puzzle of her being. My deepest desire is to be the one who unravels that enigma, the person who embraces the challenge of understanding her complexities. I yearn to discover every missing piece and gently place it in its rightful position, completing the beautiful picture that is her. I want to penetrate the walls she has built, to listen to her unspoken fears and insecurities, and to offer solace and understanding. By becoming the person who comprehends her deepest self, I hope to bridge the gap between her and the world that often fails to perceive her true nature. I want to be the companion who supports her unconditionally, providing comfort and encouragement as she navigates through life's labyrinth. It is my aspiration to create an environment where she can fully express herself, knowing that she is truly seen, heard, and appreciated.

Pile 3

The moment our eyes met, I was immediately captivated by her essence, as if an invisible force had bound my heart to hers. Prior to meeting her, I had been skeptical of love at first sight, dismissing it as a mere romantic notion. However, in her presence, all doubts were washed away by the sheer brilliance of her beauty. She has bewitched me completely, leaving no room for retreat. Even if her allure leads to my demise, I would embrace it willingly, for the privilege of experiencing her presence outweighs any consequences. Her presence has an intoxicating effect on me, causing me to lose my composure in the most enchanting way. It is as if she holds the power to unravel the layers of my soul, igniting a fire within me that I cannot control. My hands yearn to touch her, to explore every corner of her body, as if searching for an uncharted territory that only she possesses. Every flaw she may perceive within herself, I view as perfect imperfections, enhancing her unique beauty and making her all the more irresistible. Words fail to fully express the depth of my admiration for her. She is a work of art, a masterpiece without blemish in my eyes. I am eager to shower her with praise, to extol every facet of her being, and to make her feel cherished beyond measure. In her presence, I find myself stripped of pretenses and laid bare, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It is an indescribable sensation, this all-consuming affection, where reason and logic are overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to be closer to her. She has become the center of my universe, a gravitational force pulling me toward her. To love her is to lose myself willingly, surrendering to the magnetic power she holds over me.

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angelisverba · 1 year

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kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fanfic

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llovekami · 5 months

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is it really you? / eren j.

synopsis: eren jaeger was the best and worst part of your life. your first love, first heartbreak; but what if when you move on, he comes right back and worse than ever?

content warnings: angst(?), smut, porn with plot, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling (on eren), biting, reader is gender neutral but afab and femininely dressed, toxic eren, implied cheating, pet names angel, sweets, pretty, possessive eren

a/n: never wrote for eren before. i love toxic men even though i'd probably kms if i fell for a toxic man irl.

eren jaeger was your worst nightmare. your first love on college campus, freshmen year. honestly, the red flags were there - he started flirting the first night you met despite him having his hand on your best friends hip not even a few moments ago before she shoo'd him off in your direction. even worse, it was a halloween party—it was bound to fail from the start. the flimsy material of the black dress you wore and the fake tail clipped to the back of it to make more of a dressy cat woman outfit. the little cat ears you wore reflected the flashing strobe lights of the room, the glitter etched into the black fake fur shining brightly.

he was eager, a real flirt—he had you fooled. if only you had discovered months prior of his scandals with other women, you would've brushed him off the same way your friend did. but when you ended up on your back that night, arched with sweat pooling down your body and the high of pure ecstasy rushing through your veins, you were hooked.

for the next 6 months, you were treated like the campus queen. "eren's never settled down so fast.." "what'd you do to him?" "what spell did you bewitch him with?"

numerous of your friends had warned you of what would happen. your heart would get broken and you'd ugly cry for days, just like you were known to do even over the slightest inconvenience or frustration from you, but you clung hope. eager to make it work, you gave it your all, yet to eren... your all hadn't been enough.

the countless night you had spent on your back or on your stomach with your head pushed into the pillow, in front of your mirror, spending hundreds on fancy lingerie for him to tear off and promise to buy more had all meant nothing. it wasn't that you were shocked when you found him in a room with another woman he told you not to worry about.

her grin haunts your nightmares, and the glint in his intoxicated eyes still made you sweat in your sleep—you moved to learn on, in peace, but it took you until your sophomore year to begin dating once more. it was a sweet, polite boy, someone who'd surely treat you right.

but somehow, eren lured you right back in with a couple of apologies and wet eyes. he always looked prettiest with those long wet lashes of his batting away tears, not that you'd ever mad him cry—but seeing him sniffle over your own crying still made your heart warm.

he pulled you away from the crowd, hiding in a private room and sitting you down on the bed. he said it was to "talk", to put the past behind you. if that was the case, why was his hand dragging up your thigh?

"eren, no touching—" you gasped quietly once he traced over that one barely ticklish spot on your inner upper thigh, watching the way his dimples formed once he smiled. "i still know your body like the back of my hand, angel. i always will." he whispered, letting his lips run along the soft of your neck. your date, the man you were planning on going right back to, waited for you patiently downstairs while your ex kissed on your skin.

"eren," you muttered desperately, brows furrowing as you pushed back slightly on his shoulders. you squirmed in his hold, the old feelings that you had so desperately pushed down resurfacing quickly. your fingers grasped a hold of his long dark brown hair, the same hair that you had tugged on so desperately months ago while he made home in between your thighs. he giggled against your skin, green eyes leaning in on you.

"too much, sweets? cant handle it? are you really satisfied with the fucker that brought you in here?" eren whispered, the words trailing into your ear and igniting a deep fire within you, "he knows you're still mine, angel. you don't blush the way you used to with me." he muttered, snaking the dress you wore upwards and around your waist, noting the way your panties clung to your body. his pinkie teased the lace of it, grinning just a bit.

he sunk to his knees slowly, spreading your thighs apart just slightly. a hunger took over the both of you, your entire body melting into his touch. parting your lips, you were so tempted to beg, eager to whimper his name and scream it to the top of your lungs without him even ghosting his fingers along your core. his teeth dug into the fat of your thighs, looking up to you as he sucked harshly against your skin.

barely a moment had passed before your clothes were eagerly tugged off and he pushed you on your back, taking in the dips and curves that he had foolishly taken for granted. he breathed in your scent and kissed the crook of your neck once more. after he had prepped and entered the same wet cavern that gripped him like a vice, it took his all not to cum right there and then—no words in the english lexicon could explain how desperately he missed this, more so, missed you.

"pussy s'perfect, dunno how i coulda' thrown this away, fuck," he muttered under his breath. the praise had your toes curling, the angle of which he had you in with your hips slightly upward and your ankles locked around his back, had you seeing the stars you never thought you'd see again. the overwhelming feeling of guilt chewed at you, tears prickling your eyes as you watched him enter and leave you with his thrusts.

it was easy to tell when eren was holding back, and now was that exact time. the usual rough pace that you grew accustomed to within the 6 months of dating was now replaced with something much lighter. it had you think, even just for a moment, if this was really eren. the gentleness in which he cradled you, his thumbs rubbing circles into your thighs as he marked you up from the crook of your neck to the valley of your breasts.

you dont know how many times you sobbed his name, nails digging into his back while sweat covered your bare bodies. "you're s'pretty, don't know why i didn't see that with you, ma," he muttered with a moan, "like that? yeah, felt you get a lil' tighter. fuck, keep clenchin' me like that an' i wont be able ta pull out." he groaned against your skin, and you sobbed, "missed you, 'ren, missed you s'much!" you called out desperately without a care in the world. the bass from the music outside still thumped against your heart, so being loud wasn't an issue.

he shuttered at the sound of your begging, and the gentle thrusts that he had started with growing more erratic. you moaned, the spongy spot inside you that he never had any trouble reaching now being abused. his thumb that had previously rested on your thigh now drew attention to your clit, dragging tight circles around it rapidly as if to bring you impossibly closer to the edge.

"eren," you cried, convulsing as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, "gonna cum, m'gon cum, 'ren!" you warned, waterline wet from tears that had shifted from guilt to those of pure overwhelming pleasure. "cum with me, pretty, you wan' cum? cum with me." eren pleaded with you, those jade eyes of his watching the way he disappeared into your hole.

with his encouragement, you reached and came to your peak. you twitched and arched your back higher and higher until you were struggling to breath, feeling the way eren stilled and helped you ride out your high while his own pent-up cum desperately spilled inside you, filing you to the brim as he moaned.

calming down, he grinned at you. "i'm so sorry i left you, angel," he cooed. he brushed your hair back, kissing your forehead while you stared up at him with the prettiest fucked-out expression he never got tired of. "missed this pretty pussy, missed that pretty little face of yours." he hummed, pulling out slowly with a shlick sound coming as he did. he pulled up his pants and ran out, fetching a wash cloth as he returned.

"promise i'll do better if you just give me a chance and drop that fucker you're talking to," he muttered, kissing the hickeys that lined your neck as you nodded drowsily, "you were always mine, pretty. you never stopped being mine."

divider by cafekitsune

#aot smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #eren smut #eren jaeger x you #eren yaeger smut #tw.cheating #toxic eren

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gremlin-bot · 1 year

Text

The Trials and Tribulations of Summoning Your Boyfriend

This is based on this prompt from @stealingyourbones ! Hope y’all like it!

AO3 link!

Tag list- @bewitched-forest @half-dead-ham @eyesofcrows

Tim wasn't up in the watchtower much. It's the Justice League's base and he had his own city and team to take care of (even if said team is a branch of the Justice League and he shared responsibility of Gotham with his family). All of that is to say that when he and other available members of the League were called to the watchtower, it was bad.

Tim was expecting a world ending threat. What he wasn't expecting was a summoning circle and a portion of Justice League Dark to be there. John Constantine and a summoning circle always means bad news, it's even worse that Zatanna and Captain Marvel are there helping. What kind of threat is it to warrant this? All of this is topped off with superman wheeling in a projector to the training room they are all set up in.

Bruce steps up next to the projector. He looks extremely tired, not that most people could tell but a bird knows the bat well. As Bruce turns on the machine, Constantine takes his place next to him with a book bound in leather that holds pages that glow a slight green.

