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inkmonster21 · 5 months ago

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I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: parental abuse, emotional exchanges, teasing

05. Against the Rules

The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors slide open, revealing your father and the Game Maker entering the space. Their presence adds a layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere as the elevator becomes somewhat crowded.

Your father's voice cuts through the silence, his curiosity is evident as he looks at you. "And where will you be going?" Your father's tone is a mix of concern and slight annoyance as if he's been waiting to ask this question for a while.

Your response to your father's question is straightforward and confident, mentioning Anderson's efforts to get you into the club. "That club I mentioned. Anderson got me in," you reply, your voice conveying a sense of certainty. There's a subtle confidence in your words as if you're accustomed to navigating such situations.

Your father nods, echoing his appreciation for Anderson. "I like Anderson. He's got a two-year winning streak," he remarks to the Game Maker, a hint of admiration in his words. The Game Maker listens with a subtle nod of recognition, acknowledging Anderson's achievements, “My, that is quite an accomplishment.”

“Where are you going?” As you ask your question, your father's eyes meet yours, a mix of surprise and slight hesitation evident. "We're going out for a while," he responds, his tone carrying a sense of vagueness. It's clear he's not willing to provide a specific purpose or destination, leaving you somewhat in the dark.

Your response is a simple nod, a quiet acknowledgment of his brief and somewhat evasive answer. There's an understanding that your father has his reasons for being vague, and you choose not to push further, respecting his unwillingness to disclose more information.

You step onto the ferry, joining the others on board. The space is filled with white vans, piled with bodies of the unconscious players, the silence of the environment heightened by the knowledge of their unconsciousness. The sound of the waves provides a subtle ambiance as the ferry sets off on its journey towards Seoul.

While you were away, In-Ho, the Frontman, took the opportunity to contemplate you more rationally. His mind is filled with thoughts and calculations, trying to make sense of the enigma that is you. He attempts to analyze your behavior, actions, and interactions, searching for any patterns or clues that might shed light on your true motivations. The silence and solitude allow him to concentrate, his mind working to decipher your next move.

He couldn't deny the undeniable attraction he felt towards you. It was a fact he couldn't dismiss or ignore. His mind replayed your encounters, the way you carried yourself, and the impact you had on him. There was an undeniable allure about you that stirred something within him, making it difficult to shake off his growing interest in you.

The Frontman's contemplation continues, now pondering whether you shared his attraction. Your behavior and actions had led him to believe it might be possible, but the uncertainty and ambiguity surrounding you left him uncertain. Your confidence and boldness made it difficult to decipher, leaving him unsure if your behavior was a genuine reflection of your feelings or simply part of your intriguing persona.

In-Ho acknowledged the potential risks involved. If you didn't share his attraction, and he made a move, it could lead to complications and jeopardize the delicate balance that already existed between you two. The Frontman's cautious nature comes into play, causing him to hesitate and weigh the risks of making a move.

As you confidently walk into the club, your eyes quickly spot Anderson seated at the bar. With a warm smile, you saunter over, leaning against the bar and teasing him. "You know that's not your color," you say, referring to whatever he seemed to be wearing. Your playful tone hints at your easygoing nature, the words leaving your lips with a mix of charm and humor.

Anderson turns his head, recognizing you, and a smile immediately spreads across his face. "I'll have you know, I look great in everything," he responds with a laugh, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of amusement dancing within them. His playful banter matches your tone, as he responds to your comment with a good-natured attitude.

You order a drink and take a seat on the nearby chair, sitting beside Anderson. He engages with a young man, their conversation filled with playful banter and lighthearted flirting. Anderson is at ease, exuding a relaxed and confident demeanor as he effortlessly engages with others in the bar.

As you take a sip from your drink, you can't help but comment, a playful smile playing on your lips. "I see you've made a friend," you remark, your words carrying a hint of humor. There's a subtle satisfaction apparent in your tone, as you observe Anderson's interaction with the young man. Your lips, marked by the imprint of your lipstick, gently brush against the rim of the glass, adding an air of grace and elegance to your movements.

Anderson glances at you, a sly grin dancing on his lips as he asks, "Jealous?" Your comment catches his attention, and he playfully turns his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity as if searching for any subtle signs of jealousy on your face. He awaits your response, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm and a touch of genuine curiosity.

You respond with a dismissive scoff, your words filled with a confident tone. Your eyes meet Anderson's, conveying a clear message of non-attachment. "Not in the slightest," you reply, your voice carrying a mix of sass and self-assurance. There's an undeniable aura of independence and resilience in your demeanor as if jealousy is a foreign concept to you.

As a man approaches you, attempting to engage in conversation, you politely decline, shaking your head gently. "No thank you," you say, your voice carrying a firm but friendly tone, clearly conveying your disinterest. Your straightforward response shuts down the interaction, and the man quickly retreats, sensing your lack of interest.

Anderson bursts into laughter, amused by your cold response to the guy's advances. "You're the coldest bitch I've ever met," he remarks, his voice filled with a mix of humor and disbelief. His comment, however, takes a sharp turn at the end, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “He’s not my type.”

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your response, and he raises an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement evident in his eyes. "He's not your type?" he asks, repeating your words with a hint of disbelief and intrigue. "And just what is your type, then?"

You meet Anderson's gaze, your eyes holding a depth of understanding and vulnerability. "Someone who could understand what I've been through. What we've been through," you admit, your words carrying a mix of pain and vulnerability. The weight of your experiences is evident in your voice, a somber undertone lacing the conversation. Anderson, who knows your past, meets your gaze, a look of compassion and understanding mirrored in his eyes. He listens keenly, feeling the weight of your words and the emotions they carry. Anderson raised his brow. He knew it was just as pointless as you did.

As Anderson reveals the deal with your father, his words hang heavy in the air. "He said if I could get two new players into those games, he'd give me ten grand," he explains, a mix of greed and ambition evident in his tone. The offer, while enticing, carries an element of moral ambiguity, raising ethical questions and sparking a sense of unease.

As you roll your eyes at the mention of the games, your words convey a sense of exhaustion and frustration. "I just got out of that place. Please let me enjoy my time," you plead, your voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and weariness. The memory of the games and their intensity still lingers in your mind, reminding you of the emotional and mental toll they took on you.

Anderson, not ready to let the subject drop, continues to press, his words tinged with curiosity and insistence. "Come on, I'm curious!" he says, his eagerness evident in his tone. He tries to persuade you, attempting to gauge your willingness or reluctance to give in to his request.

Anderson's curiosity remains undiminished, and he presses on, seeking information. "About what happened in the games, of course!" he responds, his tone tinged with intrigue. He leans in, expecting you to share details, eager to know more about your experiences and the challenges you faced.

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your description, and his eyes widen in surprise at the scale of the operation. "It's huge," you begin, a sense of awe and disbelief evident in your voice. "It takes up the entire island. They have over 200 guards, and over 300 players to start. It's impressive." As you share more details, Anderson listens intently, absorbing the information you provide, clearly impressed by the scope and organization of the games.

You go on to describe the unique aspect of the games, explaining, "Everyone besides players wears a mask." The detail catches Anderson's attention, and his eyes narrow slightly as he listens, clearly intrigued by the peculiarity of the situation. He leans in, eager to hear more, his attention fully focused on your words.

The description of the masked participants, including the haunting presence of the Frontman's mask, leaves Anderson intrigued and slightly unnerved, “That’s not super creepy.”

You continue, adding, "The Frontman has this black matte facemask. You can't see his eyes, but... I can feel when he's looking, you know?"

Anderson, ever the joker, can't resist making a sly remark. "Sounds kinda kinky," he quips, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. His words are meant to lighten the mood and provoke a reaction from you, though there's a hint of genuine curiosity behind his comment.

As Anderson's playful remark lingers in the air, the memory of your interactions with the Frontman resurfaces in your mind. The fleeting moments of eye contact, the unspoken exchange of glances, and the subtle undercurrent of tension between you had not gone unnoticed. Despite your attempts to brush it off as harmless, there was a nagging curiosity that gnawed at you. The Frontman's rescue, the offer of his room, and the enigma that surrounded him had slowly and insidiously planted a sense of... well, it was hard to put a name on it.

You continued to drink and laugh with Anderson, the hours passing as you enjoyed each other's company. However, amid the merriment, a familiar presence entered the room, causing a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Your father had arrived, his presence commanding immediate attention.

Your father strides into the room, a commanding presence that immediately captures Anderson's attention. "Mr. (L/N), it's a pleasure!" Anderson stands up, greeting your father with a practiced smile, a touch of respect evident in his tone. Your father embraces Anderson in a friendly gesture, "You look good, son," he remarks, a mix of familiarity and affection present in his voice. The two men exchange warm greetings, and your father takes a seat, his eyes roaming the room, assessing the situation.

Your father's gaze falls upon you, and he asks, "Had enough?" There's a hint of disgust and a subtle reminder of expectations in his words, making it clear that he's scrutinizing your state and behavior.

Your response to your father's question is playful and defiant. "Cheers," you say, raising your glass and draining the remaining contents in a single swift motion. It's a clear show of independence and defiance, as you make a point to finish the drink rather than setting it aside. Despite your father's disapproval, you refuse to let him dictate your actions or dampen your enjoyment.

Despite your father's hidden anger, he remains composed, only managing a subtle hum in response. "Let's go," he demands, his tone firm and assertive, indicating that he's ready to leave. The tension in the air is palpable, but your father maintains a facade of composure, attempting to hide his displeasure and maintain appearances.

Your father's grip on your arm is firm as he guides you forcefully out of the establishment. His actions, though forceful, are subtle enough to avoid drawing too much attention. He leads you with a sense of urgency, as if eager to remove you from the environment and regain control over the situation.

As you follow your father's forceful grip, a sense of impending punishment hangs in the air. You don't resist; you know that any resistance or defiance will only make things worse. With each step, the weight of your disobedience and the impending consequences weigh heavy on your mind. The tension is palpable as you brace yourself for what may come.

