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pileofmush · 21 days

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

ft. okkotsu yuuta

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

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

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

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood.

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

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

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

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

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

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

How romantic.

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

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

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

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.”

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that blood?”

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

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

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

“Are you… Are you injured?”

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

“I’m unharmed.”

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

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

“Yuuta,” he interrupts.

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

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

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

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeaaaah. It’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

The dead body lays.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t ask again.

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

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

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

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

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snip.

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have killed him.

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

You're fucked.

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

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…You don’t know if you want to.

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

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scrub, and scrub.

And scrub.

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

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

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

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

It’s disquieting.

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

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

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

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

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

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

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

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

“It’s been a long day, you know—”

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

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

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

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

You look at him.

“Good," he hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin. if u made it this far, ily

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

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margareth-lv · 3 months

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🏳️‍🌈 Every girl needs a gay best friend 🏳️‍🌈

Last week, I wrote a post here about the morbid shyness of a certain music manager.

My text was based on an interview Caitríona gave in mid-February 2018, shortly after her so-called 'engagement' and after she'd just won the Irish IFTA for her work on Outlander.

In the interview, Caitríona talked about how she met her fake fiancé. In the February 2018 version, Caitríona met her PA through one of her best friends.

So I decided to look into the subject of this "best friend" who brought the unfortunate music manager to Caitriona.

What I'm going to write today is, I think, 100% obvious to veterans of the fandom. But for those just starting out, I hope it'll be news. And I, well, I'm somewhere in the middle, between newbie status and more than three years of wading through the facts and the myths.

For me, the fun part has been reconstructing the chronology of events. The dates are interesting.

*** *** ***

The beginning of my story is quite surprising. Because we reach Caitríona's 'best friend' by clicking on a link in an article published in 'People Magazine' on 15 August 2019.

The article is entitled: 'Everything to Know About Caitriona Balfe's Super Private Relationship with Husband Tony McGill' and it tells us that: 'the couple tied the knot in England last weekend'.

😱

What excellent investigative journalists People Magazine have (bravo, bravo!), that in a twelve sentence article they could link to a post from Donal Brophy's Instagram.

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

And look at this description:

"It’s unclear exactly when Balfe and McGill started dating, but the earliest evidence of their romance dates back to 2015, when a friend posted a video of her sitting on his lap at a bar in Ireland on Instagram. (McGill was not tagged and does not appear to have any social media accounts of his own.)"

🤯

Isn't that brilliant work from Starz/TPTB/whatever's PR Dept?

*** **** *** From the above it seems fair to conclude that the 'best friend' who brought Caitriona bad luck in the form of an unfulfilling music manager was Donal Brophy, because who else could it be?

*** *** ***

And now, let's take a quick look at the Instagram post (dated 1 January 2015) linked to the 'People Magazine' article. We all know it, of course! Here is the irrefutable proof of the passion between our two lovebirds: the rhythmic (and how sexy!) patting on the hip.

🥱

Well, hip-slapping is boring (and not at all sexy).

Far less boring, however, is the look on the music manager's face, the look that seeks Donal's approval (tell me I'm patting her well, do tell!). Could it be that, like the People Magazine link, this video was made to show? I wouldn't rule it out.

*** *** *** Now let's talk about dates: the sexy (not 🤢) slap on the hip was posted by Donal with a date of 1 January 2015, but two days earlier, on 30 December 2014, Donal shared another photo on Instagram featuring both the hapless music manager and Caitríona. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Perhaps the decidedly less seductive and sensual appearance of the 'fiancée' in the December photo was the deciding factor in "People Magazine" not publishing a link to it?

Who could know?

*** *** ***

It certainly wasn't love at first sight. The new boyfriend seems rather tired of Caitriona's presence. 😉

I know this is a mischievous conclusion. I am so, so sorry, my friends.

❓

But one thing is for sure: Donal is an old friend of Caitríona.

I haven't done too much in-depth research, but the oldest photo I've been able to find of both Caitríona and Donal is… a photo in a Flickr album belonging to Caitríona's ex-boyfriend, Dave Milone. The photo is dated… 2002.

😨

You get the idea - Caitríona's ex (and real) boyfriend, Dave, Donal, and after many, many years a new 'fiancé'. It feels like my brain is exploding. 🤯🤯🤯

*** *** ***

But back to Donal: I have a feeling that Donal may have been Caitríona's +1 at times when she did not have an official boyfriend.

*** *** *** And let's not forget: Caitríona has a sweet and tender relationship with Donal.

June 2013, Miss you babe!

December 2013, Caitríona on IG:

December 2013, Donal on IG:

April 2014: They even went hiking together in the Scottish Highlands.

I wonder, by the way, who was their mountain guide? Was it an unfortunate music manager? I think not.

I would rather point to someone else, someone who loves (and knows!) the (S)cottish (H)ighlands. But I won't name him.

⛰️🧗🏻‍♂️

*** *** ***

For those who are unfamiliar with the name Donal Brophy, here are a few words about his professional profile:

You know, it works for me: "While in New York, Donal was also known for epic parties. Everything he organized automatically became a “must-attend” event for New York’s most with-it residents."

You know, that kind of vibe (2007):

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

*** *** ***

Had he been Caitríona's false fiancé, it would have been easy for us to believe in the beautiful, loving bond that existed between them. But he was only the messenger of bad news. What wouldn't you do for your best friend?

❓

PS. Unless something has changed, Donal was married to Emrhys Cooper, a British actor, singer, dancer, and filmmaker. Together they run Idyllwild Pictures, an entertainment company.

Taken in July 2023:

[January 23, 2024]

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

Note

Imagine a dream monster like a darling who lives in a world like ours with no monsters but with fictional stories

And their heavily into monsters and get sad that they can't date one till after a break up whenever they sleep a monster is there acting out her fantasies

He could be one set being or change forms to match the dream

And when the reader starts to stay up layer and later for work he kills her in a dream and pulls her to his world or something else idk

😳 I don't know if this was a request, but it became a smutty drabble...

Night Elf (Victor) x female reader

Word Count: 2k

W: kidnapping, drugging sort of, nsfw monster smut, oral and vaginal sex

She’s back, Victor thought, hurrying to his dream crystal. You were asleep again, but it wasn’t your usual time. You spent eight glorious hours with him each night, but it was only afternoon and you were sitting in the pocket universe he’d made so you could interact while you thought you were sleeping. Whenever you fell asleep it automatically brought you there and alerted him you'd arrived.

It was just a small garden he’d imagined with a little pond filled with fish and a bench where you usually sat and talked. He would serve you tea and sometimes you would play card games.

He frowned when he saw you. Your face was all puffy and streaked with tears.

“What’s wrong (Y/N)?”

You sniffled. Even in this beautiful little garden Victor had made for you, the sadness of your waking life followed you. You’d laid down for a nap, unwilling to be conscious anymore. Since you’d been dreaming about Victor the temptation to sleep longer came more often. A nap was an excuse to escape to your dream world with this dream friend you’d conjured.

He’d just appeared one night in your mind, smiling at you and offering you tea in a garden. Every night after that he appeared again and again. You talked about many things, but mostly your life and troubles. He was fascinated with every little detail of your world and only talked briefly about his.

You knew you had imagined him because he was exactly the sort you would go for, not a man at all, looking more like one of the monsters from one of your many romance novels. He was enormous and strong, calling himself a night elf, with pointy ears and deep blue skin.

His long black hair fell down his back and he let you braid it for him sometimes. His teeth were large and pointy, a bit too big for his mouth and a few of them stuck out at odd angles. If only handsome glowing, blue-eyed night elves existed in the real world.

Instead, the real world was populated with human men like Drake. The human man who’d spent the morning explaining to you why you weren’t worthy enough to be his girlfriend over Facetime with a half naked bottle blonde bitch giggling in the background.

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” you whined, pathetically, tears slipping down your cheeks.

He was your dream friend, you didn’t have to put on airs for him. Sliding onto the bench next to you he pulled you into his lap and carded your hair with his claws.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he cooed, his ears perking up.

You’d talked about your boyfriend before. How much you’d loved him and that you thought you were going to get married. Victor had been insanely jealous. He’d listen to you go on about him until he couldn’t stand it anymore with morbid curiosity. He wanted to know what sort of men you liked, but he wasn’t at all impressed with whatever his name was.

You should be worshiped like a queen. In fact, if he brought you to his world, he could make you a queen. No one would ever talk down to you again. They would crawl at your feet and he could shower you with pretty things and beautiful vacations. The land of Fairy, where he ruled the Realm of Twilight was far more beautiful than the human world. He could show you things beyond your imagination.

But how to lure you into his world? You shuddered in his arms, sobbing.

“He said I’m plain and boring,” you wailed, “do you think that’s true?”

With you looking up at him with big wet eyes, he had to hold himself back from laughing in your face. You were the farthest thing from plain and boring he’d ever seen in his very long life. He schooled his expression and shook his head, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You are as lovely as a rose,” he said.

You pouted.

“I don’t understand it,” you hummed, curling into his chest and absently wiping your tears on his shirt.

It pleased him how easily you trusted him. You practically ate from his hand. He knew it was because you didn’t believe he was real, you thought he was a dream. He’d used a spell to find his mate and it had shown him you.