"I called you all here because of this creature attacking Central City." Projected on the wall is a blurry image of a black dragon with a purple underbelly, its whole body glowing.

"Justice League Dark was able to identify it as from a place called the Infinite Realms. They have advised us to not engage and to evacuate everyone we can from the whole city. The Flash has started that. Half of you will join him, as indicated by folders Superman is handing out. The other half will be here to help with the solution that Constantine is handling."

As Bruce directs those in the evacuation group, Constantine takes over the debrief. "The beast in Central City is a bitch to take care of and the solution is even worse. You boy scouts are here to make sure everything doesn't go completely tits up. I hate to say this and hate fucking doing it even more, but we are trying to trying to summon the Ghost King."

At that point Tim tuned out a bit. Usually he wouldn't have but he actually knows more about what's happening than Constantine does. Looking back at the creature still being projected, he can vaguely recognize it now. How did Aragon get out of the realms? Especially without being noticed by Da-

Tim was pulled out of his thoughts by Dick, who apparently was dragged here as well, brushing past him with a smirk. What a dick, going out of his way to mess with him. He really should get to where he was needed.

Taking his place near the top of the summoning circle, he noticed how it was actually set up. It was wrong, completely and utterly wrong. The array was correct. It showed the right constellations and had the right places connected but the candles aren't on the circles that represent the planets, nor was the offering placed correctly. This wasn't going to summon anything. Too bad that Tim was going to let them try anyway. It's better than trying to correct it and explain why he knew it was wrong, plus where was the fun in that.

The other heroes settle into their places. The ones left were the Justice League's big three , the JLD members, Conner, Dick, and Tim himself. They all looked a little nervous and on edge in their own way, from Superman's clenched fists to Dicks never moving smile. Besides Tim who was a bit more relaxed than he really should be. He really should hide it a bit better.

Constantine reading from the book starts the summoning. Latin falling heavy from his lips, a wind that should not be possible in a satellite blows through the room, the candles' flame turns neon green. Everyone holds their breath as the chanting stops. The candles flicker once, twice, and nothing. The room quickly reverted to how it was before. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

"Bollocks." Constantine deflates. "Looks like this didn't work, we must have fucked up somewhere."

"Why don't we explain how we set it up and go from there." Zatanna offers, gesturing for everyone to gather around her and Constantine. Tim stays back and waits for the rest to be distracted by figuring out what went wrong. He can tell that Bruce and Dick have noticed his distance from the others but they haven't done anything yet.

Once the distraction is set, Tim moves in front of the correct offering section of the array. Removing his glove and taking out a birdarang from his belt. He can hear the moment everyone notices the actions he has taken and the one about to come.

"Red Robin, step away from the summoning circle." Bruce demands with concern hidden in his voice.

Tim doesn't listen.

In the moment before anyone can get to him, Tim slashes his ring finger on his left hand. It wasn't deep per say but it definitely wasn't a paper cut. Blood flows out of the wound (almost like a ring), hitting the floor inside the offering ring of the array.

Several things happen at once. First, Dick who was the closest and was trying to grab him, stopped in his tracks along with everyone else. Second, the summoning changed. The first offering was ejected from its place, the crystals shattering. Candles slide at high speed, settling on the represented planets, their flames changing color. The summoning is like a loaded spring trap now. Tim grinning, sets the trap off.

"Alnilam, my love" dropped soft and sweet from Tim's lips with a crawling static buzz. Everyone could hear the buzzing honey intertwined with those words despite their low volume.

The stilled room stirred, yet no one but Tim himself had moved. A cold fog rolls out from the array, blowing a light breeze with it. The static can be felt in their scars, healed bones, all the near misses, and clipped hits. All close calls of the past haunt them in this moment. The room's lovely held in tension snaps as the soul deep buzz is pulled from them into the array. It spills into a Lazarus, toxic, death, neon green pool with small rippling waves that crest with reflection of the space that engulfs the watchtower. This rippling pool stretches upwards. Everyone struggles to move as they inch closer to Tim. As the liquid barely reaches the tall ceiling of the training room, gravity seems to take hold. It sloshes down, turning into a cool fog on impact. Leaving a being in its wake, that is kissing Tim's offered bloody hand.

Danny is in his full king garb. A black metal crown floats above his head surrounded by light similar to earth's aurora borealis. White hair glowing starlight complementing pale blue skin, that blushes the prettiest cyan, not that anyone but Tim can see that. Jewelry hanging from pointed ears and slender neck. His suit is hidden by a long cloak cut from the barrier between realities. The outside is the space outside the satellite with the interlining of a swirling Lazarus green peaking out as the end floats upward.

Tim is grinning like a love struck fool and he knows it. This is so worth the lecture he will be getting from both Bruce and Dick. Danny raises his head, blood staining his lips as they stretch into a fanged grin just as love struck.

"Hey Red, uh what the fuck!?" Dick's voice snapped the two boys out of their own world and back into the one with everyone surrounding them with looks of concern and from certain people, bone deep exhaustion. Danny drops Tim's no longer bleeding hand, allowing Tim to turn to fully look at the group around them. Tim's grin is now one of mischief and secrets yet to be spoken. From the look on Bruce's face if Danny wasn't behind him he would be out of the watchtower and locked in the manor despite not living there anymore. Too bad that Constantine could give less of a fuck about what's going on between Danny and him.

"Your highness, we called your assistance because one of your subjects is causing trouble in the moral realm and-" as Constantine told and worked out what was going on, Danny moved so he was behind Tim, his arms loosely wrapped around Tim's neck and chin resting on top of his head. Danny was floating off the ground to do this.

"Oh! That's Aragon, give me 10 minutes and he'll be out of your hair. There is no payment needed, I insist. But before that –'' Danny’s legs float up, flipping him to face Tim upsidedown. A grin that only means trouble for Tim sets on his pretty face. “Red, Babe, Love. You could have just called me if you wanted me to meet your dad and his superhero friends!”

“Danny, I swear to the Ancients if you disappear –” Tim couldn’t finish the hollow threat as Danny gave him a peck on the cheek and disappeared from sight. Leaving Tim to the heroes, one being Bruce ‘Tim is my little princess’ Wayne and another is his very protective brother.

Tim looks at his family members in the room, and wow, yeah he is not escaping the interrogation when they get back to the manor. Bruce is approaching him swiftly and looks as if he is going to grab him and never let go. Dick is no better, he has a shit eating grin with his wrist computer up and is already typing. Everyone is going to be there for the interrogation and Bruce's coddling, Tim just knows it. He's going to make Danny go back to the manor with him, he is not doing this alone. It's the least his boyfriend can do after leaving him to deal with this. It was still worth it, even if he has to flee to the Infinite Realms after all is said and done. He’ll just become a trophy husband for Danny and avoid his family at all costs in doing so.

"Red Robin, would you please explain what your relation is with the King of the Infinite Realms." Bruce is definitely in mama bear mode, he was never going to be let outside of the manor.

"I think there are more pressing matters at hand here, like how King Phantom is on his way to Central City and we have yet to inform anyone on the ground." Tim is stalling and everyone knows it, but he's not wrong.

Bruce grumbles about not knowing the king's name but still steps away from Tim and starts relaying the relevant information to the evacuation team. Dick is leaving him alone for the moment, probably waiting for more privacy. Conner on the other hand is trying to hold in his laughter at the situation he got himself into. Tim just glares at him, even if Conner can't see it under the domino. At this point he doesn't care what the rest of the League thinks, he just wants Danny back so they can face Bruce and the rest of his family like he (they) has been avoiding.

Danny was quicker than his self-imposed time limit, taking 7 minutes instead of 10. Giving just enough time for Bruce to almost give an on the spot interrogation, almost being Tim's saving grace. Unlike Danny, who decides to drop his invisibility only after wrapping around Tim's torsos, his head and arms taking their previous places.

"Your ghost problem is taken care of. I'll be taking Aragon back to the infinity realms, along with Red Robin here." Danny casually says, like it isn't kidnapping.

"Wait, what." Tim said in shocked silence.

"Well since you summoning me got me out of a meeting with the observants, it's a perfect time to go on a date, you know like all of our dates." Danny is saying these things on purpose and he better get them out of here quick before Bruce tackles them.

"You are a menace!" as Tim says this, ectoplasm begins to pool at their feet, spreading out making a barrier of open space around.

"A menace, you love!" Danny lovingly teases as a low rumble ripples from his core making Tim smile. This is the last thing the heroes hear before the couple drops out of the mortal realm and into the one of the dead.

#Tim drake x danny fenton #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #prompt fill #summoning fic #ghost king danny #dc x dp #Tim Drake #Petals and Arrays of The Dead and Those Yet To Be #Writing on the walls

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mammonswhore · 11 months

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The Day Before the Test

tags: Satan x afab!fem!mc.

warnings: cockwarming, soft dominant behavior, studying, overstimulation, established relationship, very fluffy and domestic at the end.

"Fuck..." Satan grunts as his fingers sink on MC´s flesh as she tries to keep steady and keep on reading. That´s what this was all about.

"I can´t... Is too much" She whines, bouncing (or trying to do so) on a foolish attempt to get some sort of movement or reaction from him. Sadly her attempts were shut down as Satan´s fangs sank on her shoulder making her yelp in pain.

"You look so whorish like this, love." He says sadly, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him sideways. "I am sorry but you should´ve studied and I wouldn´t have to be doing this."

His voice sounds silk smooth, as if he were soothing the scars of his nails on her hips. He sounds angelic even for someone born from wrath. Satan is lovely, he is a gentleman and a man of honor so he can´t let his precious girlfriend to fail.

"It´s for your own good" He said when he proposed his idea. It worked, it really did. Satan promised MC to try on tail fucking if she passed her test with more than average and since he is a caring boyfriend he offered himself to help. MC thought of flashcards, timers, his own notes even but not cockwarming him for two and a half hours as she read and took notes from her study books.