The silence between you and your father on the boat is suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut through the air. Your father refuses to look in your direction, his anger, and disappointment evident in his silence. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, the sound becoming almost unbearable in the oppressive atmosphere. It's clear that your actions have triggered his fury, and the impending punishment weighs heavily on your mind, leaving you with a sense of unease and dread.

As you enter the elevator in the headquarters of the island, the weight of your father's silent anger hangs in the air. You step inside, standing beside your father. As the elevator doors close, shutting you in with your father, he grabs you by the neck in a swift and unexpected move. The sudden and forceful grip tightens around your throat, a clear indication of his frustration and anger. The silence of the elevator amplifies the intensity of the moment, making the tension between you palpable as you stand there, caught off guard by his physical display.

Your back slams against the wall with a forceful impact, the pain shooting through your body. "You little bitch!" your father growls, his words filled with anger and frustration. The violence of his action echoes in the small confines of the elevator, the force of the throw leaving you momentarily dazed and hurting.

The first slap catches you off guard, the force leaving a red mark on your cheek. "Disrespectful," he repeats, his tone dripping with frustration and outrage. The anger and disappointment in his voice are palpable as he continues, delivering the second slap with a sharp and impactful motion. The sound of the slap reverberates in the cramped space, the pain and humiliation evident in the tense atmosphere.

Your father's words cut deep, the mention of your mother adding an extra layer of pain to the situation. "You make me so ANGRY! You don't drink! It's sloppy! So much like your mother!" he yells, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Despite the pain and the tension, an unexpected laugh threatens to escape your lips. "And what did you do to her? Huh?" you retort, a mix of defiance and sorrow lacing your words as you challenge him, bringing up the complex history between him and your mother. The question hangs in the air, waiting for an answer, even though you know you likely won't receive a satisfactory one.

The air in the elevator grows heavy as your father draws his gun, his anger reaching its boiling point. The cold steel of the weapon is mere inches from your head, the threat clear and imminent. The tension reaches a pinnacle in the confined space, the silence and stillness only adding to the gravity of the moment.

The tension in the elevator ratchets up, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. "Do it," you say, challenging your father, daring him to follow through on his threat. The room feels as if it has stopped, with the gun still aimed at you, the silence and tension filling every bit of space available.

With a flicker of uncertainty, your father's voice trembles slightly as he responds, "You don't think I will?" The gun still points at your face. A smile, tinged with a mix of bravado and defiance, plays on your lips. "I don't think you can," you reply the words carrying a hint of challenge and the belief that your father won't follow through on his threat. The tension in the elevator is palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as the standoff continues.

As the elevator doors slide open, revealing the entrance and the Frontman standing there, the tension hangs in the air. The Frontman's presence adds another layer of complexity to the already volatile situation, his arrival creating a slight pause in the standoff. Your father's grip tightens on the gun, the threat still looming as he stands there, a mix of anger and turmoil evident in his tense stance.

As the Frontman steps forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, he positions himself between you and the gun, breaking the line of sight and physically placing himself as a barrier between you and your father's weapon. The Frontman exudes an air of authority, his presence seemingly serving as a calming influence in the escalating situation.

The Frontman's voice cuts through the tension, addressing your father. "To your suite, Mr. (L/n)?" he inquires, maintaining a professional and composed demeanor. Despite the intensity of the situation, his tone remains calm and measured, as if his presence alone can help defuse the explosive atmosphere. The Frontman stands there, acting as a mediator and a buffer between you and your enraged father.

Your father's response is curt and short, a mere affirmation of the Frontman's question.

Your father's command is clear and resolute as he exits. "When we go home, you're going back in," he says, as he points his finger at you, his glare conveying his anger and intentions. The mention of returning to the games weighs heavy on your mind.

The elevator doors slide shut, leaving you alone with the Frontman in the enclosed space. It comes to a halt, and the doors open to reveal the top floor. You walk out with a sense of determination, your steps carrying a hint of defiance. The Frontman follows closely behind, maintaining a silent presence as you proceed to the suite.

In a fit of frustration and pent-up emotion, you swiftly open the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a glass dish with trembling hands. With a force fueled by emotional turmoil, you smash it against the ground, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the kitchen. Your scream follows suit, a fierce and cathartic release of bottled-up emotions that fills the air with an angry resonance.

The Frontman approaches you with a calm and composed demeanor. Despite your display of frustration, he doesn't react alarmed; instead, he takes a step closer, his gaze and presence unwaveringly steady.

The Frontman, with unexpected grace, hands you another plate, placing it in your hands with a gentle yet insistent grip. His actions communicate a silent understanding and acceptance as if his intention is for you to repeat the act that just occurred, offering you another opportunity to release your emotions. The gesture speaks volumes, expressing a quiet empathy and a subtle invitation to let out the turmoil that simmers within you.

With the plate in your hands, the pent-up frustration boils within you, demanding release. You raise the plate, and with a forceful motion, you smash it against the nearest surface, the shattering noise echoing in the room. Shards of glass and ceramic fly in every direction, the force of your action reverberating through the air. The catharsis of the act is momentarily soothing, as you release the pent-up emotions that have been consuming you.

You recount your brother's actions, and the sacrifices he made to keep you out of the games. Your tone carries a mix of gratitude and bitterness, as you walk through the scattered glass fragments. "He tried his best to make sure it wasn't me. He pretended to love the games, doing everything my father said, just so this wouldn't happen to me," you explain, your voice tinged with complex emotions. The mention of your brother's sacrifices hangs heavily in the air, a painful reminder of the burden of expectations and the sacrifices made in the name of love and protection.

Your laughter is a mix of sorrow and anger as you let out a bitter chuckle. "And then he died anyway!" Your words carry a sense of injustice and despair, as the reality of your brother's death and its consequences weigh heavily on your heart. The laughter, tinged with a sense of irony, serves as a release of the pent-up pain and anguish that you've held inside.

The Frontman continues to quietly listen, letting your words and emotions flow freely. His presence remains a steady and silent witness to your moment of pain and frustration, providing a non-judgmental space for you to express yourself. The weight of your emotions and the memories of your brother's sacrifices are palpable in the air, and the Frontman allows you the space to release them.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you continue, your words revealing the depth of your pain. "I was such a different person seven years ago," you confess, the weight of the past years of trauma and transformation evident in your tone. The realization of how much you've changed echoes in your words, a painful reminder of the person you once were and the person you've become.

The stream of words flows from your lips, each one carrying the burden of loss and the harsh reality of your experiences. "7 years ago, my mother died. 6 years ago, my brother died. 5 years ago, my boyfriend died. 4 years ago I won the games and killed more people than I can remember. My whole life has been a huge fuck you," you declare, your voice filled with pain, anger, and frustration. Each sentence carries the weight of the past, a stark reminder of the tumultuous path your life has taken. The years, marked by loss and violence, seem to have etched their impact deep into your soul.

Your words, tinged with bitterness and disappointment, reveal the harsh realities of your father's behavior. "My father plays with us and when he's done, he throws us in the trash," you say, your voice carrying the weight of resentment and sadness. The sense of being manipulated and used by your father's actions resonates deeply, leaving a heavy burden on your heart. The games, the death, and the loss are a byproduct of his selfish choices, and the weight of it all feels overwhelming at the moment.

You find yourself on the couch, shaking your head in your hands, mortified by your emotional outburst. "I'm sorry. This is... so embarrassing. My god," you mumble, your voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and self-awareness. The weight of what you've just revealed, the raw emotions that have been unleashed in front of the Frontman, leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The Frontman, with a calm and measured presence, takes a seat next to you on the couch. His deliberate movements and gentle manner create a sense of reassurance and comfort as if silently conveying that you're not alone at this moment. There's a subtle understanding in his gaze, a non-judgmental acceptance of your emotional turmoil, a silent affirmation that it's okay to feel the way you do.

The Frontman speaks, his voice laced with empathy and understanding. "I... understand your loss," he says, his words carrying a hint of shared pain. It's a simple yet sincere gesture that acknowledges the depth of your grief and loss, a subtle connection that bridges the divide between you and the Frontman, forging a moment of shared understanding. It's as if he too has experienced similar hardships and can empathize with your struggles on a personal level.

The Frontman's words hold a subtle weight, and the depth of his understanding goes beyond what meets the eye. "I understand a lot more than you know," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and a hint of something else – a secret or a layer that he seems to keep hidden. The words, though seemingly simple, carry a sense of depth and enigma, implying that there are aspects of his past and experiences that he keeps hidden, leaving room for curiosity and speculation in your mind.

You lock eyes with the Frontman, and with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity, you ask, "Did you lose someone in the games?" Your words hang in the air, the question holding the essence of your desire for understanding and to connect on a deeper level.

The Frontman's sigh speaks volumes, conveying a sense of resignation and the weight of his past. He has never been open about the path that led him to his current role, to lead the games and all its intricacies. A layer of complexity and hidden history surrounds him, adding an air of mystery and enigma to his presence.

In a surprising turn of events, the Frontman chooses to deviate from the usual protocols. His hand moves with deliberate precision, reaching up to his face and unclasping the mask, the sound of the buckle releasing filling the room. With a swift motion, the mask falls away, revealing his face in its entirety. His features once shrouded in the anonymity of the mask, are now exposed to your sight.

As the mask falls away, you are struck by the sight of In-Ho's face. His sharp features, marked by high cheekbones and a strong jawline, exude an undeniable presence. His eyes, dark and intense, hold a piercing gaze that seems to see right through you. The clean-cut, professional hairstyle adds to his overall polished and refined appearance, making him even more distinct and attractive.

In-Ho acknowledges the unusual nature of the situation, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability and a touch of irony. "This is highly unusual, as well as against the rules," he admits his tone a mix of realization and contemplation. It's a departure from his usual composure, a moment of unexpected vulnerability as he willingly, and boldly, breaks protocol by revealing his face to you.

Your question hangs in the air, carrying a mix of curiosity and a touch of awe. "Then why do it?" you ask, seeking to understand the reasons behind In-Ho's decision to break protocol. His actions seem deliberate and significant, and the desire to know what motivated him to reveal his identity is evident. The answer may hold the key to a deeper understanding of who he is and his reasoning behind the bold move.