Since then, he’d completed a quest to find the dream crystal that let him meet with you physically through the aether. When he brought you into this pocket universe, you were no longer in your ratty bed at home, but you still thought you were sleeping under your own roof. You had no idea, but the tea he’d been feeding you every night had an herb in it that was slowly preparing your body to be transferred through the dream crystal to Fairy.

“I can make it better,” he offered, smiling down at you with his jagged smile, “you don’t ever have to feel pain like that again.”

You blinked up at him, the tears clearing from your eyes.

“You can?” you asked.

His clawed thumb drifted over your bottom lip and he nodded, his glowing eyes searching your expression.

“I can take you somewhere else,” he said smoothly, “a beautiful world where everyone adores you.”

You blinked at him and smiled. Your dream man said such silly things.

“That’s kind,” you giggled, “if only that were true.”

He laughed that you didn’t believe him. You would soon, when the spell was complete. He dipped his head to capture your lips and you couldn’t help but sigh with a bit of relief. You needed tenderness and touch, even if it was just a dream.

His fingers laced through your hair, pulling you to him and savoring your flavor. You were a delicious treat, ripe for the picking. The opposite hand drifted down your cheek as he kissed you, tracing the curve of your chin and finding its way down your neck.

Urging him on, you ran your tongue across his bottom lip, your fingers curling into his hard chest. Even though you were sure this was a dream, he smelled and tasted so real, like some kind of foreign spice you didn’t quite recognize but reminded you of cardamom.

There was a delicious thrill as his sharp teeth scraped your tongue when you entered his mouth. He hummed into you, twining his longer tongue with yours.

While he kissed you, he was arranging you on his lap so you were straddling him, your arms immediately going around his neck. It made him happy how simple this was. You already trusted him. You already adored him.

You thought you’d invented him yourself. What more could he ask for in a mate? Utterly in the clouds, he started stripping away your clothes. The sweatshirt you were wearing went first, revealing your creamy skin to him. He breathed in the sweet scent that clung to you, savoring it.

You ground your hips into his, eager for his touch. He was your dream lover. You could do with him what you liked. You didn’t have to pretend or be shy. You stroked his pointy ears and peppered kisses on his sharp jawline.

“Touch me,” you begged, insisting on what you wanted.

He chuckled at you, humming as he ran his nose along the column of your neck.

“Patience, patience (Y/N),” he purred.

He loved saying your name. When you were his queen he would ban anyone else from using it. He’d hoard it for himself like a treasure.

Wiggling you out of your sweatpants, he laid your back against the bench so that he could look at you properly. He thought the threadbare panties you were wearing were cute because they looked so utterly impoverished.

With your wide eyes and cheap clothes, you reminded him of one of the maids from the laundry, and he had to chase away dirty thoughts of dressing you in a maid’s outfit and fucking you in the laundry for his own amusement.

No, from this point on you’d be dressed in expensive, pretty underthings. You whined and he had to stop staring at your bare body underneath him and got to work jerking the ratty bra and panty set off of you.

His mouth watered and his hand immediately drifted from your shoulder down to your breast, cupping it and flicking your nipple with his thumb to watch it harden. Eating you up, his eyes couldn’t decide where to rest.

“Please!” you begged, bucking your hips at him, your pussy already shiny with arousal.

He grinned and leaned down over you to take one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning at your flavor, he circled it and flicked it with his tongue, feeling your legs wrap themselves around his hips.

He had every intention of taking his time with you, wanting your first time together to be memorable, but you were grinding your hips against his chest and the scent of your arousal was perfuming the air. His cock felt like it was going to break out of his pants.

Before he missed the opportunity to taste you, he peeled your legs apart and dropped his head between them, lapping at your lips. He loved the way you tasted, earthy and sweet, parting your folds with his tongue to get more.

Your fingers twined in his hair as you pressed his head between your thighs. He took you up and up and up with his ministrations. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it for your benefit or simply because he was enjoying tasting you, but it didn’t really matter as you came squalling his name.

Unable to hold back any longer, he hurriedly flipped you over on the bench so your face was pressed into the seat, stuffing your sweatshirt under your cheek and hiked up your waist with one hand so your ass was at the right angle for him. His big hand spanned your hips and he held you up like you were nothing, notching his broad cockhead in your slick entrance.

“I’m going to make you mine (Y/N),” he warned you, though you couldn’t have possibly known what he meant by that.

“Please!” you groaned into your sweatshirt.

He smiled to himself as he thrust inside of you, unable to be soft or gentle, taking you with an edge of madness. In your head, this was all exactly as you would have dreamed it. His unhinged passion was exactly what you were missing in your real life. Of course, it could only exist in a dream. You had no idea what he was planning or the gravity of these words.

“Mine!” he groaned, almost foaming at the mouth as his clawed fingertips dug into your hips. You couldn’t do anything but scream and cry as he slammed his big hips into yours over and over again, bottoming out inside of you each time. He was huge, stretching you without mercy. Drool slipped down your lips and tears made your cheeks burn with salt.

Your cunt was needy and sensitive from your earlier orgasm and sucked his cock into you like it was starved, your walls spasming around him. A thick finger found your clit when he was determined to make you squeeze it even more. He wanted to learn to play your body like an instrument, extracting the pleasure he wanted from it.

“That’s it love,” he panted as he worked on you, feeling you were spiraling closer to another orgasm, “give it all to me.”

You couldn’t deny his demand, coming on his cock, his finger still circling your over sensitive clit. The first hint that something was strange came when you started sobbing.

“N-no, n-no,” you whimpered as he kept playing with your little nub, determined to push you into another orgasm before he emptied himself inside of you.

“Shhhh, love,” he purred, “you can do it, (Y/N). Lemme have another one.”

You tried to wriggle away from the stimulation, but his hand held you still and his heavy thrusts into you scattered your thoughts. Soon you were just whining, your eyes squeezed shut as your pussy clamped down on his cock. The orgasm he drew out of you surprised you and you came screaming his name. He roared, filling you with his hot, white seed as you wilted, limp in his arms.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath, however, before you were screaming. It felt like your body was tearing itself apart by the atoms. It wasn’t painful per say, but the sensation was all encompassing, blanking any other thought from your mind.

When you came to, you were still in Victor’s arms, but the air smelled different, sweet, like moonflowers. Your eyes blinked open and the two of you were in a dim, but cozy bedroom. The furniture was odd, not at all like modern designs with clean lines, but instead deeply decorated with reliefs of flowers and…fairies? The walls weren’t drywalled, but were instead bare, black granite covered with lovely tapestries in jewel tones.

“Wh-where am I?” you asked, twisting around to look at Victor, who was looking quite pleased with himself.

“Our bedroom,” he said, smiling at you and pushing a bit of hair out of your face.

“Wh-what?” you asked.

This dream had kind of gone off the rails. He sighed at you.

“You don’t need to live on Earth,” he pouted, “you should be here…with me. You will be here with me.”

You shook your head trying to wake yourself up. This was a dream! Victor wasn’t real! None of this was real! But it all felt very real. You felt his warmth on your skin and your pussy was slightly sore from his size.

“I-I don’t understand,” you murmured, trying to wrap your brain around this. Surely you would wake up soon. He cupped your cheek and searched your eyes.

“In the simplest terms, I stole you from your world and brought you to mine,” he said, smiling.

“But this is a dream…” you said.

He tipped his head and looked thoughtful.

“No my love, it never was,” he said, “every moment I’ve spent with you has been very real. I only needed to bind you to me as my mate so I could pull you into my realm.”

“Y-your m-mate?” you asked.

He grinned at you, but didn’t say anything. Really, there was nothing that needed to be said. There were a million things that could be said, but none of them would change the situation. Whatever the spell was or however long he had been planning this, while all legitimate questions you had in your mind, the answers wouldn’t take you back home.

“S-so, I didn’t make you up?” that seemed to be the most important thing to understand. Was Victor real?

“No, (Y/N),” he chuckled, “I’ve lived much, much longer than you and all that time searched for my mate. Can you imagine how surprised I was when I found her in the human realm? I came to your dreams to get to know you.”

Your eyes got big.

“You tricked me,” you pointed out.

He just looked at you mischievously and shrugged. Not really able to completely process what was happening, freshly fucked and still high on cum you looked around the room.

“So…do you have any food here?” you asked and he laughed.

“Yes, love,” he said, “I shall feed you!”

Satisfied with that answer, you let him wrap you in a blanket and carry you deeper into his castle.

#monster smut #x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster mate #yandere smut #yandere male #yandere monster #yandere x reader

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onceuponapuffin · 5 days

Text

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?��

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

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ladyluscinia · 5 months

Text

I know my last experience with a season ending on a note everyone hated and unanimously tore to fucking shreds for destroying the story on every level was... atypical. Lockdown. 6 month mass hysteria at minimum. Conspiracy theories that were, like, real things we had on camera. There was a Twitter wedding. Creative fervor that broke 100k fics on AO3.

Like. I know this is not a rational point of comparison and I'm not going to expect anything in my lifetime to match it 🤣

But.

If that was the highest high of post-season fandom engagement built on a cocktail of tasting everything you ever wanted AND the absolutely lethal levels of spite and swearing to eat showrunners' hearts in the marketplace, then whatever the fuck is going on after OFMD S2 is the opposite of that.