Tears accumulate on her eyes, it´s been two hours of shaking, whining and pleading yet he seemed so calm and composed. MC couldn´t take it anymore, a choked sob escaping her as she collapsed on his desk.

"The mitochondrion has two membranes, one internal and one external, in the middle of them there is an intermembrane where there are protons that adhere to the smallest proteins to pass to the internal membrane and reach the mitochondrial cristae... Please... Please just..." MC talks between cries, begging for him.

There were no other words to describe it other than pathetic yet for Satan it was lovely, soothing even. Slowly he caressed her cheek and nodded with a smile. Satan pulled his chair back, his hands traveled to the back of MC´s thigh as he quickly stood up making her tears flow as a loud painful erupted from her throat.

"Can you walk?" He asks softly, putting her down to the floor and twirling her to face him. She nods and walks to Satan´s bed, a few steps that were quick yet they seemed like an eternity for both of them. MC sat on the edge of the bed looking drained and oh so divine. Satan could swear he could gobble her up, to him there was nothing more heavenly than her.

"Change of idea... You are going to ride me because I am still not sure if you have learned enough. Hop in, pretty girl." He smirks as he sits down and pulls her by the waist, she whines in complain and positions herself to sink him in in one sitting.

Satan interlocks their hands together as his free hand pushes her down on him, she moans and babbles little thank you´s repeatedly as Satan did all the effort of bouncing her up and down on him.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, Satan´s moans were muffled as he bit down on MC´s breasts, twirling his tongue around her nipple. She shudders as she bounces herself in, pushing him down to the bed, he complies and is mesmerized with the view on top of him.

She bewitched him in all senses, his mind clouded with the fervor of having her in such a filthy manner. She was the only delusion he could fully indulge in without losing his pride, his affection knew no bounds if it was his one and only lover.

Satan grabbed MC´s waist as he started thrusting into her at a hurry, he couldn´t concentrate on anything anymore as she stabilized herself on his chest. Her back arched at the pleasure, as soon as he was sure she wouldn´t fall off, his hand traveled from her waist to her center to stimulate her so her walls could suck him dry. MC´s body jolts briefly as her orgasm approaches, her whines and moans get louder as she pleads mercy from him.

To her, Satan was completely lost on his element. Some of his blonde hair strands were sticking to his forehead, green eyes half lidded as he only stared at her in awe, mouth open gasping for air, cheeks flushed red, his neck was full of bites and scratches and so were his shoulders, MC could see exactly were their skins met. His free hand sank on her flesh, his grip cutting a little wound on her body making MC cry in pain. The feeling of her orgasm hitting her as pain and pleasure became one, the sensation only being topped with the overstimulation of Satan thrusting inside of her at a ferocious pace to reach for his own orgasm with a loud squealing noise.

Both of them panted as MC´s body gave up completely and fell on top of Satan who remained quiet as he hugged her tightly feeling himself go soft inside of her.

"Was this a heads up for when I have to study 'how to seduce a demon to give me his kids' lesson 1: be me" MC says tiredly, making Satan laugh and squeeze her.

"Shut up, if you want my kids so badly then better get studying because I will not have kids with a lazy procrastinating ass like yours." Satan jokes back getting himself a lazy slap on his chest, making him chuckle.

"Fine! But only because our kids will hate me if I make them stupid."

#satan is the type to crack a joke or two after a quick session #obey me smut #.val thirst's⛈#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me satan x mc #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me writing #obey me shall we date satan

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Text

Valyrian Steel Heart

Part 1 of this idea by @goldensunfyre can be found here

Taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @dreamtogether2000 @gruffle1 & @lightjoh

You spent most of your time recounting the days and nights since your family’s departure from KingsLanding. Since leaving Aegon’s warm embrace along with the remnants of your heart that would always and forever belong to him, no matter the changes he’d go through; for he’d always be your Aegon. Your beautiful, beautiful Aegon. As teenagers Aegon would dress you both as commoners, sneak you out of the Red Keep and in through the town to indulge to your hearts content before finishing the night upon Visenya’s Hill; Stargazing. Your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as his laid atop of yours, holding your hand tightly within his own.

You knew, even at a young age, that Aegon was an deeply flawed individual, probably the most flawed and morally corrupt you would ever come across in your lifetime; Yet he made you feel the most alive you have ever been in a long time. With Aegon you weren’t held back by your royal lineage; Nothing mattered when your with Aegon above the cloud line upon your dragons, wind whipping across your face making it near enough impossible to hear the sounds of your own laughter as you glided over KingsLanding together. With Aegon, you were as free and as careless as they came. “I never want to leave this moment.” You told him as you both exited the Dragon Pit, arm in arm. “Moments like theses are fleeting and all I want to do right now is turn this one into a memory that I’ll never forget.” “Then why wait when I can give you something that your bound to remember.” Aegon replied, stopping in the middle of the street to address you.

“How would you do that?” You asked, finding it hard to breath with his beauty being amplified by the moonlight looming overheard. His platinum hair glowing as his skin glistened like it had been kissed by stardust. Aegon stepped closer to you and brought a hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in close so his breath fanned across your face as he smiled. Not smirked. Smiled. “This.” He whispers before closing his eyes and pressing his lips softly against your own. That was your first and last kiss with Aegon before everything changed. So it pained you deeply getting on Gray Ghost’s back, knowing that you were leaving behind a potential future with your beloved Aegon. Only to be set up for an potential arrangement with the likes of one Cregan Stark, seeing as both of your bother’s were already betrothed to your cousins, Baela and Rhaena.

Unlike your mother, you weren’t given the luxury to chose your suitor as you were constantly reminded that you were on the brink of a civil war, love held no place on the battlefield but allegiances did. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Cregan Stark, he’s an honourable man who’d treat you better then any sleazy Lord in Westeros possibly could. However he didn’t grasp your tightly as Aegon seemed to. Try as much as you could to hide it but it seemed that everyone was made aware of how you both looked for the other in a crowded hall, or talked in hushed whispers whilst being unnecessarily close to one another. Your family didn’t approved of this relationship and never failed to make it apparent of how they viewed Aegon, the object of your ire. None hated it more then your mother Rhaenyra for not only had her half brother taken her birthright by being born but he has now taken her firstborn daughter as well.

Was nothing ever truly hers without him coming along and staking claim to everything? Rhaenyra believed you to have been bewitched by Aegon, that what you felt for him was merely an illusion of which he had conjured from his dark coal of a heart. She claimed that he didn’t view you as his equal; If that was the case then why did he hold you softly against him as the shared burden you both bared as firstborns gotten the best of you? Why was it that he whispered sweet encouragements into your ear when you were feeling insecure or how he would absentmindedly tuck himself into your side. You knew that to provide evidence against her assumptions of Aegon was an attempt that would ultimately prove fruitless. So whenever Aegon was ever brought up in discussion, you were forced to bite your tongue and clench your teeth behind a tight lipped smile in order of keeping up appearances.

As you stood on the coast of Dragonstone where your brothers were training with Ser Erryk, your mind miles away from reality, picking at your fingers and fidgeting the jewellery adorning them. You didn’t seem to notice how the collision of wood against wood stopped nor how Jace, Luke and Ser Erryk seemed more taken aback by something advancing forwards in the sky. The fiery-golden scales practically burned within the glare of morning light as though set aflame in the most ethereal of ways; A being of pure dragonfire was closing in on Dragonstone and fast, carrying something human shaped within it’s claws, and yet nobody seemed to be able to move from their spots amidst the coast. Everyone knew who the dragon belonged to but refused to admit to what they were seeing as reality.

“What’s he doing coming here?” Jace spat, steeling his jaw as he readied himself for a potential altercation with his uncle. Whilst Luke was only looking towards you worriedly. He remembered the night on Driftmark where Aegon brought your lineage into question, the broken look upon his eldest sister’s face hurt the poor boy more then the injuries he had sustained. He also caught onto the look of regret on Aegon’s face after he spoke his peace aimed your way, like he hadn’t meant to intentionally hurt you like he had your brothers with his words. Luke already didn’t like him to begin with but he knew of the place the libertine held within your heart. “I think the answer is quite obvious.” At your youngest brother’s words you looked up to see him, Jace and Erryk look in your general direction; one of solemnly, one of realisation and one of protectiveness.

Embarrassed by the blatant staring you asked, “what? Why’s everyone looking at me for? I told you I wasn’t in the mood to spar-“ “Aegon’s here.” Jace cuts you off before looking back up to the sky where Aegon’s dragon was growing ever closer. “Aegon?” You asked, perplexed and a little bit excited at the prospect of seeing your beloved again, “why?” “We’re just as in the dark as you milady.” Erryk was the one to answer you this time as you stepped closer within the space between your brothers to get a closer look. Jace had to hold onto your arm so that you wouldn’t go running off towards either dragon nor it’s rider as they descended from the sky; Despite the fact that he was younger then you he still felt the obligation as your brother to protect you from harm. Jace believed your heart was too big and too pure to be gifted to a man like Aegon; Maybe once upon a time he might’ve indulged the thought but with the strive between your mothers, it was bound to deep into your own relationships.

Once Aegon was safely settled down in the ground you didn’t waste any time yanking your arm free from Jacaerys’ grasp and making a run towards the disoriented man with the widest smile upon your face. “Aegon!” Your cries reached his ears as he was getting himself up to his feet, dusting himself down, that when he finally looked up; He was being rugby tackled off of his feet and forced on his back once more. “I just got up.” He groaned, yet the sound of your laughter made a smile stretch across his face that dampened his bitter mood as he brought his arms to hold you tighter against his chest. You wriggled in his grasp so that your chin rested on his chest, uncaring that your brothers and Ser Erryk were watching because in that moment it was just you and Aegon. Like it always was. “Hi.” You say just sweetly enough for only his ears to hear. “Hi” he replied as sweetly, rubbing his hands against your clothed back.