In-Ho's response carries a hint of introspection as he considers his actions. "I don’t have an answer," he admits, his tone thoughtful and introspective. "But when you laid yourself out bare," he continues, referring to your moment of vulnerability, "it felt like I knew you." There's a subtle recognition and understanding that In-Ho has gained through the shared moments and your honest admission of your feelings and experiences. He may not fully comprehend his motivations, but that doesn't diminish the authenticity of the connection he feels in the moment.

In-Ho's words carry a sense of sadness, and he opens up, sharing a part of his past that has affected him deeply. "I had a wife," he starts, his voice tinged with an undertone of grief, "She was with child, and she got sick." The weight of his loss and the pain of that experience linger between his words, the memories resurfacing and leaving a lasting mark on his soul.

In-Ho continues, his voice carrying a mix of sadness and guilt. "We didn't have the money for the treatment she needed. She was given two choices. Terminate the pregnancy or die trying," he reveals, the weight of the situation evident in his tone. "She said she was going to give birth even if it killed her." You could see the cold memories in his eyes as he spoke, “I borrowed money, as much as I could, but my employer found out and fired me.” The confession, laden with pain and regret, paints a vivid picture of the choices he made to try and help his wife and unborn child.

In-Ho's gaze meets yours, a mix of pain and determination echoing in his eyes. "So, I came here, I played, and I won," he says, his words carrying both a sense of accomplishment and a hint of regret. There's a tinge of exhaustion in his voice, a reminder that the victory came at a price, and it's evident that his emotional journey has been a complex and challenging one.

In-Ho's voice cracks with sadness, the weight of the memory evident in his words. "But when I got back home, I was too late," he says, the pain simmering just beneath the surface, his voice tinged with regret and grief. The tragic discovery upon his return home has left a lasting impact on him, adding a layer of bitterness to his triumph.

The emotional connection between you and In-Ho deepens in this vulnerable conversation. It feels like truth hour, where both of you are open and raw, sharing the pain and guilt that both of you carry. As he reveals his past, you find a sense of understanding in his words, realizing that he truly comprehends the depth of your feelings and the human emotions that keep resurfacing despite attempts to bury them.

As you continue to converse with In-Ho, a deeper understanding sets in, and you realize the tragic irony of his situation. "You didn't lose someone in the games," you observe. "You lost them because of the games." Your words carry a tone of empathy, recognizing the direct impact of the games on In-Ho's tragedy and the complex nature of the pain he carries.

In-Ho nods, acknowledging the truth in your statement. "I had nothing. I had changed in the games and everything outside of them felt wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a sense of self-awareness and resignation. He pauses, considering the impact your presence has had on him. "For a while now, I've felt fine, leveled," he continues, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Until you showed up."

The surprise and confusion in your voice are evident as you respond, "Me?" You are genuinely taken aback by the revelation, unsure of what role you have played in his life to cause such an impact. The confusion in your expression mirrors the curiosity you feel, seeking to understand why your presence had such an effect on him.

In-Ho nods in affirmation, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and an underlying sense of vulnerability. "Yes, you," he confirms softly, the words carrying the acknowledgment of the impact you've had on him. His sigh conveys a mix of emotions like he's trying to articulate something more profound but struggling to find the right words. "You must know the type of effect you have," he continues, "the type of woman you are." His words hold a touch of wonder as if he's come to understand something about you that has resonated on a deeper level.

A smirk plays on your lips, and you lean in closer, feeling the comfort of the couch as you settle into the moment. "Oh, I know the effect I have," you respond, your words carrying a hint of confidence and self-awareness. You lean in as you add, "I just never thought it would make a man like yourself so weak." Your tone is a mix of playfulness and a subtle challenge, as you subtly assert the power you hold and the effect it's had on In-Ho.

The smirk on your lips holds a hint of anticipation, as you propose the idea of a game. There's a playful glint in your eyes, and an undercurrent of intrigue in your tone as you ask, "Do you want to play a game?" The suggestion hangs in the air, inviting a response from In-Ho and adding a layer of excitement to the room.

In-Ho tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the guarded nature of his expression, a spark of curiosity flickers in his eyes, and he responds with a mix of intrigue and cautious interest, "What have you got in mind?"

In a moment of playful banter, you lean forward, suggesting a game of "two truths and one lie" to deepen the connection between you two. "Since we're here getting to know each other," you propose, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "how about a game of 'two truths and one lie'?" Your words carry a sense of excitement and anticipation, inviting In-Ho to participate in this playful game of truth and deception.

In-Ho with his guarded expression that softens ever so slightly. He nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as he agrees to the proposal. "Alright," he responds, a mix of curiosity and willingness in his tone.

With a moment of consideration, you straighten your seating position on the couch, readying yourself for the game. "Alright," you begin, your voice carrying elements of revelation and intrigue. "I'm the daughter of the biggest a-hole on this planet." The first statement holds the weight of truth, your frustration and resentment towards your father are evident in your tone.

Your tone is confident and direct as you clarify, "I can't stand it here,” As you clarify your statements, your voice takes on a softer tone, the smirk playing on your lips as you confess, "Three, you intrigue me.'" Your words are directed directly at In-Ho, carrying a mix of curiosity and an underlying suggestion of connection.

In-Ho smirks, his words holding a mix of banter and a touch of teasing as he responds to your statement about enjoying your time on the island. There's a hint of playful understanding in his eyes as if he's challenging you to deny the obvious. "Well," he begins, "I have to say, you've been enjoying your time here. Unless I'm wrong." His words carry a subtle edge, challenging you to acknowledge your enjoyment or to deny it if you so choose.

In a moment of playful banter, you raise your brow, feigning curiosity and challenging In-ho's assertion. A small smirk curves at the corner of your lips, as you playfully ask, "Is that your final answer?" The tension in the air is palpable, the game of truth and deception adding an extra layer of excitement to the exchange. In-Ho raises an eyebrow, responding to your question, "It is.”

“Congratulations,” You pout playfully, feigning disappointment, as you slip off your shoes one by one. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

You smile and the cross of your legs add an air of confidence and assertiveness to the scene. The suggestion of your words hangs in the air, inviting In-Ho to share his truths. "Your turn," you say, challenging him to reveal his secrets.

In-Ho's words reveal a glimpse into his personal life, "I’m the leader, I don’t drink whiskey," he says, the words hanging in the air, then he leans in closer, his eyes locking with yours as he adds, "and find you... astonishing." There's a mix of vulnerability and sincerity in his words, conveying a true sentiment.

You smirk playfully, an element of mischievousness in your tone as you respond to In-Ho's statements, knowing all too well that the truth lies within the third statement. "Hmm, has to be that third one," you say, playing along with the game and challenging him with a devious curve of your lips.

In-Ho chuckles lightly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as he responds to your challenge. "You're at a loss," he says, fully confident in his statements, knowing that you have incorrectly guessed the lie.

Amid the tense and heated banter, you suddenly make a bold move. In a smooth motion, you reach behind your back, unclasping your bra, and letting it fall to the floor. However, the dress still covers you, maintaining a sense of decency. The act, though provocative, also holds an element of defiance, pushing the boundaries of the game and asserting your form of control. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

The game continues, challenging you to stay on your toes. "Not many more layers to go," you say, the anticipation building with each layer of clothing being removed. "I better start winning," you add, your words dripping with playful determination. The game continues, each revelation adding fuel to the fire of this intense encounter.

In-Ho observes your actions, fully aware of the game you're playing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He understands the subtle layers of manipulation and control at play, and his response is measured, a blend of amusement and intrigue.

You take your turn, sharing three statements that reveal different aspects of yourself. Your first two statements offer a glimpse into your past and intentions, but it's the third one that holds the most weight at the moment. "One, I graduated top of my class," you start, setting the stage. "Two, I'm going to pay you back for those broken dishes," you add with a light laugh, acknowledging the moment of rage. Then, with a direct and sultry glance into his eyes, you say softly, "Three… I know you want to kiss me."

The last line hangs in the air, its honesty and vulnerability laying bare the emotional connection brewing between you two. In-Ho's gaze meets yours, and the tension between you reaches new heights as the truth is laid out on the table. The game takes on a deeper meaning, the honesty and directness in your words leaving no room for ambiguity.

In-Ho's breath hitched, and you saw a spark of something wild ignite in his eyes. He leaned in, his movements deliberate, as if savoring the anticipation. His scent, a mixture of cologne and musk, invaded your senses, sending a shiver down your spine.

As his lips brushed against yours, you felt a rush of warmth spread through your body. His kiss was gentle at first, a soft exploration of your lips, but it quickly ignited into something more passionate. In-Ho's hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, sending tingles down your neck. You responded eagerly, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm.

The kiss was a whirlwind of sensations; his lips were soft yet demanding, and his taste was intoxicating. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching up to thread through his neatly combed black hair. In-Ho's grip on your face tightened, his kiss becoming more urgent as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Pulling back slightly, you gazed into his eyes, now dark with desire.

His hands traveled down your neck, gently caressing your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. The make-out session was a blur of pleasure, lust, and desire. In-Ho's lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that made you squirm with delight. His hands roamed freely, exploring your body, igniting a fire within you that you never knew existed.

As his fingers traced the outline of your jaw, down to your collarbone, you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. The sensation of his touch was driving you wild, and you craved more. In-Ho seemed to sense your need, his kisses becoming more possessive as if he wanted to brand you as his.

In-Ho's hand found its way under your dress, his warm palm making contact with the bare skin of your thighs. You gasped at the sudden contact, your body arching into his touch. His fingers trailed upwards, their path leaving a scorching trail on your skin.

"We should stop," In-Ho panted between kisses, his breath hot against your skin, But his hands didn't stop their exploration, and his lips continued to ravish your neck, making it hard to think straight.

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you didn't want it to end, but before you could form the words, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the air. The sudden interruption startled both of you, breaking the spell that had enveloped the room.

In-Ho pulled away, his eyes now a mixture of longing and frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "I need to answer that," he mumbled, his voice rough with unspent passion.