OFMD S1 was a huge fandom explosion. One silly little streaming show that had a gay kiss and then it skyrocketed. Fic numbers were soaring, high activity fic and meta engagement lasted for at least four months, it was constantly trending and flooding the dash... Like, fucking hell, over a year and a half after the immediate finale fervor it beat Stucky in the top ships bracket?!? To the point I was willing to give it what felt like due credit toward its potential as a future juggernaut ship. Not guaranteed, of course, but the potential was there.

In that context, new content should be a blow out party. Which it kinda was pulling off as it was airing, but looking back now? Not even quite a month later?

The effect of S2 on the fandom is like... a blip. Possibly over already.

New fic numbers started dropping off the moment the finale aired and have returned to deep hiatus levels. It's dropped off trending and streaming leaderboards... I'm very curious to see the first tumblr Week in Review since the finale, though we're still waiting due to the holiday.

Like, I've even popped on to scroll a few Izzy hater blogs that I know loved the finale out of morbid curiosity what they were up to, and I'm telling you... if I hadn't just watched the new season I'd think they were still over a year into hiatus. Saw some standard bitching about the izcourse / Edward takes (aka the one thing that kept them going all hiatus), they're currently passing around posts mocking one specific long OFMD version of TJLC I'm just hearing of, the same BTS gifsets everyone else is thrilled by... But barely any new meta or discussions. There's like 2 people posting actual analysis of S2 that's getting reblogged and they aren't even names I recognize from the hiatus. Nor is it particularly interesting to read. 🤷‍♀️

In July of 2022 I could pop onto a random OFMD blog and scroll through a dozen enthusiastic Stede or BlackBonnet metas about jacket colors or that moth from 1x07 or lighthouse symbolism or whatever. Now the new stuff has the same energy as posts from June 2023. It's borderline dead. And this is what it's like when there's an active campaign to engage fandom and Renew as a Crew?

(I will say fanartists are bringing some energy and there's some lovely pieces being passed around, which I do think the Renew as a Crew campaign is helping to boost?)

Even the hundreds of people saying it was a beautiful season and they loved it so much don't seem to be finding it a very engaging or inspiring season.

It's such a turn, like, what the fuck.

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd critical #fandom culture #i was counting on this season to still having me engaged in analysis come *january* and THAT'S not going to pan out obviously #but what the fuck #i'm turning over stones like 'surely the excited fandom is hiding here' and then it's 3 bugs with an anti-izzy pamphlet #like if people weren't trying to process their dislike of the finale then half this fandom's new content wouldn't exist #and that's not promising for the long run 👀👀👀#ladyluscinia

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lostcybertronian · 6 months

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On a less morbid note, I just saw FNAF earlier tonight, and I have One Big Thought:

SPOILERS

The kids that Afton murdered were all from the restaurant. Why was he at a random ass campground in Nebraska stealing Mike’s brother????

The movie makes a half hearted attempt at implying that he did that before the restaurant, and gave Vanessa Garrett’s plane. You could make a loose assumption that he started the restaurant in order to gain easier access to children other than rural campgrounds, also implying he did this to other kids if you traveled a little further down this rabbit hole (haha rabbit pun). But beyond this? There’s really no explanation for why Afton was at the campground prowling for children.

I think it would have made for a better story if Mike’s brother Garrett going missing and the kids going missing from the restaurant were unrelated. There’s already some pretty heavy-handed symbolism here, a pretty direct bridge between Garrett and these five kids and, by extension, Abby. Defeating Springtrap would serve as a metaphorical closure for failing to find who took Garrett and choosing Abby over his past would symbolize Mike’s choosing to move on and let go of his grief and guilt.

#five nights at freddy's #five nights at Freddy’s movie #FNAF #FNAF movie #film analysis #FNAF movie spoilers #lostandwandering

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bellezaycafe · 4 months

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Get Your Shit Together - Extra; a section of a DTS Episode.

Masterlist | Part 1

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: there will be romance but I haven't finalised who yet. platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: lots swearing, major car accident, mentions of broken bones, blood and hospitals. A lot of shit happens.

context: Sadie, a 20 year old university student from Melbourne, decided to take a gap year and volunteer at 2 Formula One races in different countries.

Sadie's Faceclaim: Maia Mitchell (but you can visualise her however you want :) )

comments: READ CHAPTER FOUR BEFORE READING THIS. This is an extra and is not actually thaaaat vital to the story. I just know if this happened irl, DTS would 100% make an entire episode on it. This is gonna be so strange to write because DTS is a visual format but imma try for the cool perspective. You’re gonna need a good imagination.

*Drive to Survive theme and intro*

WILL BUXTON: Silverstone, the home of formula one.

LANDO NORRIS: It’s one of my favourite tracks, I love the support we get there.

BUXTON: Our hearts were in our mouths, in 2024. The title fight was ramping up!

CHARLES LECLERC: It was close.

CARLOS SAINZ: We were fighting, but it was horrific race.

BUXTON: It ended in shambles.

OSCAR PIASTRI: I mean, I was out in lap, 5 I think, it might’ve been 6.

BUXTON: No one expected five DNF’s.

LEWIS HAMILTON: I don’t know how it happened.

BUXTON: Let alone Lando’s accident.

NORRIS: I don’t remember much.

BUXTON: or the Mystery Medic.

*dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It was incredible, in a morbid way.

NORRIS: I was panicking

*onboard footage of moments after the crash, with radio subtitles*

NORRIS *onboard radio*: MY ANKLE, **** MY FOOT!

BUXTON: First, they catch Lando as he falls from the halo. He is in pain, and at one point you can hear him scream.

*onboard footage of the Mystery Medic catching Lando as he falls from the halo*

NORRIS: I knew it was my ankle or my foot. I’d never been in so much pain.

BUXTON: The medic starts to, essentially drag, Lando towards a safe section of the barrier. We could see that it was bad. We could see how much was relying on them and leaning on them, considering that he was taller than the medic.

PIASTRI: We could see that he wasn’t even letting it touch the ground.

NORRIS: “Keep it off the ground,” they told me. They didn’t have to, I was in too much pain anyway.

BUXTON: Then Sergio Perez approaches the accident.

TOTO WOLFF: There was debris everywhere, McLaren and Mercedes.

SERGIO PEREZ: I still do not know how I did not see it.

NORRIS: I didn’t know until I was on a stretcher.

BUXTON: You can see, if you watch the replay you can see, the moment the Mystery Medic hears Checo’s car.

*footage of the Mystery Medic turning their head towards the track*

BUXTON: Put the moment into slow motion, and you can see them make the choice.

*footage of the Mystery Medic putting both hands on Lando’s waist and switching to his right side*

BUXTON: To put yourself between a driver and a Formula One car? That’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

HAMILTON: Brave.

WOLFF: Stupid.

BUXTON: Either way, I don’t think Drive to Survive can show what happened.

*footage of Perez’s Red Bull striking black and papaya debris*

BUXTON: The medic barely stumbled.

NORRIS: If I hadn’t have seen it afterwards, I wouldn’t have known. I don’t remember it happening.

BUXTON: It was horrifying! They were walking, and almost carrying Lando, with a piece of debris in their thigh.

NORRIS: I’ve watched the replay. It was headed straight for me.

BUXTON: Watching it live was… it was awful! But you couldn’t look away.

*footage of everyone in the McLaren garage watching screens with various expressions of terror*

BUXTON: You had to know if they were going to make it.

NORRIS: They saved my life. Racing is my life, and if that debris had hit my leg? We don’t know what damage it could have done.

BUXTON: But there’s a reason we call them the Mystery Medic, and it may be a feat just as incredible. They did the impossible.

*seperate shots of Sir Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen placed side by side*

BUXTON: Lewis and Max worked together. They put their rivalry aside and worked together to keep the Mystery Medic a secret and we have no idea why.

MAX VERSTAPPEN and HAMILTON *in unison*: I’m not going to comment on that.

BUXTON: We don’t know their name. We don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or how they’re doing now.

*another dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It’s like they never existed.

#f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #lando norris #f1 x oc #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #will buxton

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italiansteebie · 1 year

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also on ao3

Gareth has been watching Steve Harrington.

It was almost surreal the way he fell from the hierarchy everyone put so much importance on. It was like he ruled the school, and as soon as someone stepped up to challenge it, he gave it up like he didn’t want it in the first place. Gareth begins to wonder if he chose it, or if it was thrust upon him.

He finds out how right he was when Eddie gets accused of murder.

He’d been at home watching the news with his mom when Eddie’s face popped up on the screen. “Oh shit,” “Gareth!” His mother scolded. “Oh- Sorry mom, that’s Eddie!” He said, exasperated and a little nervous. He knew Eddie was strange, but what the hell did he do to get accused of murdering a cheerleader? “Your friend Eddie? He’s a sweet boy, he couldn't do that.” His mother soothed. And she was right, but for the next five days Eddie was radio silent while the earth split apart and ash rained from the sky.

He paced every day by the phone waiting for Eddie to call and tell him something. Anything. Waiting for Wayne to call him and tell him the funeral date, or the court date to testify against the charges but it never came. Instead, he got a call from a guy sounding right around his age, and when he listened closer the voice identified itself as one Steve Harrington, who’d gotten his number off Dustin Henderson, one of Eddie’s “Sheep.”