The pair of you laid there in comforting silence, your souls soothed of all their sorrows within the others embrace, finally at peace now that you were reunited once more. You took in Aegon’s disheveled state and frowned when you caught sight of the bruise upon his cheek. “What happened to you sweetheart.” You utter under your breath as you raised a hand carefully to his cheek, cautions of the sharp inhales of his breathes and his flinches under your touch. “Just spent my time running across town like a twat to avoid my cunt of a brother and Ser Criston, had a scuffle with a Kingsguard before burning him alive.”Aegon replied, closing his eyes as he burrowed his head in your hand, pressing a kiss to it. “You went through all that just to get here?” You asked, hiding your amusement at the thought of Aegon running like a headless chicken. “I went through all of that just to get to you.” Aegon admitted, caressing your cheek, “I would go through it all again if it meant telling you how awful I felt for acting so heinous towards you and your family.”

When you didn’t say anything, Aegon pushed himself up so he could rest his head against yours, “I let my need for my family’s validation blind me to what really mattered in my life. To the one thing I couldn’t live without.” You silently pointed a finger towards yourself, suddenly too timid to use your own voice as Aegon only genuinely smiled at your cute actions. “Yes, you y/n, who else could I be talking about,” he brushed his nose against yours affectionally, “my silly girl.” He purred as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lip, humming in content when you reciprocated; His hold on you tightened on instinct as a means of keeping you close to him in fear that you would slip away like sand. Everything within Aegon’s chaotic life fell into the background as he was within your arms, every negative thought he held within his head melted away at the mere sound of your laughter and the cracks in his heart were salvaged back to health with your kisses.

Aegon’s eyes drifted over your shoulder to see Jace and Luke glare back with daggers in their eyes. He didn’t care for them in that moment for he finally had what’s he came for resting snug against his chest, gripping onto him as though he were a lifeline. Aegon felt invincible as he did vulnerable and he has you to thank for that. He had sacrificed a part of himself into become something he was never meant to be and in the process he had lost the most vital part of himself; you. He had regretted ever trading you for something temporary as being king for he knew it wouldn’t give him the satisfaction that you brought him by merely existing. “You truly are something else Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, ruler of my heart, soul and desires.” You pulled Aegon’s attention back to you as you tugged on his short platinum locks. “I like the sound of that, way better then protector of the Seven Realms and all that bollocks,” He chuckles, playfully nipping at your fingers, causing you to squeal.

“Should we tell mother?” Luke asks Jace who’s jaw was still clenched uncomfortably tight. The pair could see how happy you were with Aegon and vice versa, for them to take that away from you both would only prove to cause more trouble then resolve them. Yet they couldn’t bring themselves to throw their uncle to the wolves that were Daemon and Rhaenyra for it meant costing you your happiness; Seeing as your step-father would surely kill him without remorse nor regret in becoming a kinslayer as a result. Jace sighs, “no,” he gazed upon you and Aegon with melancholy but also with hope that maybe through you, his and Luke’s relationship with Aegon could be mended for some part of him deep down misses the days where they’d all act as how brothers should. “Let’s give them their space.” So without another word he, Luke and Erryk left you and Aegon to your own reality within each other’s arms.

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an-idyllic-novelist · 4 months

Text

Husk with gender-neutral!reader relationship headcanons

Special thanks to @isuckatwritingsobenice, @nixie-writes, and a few other writers in the Hazbin Hotel community for helping me create a piece for one of my favorite characters from the 2019 pilot episode, Husk! :)

Warning: Husk's potty mouth and this is Hell, so indecent things are bound to happen but nothing to imply NSFW content.

Husk gave up on the idea of love years ago, preferring to drown himself in cheap booze and try his luck at the casino before Alastor pulls him away to do a job for him or some other shit because of his contract with the fucking asshole. Why else would he and Nifty be wastin’ time slaving away in a hotel that’s supposed to rehabilitate sinners? Least the pipsqueak gets to clean this place from top to bottom and away from the clients, and he’s stuck handling their drunk asses in the lobby bar.

Angel Dust has been the one who’s been trying to get into his pants since day one, but that’s a different story entirely. He’s persistent, Husk will give the prissy punk that much credit.

Though…he supposed it isn’t all too bad being here. Least since Vaggie hired you. Initially, the job offer she and Charlie had posted online was to manage the front desk, handle phone calls, and all of the other tasks required to be the hotel’s conceirge. However, since there still wasn’t enough staff to do everything, he would see flitting about carrying baskets of clean linens or giving tours around the hotel to potential clients, helping Vaggie with organizing meetings with the press, and so on.

He might be a drunk asshole, but if there’s one part in his body that’s still functioning besides his dick, it's his hearing.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s heard a snide remark from potential or current clients about your polite demeanor, if you’re actually a freak in bed, and a whole lotta other bullshit he did not want to hear when he’s still sober. He didn’t want to care but god fucking dammit it made his skin crawl at the idea of some asshole thinking they had a chance with you. You, who never seemed to lose your smile and would go out of your way to make Nifty’s day by belting out Broadway songs on top of the banister, completely lost in the character you were playing and not giving a shit about anything else.

Not gonna deny it, you had one hell of a voice. You could change the pitch of it so easily. From a high tone all the way down a low, smooth baritone that almost sounded like a siren’s song luring sailors to a watery grave.

When he actually musters the fucking courage (thanks to a lot of booze from earlier in the day) to ask if you’d like to go to a bar or even the casino, Husk thought you would reject him. After all, why would a someone like you would even want to hang around an old fucker like him?

But when he saw your face turn as red as a certain deer bastard’s suit and sputtered that you weren’t very good at the slots, though you were willingly to try your luck at the blackjack table as long it wasn’t a high stake one, Husk thought he had actually achieved the state of inebriation to where he was hallucinating.

However, he was proven wrong when you told him that you’ll be ready by seven to go to the casino. Since he’d been on good behavior and Charlie never had any issues with you as of late, the princess wouldn’t mind the two of you being out for a couple of hours as long as you kept your phones on you in case anything happened.

Alastor could care less since watching a tormented, loveless war veteran being bewitched by a beguiling songstress provided him with much needed entertainment~.

Upon arriving at the casino, Husk pulled you over to the slot machines. He showed you how they worked and how much money you should put in them, so you don’t lose all of it in under an hour. The old-fashioned ones with the levers weren’t so bad, though the rounds would go pretty quick if you weren’t paying attention to the denominations; same thing applied to the new tech ones, betting could go from 88 cents to up to two dollars.

In the end, you quit after trying three different machines and went to go find the restroom. Husk decided to go find a bar and order a couple of drinks. One for himself, and one for you. A couple of fellas, hellhounds by the look of ‘em, asked him if the ‘pretty little thing’ he was with earlier is with him or if you were single.

“They’re with me, so fuck off.” He grumbled.

“Ya sure about that, old man?”

Husker growled, feeling his hackles rise at the provocation, half of it he blamed on the booze. As much as he wanted to teach these punks a thing or two about showin’ respect….they weren’t worth ruinin’ his first date with you. First impressions made all the difference, least when he’d been alive. So he made a rude hand gesture and sat at the bar until he heard you call out to him.

“Everything all right, Husk? I hope I didn’t interrupt anything between you and your friends. The guys you were talkin’ to before they took off.”

He smirked. “Nah. If I knew them, they’d know how to play poker.” He stood up and grabbed his drink, handing over yours. “C’mon, let’s hit the blackjack tables and see how good you really are.” He said, leading you to your next stop for the night.

Turned out that you weren’t all talk. You were able to win five out of seven rounds, never showing any anxiety or indication that your hand was either good or bad. For kicks, Husk asked if you wanted to try the poker table. You agreed, but just to two rounds. If you weren’t comfortable continuing to play, please allow you to walk away. Husk agreed, opting to watch you from the sidelines as moral support instead of joining you at the table.

Three words could only describe what he saw next: holy fucking shit.

All you could do was smile sheepishly at him when he asked how the ever living fuck were you this good at gambling and didn’t say anything as the two of you left the casino with a hefty sum of cash.

“Would you believe me if I said I’d gotten banned from more than one casino when I was alive because I was just good at card counting?”

He stared at you for a long moment before he grinned widely, clapping you on the back. “I knew I had my eye on ya for a reason!”

‘Course, you’d never know that he wanted to show you that he’s one hell of a gambler at the casino instead of the other way ‘round. How he knew to play his cards right and treat you to something nice, show those little shitheads that a real gentleman knows how to win the game and a good-lookin’ partner all in the same night.

Still…gettin’ spoiled at a nice restaurant for a change wasn’t too bad…so long as no one from the hotel saw them. Especially Alastor.

And that was how your first date went. Nothing too crazy, least the two of you didn’t run into any trouble on the way back to the hotel. Husk walked you to your room, wished you good-night, and went to drink a little more before passing out in his own room.

Husk hasn’t been with anyone in an incredibly long time. There will be moments when he might seem harsher than usual towards you and tries to brush everything off, or chug it down with alcohol. He struggles to communicate with his feelings to someone else, so patience and respect for boundaries is key.

He does not tolerate any disrespect towards you, even if you try to tell him to ignore the sinner who is catcalling after you when the two of you are walking through the Pride Ring to pick up stuff for the hotel. If it happened at a bar while you’re on a date? Be prepared to have chairs go flying or Husk tearing a new hole in the poor bastard who pissed him off.

He is not a fan of PDA. He has a reputation to uphold in the hotel and on the streets. Behind closed doors, however, he will be more lenient. Cuddles and midday naps are exceptional, with him pressing against your body with his tail loosely coiled around your thigh and one of his wings acting as a shield or even a blanket.

Speaking of feathers and fur, he does need to groom himself periodically, especially when it's molting season. You need to be gentle if you want to help him since his skin can be especially sensitive around this time of the year.