You sat there, breathless and dazed, as he stood up and walked towards the ringing phone. The moment had been interrupted, but the tension between you was now palpable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

As In-Ho answered the call, his back turned to you, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The intensity of the moment had caught you off guard. You never expected to feel this way about him, but there was no denying the connection that had formed.

He finished the call quickly, his voice distant as he spoke, and then he turned around, his eyes searching yours. "I will be right there," he said, his voice laced with responsibility.

You stood up, your body still buzzing with unfulfilled desire. "Busy man," acknowledging his commitments and responsibilities. As you hand him his mask, your voice steady and unwavering despite the inner turmoil, you declare, "This isn't over.”

In-Ho's smile curves his lips, acknowledging the unspoken understanding and connection between you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he pulls you in by your waist, bringing you closer to him. The proximity adds an electric undercurrent to the moment, as he holds your gaze, the world around them seeming to pause.

In-Ho leans in again, their lips meeting in a more gentle and tender exchange. The intensity remains present, but it's softer and more tender. There's a sense of vulnerability and human connection in the way their lips meld together.

He leaves you there, and as you sit, replaying the kiss in your mind, you realize that something has shifted. The emotional connection had been laid bare, and there was no going back. The tension that had built up would only grow stronger, and you couldn't wait to see where this forbidden path would lead.

Tagged:

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@glads-stuff

#hwang in ho fanfic #in ho fanfic #hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game #squid game x reader #player 001 x reader

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infamous-light · 11 months ago

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You Belong to Me Ch. 7

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

You sat in front of an open hearth, trying to keep warm as the flames crackled and danced before your eyes.

The heat was a welcome relief against the evening chill that seemed to seep in through the floorboards. Winters were harsh in the village and the biting cold had a way of sneaking in, no matter how well you tried to insulate the house. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows and making the old timbers creak in protest. You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders, the soft wool scratching gently against your skin.

The thick smell of wheat porridge wafted through the air as your mother stirred the pot over the fire, the wooden spoon moving in slow, precise circles. The rhythmic motion of her hand was soothing to watch, each turn and swirl a gentle reminder of the care she put into everything she did.

The main door creaked open a second later and your father stepped in, bringing a gust of frigid air with him before closing the door behind him. He hung his scarf and jacket on the coat rack, the woolen fabric glistening with tiny crystals of frost. His face was dried out from the cold, and he brushed a few stray snowflakes from his hair, shaking them off like tiny diamonds that sparkled briefly in the firelight before melting away. He took his boots off next, placing them by the door to avoid tracking in the snow.

“It sure is getting chilly out there.” Your father said, walking over to you with a smile that conveyed both his relief at being inside and his joy at seeing you.

“Yeah, I can feel it from here.” You replied, grinning up at him.

He sat down next to you, stretching out his hands toward the fire to get warm. He sighed contentedly as the warmth seeped into his fingers, gradually thawing the stiffness brought on by the cold.

“The goats are finally resting in their barns,” he continued. “I’ve placed enough deep straw bedding to keep them warm overnight.”

“Good,” your mother said with a warm smile, not looking up from her stirring. She then placed the wooden spoon aside, tapping it lightly against the rim of the pot to shake off the excess. “Well, I’d say the porridge is pretty much done cooking.”

The aroma of the grain and spices grew stronger, mixing with the faint scent of burning wood and the earthy smell of your father's clothes.

She brought out some mismatched but well-loved bowls, their chipped edges and faded patterns revealing the many shared meals you all had together over the years. She started filling the steaming porridge into each bowl, the sound of the thick, hearty mixture pouring out and settling in bringing a sense of comfort and routine. As she handed the bowl over to you, the warmth from the food seeped through the ceramic, warming your hands and bringing a smile to your face. Your mother finally looked up, her eyes softening with affection as she saw your pleased expression, and in that moment, everything felt right in the world.

Suddenly, a loud, insistent knock on the door startled you all.

Your mother’s smile faltered, and she exchanged a quick, concerned glance with your father. He frowned and stood up, walking over to the door. As he opened it, the hinges creaked ominously, and you strained to catch a glimpse of the visitor. You heard a man's voice, though you couldn't quite make out what he was saying. The words were muffled and indistinct, but the tone carried a weight that made your stomach churn with unease.

Your father's body tensed, his shoulders stiffening. Your mother, noticing the change, got up and walked over to him, her movements quick and anxious.

“What's going on?” She asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Your father turned to her, his face ashen and drawn. “They've come for her.”

Your mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “No, they can't have her.” She said, her voice cracking with desperation.

The sheer terror in your mother’s voice sent a cold shiver down your spine, a fear you had never seen in her before. She took a step back, her body shaking, and you could see the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“What's wrong?” You asked, your voice trembling.

Your mother turned to you, her eyes wide with fright. “You are to be taken to Castle Dimitrescu,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are to become a servant there.”

Every muscle in your body froze.

The thought of leaving your home, your family, and everything you knew to serve in that oppressive castle was more than you could bear. The stories you had heard while growing up, whispered in hushed tones by the other villagers, had painted a picture of horror and despair. Each tale was laden with vivid, terrifying details that seemed to seep into the very fabric of your nightmares. They described how the matriarch of the castle – known as Lady Dimitrescu – and her daughters fed upon the blood and flesh of the women who were brought to them. How these women were consumed in grotesque rituals or used as experiments in the depths of the castle. And it was only women who were chosen for this fate, as Lady Dimitrescu had a perverse preference for their suffering.

The legends were so ingrained throughout the village that they seemed like an inescapable truth, a dark cloud looming over every woman who resided here.

The truth of the matter is: once taken to Castle Dimitrescu, there was no return.

“I don’t want to go.” Your voice wobbled.

The words seemed to catch in your throat, stifled by the heavy weight of fear. Your mother rushed over to you and hugged you. Her arms wrapped around you with a fierce, protective desperation, as though she could somehow keep you safe just by holding you close. You glanced over at the doorway and saw four men standing there, their expressions grim and resolute. They were clad in dark, somber attire that seemed to blend in with the night.

“Please, not my daughter,” your mother begged. “Don’t take her from us.”

Her voice was filled with anguish, a mother's final plea to protect her child.

The man at the front of the group grimaced, his eyes filled with reluctant sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze shifting downward as if he could not bear to meet your mother’s eyes. “Mother Miranda ordered five women from the surrounding villages to be brought to Lady Dimitrescu before the night ends.”

You saw your father’s fists clench, his knuckles turning white against the strain. “What would it take to make you look the other way?”

The man’s eyes hardened, narrowing into cold slits that revealed nothing but a steely resolve. “You know we can’t take the risk of accepting a bribe.”

Your father's anger flared as he took a threatening step closer to them. “You know what they’ll do to her if you bring her to that cursed place!” He shouted, his voice rising in a desperate plea.

Your mother started to sob quietly.

“I don’t like it any more than you do but we don’t have a choice. This is Mother Miranda’s order.” The man said through gritted teeth, his voice strained and edged with frustration.

The men took a step forward just then. They advanced with a sense of purpose, the weight of their boots crunching ominously in the snow. Your father, however, remained unmoved, blocking the entryway with a defiant stance. His broad shoulders were squared, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. The man at the forefront held your father's gaze with a cold, unflinching stare.

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.” The man's voice was a low, urgent plea, tinged with the barest hint of exasperation.

Your father’s response was immediate and resolute. “I won’t let you take my daughter.”

There was a tense silence between everyone.

Then, chaos erupted.

The men surged forward, their coordinated assault forcing their way past the doorway with brute force. Your father grappled with them, his movements desperate and frantic as he tried to hold them back. He fought with a mix of rage and terror; the strain etched deeply into his features.

Amid the struggle, one of the men seized your bicep with a rough grip, yanking you away from your mother’s tight hold. His fingers, rough and unyielding, dug in mercilessly, sending a jolt of pain through your arm. Your mother’s eyes widened in horror as she reached out, her fingers grasping at the empty air where you had been moments before.

“Please, stop!”

The sound of her voice – caught between a scream and a sob – was a heart-wrenching plea that echoed in the small space, mingling with the grunts and shouts of the men. Before your mother could take a step toward you, she was pulled back by another man, who held her in place with an iron grip. Your father, still battling fiercely against two of the men, was eventually subdued and forced onto the floor.

You cried out, your voice hoarse and ragged, as you were dragged outside toward a waiting carriage. The night air hits you like a freezing wave, its sharp bite cutting through your clothes and chilling you to the bone. In the distance, you could hear your mother and father calling out your name, their voices filled with anguish as you were shoved into the dark interior of the carriage. As the door slammed shut behind you, you startled at the sight of four women huddled inside, their faces pale and stricken with terror. Their fearful gazes met yours. A sorrowful cry from outside snapped your attention away from them, the sound of your parents’ despair cutting through you. You turned back around and peered out the small, grimy window of the carriage.

The last thing you saw was your parents, their outstretched arms reaching out desperately toward you. Their muffled cries of your name echoed in your ears, haunting and heart-wrenching, as the carriage rolled forward, carrying you further from everything you had ever known.

***

You woke up abruptly, your body drenched in sweat.

The sheets were twisted around you, damp from your perspiration, clinging uncomfortably to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. The air felt heavy and thick, making it difficult to breathe as your breaths came out in short, panicked bursts. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the persistent fog from your mind and make sense of your surroundings.

The familiar bedroom of the Lady’s soon greeted you with an eerie calmness.

Slowly, you sat up, feeling a strange lightness in your limbs. They no longer felt like lead and there was a faint sense of strength returning to your muscles. The lingering effects of the drug must be lessening, you thought, as you felt it in your veins, a weightlessness, an inkling of the energy that used to be yours. Your head no longer throbbed with the same intensity, the pain receding to a dull ache. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps the worst has passed.