Eddie was in the hospital, he wasn’t okay, but he was alive, and as much as Gareth wanted to see Eddie, ask him what the hell happened, and slap him silly, he couldn’t help the morbid curiosity that came with Steve Harrington being mixed up in all of this. Was he the one who killed Chrissy? No. No way. Steve can’t even throw a punch, he’s seen him try.

He got to the hospital, seeing Steve sitting in the lobby, head in his hands and a bright red ring around his neck. There was a girl next to him, rubbing his back, and when Gareth looked closer, he discovered that it was Robin from band. He snorted, he didn’t think Steve was anywhere near Robin’s type but… Well, he’s been wrong before.

Dustin was sitting across from them, looking a bit more put together, and he wondered how long they’d been sitting in the lobby, and if Steve had gone home. Dustin’s eyes meet his, and he waves him over. “Hey, Gareth. Uh. I had Steve call you. I figured you’d want to see Eddie?” He posed it as if he was unsure, the more kid looked exhausted and wondered what possibly could have happened between the murder acquisition and the earthquake that got this odd group of people strung together. The three here seemed comfortable with each other, and the morbid curiosity returned. What was King Steve doing with these people? Not that there was anything wrong with them, it was just so… Different. Gareth realizes he’d been just kind of idling, so he shook himself from his thoughts, “Uhm, yeah. Is he okay? What happened?” He stuttered out nervously. The two boys made eye contact from their adjacent plastic chairs, seemingly having a silent conversation.

Steve gave him a sharp nod before standing, “Dust, stay here with Robs. Wayne should be here soon and you can bring him back to Eddie’s room, kay? Rob, feel free to go to Max or Eddie’s room.” He looked at Gareth, studying him, before waving a hand as to say “follow me.”

Gareth followed hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at Robin and Dustin who were watching them right back. Steve led them silently to a room before stopping at the door. “Look, Gareth. We don't… We don’t know each other and what I’m about to tell you is going to be hard to swallow, but per the request of Eddie, I will explain, please.” Steve’s voice wavered and broke before he continued. “Please, don’t ask any questions until I’m done and I am begging you, don’t share this with anyone who doesn't enter this room, okay?” Gareth swallowed thickly, no matter what, Steve was intimidating, so he nodded, and listened as the other boy launched into the story. Starting with little Will Byers, who came back from the dead.

By the end of it, Gareth was a little more than shell shocked, and the exhausted look on Steve’s face told him that he didn’t really have a choice except to believe him, somehow it made sense. He uttered a simple, “Okay.” And that was that.

“Eddie’s in rough shape but he is okay, just so you know. I’ll… Wait out here til you guys are done…” Steve said before pushing the door open for him. “Gareth, my main man. Thanks for briefing him, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice came out croaking and dry, and out of the corner of his eye he could see a faint blush spreading across Steve’s face at the nickname. Huh. The door shut, “Stevie?”

“Oh, shut up Gareth. That’s what you’re focused on? I'm in a hospital bed.”

Gareth rolled his eyes, “You’re sitting up and calling King Steve ‘Stevie.” He scoffed, to which Eddie rolled his eyes. “He’s… Not that bad anymore, in fact he might be… Really, really good.” The soft voice and the fond look on Eddie’s face made Gareth squeal. But y’know, a manly squeal. “EDDIE OH MY GOD.” Eddie ducked his head, they both flinched at the door swinging open. “What’s wrong? I heard screaming. Is everything okay?” Steve rambled out, softening when he realized everything was still in order. “S-sorry, I’ll” He stuttered out, shoving his thumb back towards the door. “Stevie, c’mere sweetheart.” Eddie said, patting the side of his bed, scooching over to make room for him.

Steve sat, grabbing Eddie’s hand, eyes flicking over to Gareths occasionally. “It’s okay, Stevie. He’s my best friend, he knows. Well, not about… He knows I like boys, kay?” Eddie raises their clasped hands, planting a soft kiss on Steve’s knuckles. He turns to Gareth, “It’s new. But… It’s good. Really good.” Gareth smiled at this, before fake gagging at the cuteness, they were going to be insufferable weren’t they?

It wasn’t until a few months later that Gareth really found out the backstory behind King Steve. It was a more depressing story than he’d thought it would be.

They’d been playing DnD in Steve’s basement, after he’d allowed them to set up shop there every week for their campaigns claiming “No one ever uses it anyways,” with a shrug. There was a twinkle of something sad in Steve’s eye but he didn’t pay much attention to it. It wasn’t until later in the game that it all came to a front.

Eddie introduced a new NPC, quite obviously based on Steve, and most of them took it well. They were happy for the two and their new found love, but Eric, apparently, had a grudge stronger than a demogorgon.

“Knight Steviengton? Seriously? That lumps not a Knight. What’s he ever done?” Eric scoffed, Eddie began to reply before Eric cut him off, voice coming out sharp. “More like ‘Useless King Steve who’s only worth his parents money.’” Eddie’s head whipped around at the sound of the basement door closing, Steve disappearing from his spot on the couch where he watches the story unfold and takes notes so they remember where they left off.

Eddie might as well have cast Eric out with the look in his eyes, everyone watched as the guy sunk back into his seat as Eddie sauntered over to him, a dark look in his eyes. “Tell me, Eric. Do you like having me as a DM?” Eric spluttered, a weak “yeah,” coming out eventually. “Okay. Good, good. Now tell me. If you like me so much, why would you curse the most important person in my life? The person who saved my life?”

“He’s- He’s just… King Steve…” Was the meak answer that left Eric's lips. “Did he ever do anything to you?” It was silent. Eddie slammed his hands on the table, “No. He didn’t. Because he would NEVER stoop so low as to put his hands on another person. In fact, I explicitly remember him telling Tommy H. to back off, don’t you?” His voice was loud and aggressive.

“You know, he tries so hard, to make up for the asshole he was in high school, and you fucking… TURDS, won’t accept anything! It’s not his fault he was basically bred specifically to be a reincarnation of his god awful father. And now that he’s finally out of their control, because they basically disowned him after the earthquake, leaving nothing but this god forsaken house!” Eddie paused, breathing heavily, “You can’t forgive him? He saved my life.” His voice was soft at that moment, before his eyes returned to their fiery state. “And I am in love with him, and if that’s not good enough for you? You can get the fuck out of HIS house, and find yourself a new goddamn DM.”

There was no response from Eric, “Whatever, session over. Goodbye.” Eddie waved a hand before going upstairs, likely to check on Steve.

Gareth looked at Eric, “Not cool, man. Steve’s a pretty good guy when you get to know him.” He shook his head before standing up, moving to grab his stuff and leave. Jeff nodded in agreement, “I mean, he lets us use his basement, and eat his food, and he keeps it clean for us… Dick move, Eric.”

“Well. Fine. I’ll just leave then! Since you guys are all up King Steve’s ass for NO REASON.” Gareth watched the outburst with his arms crossed, unimpressed, “Well. Go on then.” He said, motioning to the door.

“This is ridiculous!” Eric threw his arms up and stormed out of the house.

The rest of the group trickled out after that, leaving Gareth alone in the house. He crept up the stairs, finding Steve’s room before knocking gently. “Come in,” He heard Eddie say from the other side. Seeing Steve Harrington cry was something he’d never expected to see, and honestly it was kind of heart breaking. “Hey, Gare.” Eddie said, combing a hand through Steve’s hair.

“I just… Wanted to say that what Eric said wasn’t cool… And the rest of us don’t agree with him at all, we all think you’re like super cool, and good for Eddie. I mean, you’re the only one who can get him to eat vegetables!” Gareth said, voice lifting at the end. This rendered a tearful laugh from Steve. “Thanks Gareth. I really try to be… better than I was.”

“You are,” The assure came from both Eddie and Gareth with such finality that it didn’t give him any room to argue. This rendered another soft laugh from Steve. Wiping his eyes “Feel free to crash here, we’ve got enough rooms, and food, o-or whatever.” It came out awkward, and hopeful. Gareth nodded, letting a smile spread across his face, “Thanks, Steve. I’ll take you up on that. Good night, guys.”

He shut the door softly behind him, venturing to one of the guest rooms that lined the halls.

Steve Harrington could use some more friends, Gareth decided at that moment, he was going to be one of them.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #autistic steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harringtons parents #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #soft steddie #steve harrington centric #soft eddie munson #protective eddie munson #best friend gareth #hellfire club #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fix it fic #steve gets taken care of

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meyousing · 1 year

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ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬, ℌ𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔏𝔬𝔰𝔰

𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱: chrollo x pregnant!kurta reader + prompts 12. “haven’t you realized your situation? your life is completely in my hands now.” and 16. "i'll destroy anyone that gets in my way, anyone that tries to get in between us."

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: a one-night stand between you and chrollo ends up becoming much more, something that you never would have thought could cost you the cozy life you had made in your village alongside your clan.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: yandere chrollo x reader, manipulation/deception, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of nsfw, kidnapping, blood/murder (aka the kurta massacre). this story is a little more morbid than my other work, you have been warned. i will add a cut for when things become more intense :)

You didn't even know it yourself. It was another clan member’s nen ability that informed you of the life growing inside of you–just as theirs ended. The feeling of their bruising grip on your hand letting up ever so slowly as their soul faded away, their last words being something so heavy and bearing so much that you had no choice but to believe them. You knew that you had made a mistake.