Actions speak a lot louder to him than pretty words. If you show him that you do care for him and will never betray his trust or loyalty, he will return it tenfold. He will do everything in his power to make you as happy as you have made him in this shithole.

Taglist

@angelltheninth

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@selineram3421

@nixie-writes

@dragonempress18

@ceoofdabicorpsensfw

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

#an idyllic novelist #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin hotel 2019 #gn!reader #x reader headcanons #x reader

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lovelybrooke · 1 month

Note

I really love your When does the companions realise they love Reader request! Can I request how Dammon, and Zevlor realise they love Reader?

Okay! This probably won't be as long as the other companions but I hope you enjoy.

Here is the post about the companions if anyone would like to read that.

masterlist

---

Dammon

Dammon always found you interesting.

You were--strange, to say the least. Bumbling around the grove, clearly surprised by all you were seeing. It was slightly amusing, how you tried to act like you weren't shocked by his people. And when you bounded up to him for the first time, requesting to purchase some weapons, he couldn't deny you were cute, your fascination with everything, your wonder filled eyes. But what was more interesting than all that was how determined you were. How brave you acted. No matter how clearly things were getting to you, you kept on pushing through it.

Seeing you at Last Light Inn was surprising to say the least, and he couldn't deny the solace he felt when you came into view, alive, and with people who could surely protect you. It filled him with a strange sense of relief, seeing you so safe. But he couldn't help but also feel a small sense of envy--that had to be it. You were adventuring, saving the world, while he was stuck with the other refugees. He should feel grateful, that he's alive and that you're here to keep it that way. But when the wave of disappointment washed over him as you visited, Karlach in tow, begging for a way to fix her engine, he almost didn't want to help you. The tight feeling in his chest was too overwhelming as he pointed to areas of interest on your map, each locations for infernal iron.

And when you returned, the infernal iron in hand, he almost couldn't believe it. He wasted no time helping Karlach, but watching as you hugged her, as her hands gripped your shirt and as she nearly wept, the feeling, the envy--the jealousy, it was almost too much to bear. He felt a frown grace his face as you eventually left her side, her hand still in yours.

Dammon thought it was interesting how easy it is for you to bewitch people, trapping them in your mesmerizing presence, until even breathing seemed too overwhelming without you. He thought it was interesting how you clearly didn't seem to realize the power you held over people, and maybe that's a good thing, you could do a lot of harm if only you commanded it. And as you left his gaze, heading towards Moonrise Towers, Dammon wondered if flames of Hell burned as hot as his devotion towards you.

Zevlor

Zevlor is a leader. The refugees, his people, they come first before everything.

As a leader, he knows how stressful it is, having the weight of so many peoples lives on your shoulders. Maybe that's why he pitied you, why he felt too deeply for you and your struggles. He felt bad when he tasked you with helping his people, he felt bad when you were tasked with saving the grove, and he felt bad seeing you at the party, which was meant to be for you and your companions, alone.

He was aware of your situation--whether or not he believed it was another story. But regardless, he felt for you, he understood your plight. But seeing you near the water, watching as your eyes stared into the deep, dark abyss, his heart sank for you.

Zevlor didn't see you again for a while, but the far away look in your eyes remained ingrained in his mind. It stayed with him as he traveled through the Shadow Lands, as the Absolute Corrupted his mind, and as he lay waiting there in that pod, awaiting his eventual death. But then you came, with your companions readily behind you of course, and you saved him, again. He felt useless, having to be saved another time. He was meant to be the leader, to hold his own, to protect his people. And now he's failed.

But your eyes--they changed. They were brighter than before, bravery and ambition flaming in them. It was almost strange if it weren't for the circumstances, how different you were from the last time he saw you. It’s almost comforting in a way, seeing you blossom into something stronger. But at the same time, it was just more proof how far he's fallen, how he's failed his people.

Zevlor was a leader, but now, he knows he isn't welcomed with them anymore. He wonders if you felt the same as they surely did, if you thought him a coward, weak, unreliable. He likes to believe you're different, that you'd welcome him with open arms, with the look of concern like when you saw him trapped in that pod. He likes to believe you would've comforted him if he didn't leave, if he didn't run like he always does.

Zevlor likes to believe that he isn't a coward, and that you think of him just as highly as he thinks of you. Because in truth, he thinks of you a hero, a warrior, a gift. He thinks of you as he escapes the mindflayer colony, as he travels to Baldur's Gate, and as he stares into the deep, dark, watery abyss, longing for something he knows he doesn't deserve.

---

A/n: I don't know how to feel about Zevlor's part but I really liked how Dammon's turned out.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #baldurs gate 3 x reader #yandere baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #yandere bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3

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merakiui · 7 months

Text

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back.

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul #tw: death #tw: murder #tw: self harm #tw: suicide

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thatscarletflycatcher · 9 months

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"I do not wish to call you my friend because I hope to call you something infinitely more dear... I rode through the rain... I'd ride through worse than that if I could just hear your voice telling me that I might at least have some chance to win you... maybe it is our imperfections that make us perfect for one another. Marry me? Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend."

"But you... you were not deceived, were you? You held to what you knew in your heart. Constant, constant as the rain! What should I do if you should ever go away? My dearest Fanny."

"Fanny, I must confess something. I have loved you all my life... as a man loves a woman, as a hero loves a heroine, as I have never loved anyone in my entire life. I was so anxious to do what is right, that I forgot to do what is right. But if you choose me, after all my blundering and blindness, that will be a happiness which no description could reach."

"I would have to tell you, you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on"

"First, I must tell you that I have been the most unmitigated and comprehensive ass."

"Oh, Elinor, I have longed for this moment from the instant of our first meeting, dear, dear Elinor. Would you... could you possibly... How could anyone help to love you?"

"I have come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours."

"Miss Dashwood, Elinor, I came here with no expectation, after everything that has happened you have every right to turn me away this instant. But I cannot leave here without conveying the intensity of my feelings for you... Every day since I first saw you, my love for you has grown. Elinor, I have no right to hope, but I must ask: can you forgive me? Can you love me? Will you marry me?"

"I told him that I felt myself bound to you, by honor, by affection, and by a love so strong, that nothing he could do could deter me from... Before I go on I should tell you there is a pretty good chance he'll disinherit me. I fear I may never be a rich man, Catherine. Will you marry me, Catherine?"

"Miss Morland... don't be afraid. I promise not to oppress you with too much remorse, or too much passion. Though since you left us, the white rose bush has died of grief. Catherine, are you still a disgrace to your sex? Does your face express all that your heart feels, or may I hope that it holds a secret? You know that I do not need my father's permission to marry you."

#Jane austen #pride and prejudice #sense and sensibility #Mansfield Park #Northanger Abbey #Emma #did I make this mainly for the punchline of the last option?#yes

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koiimii · 6 months

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𝐀+ | 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙏𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙧’𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝.”

———

With class now over, and it being time for the return of everyone’s work with critiques, you were heavily on edge.

Chewing the plasticky tip of your red pen was doing little nothing to ease the bubbling anxiety in the pit off your stomach as you watched your professor push himself up from his office chair, a thick stack of papers clutched tightly in his hand.

He walked around to the front of his desk, and leaned back, eyeing everyone in the classroom carefully, until his eyes fell specifically on… you.

Professor Turner.

He had been with your class since the beginning of the year, and he had become rather popular amongst the Classics Department and students alike.

The boys hated him, said he was too cocky and rude. In your opinion, he intimidated them. They couldn’t handle critique. The girls wondered if he was married, and how old he was… they wondered how short their skirts could get before they were asked to leave. The opinions of Mr. Turner varied from good, to bad… to ugly.

But he was well respected, and you thought he was brilliant.

Professor Turner had a way with words that made it seem almost as if he were reading poetry, or lyrics. He was always calm, collected… stoic. You never knew what he was thinking outside of class time,or even during, at least not entirely.

You’d know if he were pleased with you. You’d know if he were disappointed. You could tell if he were cross or if he was satisfied. You knew he cared for his work with a passion, and for his students to receive his teachings, it meant very much. And at first you had no idea, but…

With you specifically, it meant the world.

To say you were a good student was an understatement by far. You understood his teachings through and through, and it showed heavily in your work, but…

You had bewitched Mr. Turner body and soul the moment you stepped into his classroom. Your twinkling gaze and charming smile, it had completely derailed his hard, stern persona for only a moment before he had to recompose himself.

You were attentive. Your hands never stopped scribbling in that leather bound notebook, in that same red pen. You took in every single word from his lips with the eagerness of a naive child, ready to listen, wanting to please.

He had never seen such dedication.

You were beautiful. He took in the way you dressed, with frilly skirts and knee socks, or worn jeans and boots, he especially loved when you wore dresses… the straps falling off your shoulders just enough to create an image in his mind that lingered for days.

You sat by the window, and he loved when he caught you day-dreaming… he’d sometimes wait a few moments to let you wander before grabbing your attention again. The sun kissed your skin and your eyes brightened too…

From your first exchange of words, you were so well-spoken, so clear and confident. Your voice was rich and smooth, like chocolate on the brink of melting. Sweet with precision, indeed. He found it endearing however when he’d direct his words to you only. Questions, asking of your opinions, your thoughts alone… and you grew timid. Delicate and faint, but the genuinity never faded.

You were made of so many layers, and it shocked him to his core, when he only wanted more of you. The days he knew you’d be in his class were the best by far…

You were an angel, and he needed nothing more than to be blessed by you for as long as time would allow…

And you felt just the same.

Mr. Turner was a mystery, and you had never known how different it could be to know someone like him… to feel someone like him. Looks were only the top of the iceberg.

His fluffed, curled hair that curled over his ears and down the nape of his neck. You especially liked when he let it grow out, or when he gelled it back just alittle. And the way he dressed… those slim fit slacks that hugged his legs in a way that seemed illegal. The expensive billowy dress-shirts he wore, tucked in with a thick belt. You especially loved when he rolled up his sleeves to reveal tones arms and clean, well-kept hands.