The lightened mood inside of you shifted as the bathroom door swung open with a soft creak. Lady Dimitrescu emerged, wearing a thin bathrobe that hugged her hourglass figure, the damp fabric accentuating her curves. The robe's hem skimmed her mid-thigh, revealing her long, slender legs. The front of the robe also hung open loosely, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, porcelain skin, her large breasts almost on full display. Her hair, still damp from a recent bath, cascaded in dark, wet strands that clung to her neck and the side of her face, framing her features in a way that heightened her already natural beauty.

Lady Dimitrescu paused as she saw that you were sat up in bed and wide awake. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She seemed to take a moment to assess your condition. After a moment of silence, she spoke, her tone soft yet probing.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, her voice deceptively gentle as she watched your every reaction.

You fiddled with the edges of the bedcover, glancing away before answering, “I feel a little better.”

Lady Dimitrescu hummed thoughtfully, as if she were considering your words carefully. She made her way over to you and you almost blushed as she leaned down, her ample bosom close to your face. She pressed her hand to your forehead, her touch cool and firm, yet unexpectedly soothing. A smile appeared on her face as she pulled away, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I'm very pleased to see that you're feeling better,” she said. “You've been through quite an ordeal but you're recovering nicely.” She straightened up, towering over you once more. “However, you still need to regain your strength. I believe a bath would do wonders for you. Freshen up and prepare yourself for the day. Breakfast will be brought up shortly.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You murmured.

You gazed up at her expectantly, waiting for her to lift you up.

She smirked in response. “I trust you’ll be able to walk there on your own. Consider it a small test of your progress.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded weakly.

You moved your legs over the edge of the bed and hesitantly climbed down. Lady Dimitrescu's gaze lingered on you, her eyes tracking your every move with an intensity that made your skin prickle. Your legs wobbled as you took your first few tentative steps. Each small stride was a monumental effort that required all your concentration. You could feel the heat of her body and the soft rustle of her bathrobe with every step you took. You glanced back to see Lady Dimitrescu towering behind you, her expression unreadable yet undeniably predatory.

The corner of her lips twitched slightly as she glanced back at you. “Go on. You're almost there.” She purred.

The bathroom door loomed ahead like a distant finish line, each step feeling like a marathon. You took a few more big steps, legs trembling with the effort. With a final, strained push, you collapsed against the doorframe, steadying yourself.

“Well done, pet.” Lady Dimitrescu praised, her tone a mixture of amusement and approval. “It seems you can walk on your own again without any assistance.”

Her words sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you felt a bit embarrassed at her praise. You lowered your gaze, trying to hide your reaction, but you knew she could see the faint blush that had crept up your neck. Lady Dimitrescu turned away, seemingly satisfied, and sat down in front of her vanity. She picked up her hairbrush and began to comb it through her damp strands with long, slow strokes.

Turning away, you stepped into the bathroom, the tiles cool under your feet as you carefully walked over to the circular bathtub. You reached out and turned the faucets on, the metallic handles cold against your palm. The hiss of water starting to flow was a soothing sound, mingling with gentle splashes as it began to fill the large tub.

As the water reached the desired level, you dipped a hand in to test the temperature, letting the warm liquid swirl around your fingers. Satisfied, you began to undress. The soft fabric slipped smoothly from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooling at your feet. You stepped out of them, feeling a slight shiver as the cool air brushed against your bare skin.

Carefully, you eased yourself into the bathtub, the water embracing you with a soothing warmth. You leaned back, allowing the water to envelop your body completely. The heat seeped into your muscles, easing the tension that had settled there. The sensation was calming and after a few minutes, you reached for the small shampoo bottle, the familiar floral scent wafting up as you opened it. Pouring a generous amount into your palm, you worked it into your hair, massaging your scalp with your fingertips.

After rinsing the shampoo out, you repeated the same action with the conditioner. You picked up a washcloth next and lathered it with your favorite soap. As you began to wash your body, you started with your arms and worked your way down, the soap forming a frothy layer across your skin.

Feeling thoroughly cleansed, you decided it was time to get out. You reached for the fluffy towel lying nearby and stood up, letting the water cascade off your body in shimmering droplets. Wrapping the towel around yourself, you stepped out of the tub. With each step away from the tub, you noticed how your muscles felt more invigorated. The simple act of moving your limbs felt easier and more fluid.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, steam fogging up the edges, and noticed how refreshed you looked. Despite the harrowing experience of the past few days, your complexion seemed clearer and the shadows under your eyes were less pronounced. It was a small comfort, but one that did little to alleviate the deeper anxiety of what became of your current life. As you turned away from the mirror, a stark realization hit you: there were no fresh clothes available.

Oh god, you had to leave the bathroom. Naked. In front of the Lady.

You wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and slowly opened the bathroom door. You were met with the sight of Lady Dimitrescu seated at her vanity; her tall frame elegantly poised as she applied a final touch of her signature red lipstick. Her eyes flickered toward you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she observed your state of undress.

The towel clung to you like a thin shield, providing minimal cover against her lingering gaze.

“Um-do you have any clothes I could change into?” You stammered.

“They're resting on the dresser nearby.” She replied, her tone casual yet edged with an undertone of amusement.

You nodded, eager to escape the uncomfortable intensity of her gaze, and made your way to the dresser. On it, the clothes were neatly folded, each item arranged with meticulous care. However, the attire looked distinctly more refined than the drab uniforms worn by the rest of the staff. A recent memory resurfaced, and you remembered that a few days ago you were being measured by Irina for some new clothes. Ones that would be of the highest quality, befitting your new role.

The outfit was a sheer white button-up blouse paired with a sleek black vest. The ensemble was complemented by black pleated pants and polished black dress shoes that gleamed with a mirror-like finish. You gathered the clothes and shoes and quickly made your way back into the bathroom, eager to get changed. As you closed the door behind you, a low, melodic chuckle from Lady Dimitrescu reached your ears, making you feel even more self-conscious.

It didn’t take you long to get dressed as you stepped back into the bedroom, feeling the smooth fabric settle comfortably against your skin. Each piece fits perfectly, hugging your body in all the right places.

Lady Dimitrescu let out a pleased hum as she observed you, her eyes appraising you from head to toe. “You look quite fetching.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” The words left your lips almost automatically.

Then, something between you two shifted. There was a deep-seated hunger in her eyes, an unsettling gleam that made you nervous. You couldn't shake the feeling of being prey under her gaze, every instinct urging you to run.

The moment ended when a firm knock on the door echoed throughout the room. Your attention snapped toward it, making you jump a little. Lady Dimitrescu turned her head slightly to the door, her expression shifting from predatory to mildly annoyed.

“Enter.” She commanded.

The door opened and a maid entered. You recognized her from the kitchens, where you had seen her in passing but you had never spoken to her before. She seemed to be one of the more reclusive staff members, avoiding interactions with anyone outside her immediate tasks. You can’t say you blame her. The maid kept her eyes lowered, her posture stiff with fear and respect. She rolled in a cart with breakfast on it, the dishes clinking softly against the tray.

“Set it on the table.” Lady Dimitrescu ordered.

“Yes, my Lady.”

The maid obeyed quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged the meal on the table. You watched her, feeling a pang of sympathy. Living under Lady Dimitrescu's rule was clearly a nerve-wracking existence for everyone in the castle. Lady Dimitrescu's eyes returned to you once more, her gaze softer now, but still holding that unnerving intensity.

“You may get started on breakfast, darling. I still need to finish up.”

You gave a brief nod, feeling a strange mixture of relief and apprehension, and walked over to the two high-back chairs positioned by the coffee table. You settled into one of the chairs, your eyes still drawn to Lady Dimitrescu as she resumed her morning routine. The maid, with her eyes still cast downward, continued to unload several dishes laden with a variety of delicacies from the cart.

As she picked up an empty plate and set it down before you, you noticed the corner of what appeared to be a folded-up note tucked discreetly beneath it. Your heart skipped a beat. The sight of the note sent a surge of hope through you, but also a wave of fear. What if Lady Dimitrescu noticed the note? What if this was some kind of trap? The fear of imminent punishment or discovery tightened around you like a vise. But this could possibly be Catalina’s doing as well. She did say she would find a way to get you out.

You glanced up at the maid, her demeanor appearing almost composed as she moved with an air of indifference. She had her back turned to the Lady and with a quick, deliberate look, she directed your attention to the note before her gaze flickered back to you. Her eyes seemed to convey a silent message; a hint of encouragement mixed with an unspoken warning. You shifted your gaze over her shoulder and saw that Lady Dimitrescu was preoccupied with opening one of her face creams.

You reached out cautiously, your fingers brushing the edge of the plate to retrieve it, the note pressed firmly underneath. As you lifted the plate, you made sure the note remained hidden, held securely against the porcelain by your trembling fingers. With a quick, almost mechanical motion, you grabbed a vine of grapes and placed it on your plate, trying to appear nonchalant as your mind raced with what could possibly be written on the note.

The maid finished placing everything on the table and glanced at you one last time. After a final, measured look, she turned away from you.

“All done, my Lady.” She said, her tone smooth and respectful.

“Good. Now leave us.” Came Lady Dimitrescu’s cold reply.

The maid responded with a quick, respectful nod before curtsying again and retreating with measured steps. The sound of the cart gradually faded as she wheeled it out the door. You could almost hear the echo of her footsteps as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with the solitary note that now held your full attention.

Your pulse quickened, a jolt of anxiety mingling with anticipation as your fingertips twitched against the note. You needed to know what it said. With your eyes remaining fixed on the Lady, you slowly began to slide the note out from underneath the plate, careful not to make a single sound. With a careful touch, you thumbed the corner of the note open, your heart racing as you unfolded it. The words on the piece of paper came into view, stark and simple, and you could hardly suppress your widening eyes at the revelation.