Hiding your face in an attempt to cover up your ever-deepening blush, you turned away from the dark-haired man on his back beside you and sat up, reaching down to pull your cloak off of the floor and begin dressing back up. You felt so embarrassed even after the act was done, this having been your first time–not to mention doing it with a man so charming and seemingly infatuated with you, it was something that you didn’t think you could ever get over. Perhaps you were in a state of shock, did this really just happen? Based on the pleasant but sore sensation between your legs, you didn’t have to pretend.

It happened on a whim, you had been sent into town by the Clan Elder to buy some extra food from the markets, as this gardening season was off to a slow start and there weren’t enough vegetables to sustain everyone. While at the market you were scanning over various fruits, trying to gauge which ones were new and which were beginning to rot so you could pick the right ones to last you all longer.

He approached quietly, sneaking up from behind and asking for your opinion on the produce he had selected since you looked like you knew what you were doing. With a smile and an apology (since his sudden voice by your ear had caught you off guard, making you physically jump which then startled him), you were more than happy to help. Somehow, in a whirlwind, one thing led to another and you were following him back to his apartment rather quickly after your meeting, groceries long forgotten.

“When will I be seeing you again?” he asked, voice husky as he sat up behind you and reached for your hand. He peppered soft kisses along your knuckles, raising chills upon your skin when his lips worked all the way up your arm and to your bare shoulder. You shivered, leaning into him as he pressed against your neck.

“I don’t know…” your sentence tapered off, a bit too overwhelmed by his warm affections and the clarity of your actions now that they were finished and you had time to reminisce with a clearer mind.

You had somewhat of a lover back in the village, someone you would exchange coy glances with and speak a handful of sweet conversations when the timing was appropriate, away from peeking eyes that would immediately declare your marriage if they caught a glimpse of anything. You knew that you wanted to save yourself for him, but there was just something so irresistible about this stranger, it almost felt like you didn’t have any control of your body when you consented to his advances. You couldn’t even give a definite yes or no to coming back and seeing him again, you were just so confused. Had you just committed adultery? And enjoyed it? Were you going to come back?!

The idea of that put a bitter taste in your mouth. How sickening, how morally unacceptable. With a wince you stood up from beneath the sheets and pulled your clothes back on quickly, ignoring the sticky sensation starting to drip down your thighs even as you pulled your panties back on, moving the substance back up your leg once more.

“What’s the rush?” he asked, leaning back on his hands and watching you casually, even though you were sure that your urgency was obvious, and there was clearly nothing to be so casual about. You turned to look at him and noticed that the sheet covering his lower half had lowered even further since you stood, making you whip your head right back around with a more crimson complexion than the one you had moments ago.

“I… have to go take care of something at home. They’ll be worried about me, I said I wouldn’t take long in the city” pushing the last button through your shirt and pulling your cloak on once and for all, you brushed yourself off and rushed to the door.

“Just a minute,” he requested, sitting up a little taller and readjusting the sheet to cover a little more of himself. Thank god. You stopped and spun around with hesitance, waiting for whatever he was about to say with shaky hands that were just itching to pry the door open so you could run out of there.

“If you’re willing to take a longer route, there’s a path that runs on the edge of the city right by the stall where we met. It’s likely to lead you back home, and there’s a beautiful view there that you cannot miss out on. It should be on the left, you’ll know it when you see it.”

Your lips twitched upward and he mirrored it, the anticipation of seeing something peaceful in the near future relieved your nerves a little bit. You thanked him, and without another moment to spare you dashed away from that room and out of the apartment building as fast as your legs could carry you.

What had you just done?! You and that boy from the village were not yet tied together by marriage, but you had a definite emotional connection that would have certainly made it feel like cheating if you were to flirt with another man, let alone sleep with one. Your skin felt itchy and dirty, and the way that your underwear was keeping physical evidence of your copulation filled you with pure guilt. You tried to calm yourself down, walking fast so you could get home as soon as possible and wash your body until your skin was rubbed raw. And how would you explain the lack of groceries you were bringing back?!

One thing after another, it continued to get worse. You were now an adulterer who couldn’t even do one thing right and actually bring home the food you were assigned to get. You couldn’t fulfill the only purpose of this trip because you had to act upon a selfish impulse that came over you out of nowhere. One that was sudden and out of your control, but felt that if you did not act upon it you would simply explode, and how perfect that such an attractive stranger was there to care for your needs.

You shook your head when that thought crept in, shaming yourself and looking up to the landscape before you for a distraction. Your eyes scanned around eagerly, and after a brief few seconds of strenuous searching, you noticed a small, rocky path near the fruit stall. The one that the man had mentioned to you.

The anticipation of seeing something peaceful in the near future relieved your nerves a little bit.

Ah, perfect. That would be sure to calm you down if he was being honest about the view, and wasn’t just saying that to mess with you in an attempt to delay your trip so you would spend more time with him. You knew your way back home very well since you travelled to the city a lot, you knew that even if this path did not lead back to the village you could easily find your way back so long as you continued walking north. Your mind was set.

Trekking down the road, you began to take deep breaths as all of the unease bubbling up inside of you was becoming unbearable, alongside another nervous feeling that you couldn’t place. You felt entirely unnerved, not quite like you were being watched, but like something very bad was about to happen and take the cake for being the worst part of this already awful day. Perhaps it was just caused by the unfamiliar route home. At the very least, this route may have been longer but was definitely more scenic and a lot quieter than your regular one. You had faith that it would pleasantly surprise you too if there was a hidden and scenic view as that man said.

That man. You had to try harder to get him out of your head. You tried shaking it, rubbing your eyes and temples as if you could physically wash him away if not will him away. You didn’t know how much more anxiety you could take before your heart simply gave up.

You stopped walking, eyelids closing and hands balling into tight fists. Your heart was pattering harshly within your ribcage, pushing achingly against it, so fast.

Calm down.

Allowing your eyes to open again, you inhaled deeply and observed the spot where you chose to halt. Blinking, you followed the back-and-forth blowing of elegant green leaves and swirly plants with their sturdy vines. You happened to look over your left shoulder, and to your surprise, a beautiful display of the sky was visible through a patch in the trees, as if its branches had been carved out for it to be seen. As ethereal as the twinkling stars looked against the deepening blue yonder, you had a hard time enjoying it because of that angsty feeling that was clawing at you.

If you wanted to feel better, you had to stop wasting time and get home. Perhaps finally being back to some familiarity would provide comfort, allow you to reset your mind, and pretend that nothing peculiar even happened today. Soaking in the view one final time, you committed it to memory to act as a soother while you continued on. You started to speedwalk, and the more you did continue on, the more the environment around you changed.

The first thing you noticed was how it was oddly quiet. You knew that you were nearing home because the number of swirly plants had increased, and typically by this point you could hear the distant bustling and soft chatter of your elders. But there was no bustling. There was only pure and utter silence aside from the clop of your shoes against the stones under your feet, and the crunching of the fallen leaves trapped between them.

Something wasn’t right, now you knew that for certain.

Your walk became a run, you didn’t stop and didn’t care about how many bushes or plants you ripped out of the way until you were back to your territory.

You nearly tripped from how quickly you had to stop yourself from continuing on at lightning speed, lest you get too close to the scene before you.

It was all red.

Your eyes started to turn the same colour once they took in and fully analyzed what exactly they were looking at, your limbs became numb, your breath hitched, and bile rose to your throat as you saw the multitude of corpses littered all over your village grounds.

The deceased bodies of the villagers, of your clan members.

“I tried to delay your arrival…what a shame, I really didn’t want you to see this.”

This voice was familiar. You had just heard it not long ago.

Having never moved this fast before, you nearly gave yourself whiplash spinning around to see who was behind you. Any uneducated onlooker would notice your scarlet eyes and assume that they must have been burning, or at the very least were starting to burn, considering just how intense your gaze was and how much that deep red glowed. You were expressionless but your teeth were grit and your jaw was tightly clenched. Who dared to speak to you this way after you had just been witness to such a lachrymose sight?!

“I–you…” you sputtered, eyes widening impossibly and muscles seizing in shock when you realized just who dared.

“Me.” It was spoken softly and quietly, yet it was so loud to you even as the only sound in your ears was the intense thumping of your heart–which felt like it was in your throat.

The man you had just met with. And a silhouette further behind him, a diversely sized clump that was certainly a hidden group of people. A short trail of blood followed their location, starting thick and narrowing off into smaller drips the closer it got to them.

Why was he here, and who were those people?! You had no doubt that they were the cause of this, what was his connection to them? What else did he know if he had “tried to delay your arrival?”

“Y/N…” a frail voice came from your side, far and low and your head lashed down immediately to see the Clan Elder reaching a trembling hand in your direction.

He was still alive.

You wasted no time in scurrying to his side, dropping to your knees, and holding his hand with both of yours. The bloodied, empty sockets where his eyes once were made your blood run cold, and the sight of him shaking his head from side to side as if trying to look for you despite being blinded made you want to cry.

You couldn’t help but think if you had been home sooner… could you have stopped this from happening? Or would you have fallen victim to the massacre as well?