You especially loved when he’d graze past your desk when lecturing, especially slow, and the smell of cigarettes and cologne brushed your nose only to be gone again in a second.

At first, he terrified you. His mannerisms, his quiet grunts of disapproval, his drawn out notes when you or a peer made a mistake… the way he’d take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose when he was especially cross….

But his praise…

When he praised, he made it sound as if you were perfect. He knew it only made you work harder. He was intelligent, and calm, and intense, and everything you never knew you wanted…

The both of you knew it was only a matter of time before you were caught in his room together, class dismissed, and tensions at an all time high… you both knew it was wrong.

“You were too young.”

“It was unprofessional.”

To you, what you felt was undeniable

Now, here you were in another teetering test of approval. Everyone was to turn in their mid-term, the challenge being to write a formal analysis on classic literature. Shakespeare, Jane Austin, Edgar Allen Poe, Charles Dickins…

Any text of your choosing…

Mr. Turner especially recommended you a book he particularly enjoyed. He said he knew you’d understand it. It was in French, and it warmed your heart to know he remembered when you shared you had especially loved foreign language within literature.

“You’re a smart girl… I know you’ve got it.”, that’s what he said to you outside the building after class, leather satchel hanging off his tensed shoulder as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and moved down towards the staff parking lot.

Now, you could only hope he was right.

You watched as he flipped through the submitted papers one last time, and you could’ve swore you weren’t the only one holding your breath as he stepped forward to begin handing them out.

“I can tell some of you really enjoyed your personalized book choices for your essays, yes?”

The class went up in a series of jumbled “Yes, sir”and “Of course.”

“Good. Some of you, however… I was lost? Confused maybe is the right word. I will just say, I’m sure not many of you put much thought behind this assignment.”

The class was quiet then.

He nodded and for a moment you saw the slightest smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“I’m proud, nonetheless… you’ve all worked hard this week.”

You watched as he moved down your row, your eyes wide with anticipation and Mr. Turner internally swooned at the way you craned your neck to see how close he was to your seat.

He handed your seat mate her paper and just as you peered up at him, expecting to be handed your own, he turned on his heels and moved back towards his desk, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You felt your body grow cold as you shifted in your seat. Did he not like your work? You spent day and night on it. The amount of sticky notes in the book itself looked as if you had studied it for months, despite it only having been a week.

You couldn’t have failed. Right? He didn’t look at you again, only he looked at his watch and huffed.

“We have roughly 10 minutes left, you may go.”

The class stood up and you stared straight ahead, chewing your lip before opening then to speak.

“Mr. Turner, may I—“

“Please stay behind, Miss (L/n).”

He had beat you to it, and you found yourself glued to your seat in anticipation. Your friend sent you a worried grin before gathering her bag and filing out with the rest of the class.

Mr. Turner gave his goodbyes, watching everyone cooly until the last person was gone and the classroom flooded with an unbearable silence.

“Alex…” you breathed, standing up as he closed the door and moved behind his desk with a raised brow.

“Come here, love…”, he mumbled, turning a stapled paper over in his hands as he sipped from his glass of water. He always kept a water carafe, a small thing you noted about him.

Mr. Turner was rather high end.

You carefully moved from your seat and towards him. As you neared his desk, he held out his hand and you took it, letting him guide you around until you joined him behind his desk.

Imitating his behavior from earlier, you leaned on the desk with your free hand still fidgeting while Alex still held the other. He subconsciously kissed each of your knuckles as he read over your paper quietly.

“Did you like the book…?”

He finally asked with lips pressed against the skin of your palm after a moment of silence, and you looked up with hopeful eyes and a weak smile.

“I loved the book, Al...”,

“I could tell.”, he nodded with a quirked brow and finally smiled.

You wished he smiled more during class. But it also made you swell with pride that only you saw it this often.

You immediately released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and whined with an exaggerated cry as he chuckled and stood up, shushing you with a gentle yet firm hug.

You relaxed almost immediately into him, arms limp at your sides and once he pulled away, you peered up at him.

“Your paper, was extraordinary.”

“Don’t lie.” You picked at the chain around his neck and he held your hips.

“No really, I could tell you fully understood the text and that’s all I could’ve asked for, darling.

You didn’t say anything, but your pleased smiled made his heart race. He stared down at you and rubbed his hands up and down your arms while you released a heavy sigh.

A relieved sigh, a relaxed one.

“You’re glad it’s over?”, he teased, shaking your shoulders gently.

“I am… that was entirely too stressful. But I was confident.”

“Of course you were…”

You blinked up at him, and finally, his hands found your face and cupped it, thumbs gently stroking the rosy tint across your cheeks. His lips parted as he leaned closer and you followed suit, leaning in a little faster with fluttering lashes, trying desperately to close the gap.

He stopped, pulling away with a low breathy chuckle and letting his thumb brush then along your bottom lip.

“Impatient are we…?”, he smiled, his cheeks beginning to flush. You however, nodded shamelessly and pulled him down by his collar for a much needed kiss.

When your lips finally met, it was soft and sweet at first. Alex’s lips tasted like cigarettes and cinnamon. You realized it may have been from the gum he constantly chewed.

His kisses were strong and captivating.

His hands slid around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the hairs there at your nape and tugging ever so gently causing your chin to tilt up.

That’s when his lips left your own and began to trail down your cheek, your jaw, down your neck… across your collarbone.

You exhaled, hands tangling in his hair as you turned towards the door with darting eyes. The two of you had never gotten caught before, but that didn’t stop the possibility from eating at your nerves… you sort of liked it. You knew Alex enjoyed the thrill.

His lips began to burn your skin as his lips finally met the bare skin of your chest. Your choice of clothing today made it easy, a simple white babydoll dress with ribbon tied straps, then there were the worn white converse you thought went nicely.

You knew it did. You noticed Mr. Turner’s breath hitch when you entered the room. The way he tensed and relaxed, turning on his heels to quickly move behind his desk.

Your body was starting to melt right now. Your skin tingling. His touches sent electricity rippling through you and straight to your core. You felt his hands move up your arms again to take your wrists in his hands, pulling your fingers from his hair and looking into your eyes.

“Up on the desk…” his voice was hushed, yet firm and demanding…

“Please.”

No boy had ever asked you please, but Mr. Turner was no boy. He was a man.. a gentleman. A gentleman that turned you into a puddle at his feet.

He helped you up onto the cool surface of his desk, and was on his knees in the next moment. To think he’d only be in this position for you… only for you. He lifted your bare leg to his lips, kissing up your calves and you smiled warmly, playing with his hair.

He made you bubbly. He made you giggle like a middle school teenager again, and he could make your skin heat up in an instant. He had always told you he felt just the same, but you wondered if he truly understood how deep your emotions for him went…

“I’m nervous, Al..” you twirled his soft brownlocks around your finger, his kisses had reached your thighs now.

“I’ve got you darling…” it sounded like a promise. You knew he meant it.

“Do I make you nervous…?” It was on the tip of your tongue, it had started to burn, so you let it go.

“….What?” He stops, the question shocks him, only because he thought it was obvious.

“Well I… I just thought- I hoped, maybe it wasn’t just me—?”

“(Y/n), my heart aches when you’re not around…”

He began, caressing your bare legs and peering up at you. His eyes were soft and gentle.

“And when you are… sitting in that little desk, those big brown eyes staring back at me, listening so well for me… my heart wants nothing more than to beat right out of my chest and straight into these pretty little hands…”

His words lift a little weight off your shoulders along with every kiss on your knees, yet he intertwines your fingers, lifting them out to either side of you, causing you to laugh lightly.

“…Really?”

“You make me nervous, Miss (L/n). So very nervous…” ,he kisses your hand.

“Miss (L/n)..” you repeat. How you wish he’d say Mrs. Turner.

“Lift your hips for me.” He smiles, and you do so, letting his cool hands gently slip up your skirt to hook on your underwear, pulling them from your skin. You noticed the way he admired the soft yellow lace before stuffing them in his pocket.

You felt another wave begin to leak from between your legs.

He kissed your inner-thighs once more, noticing your body shiver as the cool draft hit your most vulnerable parts.

“So pretty…” ,is the last thing he whispered before disappearing under the silky fabric of your dress.

You inhaled sharply, gripping the edges of his desk, as the shock wave came and went… Your mouth fell open, your eyes squeezing shut as he gently lifted your legs over his shoulders.

You couldn’t control your breathing at first. Nose or mouth? You couldn’t decide until Alex found your hands and squeezed them hard.

You could feel him against your sweetest spot, where you wanted him most, warm and real. It made your head spin. You had never been this sensitive before, but you could already feel yourself bubbling over…

You could feel his tongue pressed flat against you and your stomach tightened. You looked towards the door of the classroom, breaths becoming unsteady already.

“A-Al…”, you muttered, lifting your chin to the ceiling and crying out softly.

It all felt good, too good… and your eyes had begun to water as your gaze blurred. You managed to pull your hands from his grip and tangle them in his hair, gripping harshly as your thighs nearly clasped around his head.

There it was. You felt yourself reach that pinnacle, right at the edge as he plunged his tongue between your velvety folds and you cursed.

Your toes curled, and he didn’t let up, lapping yo every bit of your essence until you could hardly breath, holding you steady with strong arms hooked around your thighs.

It was rather embarrassing how fast you had reached your peak, but ever since that first night, in his home, on his bed, you knew no touch would ever make you feel as womanly, as vulnerable and sexy as Mr. Alex Turner.

“Yes, yes, yes…~”, you shook your head, panting and finally letting a long groan roll off your tongue as you came undone.

He let you ride out the initial shock, holding your hips as you rolled them against his tongue, the shaking simmering down into slight jolts…

He stood up after a few moments, leaning in close and pressing his lips to your own, letting you taste yourself.