Main house key

Miss Bela's bedchambers

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8

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drama-glob · 6 months ago

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I know some people have already pointed out some parallels between "Just Look My Way" and the ending of "Sinsmas" with Octavia, but something I thought was interesting too was that when they changed the lyrics from the original version by PARANOiD DJ to make the official music video reflect in canon Stolas/Stolas's growth like this:

They also changed here:

To reflect in canon that while Stolas is aware that he was wrong to make this deal between him and Blitz and that he's got his walls up that Stolas can't get over so long as the deal stands, he's also failing to keep considering how all of this has been affecting/hurting Octavia up to this point because he's been so concerned with making things right by Blitz, all while barely holding onto the chance that the two of them could actually be happy together since he's not even sure if what they have is real/all a lie to serve as his escapism from his life at the palace. :( The illusion he built for his daughter about them all being a happy, loving family growing up is still in Octavia's mind and now thanks to Stolas, she believes he (as well as Blitz based on what we've seen) ruined her family and it's making her become more isolated and feeling unloved because of his choices and how she perceives the situation; Stolas in the original version seems to be at least acknowledging how his daughter might be feeling as a result of him trying to find happiness with Blitz and is wondering if that's what he's feeling now at the prospect that Blitz doesn't actually love him, compared to the canon one of how he's hurt Blitz in his pursuit of him and knows he needs to set Blitz free no matter how much he wants him (or at least that's how I read it, although the "She" could have been referring to Stella, but we've seen her hatred and attacks towards Stolas by that point, so I'm still leaning towards it being about Octavia :( ). Also, just to reiterate the point, since the canon version of the song takes place later in the series, the change in lyrics also likely had to happen because we've seen Stolas repeat the neglect/being stuck in his own head behavior such as in "Seeing Stars" and then later in "The Full Moon," thus why the song needed to continue showing this pattern; plus, he probably felt so sure in Octavia's love for him that he'd be forgiven like in "Seeing Stars" and "Loo Loo Land" for said behavior that he didn't need to work on improving that aspect of how he acts with her. :/ What's crazy is that the original version of the song came out 9 days before "Ozzie's" premiered, where we see Stolas then feel ashamed for how he's handled things with Blitz at the cost of hurting his daughter and not being sure Blitz loves him back, especially with Blitz's words at the end of the episode. Talk about timing. O_O

*On a side note, the flower also changes from being a daffodil that can symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, then becomes a carnation (I think) and can refer to love in various forms, although that one in particular can refer to rejection because it's striped. :( Also, even though it's in the original version of the song, I find it interesting that it was a carnation at the part when he brought up Octavia, although I know the focus of the song is still on Blitz and Stolas's relationship and it changed in realization that it may be his fault things are this way/the reason Blitz doesn't love him. :/ In addition, the song had Stolas trying to talk with Blitz and wanting to see him outside of the full moon at the beginning, which we then saw he was doing via text messages in "Western Energy," so damn on it predicting that too. O_O

By all means, Stolas has a right to be happy, to be loved and to get away from Stella, but as so many have already argued as well, Octavia's feelings are valid and understandable given Stolas's actions and her not knowing the full story. :( (I felt obligated to include this since I want Stolas and Octavia to reconcile in the future and be one big, happy family with Blitz and Loona <3<3<3).

Also:

It's too bad that this lyric about growing cold had some literal manifestation, even though Octavia is also obviously giving her father the cold shoulder here and Stolas was referring to Blitz in the song, but it's still so sad that Stolas believes Octavia truly hates him for all that he's done rather than her being angry, hurt and needing more time to process everything/learn the truth in order to see things from his perspective. :(

*I think someone may have pointed this cold part out already, but I wasn't 100% and it went with the first part of the post anyway, so I included it as well. :/ Also, sorry if it seemed like I was rambling or getting off track here as this wound up being longer than I planned and I kept thinking of other tidbits/observations to include. :/

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allisondraste · 2 years ago

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I’ve seen various different posts on the website formerly known as Twitter and this one right here, discussing Gale’s behavior in romance as obsessive, possessive, and possibly codependent. And while I support everyone having their own interpretations and opinions, I do disagree, so I want to talk about it!

First— it’s so important to acknowledge that Gale is strictly monogamous. He is not someone who is comfortable with a partner having other partners. This is fine, and not inherently indicative of any unhealthy attachment styles. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae’Zel are also monogamous in a relationship.

Gale does struggle with some insecurity that at times bleeds it’s way into his romantic relationship, but isn’t a product of the relationship itself. His biggest insecurity is feeling like he isn’t enough (in general, not just for a romantic partner). Mystra had a way of making him feel like nothing he did was ever enough, he always needed to do more, to be more, and when he tried, when he made mistakes, she abandoned him.

Those are wounds that do not heal quickly, and so he needs quite a bit of reassurance from both friend and lover PCs that he’s fine just the way he is and that he doesn’t have to try so hard or pretend to be fine when he’s not.

He’s lonely. Due to his condition, Gale, who is an incredibly social person, had to hermit himself away from his friends and colleagues for over a year. Mystra was no longer interacting with him, and he was afraid to be around his mother because he didn’t want her to worry. His only company was Tara, and as much as he loves her, shes not a replacement for human or humanoid connection. Usually with folks who struggle with codependency and insecure attachment, there are long patterns of each of those things in all of their other relationships, but Gale seems to have had pretty healthy relationships, the Mystra situation being the exception, not the rule.

It excites him when he gets to travel with a group, have friends. It’s even more exciting to him when he finds someone who makes him forget the hurt Mystra has caused. Yet he still has to withdraw from even that because he does not want to put their life in danger. It is not until act 2 after Elminster has cast the incantation to calm the orb that Gale feels comfortable enough to give in to his feelings. And yeah! He comes in strong because he’s been holding it in. He’s been pining away, sad that he can’t let himself so much as kiss Tav or else he quite literally explode.

When you talk to Gale after his romance scene in act 2, you’re able to confront him about his feelings for Mystra, and he is very direct, stating that he does still have complicated feelings for her. Which makes SENSE. The game and Gale himself try to minimize Mystra as just his ex, but she is more than that. She is his groomer and abuser. Gale is traumatized, and it will likely take him the rest of his life to get over that. It’s not something that more time alone is going to heal. He needs a support system to help him. He needs his mom, his friends, and maybe even his new partner.

You can also ask him if he meant it when he said he loved you, and his answer is “I am many things to many people, but I am never one to throw the l-word around lightly.” He didn’t just say it on a whim. He thought about it, probably extensively. Judging from the dialogue we get, he’s aware that he is rushing to say it, and admits that it’s because he’s scared that he’s going to literally die tomorrow. It’s not a love bomb. It’s an “I need you to know this, just in case something happens to me.”

Once he doesn’t die in act 2, he simmers down. He becomes more concerned with curing his condition, he faces Mystra, he accepts that he doesn’t need to have godly power to be worthy of love and respect.

At the end of the game, he asks you if you’ll come back to Waterdeep with him, which is his way of proposing more or less, but its more that he wants to be home and he wants the person who has become so important to him to come with him, to meet his mom, to see his hometown. He wants them to want that too.

He’s a grown man, mid to late 30s, not a naive young person. He knows what he wants. He’s thought about it, extensively.

In my opinion, there’s nothing possessive, obsessive, codependent, or unhealthy about any of that.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #meta post

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lu-is-not-ok · 7 months ago

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I have seen you talk about how Hong Lu act around Sinclair due to them being both from rich family, but do you think there is a connection to be made from Heathcliff to Hong Lu, considering they are also both from rich family but didn't get a really, let say, nice upbringing?

An interesting thing to think about, as there very much might be a connection, but not in the way you might think.

First of all, it's important to remember that until Canto 6, as far as we know nobody knew Heathcliff was raised by a wealthy family. Heathcliff being from the Backstreets was something most of the Sinners clocked very early on. Rodya would poke fun at him for being unrefined multiple times. In fact, him being revealed to have been raised at Wuthering Heights is a pretty major scene, with the Sinners being surprised and Rodya even saying she feels a little betrayed.

As such, until Canto 6, Hong Lu's treatment of Heathcliff cannot have anything to do with their similarities in horrible upbringing among a rich family, simply because Hong Lu would have no way to know that.

All Hong Lu would know until then is that Heathcliff is from the Backstreets, is extremely easy to provoke, and is notably impatient towards the oblivious way Hong Lu carries himself. All of which, like I mentioned in a previous post, makes Heathcliff into an easy target for Hong Lu to bully because nobody would put the blame for Heathcliff's outbursts on Hong Lu's provokations, not with Heathcliff's reputation and pattern of behavior.

Then comes Canto 6. Where Heathcliff is revealed to not only have been living in a wealthy mansion and in an environment Hong Lu appears to find familiar, what with his constant comments comparing things to his own home, but also to have been severely abused by his family.

This appears to have some effect on Hong Lu's treatment of him. Notably, while he starts off the Canto giving a lot of anecdotes and frankly silly comparisons, he appears to mellow out and take things much more seriously after Heathcliff tears up a pillow to find Cathy's dairy. From that point on, Hong Lu seems to show a degree of genuine concern for Heathcliff, being the only Sinner besides Dante to notice he disappeared, and the only one who asks him if he's okay once he came back.

After Canto 6, we no longer see Hong Lu actively tease Heathcliff. There's only one moment where Hong Lu brings up Heathcliff in a manner that could be considered insulting, by comparing Heathcliff's hostility towards him to that of his own Family in TKT, but that happens when Heathcliff isn't around to hear it and thus wouldn't be affected by what Hong Lu said.

It's clear that Canto 6 caused Hong Lu to view Heathcliff differently, to the point he no longer tries to provoke him. Sure, he still makes it clear that he's not particularly fond or trusting of him through that comment in TKT, but he's no longer actively antagonistic towards him. Which. Makes sense I think.

If Hong Lu has shown any pattern towards what Sinners he seems to become more amicable to, it's towards those he's able to relate to. Being able to relate to Yi Sang is why ever since Canto 4 Hong Lu can be regularly seen checking in on Yi Sang whenever he gets reminded of his past, whether through his meeting with Rim in Canto 5 or by seeing what was being done to his research in Canto 6.

Thus, similarly, being able to relate to Heathcliff could be what made Hong Lu stop his bullying of him.

#ask #cooldeltaworld-blog #lu speaketh #limbus company #hong lu #hong lu lcb #heathcliff lcb

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honey-flustered · 2 years ago

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Made With Love (Fluff)

Eddie Munson x Crocheter!Soft!GF!Plus!Reader

Summary: You love making gifts for your boyfriend and his cool uncle. And Eddie just simply adores you.