The Elder’s grip on your arm intensified suddenly, making you gasp and wince in pain as he must have been exerting every last bit of life he had into that grasp. A shimmering white aura surrounded his body, flowing through to his hands and lighting up your skin where he was touching. You began to shake from the strength of it all, watching how suddenly he leaned closer to place his mouth by your ear so he could whisper;

“You’re pregnant.”

Then he was gone. You could feel and see it all; the way his nails lifted back out of your skin, fingers unravelling from around your wrist as his limbs slid back down to his sides, lifeless. That surrounding glow was gone too, dimming out slowly until there was nothing left.

It didn’t feel real.

You found yourself leaping away from the sudden hand on your back, scowling at the man from a newly created distance, watching him stand up straight after kneeling down to be at your previous level. Seeing him in such close proximity to your deceased clan made your gut churn, you felt sick. He couldn’t just let you mourn, was he not planning to just rip the bandaid off and admit that he was planning this, that he did this?!

“Haven’t you realized your situation?” He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze was trained intently on the Clan Elder as his hands reached for his pockets. You watched him sharply, none of his movements going unnoticed as you were overwhelmed with the urge to protect everyone around you despite being too late.

“Watch what you say to me next,” you warned. You did not have any formal combat experience, and any threat of violence was empty, but you didn’t doubt what could be granted to you by adrenaline. Your words must have intrigued the man though, he looked over at you with a grin and rotated his body so he was facing you completely.

“Y/N…” he whispered, using your name for the first time since your meeting which made your skin crawl, and he lifted his hands with upward-facing palms as he began to approach.

Backing away from him was instinctive, but you weren’t careful about your steps and lost your footing, falling backward. Landing on your back, the instant cushioning of your fall made you choke because that fall should have hurt and been solid–you should have landed on a cement path, you knew where you had been standing despite the heavy carmine liquid that was soaking into and staining the rock.

You were stuck in your landing place for a moment, the sound of your racing pulse booming through your ears once more as you swallowed dryly and looked to your side, head twitching at a turtle’s pace. You didn’t want to see more of it, you already knew what you landed on and what you would be met with if you looked, but it was too late.

The eyeless, deeply frowning face of your husband-to-be. Dead.

Releasing a shrill cry, you could now feel your entire world crashing down. Despair replaced what was once burning anger inside of you. You couldn’t even fight the man off as he walked over and crouched down, lifting you up to a seated position, embracing you, and twisting your head into his chest to shield your eyes. He shushed you, caressed your hair, and rubbed your back, telling you that it was okay, that you were okay.

He was so, so wrong, he certainly knew it too. The sweetness in his voice sounded false, much too tender in such a horrible situation that it may as well have just been full-on laughter at you.

You heaved and gasped for air, your entire body shaking as you felt so helpless, trapped in the arms of your clan’s definite killer and embracing him atop the mound of dead bodies, bodies that belonged to those who were like family to you. It was blasphemous, but nobody else was here to help you now.

Everyone was gone.

But did you deserve help anyway? You allowed this man to seduce you, to have you in his bed, and take you away from that family for so much time; enough for him to plan a killing spree of them all. This was your fault.

You felt his mouth on your cheek, giving a slow and tender kiss, and his hand came up as he pulled away to drag his thumb along where his lips once were. His voice was by your ear shortly after, and he whispered his next words for only you to hear.

“Your life is completely in my hands now. I’ll destroy anyone that gets in my way, anyone that tries to get in between us. What a powerful family we’ll make together, I’m absolutely thrilled to meet our child."

Another kiss. And another. And one more, on your jaw this time. He was showering you in affection, effectively distracting you as he continued on with kissing, caressing, and embracing you while he stood and held you firmly against him, turning you both back to the path you arrived here on. He was essentially dragging you along like a body bag, you had been paralyzed moments ago once the sight of your deceased lover engrained itself into your memory forever–staying there, looking right at you every time you dared to blink. Your feet picked up remnants of blood as he hauled you along, creating clean lines in the excessive puddles of it where your shoes once were.

What more could you have done? If you had never obeyed your Elder’s wishes and gone to the market, you would not have met this man whose name you still did not know. Your meeting seemed fated; as if he spared you on purpose, and this slaughter was already planned with the intention of leaving you out of it. But why? Would you ever know?

All you could do was accept your fate, any future with the clan was finished, because they were not with you anymore. Your life would have no path without them, so you didn’t mind allowing your clan’s killer to be the dictator of your new life. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he was the father of your child after all, and you were a Kurta. Not all hope was lost.

#✧meyou #✧musinghxhmasterlist #chrollo #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #phantom troupe #hxh #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh chrollo #hunter x hunter x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you

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nishikiyamayuko · 3 months

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Biannual reminder of just how much it sucks that Yuko has no presence in the story whatsoever because Kazama’s whole purpose is to unmoor the audience by starting out as a trustworthy symbol of paternal guidance only to be revealed as a murderer and liar at the very end of his life. And with that reveal in mind, the fact that he paid for Yuko’s medical treatment gets retroactively evolved from a fairly simple act of generosity into something… deeply, insidiously gross and invasive. Especially consider that Nishiki’s whole involvement in the Yakuza started in part because he felt indebted to him because of it, and Yuko & him functioned as Kazama’s surrogate children.

Like oh yeah, Kazama funded all efforts to keep Yuko alive for two decades. After killing her mother and father when she was a baby, without her ever finding out. You think she loved him? You think he loved her?You think she loved the idea of him more than the man, because he became so distant after she got sick? You think she wrestled with the part of herself that understood why he couldn’t visit her more often & the part of her that resented him for not making more of an effort? You think, when he did visit her, she was so glad to have his company but so offput by the fact that he basically saw her as a little girl, since that was when he had the most contact with her?

You think she admired his authority, but felt some twinge of bitterness knowing she could never claim any of that power for herself? You think she listened to Nishiki whine about not feeling wanted by Kazama and had to decide if she was sympathetic or jealous that he even had so many opportunities to be around him? You think either of them came to visit her when she was in comas or unconscious, and she woke up with choppy, distorted memories of their voices at her bedside? You think she cherished those, knowing she wasn’t forgotten? You think being spoken to while unable to respond disturbed her, and she tried her best to forget them?

You think she asked Kazama about her father when she was a little kid, and he dodged the question because it had only been a few years since he killed that man & Yuko is talkative and he just could not stand the possibility that she might start prattling on about her dead dad if he did share any information? You think she asked him about her mother when she got older, became a woman herself? You think he told her what little he knew, because he didn’t emotionally react to her death in the first place, she was just collateral damage & Yuko doesn’t look as much like her anyway, so the conversation feels less brazenly deceptive?

You think he bought her gifts? You think she looked at them and thought of how lavish her funeral would be? You think he got any of her belongings after she died, something small like a hair clip or a well-loved doll, because Nishiki took all the big stuff? You think she had already given him some little trinket long before she passed, because he saw her so rarely that it had the same effect as if she had already been gone? You think that morbid liminality reminded him of how it felt the first time, driving to some quiet part of Kamurocho, knowing you’re going there to end a life? You think she picked up on that unspoken, one-sided significance, maybe wondered why he sometimes seemed tense around her? Did Kazama go to her funeral? Did him and Nishiki talk at it?

And the writers didn’t even think her perspective on that series of events was worth bringing up. Fun!

#kazama shintaro #shintaro kazama #nishikiyama yuko #yuko nishikiyama #nishikiyama akira #akira nishikiyama #oh and technically #Souta

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skinnypaleangryperson · 3 months

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Feeling strange because I'm pretty sure that the next time I sit down to write and work on my stories tomorrow I'm officially going to be done with my 20 million plus or narrative of the BoJack Horseman fanfiction I started writing I think 3 years ago and worked on everyday since, which has been the biggest and most complex spiritual profound in a journey that I think I've ever gone on in my entire life, and I've never discovered so much about myself neither as a creative or as a person until I started writing it after the experience BoJack has a character gave me.

It's strange because an American society if you're just a nobody that's creating things, especially fanfiction, people will either ignore you or insult you, and that goes for literally every platform in existence with no relief from it. I know that the story that I've created will never receive anything but apathy from every person and every community that will ever exist have best, and it deranged morbid insults at worst as has been the case with the entirety of the journey of writing this.

But I'm so happy, and I'm more content and more confident and fulfilled within myself and I've ever been in my entire life, despite the fact that I also feel like I've completely lost my mind from the individuality that I've learned and from the experiences I've had solely from my creativity and the extensions of the worlds I've created.

I know I'm not the only person on here that's creating entire worlds and emotions and feelings only to be completely ignored. It's just the way that things are. I feel like I'm living a completely split identity, one for the people around me (both for real life and online communities), and one for the person that I actually am going the person that I wish that I could be if people cared about it or if people were wired to care about something other than what they've been molded to only care about within the superficiality of the way that people think and are. This goes for both real life and online life, there's no difference, and I'm literally forced to put on a performance between the person that I actually am, a profoundly passionate storyteller, and the person that realizes that those things don't matter to literally anyone on this earth, and having to be able to accept putting on the performance of person people will ever respond to.