“Was… was that my reward..?”, you smiled dreamily, the need for sleep already beginning to wash over you. The afterglow seemed all too real as the evening sun slipped past the curtains, hitting you head-on.

You looked radiant.

Alex only chuckled and hugged you close.

“Mm, I suppose so..”

———

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.

#alex turner #alex turner fanfic #alex turner headcanons #alex turner imagine #arctic monkeys #alex turner x reader #writing #arctic monkeys x reader

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 9 days

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heyy coveyyy

so i was wondering if you could write some more connor stoll hcs?? or a blurb or fic, literally anything

you literally introduced me to him and now i’m in love 😍

anyway here’s the idea:

so connor and travis are known for being little silly gooses and whatever, but he’s so down bad for reader that he literally just can’t pull pranks on her because it just backfired on him every time he tries.

and it’s so hard for him because it’s literally his love language

so i’m thinking that he tries to prank her and then it backfires (ofc) so he’s kind of just sitting there like 😳 blushing super crazy and the readers just kinda…. laughing at him (not in a mean way but yk just laughing cus it’s funny)

and idk if yk that sound that’s like ‘she’s laughing. how can she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful’ but ig that’s kind of where i got the idea

and that’s how they meet and get together and it’s all cute and shit 😁😁

anyway, i love your writing 🫶

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Fall In Love With a Prankster, What’s The Worst That Can Happen??

content: connor stoll x reader fic warning: none! author's note: LAST DRAFT LAST DRAFT LAST DRAFT- ahhhhh i've been plotting this one for so long!!! i just loved the idea i had for this one but finding pics for it was HARD AF- like i know that shirt one is for a brand but shhhhhhh just play pretend with me rn

as per usual in cabin eleven, the conversation of their weekly prank came up. and travis pushed the agenda he was always pushing. and that connor was always shooting down.

"what about yn-"

"NO! er, no, anyone but her," connor all but begged, clearing his throat awkwardly after his outburst. travis squinted at his brother, his lips twitching with the urge to frown.

"c'mon-"

"no. please, travis, can't we just prank clarisse again or something?" connor tried but travis just crossed his arms with a raised brow.

"and get absolutely pummeled again? yeah, hard pass," huffed travis, "plus, repeatedly pranking the same people is lame! we're above that, con."

"are we? really?" argued connor, plopping down on his bed with a deep sigh. he could feel travis' eyes on him and could basically hear his lips parting. "we're not pranking yn. it's not up for debate."

"why?" travis whined, slouching and stomping his foot like a child. "you want her to notice your massive crush or not?"

"the second option, duh," insisted connor, glaring over at his brother as his cheeks flushed red, "and it's not a crush."

"you're right, you're right," travis subdued, raising his hands before grinning over at his brother in a purely son of hermes way, "it's not a crush. it's actually a lovesick display of affection that knows no bounds and has no shame and you'd just looooove to be all over her like-"

"IM BREAKING YOUR CAMERA, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" connor nearly screamed, jumping up and making a dive for his brother's bed, where he knew the digital camera was safely tucked under his pillow.

"HEY! NOT COOL!"

after chris pulled the two apart from their tussle on the ground, the came to the agreement to prank yn's cabin, not her specifically. connor was hoping tyche would be on his side and you'd be out of your cabin for the whole day, far far away from the trouble he was about to cause.

little did he know, tyche was a bit of a romantic herself. so, if his luck happened to run dry, who could really blame her?

it was a rather simple prank, per connor's request and despite travis' begging. a bucket of water had been placed above the cabin door, waiting for the unlucky camper to leave the safety of their cabin and to get completely drenched. and with some bribing of the hecate cabin with promises of bringing back candy crystals for them after the next delivery run, they managed to bewitch the water to make it slow drying. so, the two sons of hermes pulled up some lawn chairs and slid sunglasses over their eyes and sat back, waiting for their prank to do the work itself. travis was sipping on a lemonade with a little umbrella that katie had got for him when connor slapped his arm, pointing over at the cabin door swung open and down came the bucket. a shocked scream follow but connor didn't keep his eyes on the door long enough.

"ha! another successful stoll prank!" connor cheered, holding his hand up for his brother to high five, but travis' hand never rose to meet his. in fact, travis' jaw had since dropped and he'd slide his sunglasses off his face like they were showing him double vision or something.

"youre the unluckiest guy i've ever met," travis breathed out, hanging his head in shame. connor frowned at his words, instantly darting his eyes back to the cabin door. instantly, all the blood left the boys face and his chest started to heave with frantic lovesick breaths.

there you stood, because of course it had to be you. out of all your siblings, of course it was you to walk out and straight into their prank. and, naturally, you'd made the decision to wear a white shirt that day. instantly, the soaked fabric betrayed you and revealed your lacy blue bra- connor was quick to attempt to erase the image from his brain, as he knew it would cause, er, problems down south if he thought about it too much. you were still in shock, standing still in your drenched clothes with your face all scrunched up.

without a second thought, connor was jumping up from his comfy seat and making his way over to you. he'd begun to tug his blue button up off, wanting to give you something to cover up as that water would not be leaving your shirt any time soon. sadly, connor made sure of it.

"o-oh, yn, i- i'm so so sorry. my brother is an absolute idiot and he thought this would be some brilliant idea when it was just stupid. if you wanna slap me or-"

connor's lengthy apology was cut off by your giggles, which rapidly crescendoed into full blown laughter. you reached out with your hand, using his arm to stabilize yourself as you laughed, bent at the hips as your whole body shook. and he couldn't help but think that he'd never hear a more ethereal sound. the gods could sing him to sleep every night and it'd still never match the heavenly giggles that floated from your mouth.

"i- i'm sorry but- of course this would happen to me, of all people, ya know?" you managed to gasp out as your giggles died down, shaking your head with a beaming smile that made connor weak in the knees.

"you're sorry?? i should be the one who's sorry," insisted connor, wringing the button up in his hand before realizing he'd yet to give it to you, "oh! here, to...uh, cover up. that water isn't going anywhere soon."

"hecate cabin?" you asked as you took it from the boy with a gracious nod, tugging the shirt over your over and doing a few of the buttons.

"yeah. that was all travis though," replied connor, darting his eyes away and raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck nervously. he evidently didn't think seeing you in his clothes through completely, as it was doing things to his already rapidly beating heart.

"oh, of course. you'd never do something like that, would you, connor?" you teased, tilting your head at him with a tilted smirk. and connor breathed out, feeling his lungs squeeze to make space for his expanding heart.

"of course not. im an innocent, sweet boy," he joked back, earning him more of those divine laughs. and he realized he'd kill to hear them again. maybe he was more like luke than he thought.

"sweet is definitely something we can both agree on," you mused back, shyly darting your eyes away as a blush settled over your cheeks and your heart hammered against your ribs so hard you were certain the boy could hear it. but if he did, he didn't let on.

"sweet enough for a date?" questioned connor, not sure where the confidence came from, but grateful for it.

"definitely. i gotta return this shirt anyways."

"no, no. keep it. looks better on you anyways."

"careful, connor, i think you might be trying to steal my heart."

"oh, certainly. what kind of son of hermes would i be if i didn't?"

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blackswan446 · 1 month

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Can i request for yan! fae jk who lured the mc towards the fae realm and decided to have kids with her but yeah no smut but just the mc (reader) trying to escape from time to time until she birthed twins

sealed fate.

→ pairing: yan!fae!jjk x reader

→ wc: 2895

→ cws: mc gets knocked out, kidnapping, implied non-con/forced pregnancy

→ notes: ahh another ask! i hope you like it and thank u for requesting :)

m.list

the rain poured down, hitting your hooded head almost painfully. the trees did little to protect you, barely stopping the rain from soaking through the thin fabric of your jacket. it was cold and dark, and no doubt dangerous, but even this was better than staying inside your house for a second longer. anything was better.

the cool raindrops soothed your hot and tear-stained face, and the wind provided some relief from the sweat that had managed to build up on your neck and forehead. though it was odd, you felt a strange sense of comfort when you entered the woods, even during a storm such as this one. this storm was no match for the hurricane that tore through your home, leaving shattered plates and a broken family in its path.

ever since you were a little girl, you felt an odd connection with the woods. you found solace in the trees, with their twisted roots and vibrant leaves, you felt most at home when you were amongst the serenity of the forest. whenever reality became too much for you to handle, you would go and just sit in the woods, and inhale the sweet, woody air of it. you envisioned yourself living here, in a cute little hut, where you drank plant teas and grew flowers and ate delicious soups by a roaring fire.

if you were being honest, the only reason you hadn't ran away to live out your dreams was because of your little sister. she was a tiny thing, only three years old, and you knew that if you left your house, then she would have the weight of your parents constantly fighting on her little shoulders. she would have to face the constant screaming, the blaming, the pain, all by herself. she didn't deserve that, and at her young age, it was likely that she wouldn't live long enough to be able to adapt. she couldn't protect herself from the harm that came to you, and one day, it was bound to be the end of her if you weren't there to protect her.

sure, you could take her with you, but it wasn't that easy. securing a job, a place to live, and staying in school would be impossible with a child to take care of. besides, the world was a dangerous and unforgiving place, and a young girl and her even younger sister would get eaten up by debt and injustice before they could even get their foot in the door. so you were stuck, and as soon as your father stormed out of the house, you knew he wasn't bound to return for days, so you took off for your safe space, just for the evening.

through your vision, obstructed and blurry from tears and rainwater, something caught your eye. it was a flower, a tall, purple flower. it was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and you would probably would have never seen it if the moonlight didn't hit the petals so perfectly. spikey, purple leaves sat in a bunch on the ground. these leaves surrounded the long stem, which had more pointy flowers blooming from it. aside from its unique appearance, there was something different about this flower. perhaps it was because of the alluring colors and remarkable shape, but something about it had you spellbound.