A/N: Just short draft that ive kept for a while now because i just didn’t know what to do with it. So ive decided to publish it as it is so that in the meantime i can get my shit together.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Summary: inexperienced!reader and eddie, plus size reader, hinted!autistic reader, eddie being a simp for reader, lots of fluff, wayne being reader’s number 1 supporter (don’t tell eddie 🤭), sexually suggestive language and behavior, some body worship, kissing, cuddling

Eddie Munson is the luckiest man in the world. No really because just how did he manage to get a girl like you in his arms? You went beyond his criteria of a perfect girl which was simply to be a woman. But you’ve exceeded in ways he could have never imagined.

For one, you’ve got amazing taste in music. Despite the differences in your music genres, you both appreciate the variety and exchange songs all the time. Second, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Eddie knew he loved rubenesque women but you were all that and more. He swears could die and go to heaven at the feeling of your thick thighs and soft belly as you’d lay his head on either part. And not to mention that beautiful face he yearns to see smiling at him constantly with those enchanting eyes that seem to twinkle endlessly.

Lastly—a fact about you that has both facts, one and two, beat—you’re awfully talented. You bake, paint, and, best of all, you crochet.

You crochet just about everything and he admires it. The best part is you always came up with the most interesting things that even Eddie wasn’t sure he needed.

Currently, you and Eddie were curled up on his couch. Your eyes wandering his shaky lean frame while his eyes stays glued to the television set, a gentle hand caressing your thigh.

You pride yourself for being an observant one, a skill you’ve had to perfect throughout your childhood in order to understand the world around you. And because you’re so observant, nothing gets passed you including the way he continues to shiver beside you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, concerned.

“Just my unusually cold wrists as always,” Eddie sighs. “Strangely specific, I know. It’s the chain bracelet and leather cuffs. The silver and leather are like ice against my skin with this freezing ass weather.”

You smile brightly, clapping your hands in excitement. “Actually, I have just the thing for this little issue.”

“Oh, do you?” Eddie smirks, nose scrunching up in amusement.

“Mhm,” You nod as you began rummaging through your bumblebee bag (crocheted by yours truly). “Close you eyes.”

“‘Kay.” He obeys with a smile never leaving his face.

Rushing up to stand in front of the television set, you held the items behind your back before commanding your boyfriend to open his eyes once more.

“So…I’ve noticed the way you rub your wrists for the friction to radiate some heat because they’re always so cold lately. And I also notice that when the cold becomes to unbearable you’re forced to remove your wrist accessories,” You began your spiel as if you’re in an infomercial. “Why should you sacrifice style or possibly losing your accessories because of naked wrists? Well not anymore with my handy dandy…wrist bands!”

You shoot your hands up and out in front of you, dangling each red and white patterned wristband in either hand. “I also call them Eds Bracelet Warmers as a placeholder product name.”

“That’s metal!” Eddie praises, standing up to study the bands closely. You release them into his hands and he stares down at them in awe, sliding each onto his arm and making a little show of them before his attention resumes back on you.

“Do you like it?” You say rocking back and forth on your heels anxiously.

“I love it! It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

You snort out a giggle. “You say that with every crochet I’ve made you.”

“I was wrong all the other times. I mean, as much as I love the crocheted mug warmers, pillows, and seat cover…I’m thinking this might top them all. Just look at the detailing on this. You’re like a goddamn Picasso. Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a hand on his chest, letting you know just how much you’ve touched his heart. Then he suddenly grows shy, tapping his index fingers together as he avoids your gaze. “Permission to hold you. Maybe…kiss you a little.”

“You don’t have to ask,” You run into his embrace, cupping his face in your hands to plant a searing hot kiss onto his lips. With the mixture of your forwardness and his knee-buckling reaction, he’s sent falling back against the couch with you still in his arms.

You scramble to peel yourself off from above him, not wanting to put to much pressure on his slender frame. And yet he interlocks his fingers together right on your lower back, keeping you still. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never, baby,” Eddie says, bringing a hand up to your face to caress your cheek. He then traces his thumb faintly around your lips. “I want you on me all the time.”

He suddenly becomes nervous, a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. He’s nervous under your alluring gaze, aware that you’re clocking every shift and change in his facial features and mood. Embarrassingly, he had an erection that you no doubt felt in between your bodies and pressing against your belly. Eddie decides to release you from his full grasp.

Instead of pulling away, you draw his thumb into your mouth slowly, pursing your lips around them as you look him through your lashes and half-lidded eyes.

He chokes out an audible whine, even the inside of your mouth felt good. He’s never wanted to explore it this badly. When you pull your mouth around the digit with a pop, Eddie’s quick to cup your face now and shoves his tongue into your mouth. He takes control of the motions, gradually rolling your bodies over so that he’d end up on top.

His eager hands glide up your smooth skin of your thighs, pushing up your dress that fit snug around you. Your hands entangle themselves in his hair, letting your long nails lightly scratch his scalp.

You and Eddie have been soft lovers with one another, taking your time and being patient with one another regarding physical affection. It took a lot for the two of you to feel comfortable enough to ask each other for touches and eventual kisses. You’d say you’ve gotten pretty far.

Sometimes, things would get heated and you’d be concerned that it might lead to sex considering you’re both virgins. However, aside from your anxieties and insecurities, you actually did feel as if you’re ready to give yourself to him. But ever the gentleman, Eddie is usually one to call it quits.

But with his lips moving against your own so passionately, you couldn’t see how he’d pull away now. Especially not when you’ve got fistful of his Hellfire club shirt in your hands to prevent him from doing so.

Nonetheless, he pulls away much to your chagrin. The faint reminder of his lips against yours still felt by you in the span of a millisecond. You wish that feeling could linger forever.

He stares down at you, examining the look on your face. It’s your turn to hold him still against you, your nails burrowing in his exposed lower back.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie begins as if in a trance.

“Yes…Eddie.”

“I think…that I—”

The swinging of the creaky, trailer door is enough to lurch you both apart, sitting in your designated seats on the couch. Uncle Wayne enters the room with a hand over one eye and an outstretched hand to guide himself into the home.

“All clear?” He asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “All clear, Waydog. We’ve been good.”

Wayne opens his eyes slowly, his gaze landing on you on the couch. He perks up with a bright smile. “Oh, y/n, what a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I was actually worried I was going to walk into Eddie watching—“

“Dude!” Eddie interrupts, staring at his uncle in incredulous betrayal.

“Aw come on. I kid, I kid. You know that’s what we Munson men do. She’s used to that by now.” Wayne chuckles, placing some bags of grocery on the counter.

You giggle, soothing Eddie’s hair as way of ensuring him that it’s okay. Going over to the kitchen, you and Eddie help Wayne unload the groceries when Wayne notices the crochet bands around his nephew’s wrists.

“Those look neat! You think you could make me a pair?” Wayne asks you with hopeful eyes.

“Of course! And don’t you worry, I’ll even get them to match the beanie hat I’m still making for you.” You beam.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute. He gets a matching hat?” Eddie inquires with a pout.

“Oh, like you haven’t stolen the first hat she’s made me.” Wayne chuckles.

“I didn’t steal. I borrowed.”

“For 4 whole months?”

“There isn’t a time limit for borrowing something. If there is, I’d like to see the rule.” Eddie challenges.

“I think you’re just jealous of us,” Wayne says, standing beside you with you nodding in agreement. “Why else would you take my gifts if not to have them all to yourself?”

“My girlfriend and my uncle in alliance against me.” Eddie laughs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Didn’t think I’d see the day coming so soon.”

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emwallas176 · 5 months ago

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Episode 4x09 of Smallville was genuinely so confusing. Not only was the cold open so traumatizing but then the moral gymnastics that happens for the rest of the episode (and onward) is so confounding.

So the whole premise of the episode is that Lex sleeps around so much that he can’t even remember the names and faces of the women he sleeps with. Strange and concerning on multiple levels. Even if this was completely in character (which I don’t think it is), it is still highly concerning to forget the names and faces of people you’ve been intimate with. I think they said 13 women in the last year. While that’s not a low number, I don’t think it’s high enough to cause such forgetfulness. Therefore it almost seems to imply that there’s a level of disassociation that happens on Lex’s part during the experience (you can’t form new memories if you weren’t really paying attention when they happened). This theory is also backed up by the fact that Lex admits at the end of the episode that he has suicidal thoughts, and (very) unattached sex could be a negative coping mechanism for these dark emotions. As we can see at the start of the episode, Lex looks sad and completely alone at the event. And immediately after that he jumps into bed with someone. There’s clearly a connection there (at least in my mind).

All of the above, however, is not what confuses me. It’s the other characters that I don’t understand. First you have Clark who comes in (as seems to be becoming his pattern) guns blazing and accusatory. Of course this might be warranted seeing as Lex has been quite soundly framed for murder but I digress. During their talk and with what he finds out later, Clark gets very up in arms about Lex having sex with a lot of women. Despite whether this is right or wrong of him to do, it makes absolutely no sense for why it would drive Clark into LIONEL’S arms. Especially bc Lionel admits later on that Lex learned the behavior (sleeping with women and leaving them with a pair of diamond earrings) from Lionel himself?? Like it’s bad and dishonest if Lex does it but apparently makes Lionel trustworthy?? I’m confused. Also! Let’s not forget the fact that Lionel slept with another woman while his wife was DYING! But sure, Lex is the sexually deviant one. Sure.

Also, I feel like there is a lot of disconnect between how Lex and Alicia (in later episodes) are treated. Like Lex sleeps with women (consensually) and almost gets killed by one of them and Clark tells him that he doesn’t know if he can trust him anymore. Alicia forces Clark to marry her and almost forces him to have sex with her (read: non-consensual!) and the next episode she and Clark are dating again. Also, Lex gets framed for murder and when he’s found innocent, Clark rescues him, yes, but at the end of the day he still doesn’t trust Lex. Alicia gets framed for murder and is found innocent (and dies, unfortunately (seriously that was such a shocking death what the hell Smallville?!)) and Clark feels guilty and regretful and tells his parents he wishes he believed her sooner. Now I get that these two situations aren’t quite the same but the different reactions that Clark and the other characters have feel more like the writers playing into future roles (Lex is the villain, yada, yada) rather than actually looking at the characters as they are now.