It's a profoundly lonely existence, to be a genuine creative person and to write and to create every single day, to have profoundly complex interimagined experiences that cannot be found in officially published consumption. But as lonely and as disorienting as it is I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. Not a single thing. Finding my own inner voice as a creative has changed everything about the way that I view the world and how I navigate the day-to-day life of myself and the people around me. The blackest part about it is that I've developed a disdain for 99% of people because I've realized that they were never care about the true genuine imagination in of who I actually am and I will be forced to put on a mask if I ever want a relationship or a sense of community with anyone, and I'm looking at a very dull disorienting performance of an existence to appease my need for human connection even if it's only fake tolerance at best.

But I can't change the way that people think. I certainly can't change the way that the only respond to things that are officially published for them to consume that they are assumed the only things that are worth paying attention to. If my own family cares more about celebrities and TV shows more than they care about their own daughter's projects, of course I can ever expect a partner, friends, or a community to ever care.

I'll always have my muses themselves, and the profound in our life in and of itself of an experienced, and I will continue to live an entire world that is apparently only for me, that will only exist, as the entirety of my existence has really only been experienced by me in all of its resounding complexity, and magic, and experience and will continue to be so. I will continue to see what nobody else sees, and I will continue to have a rich life for it.

Congratulations to Bojack And His Wife being completed, a 20 million word romantic fantasy philosophical narrative.

#bojack #living in my own personal version of Hollywood here

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shiftingparadise · 1 month

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I don’t know if your busy rn but there is a shortage in FEITAN x readers books and ya girl is dying. I know your inbox is like huge probably but anyways.. IF YOU DO TYSM AND IF YOU DONT TYSM FOR READING ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😻😻😻🥲🥲🫶🫶🫶🫶

Sorry it took so long. I hope you like this :) In this story, Feitan is similar to my others works. So he isn’t particularly very kind in the beginning. I’m working on your requests now, so if you have one don’t be afraid to send me a message or to ask one! Keep in mind that I have a couple left to do, so I’m only asking for some patience :3.

If you enjoy my stories it would be really great if you could buy me a coffee with the link in my bio 😇. HOWEVER DON’T FEEL OBLIGED TO DO SO. I’m only saying this because someone did a week ago and it felt really nice 🥹. I really enjoy writing for you guys either way 🤍✨

PS: I wanted to write another part of this, let me know if I should :)

Warnings: smut and angst.

Word count: 3455

“Be careful, don’t let your heart fool you”, my father took another sip from his coffee, “You’ve got to be sure he isn’t after our money”. “How can you say something like that?”. “I only want what’s best for you. You know that”. “I know him. He would never do anything to hurt me”, you slowly stood up. For some reason, your father’s office never seemed so small before. “Fine”, my father sighed, “Invite him over for dinner”.

You closed your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks as you remembered the conversation with your father. You didn’t know. You really didn’t. How could you know that he was a Spider? That he was only playing a part? Right, in hindsight everything did seem a little fishy. The way he was suddenly there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. Or the way his name didn’t seem to truly ‘fit’ him. Jacob. He didn’t look like a Jacob at all. How could you be this dumb? Life isn’t like the fairytales and you were an idiot to think it could be.

“Where is she?”.

You couldn’t help but shiver. That voice used to be so familiar. So warm and soft.

“Boss told us to keep her in here”, the blonde that stood in front of the door answered. “It’s nice in there, Fei. She has a nice bed and lots of books”, a misguidingly soft voice answered.

The girl seemed so sweet, with her big glasses and her soft eyes. You couldn’t understand how she could be part of a gang like this.

“I don’t care”, Feitan coldly replied before walking past his comrades.

Your stomach started to turn. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to keep your memories clean from any stains; to remember him the way you knew him. Kind and soft-hearted.

“Look at me”. “No”, you softly answered as you kept your gaze locked on the ground. “I said look at me”, his hands roughly grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t want to”, you almost whispered as you tried not to cry. “Look at me”.

You flinched as you felt the tip of his knife against your cheek. The same place he used to kiss you before wishing you goodnight.

You looked up at him with glossy eyes, not daring to say anything. “Are you scared?”, his cold eyes pierced through your skull. “Yes”, you softly agreed while studying his face. He was nothing like the man you used to know.

His facial features were so cold and distant. As if he was frozen in ice for hundreds of years. You couldn’t see half of his face, as it was covered with the coat he was wearing. It was decorated with a skull, making him even more morbid.

“Good”, he roughly pulled away as he lowered his knife to your throat. “Why are you doing this?”, your chin high. “Why?”, he repeated the question while once again lowering his knife. Letting the cold metal rest just beneath your collarbone. Your breathing got heavier as fear’s grip tightened around your body.

You didn’t know he wasn’t the head of this organization, that this wasn’t his plan. To you, he was the man with all the answers. The one who planned this whole scheme.

“If you want money-“, you were cut short by the back of his hand. “Only speak when I tell you to”.

He wasn’t that tall, but the way he hit you made him seem like the devil. Even though you couldn’t see, you knew there was this cruel grin on his face. You could tell by the way his eyes narrowed.

“Too hard”, his thumb grazed over your cheek. “Or you’re just too fragile”, he lowered his collar to lick up the drop of blood on his thumb. “Don’t cry”, he kneeled before you, “We’re going to have a lot more fun than this”. “Fei?”, the sweet-looking girl suddenly stood next to him. “What, Shizuku?”, Feitan sighed before standing up again. “Boss said not to hurt her, remember?”, her finger resting on her lip. “Tsk”, he clicked his tongue before leaving. “Don’t worry”, the girl cheerfully smiled, “We only need some kind of code. I’m sure your father will give it to us soon”. “Code?”, your eyes widened, “H-he won’t give it!”, you hastily got up from the bed you were sitting on. “Huh? He won’t?”, the girl widened her eyes.

You knew your father. He would never risk the nation’s, no the world’s, safety. Not even for his own daughter.

“You’re after the code for the nuclear weapons, right?”. “I guess… I don’t remember to be honest”, she looked down at the ground. “Listen, my father will never give that code. J-just ask our president-“. “But only your father knows that code, since he’s head of security”, the girl happily smiled, causing you to shiver. “Yo, Shizu”, the blonde angrily yelled from the door. “Huh?”, she looked behind her. “Shut up before you tell her our whole plan”. “Oh right”, she giggled before leaving.

——

“Get the girl, Phinks”, Feitan coldly sighed from behind your door.

You tucked your knees even tighter to your chest. You didn’t know what was going to happen. Were they going to kill you? Torture you?

“Get up”, Phinks roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you from the bed. “Let go!”, you tried to struggle, to break free from his grip. “You want me to get Feitan?”, he gritted his teeth. A threat he didn’t have to make twice.

You hastily stopped struggling, now following him into the main room of the abandoned building. The stones underneath your feet felt exceptionally cold, and the nightgown you were wearing didn’t really help to keep you warm.

“She’s freezing”, a voice too soft now greeted your ears, “Put this on her”.

You looked up to a tall figure. His hair was pitch black and there was this kind of cross tattooed on his forehead. He was an exceptionally good-looking man, but somehow his skin was just as cold-looking as Feitan. It didn’t match his kind voice at all.

“Here”, Phinks threw the coat at your feet. “I said put it on”, the dark-haired man smiled, “She can’t put it on when her hands are tied, can she? “Tsk”, the blonde picked up the coat before throwing it over your shoulders.

You scanned the room. There were about 10 people in the room. Some of them just looked evil, but others looked as innocent as a child. Especially a blonde-haired guy with big, green eyes.

“Your father won’t give us the code. Do you-”, the soft voice broke through your thoughts. “Who are you?“.

“Huh?”, you froze in fear as Feitan’s knife was once again pressed to the soft skin of your neck. You didn’t see him move. It felt as if he had just teleported to you.

“Tsk”, his eyes found yours, “How dare you interrupt boss?”. “Come now, Feitan”, the man now walked towards you, stopping before you. Without any warning, his fingers glided over your cheek, “You couldn’t contain yourself before, but you have to now”. Feitan immediately stepped away from you, discontent hidden in his eyes. “Feitan has a hard time holding himself back from… Fun”, the man smiled, “But it seems he did his best with you. I rarely get to see a hostage without any cuts or broken fingers”. “Lucky me”, you sarcastically answered while holding eye contact. “Yes, but keep in mind that luck doesn’t last forever”, he chuckled. “I’m Chrollo. Head of the Spiders”, he walked back to the stairs he was sitting on earlier. “My father isn’t going to give up the code. Not even for me”. “Yes, he made that very clear”, Chrollo replied. “Let me go and I promise my father will give you a generous reward”, your heart racing. “We have more than enough money. Besides, we can’t let you go. You know all of our names. Well… you’ll get to know them”. “What does that mean?”, you took a step back. “Feitan wanted you as a reward during this mission. So whether we’ll get the code or not, you’re not leaving”, Chrollo’s eyes glittered in the dark. “I-I don’t want to”, you started to panic. “Don’t care”, Feitan’s voice was only fuel to your fear. “From now on, you belong to Feitan”, Chrollo signaled Phinks to free your hands. “Keep the coat. I don’t think Feitan cares if you’re cold. You’ll be at least warm that way”, Chrollo spoke as if Feitan wasn’t there. “Right”, Feitan smirked. “At least get her some proper clothing, Fei”, Chrollo coldly looked at his Spider before dismissing everyone.

——

“Here”, Feitan threw a couple of bags on your bed the next day. “Proper clothes”, he leaned against the door.