your body acted before your mind, and you felt your legs moving across the muddy ground towards the bewitching blossom, before you could think it through. of course it was beautiful, but there was another side of this. beauty was only skin deep. the flower could be poisonous, even just to the touch. another animal could have its watching eye on it, captivated by its moonlit glow, and might not take kindly to someone approaching it. but nothing was stopping you, nothing was going to stand in the way of it.

as you drew closer to it, you could see the raindrops roll off the velvety petals of the flowers, almost taking the violaceous fluorescence with it into the dirt. kneeling down to get a better look at the enigmatic flora that illuminated the black forest. just as you reached out to take the stem between your fingers, you heard the sound of mushy footsteps behind you. before you could do anything, a powerful force met the back of your head, and the violet radiance in front of you blurred before disappearing completely.

stirring from your state of unconsciousness, you immediately noticed how warm you were. the last thing you remember is being out in the frigid, pouring rain, and stumbling upon an mysterious yet enchanting flower, before everything went dark. as the remnants of oblivion started to wear off, the reality of your situation set in. panic struck in your chest as you sat up hurriedly, kicking off the knit green blanket that laid over your lap.

looking around, the place you were in enticed you almost as much as the flower from earlier had. it looked to be someone's home, and oddly enough, it resembled the same home that you had fantasized about spending your days in, and you couldn't help but feel weirdly comfortable in the unfamiliar place. it was tiny, but you didn't feel physically trapped inside. you were laid down on a small couch, adorned with wooden trim and a floral fabric, with two matching chairs on either side. on the other side of the room, opposite you, was a stone fireplace, which had a fire aflame inside, eating away at logs of wood. various little knick-knacks and clutter collected on the walls, the shelves, and the tiny coffee table, like books, and pictures, and even more plants.

looking at the light that flowed through the thin, white curtains, you could tell it was early morning, when the dew drops gathered on the blades of grass and the birds began to sing their songs. as you went to stand up from the couch, you heard some various shuffling and clinking noises come from another room, and you sank back down into the soft cushions. almost as if you were hiding from whoever or whatever had brought you here. you felt your heartbeat pick up as the sound of footsteps on creaky wood drew closer to you.

"is that you, my flower?"

whipping your head around, you scanned the once-empty room to find the source of the sweet voice. you found it, or rather, you found him. he was tall, much taller than you, and strong, too. his hair was sleek and black, and suited him well. the clothes he wore looked, well..worn. but not in a bad, falling apart way. in fact, they looked like they were high quality and comfortable. a brown leather vest, a soft, white shirt, and loose pants that matched the brown of the leather, hung from his rugged form nicely. he was handsome, his facial features were well proportioned and elegant. he smiled softly at you, and walked over, setting down the two mugs in his hand before sitting next to you.

"here," he said, reaching out an open hand and revealing a strange, vibrantly pink berry, "for your head. i know it hurts." you looked at him, confused, but took the berry from him anyways, fiddling around with it in your hand. "who are you?" you asked, the question coming out quiet and curious. he laughed shortly, shaking his head.

"you're asking me that in my own house?! you're a funny one, angel, i knew i'd like you." he chuckled. you furrowed your eyebrows at him, the questions in your mind growing stronger and louder as you got further away from an answer. "no, i'm serious! who are you, why am i here, what's going on here?!" you demanded, heart pumping frantically as he looked at you, amused.

"first off, my name is jungkook. i would ask your name, but i already know it, and you'll be changing it soon anyways, so i won't bother. besides, i think i'll stick to calling you angel, if that's alright. second-"

"wait, wait." you interjected. "why would i have to change my name? why am i here?!" you repeated, scoffing at the ridiculous words leaving his mouth. "i was getting to that, but then you interrupted me. and if that attitude keeps up, then you are in. for. it. got that, my angel?" he asked, facial expression not matching the sweetness in his voice. you nodded slowly, biting back from asking again what was going on here.

"good girl. now. the reason you're here," he paused, shifting himself to face you, your legs criss-crossed and back against the couch arm, "is because we're getting married, and we're going to start a family. it's that simple. and the reason you-"

"-what?! why the hell would we do that?! i mean-"

without saying a word, jungkook placed his hand on your knee, tightening his grip until you stopped talking. "you didn't already forget what i said, did you, flower?" he asked innocently, looking you in your eyes and smiling again, as if he was asking a simple question. "and the reason you would have to change your name is because it's a human name. human names are much too different than the names we use here. don't worry about it, though, i have plenty of name books if you need help." he finished, taking his hand away from your knee as you sat there, dumbfounded. first, you were trapped in this shed of a house. then you found out this stranger was all of a sudden, just going to marry you and have kids with you. and now, that stranger was suggesting that he wasn't even a human?!

you took a deep breath and blinked slowly. "what do you mean 'a human name'? are you..not..a human?" you asked slowly, nervous to trigger another one of his scoldings. he shook his head. "that's what they all say when they find out. i got lucky, though, it's not all of us that look this good." he answered cockily. "so, what are you then?" you inquired, speaking slowly once again. he sighed thoughtfully, looking around the room as if he would find the answer written on the lines in the green wallpaper.

"to put it shortly, i'm a fae. humans call us fairies, or pixies, and they compare us to tinkerbell. but i have a book that would explain it much better than i ever could. besides, there are more important things we need to do right now." he hinted, raising his eyebrows cheekily. a sick feeling arose in your stomach as you shook your head frantically.

"please, no. i'm too young to have children. i can't stay here. i need to go home, i need to be there." you beseeched, voice going low and desperate. jungkook shook his head. "you don't, though, is the thing. listen to me, [name]. i didn't just grab you randomly from the forest last night. i've been seeing you for years now, i've studied you, i know everything about you. i know why you come here, i know why you're so eager to get out, and i know that you don't really want to leave. don't lie to me, angel. if it weren't for that little, helpless sister of yours back home, you wouldn't be trying so hard to change what was obviously meant to be." he snarked, his voice firm and confident.

"if you know me so well, then you should understand why i can't stay here. she's just a child, for god's sake. she'll get killed if she stays in that house with them." you argued. he shrugged his shoulders unsympathetically, eyes cold and uncaring as you pleaded with him. an idea sparked in your head, a far-fetched one, but it could be the ticket to your escape and your sister's safety.

"what if she lives here with us? she's only three. we can raise her, and that way, she's safe, we're together, and i don't have to have children. that'll work, right? please." you suggested, practically begging as you clasped your hands together in front of you. he gave another thoughtful look, lighting a small fire of hope inside of you, only for it to be set out by the arsonist who started it. "it's a good idea, it really is, angel. you're smart, i like that. but it's a bit late for that. your parents have already been taken care of, and your sister was sent off to safety. nice try, though." he explained, speaking as if he were talking about the weather, so casually and normally.

tears dripped from your eyes, down your cheeks as your breath stuck in your throat. "what are you talking about? where is she?" you asked, barely able to get the words out as you choked on the grim thoughts that dripped their poison all over your mind. "don't worry, flower. like i said, she's safe. she's alive. i promise, she is not going to be stuck with your parents, all by herself. i love you too much to hurt you in that way. your parents, on the other hand..." he trailed off slowly. you knew immediately what had happened, and he knew you figured it out, so instead of continuing the story, he caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tears that dampened them.

"see how everything's falling into place? don't you see that, flower? this is your destiny. this is where you were always going to end up." he asked, looking lovingly into your eyes as he stroked your cheek. "why can't you just accept your fate?"

the various noises of spring filled your ears as you inhaled the clean, fresh air next to the open window. little birds chirping to one another, the rushing water of a nearby stream, and the occasional footsteps of an animal crunching the leaves and grass. the sky was a stunning blue, with perfect white clouds dotting it in all the right places.

you glanced over to the small cot, bedecked with frilly pink lace and a long, white piece of fabric wrapping around the bassinet and cascading down to the floors. the two infants inside were sound asleep, swaddled in pink knit blankets with various little toys sitting around them.

your heart swelled when you looked at them; similar to how it swelled when you looked at the land across the tiny stream, but for all the opposite reasons. when you looked at your children, your heart was warmed and overwhelmed with affection, with pure adoration. but when you looked across the stream, you felt trapped, and disappointed, almost as if the current washed over you and brought a storm of sadness and heartache with it.

of course you had tried to escape, twice, to be exact. the first time, you just made a run for it in the middle of the night. you didn't bother to plan ahead, or be cautious, so it wasn't really a shocker when you tripped on a rock and twisted your ankle. your cries woke jungkook, who came storming out of the house and picked you up by the torso, swinging you over his shoulder as you cried and pleaded with him. luckily for you, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a heavy warning.

the second time didn't turn out as well for you. and like salt in the wound, what made the fallout even worse for you is that you had a plan. you were careful, thorough, and even set up a distraction for jungkook, so you could slip away in the midst of chaos. if only the fire had burned a little brighter. a little hotter. even if it were just a little more powerful, you could be back with your sister where you belonged. but no, the measly flames were too weak to do any real damage to anything. so one pot of water and a missing person in the house led to jungkook catching up with you, just as you were about to cross the stream to freedom.

that time, he didn't play so nice. he threw you down roughly, spat venomous words at you, and did what he thought was necessary to put you in your place and cement you there, with him, forever. despite your prayers, and pleas, and everything in between, your fate was sealed as soon as he kissed you goodnight when he was done.

one baby would've been different. maybe with one baby, you still had a fighting chance to get out. not only was your fate sealed by the touch of his lips to yours, but you knew it, too. and everything fell into place as soon as you laid your eyes on the two babies in front of you. twins. jungkook was overjoyed, of course. and in a way, you were too. they were your children, after all, and all parents loved their children.

well, almost all parents.

sometimes you wondered about your fate. was this really it? even if you had no reason to go running into the woods, even if you had peace at home, is this still where you would end up?

was your one safe space playing against you this whole time?

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #asks

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