After Chrollo dismissed everyone, Feitan took you with him to the house he was currently living in. It was a big and luxurious house. It wasn’t really decorated with furniture, only the necessary things like a couch, a dinner table, some paintings on the wall… And the room you were staying in was just as empty. There was a bed, a luxurious bathroom, and a big, walk-in closet that was empty of course.

“Proper clothes?”, your brows pulled together as you pulled a dress out of one of the bags. “This is a Prada dress?”. “I want you to look pretty”, Feitan looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll get you clothes every week. They won’t last long anyway”, his eyes now darted to yours.

Your stomach turned. You could only imagine what he was going to do to you.

“Wear this one for now”, Feitan slowly walked to your bed before handing you another bag. “For dinner. Hired some chef”. “I’m not hungry”, you clenched your jaw. “I don’t care”, he once again grabbed your jaw, “You’ll do as I say. Got it?”, his lips hovering next to your ear. “I’ve been kind until now, haven’t I? I behaved, so you’ll behave too”.

You didn’t answer, you just nodded in response.

“Good. Now put it on”, he leaned back. “N-now?”, you looked up at him with fear in your eyes. “Yes, want to see your body one last time before I have fun with it”. “What do you mean?”, you tried to keep your voice steady. “Put it on”, his cold gaze let you know his patience was running thin.

With shaking hands, you pulled out the nightgown you were wearing from when Feitan kidnapped you. You weren’t wearing anything underneath it, but that didn’t faze you. Feitan had seen your body many times by now. He used to place kisses all over it, making you feel like no one ever had before.

“This one?”, you covered your breasts with your arm. “Yes”, he got closer. You pulled out a beautiful, black dress from the back.

It wasn’t especially short, but it wasn’t long either. The fabric ended just above your knees. It was a tight dress until your belly, where it opened up like a flower. It was a beautiful dress, no doubt about it.

“I’ll close it”, Feitan guided you to a mirror before his hands glided along your waist.

His touch didn’t seem rough at all. It felt just as before.

“You like it?”, he took a step back when he zipped up the dress for you. “Hm”, you nodded in agreement. “Dinner’s at 7”, he cleared his throat before leaving you again.

——

You couldn’t eat. There was this lump in your throat that made it feel like you’d throw up if any kind of food entered your mouth.

“I thought sushi was your favorite”, Feitan was sitting on the other end of the table. “It is”, you hastily picked up some food, fearing what might happen if you didn’t eat. “It’s really good”, your eyes widened.

You didn’t realize how much your body needed some kind of fuel. You didn’t eat for at least 2 days now, and you only realized now how hungry you truly were.

“One of the best sushi chefs”, Feitan looked at the kitchen behind him where the chef was preparing more food. He seemed in distress, probably because Feitan made sure he wouldn’t tell a soul you were with him.

After dinner, Feitan guided you back to your room.

“Can I go to sleep?”, you softly asked as you sat down on your bed. “Sleep?”, he tilted his head, “No, it’s time for me to have some fun”. “Fun?”, your breathing started to fasten. “Fun”, his eyes lit up before roughly grabbing your arm and pulling you to another room.

There was nothing in the room except for a chair and a bed. Without any warning, he threw you on the bed and tied your wrists to it.

“What are you going to do?”, your eyes already glossy. “Whatever I want”, a knife in his hand as he slowly crawled on top of you. “I’ve wanted to take you like this since the first time we met”, his nose taking in the scent of your hair. “You know how hard it is to hold back when you’re this pretty? It was almost hard for me to finish at times because you were so boring… Always begging me to kiss you, to take you slow, … I hated it”.

You didn’t answer. There was nothing for you to say. Even when he showed some kindness earlier, you should’ve prepared yourself for this.

He swiftly cut the straps of your dress with his knife, causing it to slide down just beneath your breasts. “Stay still”, his knife firmly pressed against your throat as he noticed you were starting to kick your legs. “Please”, tears streamed down your cheek as he licked up a drop of your blood. “Don’t worry, you’re going to like this”, he looked into your eyes before cupping your cheek, “I’ll be rough, but I won’t be a monster. I know you’re body and when it’s ready for me. Even though you won’t admit it, I know you’ve been craving my touch. I saw it earlier when you were undressing in front of me… Your legs were rubbing against each other when I zipped up your dress. You only do that when you want me”.

Yes. No. Maybe. You knew he was right. Earlier… You wanted him, but you tried to push those thoughts away as much as you could. He wasn’t the man you knew. He was a psychopath, how could you want someone like him?

“Now, stay still”, his nails dug into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled up your dress with the other. “Feitan, please”, another tear was streaming down your cheek. “Say it. Tell me you want me to stop”, his knee pushed your legs open as his digits hovered over your most sensitive spot. “I’ll stop if you do”, a devilish smirk in his eyes.

But you didn’t want him to. You didn’t care if he was going to be rough, or if he was even going to hurt you. You wanted him.

“See?”, he chuckled at a lack of answer. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’ve never been this wet for me”, he softly bit on your shoulder. You closed your eyes as you were still trying to fight yourself. “I asked you a question”, his hand wrapped around your throat as he bit your shoulder again. Only harder this time. “S-shit”, you cried out in pain. “I’m going to cover you in bitemarks for ignoring my question”, he loosened his grip around your neck while his fingers slowly entered you. “Fuck”, you arched your back as he left bite marks on your body.

You couldn’t deny it any longer. He made you feel good, better than he ever did.

“Tsk”, Feitan frowned when you came undone around his fingers, “Wasn’t expecting you to enjoy this”. “I-I’m not”, you avoided his gaze as your cheeks turned red. “Liar”, he softly hummed while undressing himself.

Your eyes were glued to his body. Now it was clear why he never took off his shirt.

“Who did that to you?”, you quietly whispered as you noticed his scars. For a second, his eyes widened while his lips were slightly parted.

There was this short-lived moment in his mind where he wanted to let you in and where he wanted you to care for him. An unwilling memory of your arms wrapped around him flashed before his eyes.

“Shut up”, his eyes went dark again, “Don’t talk”.

Afraid of being enchanted by your warm voice again, he thought it better not to hear your voice at all.

He didn’t ask if you were ready for him. It was unnecessary. By now, your legs are already wrapped willingly around his waist. “Feitan”, your eyes closed as his forehead was pressed against yours. “Don’t”, Feitan grunted as he got even rougher, “I don’t want you to enjoy this”.

That was a lie. He wanted you to, more than anything. It wasn’t his intention for you to enjoy this, and he surely didn’t want to leave you so perfectly. In his mind, he wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, just as he did with all those before you. That’s what he enjoyed. Torture. Not this. This wasn’t like him, and it made him mad but there was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to hurt you, more so, it would even make him feel bad about himself.

“Sorry”, your lips pressed against each other as a whisper left your chest. “Fuck”, he grunted in agitation.

He didn’t know what to do, but this didn’t feel right.

“Tell me”, he clenched his jaw at the realization of how soft he had gotten for you. “W-what?”, you looked to the side. “Tell me you want me, please”, his eyes were glued to a bitemark he left.

He couldn’t lie. The bruises looked so good on your body, but only because you enjoyed it. If he did something like that while you were crying, begging him to stop…

“I want you, Feitan”, your soft voice melted something inside him as if a fire was lit inside his heart. “Even now? Even when you see who I truly am?”.

“Even now”.

Without thinking twice, he cut the rope that was holding you down.

“Touch me. Like you used to”, he softly grabbed your wrist before placing your hand on the back of his head.

You obeyed as you softly tugged at his dark hair.

“I don’t want to take you slowly like I used to, Y/N”. “You don’t have to”, your legs tightened around his waist.

That was all he needed to hear. Without any hesitation, his lips crashed against yours.

“You feel so good”, your breathing got heavier as you could feel he was getting close. “Yeah?”, his voice low, “Want me to breed you?”. You hastily nodded as you could feel yourself getting closer to your own climax. “Really?”, he chuckled, “You never let me come inside you before. Always crying about being scared to get pregnant”. “P-please Feitan”, you arched your back. “Don’t worry. I’m going to fill you up this time, whether you want me to or not”.

Your legs now started to shake as you came undone around him.

“That’s it. Good girl”, Feitan grabbed your jaw, “Now look at me and beg”. “P-please Fei, want you to come inside me”. “Want me to put a baby in you? Making you mine forever?”. “P-please”.

Feitan couldn’t contain himself any longer. With heavy breaths and low grunts, he let his head rest against your shoulder.

“Never felt so good”, he slowly pulled out, before placing a soft kiss on the bitemark he left on your shoulder. “Hm”, you happily smiled.

He didn’t know why he decided to act cold again. Honestly, he hated himself for it, but there was something inside him. A feeling he never felt before. Was it fear? Was he scared that you were going to leave him? No. You couldn’t leave him. He kidnapped you and you had nowhere to go. It was something else. He knew you weren’t going to leave, but he was scared you were going to hate him for what he did. Or rather, for who he was. You didn’t know the real him.

“Don’t think this will happen again”, he coldly got up, “You won’t enjoy this next time”.

You lowered your eyes as you watched him put on his clothes.

“Can I-“.

“Go to your room and shower. I don’t care what you do for the rest of the night”, he clenched his jaw before leaving you alone.

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