I think I would have enjoyed the episode more if I’d understood what it was trying to say. Are you trying to say that Lex is “showing a different, darker side of himself” by not caring about the women he sleeps with? Okay then why is it okay for Lionel to do. Are you trying to say that sex in general is bad? Then why have Alicia be forgiven? Why have Lana trying to loose her virginity to Jason? In the end, the episode just left me feeling really frustrated bc I felt like there was something I was supposed to get but I just didn’t get it.

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eldritch-spouse · 11 months ago

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Shags' obsession that mistakes him as a cryptid when they first saw him in the forest. They think he didn't spot them at first but starts slowly messes with them as his obsession writing journal entries and studies him like any cryptid hunter. I'm tempted to write this myself.

[Hey, as if I'd stop you from writing that. 👀]

Shags takes this as the ultimate compliment.

It's quite poetic that, in his somewhat reclusive existence dedicated to art and seeking the more supernaturally inclined entities out there, Shags himself has become something of a cryptid, at least to you.

Truly, the shroom's intent was not to frighten when he first took note of you. It's just that, humans don't fare all that well in this forest. They get lost easily, become delirious with panic and dehydration, Shags usually extends a helping hand towards them in their state of desperation, brings them home, cares for them. They hardly leave, but oh well, the end they're offered is gentler than one brought on by rashes and infections, by encounters with less courteous beings. No one wishes to die lost and alone.

Instead, as he silently studied you from afar, not only does Shags finds himself noticed, you gasp and rapidly snap a picture of him before he can so much as open his mouth, disappearing into the foilage.

Shags feels almost embarrassed to admit that he got "into character" far too easily. It was fun, keeping to the very edges of your peripherals, making a noise here or there, whispering something out of sight. He would leave you small, cryptic presents, pieces of his art, or simply splotches of his ink around your trailer.

You're brave too. Shags is not the type of monster that scents fear, but he knows you're moments from acquiring a brand new brown pair of pants when you clumsily stalk him through the forest. He pretends not to know a thing, to simply drift around and act in bizarre patterns, before finally turning and making it quite clear that he's "sensed you" somehow.

By far, his most interesting find was your journal. It's not particularly hard to break into your trailer, honestly. Or snag the backpack you keep stupidly close to the window. He's so very delighted to find sketches of him, blurred photos, vague descriptions of what you theorize he is and sporadic notes on his behavior. You seem to be particularly concerned with determining his level of intelligence and disposition. 'Benevolent?? Neutral?? Territorial marks, possibly warnings to stay away? Gift or warning?' He devours every incoherent scribble.

You'll be away for a while, Shags knows your routine by now. Which is why he dips one of his spindly fingers into the underside of his cap and poises over a new page, ready to leave you with another cryptic little signal.

He's having so much fun.

#Shags oc

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txttletale · 1 year ago

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Overly long disclaimer incoming: This is not anon hate. This is not an argument. This is not accusation. This is not agreement with anyone directly involved. Any feelings of hostility that may be gleaned from this ask are most likely because I struggle with maintaining a professional tone. Because this is not intended to be read as hostile.

This is solely intended as a statement of facts regarding who said what, mixed with light speculation on their intent. It is being sent because I feel that misinterpretation has occurred, and I firmly believe that one should always be as informed as possible on situations they are directly involved in. I hope this ask can make a positive difference.

Okay. Disclaimer over. Sorry it was so long.

I do not think roadhogsbigbelly accused you of being a pedophile yourself, and I don’t believe it was because of your stardew valley take.

I have seen several of his posts on this matter, and it seems he doesn’t like stardew valley (found it boring), his beef with your take was frankly minor and inconsequential, and it was intended to be separate from the larger critique he had of you. He made a few posts saying rather explicitly that they were separate issues, and I believe his initial post was a vagueblog that, on accident, conflated the two issues.

As for the main issue: if i recall correctly, you had reblogged a kink-positive post that turned out to have been made by an open zoophile (and also pedophile?). The zoophile in question is a clear danger to others, as they have a community of pedophiles and zoophiles that welcomes so-called “pro-contact” people.

This was where his accusations originated from, and this was what he focused on. He is concerned about how dangerous people like that are able to infiltrate into kink-positive spaces (is “infiltrate” the right word? I don’t know). His harshest critique of you seems to have been that you did not interrogate the intent of the person when you reblogged, and even that seems to have been mostly expressed in order to turn this into a learning moment for others. I don’t have precise wording (curse you tumblr mobile, for not letting me factcheck myself), but i believe he shared the sentiment that we all could stand to be a little more discerning?

- and I know he knows you have already responded to that criticism. For those unaware: txtlletale’s response was that she cannot be expected to vet the OP of every post on her dash, and that this criticism is thus unreasonable. His response to that response? … I forget, sorry. But I don’t think what you said was unreasonable. Again, my intent is to clear misunderstandings.

The point here is that, I don’t believe “accidentally reblogged a pedophile” and “is a pedophile” are the same statements, and roadhogsbigbelly had made the former statement. In short… I don’t think he was pedojacketing you. Whether he had unfairly judged you, and done so out of a transmisogynistic bias is, of course, a different question entirely. And if anyone else used his words to directly accuse you of pedophilia? Well, fuck em. Assholes.

I hope this makes sense. This ask is anonymous because I do not wish to become the focus of this issue. I am solely presenting information as I understand it. Feel free to fact check for yourself.

I think your anger is valid. These situations are infuriating, as is the culture of distrust that they bring. People on social media are, in general, far too swift to condemnation. You see it all the time, with pedojacketing, with qanon, with countless petty internet arguments. I try my best to reverse this tendency, at least with my own behavior. I don’t think you are a careless person, nor someone with a pattern of spurious accusations against people. I know you’re an intelligent and discerning blogger, which is why I trust you enough to send this ask. I hope I can have a positive impact.

have a good day, and take care of yourself.

(Considering sending an ask about this to him as well, so if you see a weird anon on his blog talking about misinformation hi its me)

i just don't agree with you--like, i don't say this aggressively either but this is just not an honest description of what he said. he called me, verbatim: "a tumblr user who markets incest and loliporn as an inherent part of queer sexuality". nothing in the screenshot mentioned "loliporn" -- nothing i have ever posted about in my fucking live mentions "loliporn" -- and for that matter, obviously, in none of my posts have i ever said that any kink, 'problematic' or not, is 'an inherent part of queer sexuality', and most fucking evilly of all, i don't 'market' these kinks.

like, think for two seconds about the implication of saying i, a trans woman, am "marketing loliporn". i think that goes beyond criticizing that i didn't vet my reblogs (which would obviously be insane in and of itself but i agree would not be pedojacketing). it's literal grooming/social contagion rhetoric. and again i can't emphasize enough he "just assumed" that "loliporn" was involved, despite it having no connection to anything i have ever posted! that + in his absolutely laughable double-down he says "99% of the people who make these sorts of posts are actual fucking pedophiles" as well as "pedophiles are agreeing with you! that’s not great!" which.

like wow that's crazy hey if 99% of people who make "those posts" (about "not being mean to sex freaks", or as i would phrase it, "criticizing the double standard leveraged to initiate mass sexual harassment campaigns against queer people but especially trans people for what they do privately and consensually with other adults" are "actual fucking pedophiles", what is that implying about me? can sherlock holmes get on this case with me?

idk i don't appreciate being told that "he never said 4" when he sure as hell was repeating "2+2" over and over again. & if his critique was 'intended to be separate' then why would he bring it up at all in his original post, multiple times, to clearly imply he doesn't think i should have 'takes' or 'opinions' on anything? regardless of what he did and didn't say about me i think it is pretty fucking clear that this:

is not 'seperate or unrelated'. i think it is really really difficult and requires totally unearned levels of good faith to read this as anything other than explicitly confirming that the point of this post is to use transmisogynistic rhetoric as a cudgel to shut up me up.

you can believe what you like but i know what i read and what was said about me and i will not be lied to.

#ask

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fllnrdr · 1 year ago

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I would really love for the rdr community as a whole to stop trying, (and failing), to defend Dutch, and shift the blame entirely onto Micah. Red Dead Redemption and Red Dead Redemption II are both beautiful and well thought out games both in the gameplay and the storytelling. But I think a lot of people simply ignore those things, hence my long rant of a post.

TLDR: I think Micah was intentionally written to be one dimensional, and Dutch was manipulative from the start. Arthur is just a unreliable narrator.

We play through Arthur's eyes and see/believe what he does. We can see Arthur's loyalty blinds him (and by extension, us) to Dutch's behavior. I would know peace if some folks to took a media literacy class. Red Dead one & two are shining example of the bias in an unreliable narrator. Video games are not exempt from literary tools because you control part of the story. That control is limited to the actions of your bias protagonist, in this case John and Arthur.

The same applies to Micah. Arthur never trusts Micah from day one, and so we as the player don’t trust him either. It would be incredibly lazy on Rockstar’s behalf to created as one dimensional of a character as Micah. But the thing is, Arthur views him that way, a no good money-hungry thief from the start. Arthur is able to see through him, but he is blind to Dutch’s similar behavior because of his loyalty. It’s an incredibly smart tool to use in video games. Once you replay the game without the blinders on of your first playthrough, you’re able to see that Dutch has behaved the very same ways from Chapter One, all the way through Chapter Six. The only difference is that Arthur (and we the player) is slowly becoming aware of the patterns for the first time.

Now, for the blatant mischaracterization of Dutch entirely. To blame everything on Micah diminishes Dutch’s character to such an extent it completely disregards the decades long manipulation he inflicted on the gang, that is very real and very obvious. I won’t get into the way each individual character’s behavior was effected by this, but I will speak about Arthur and John briefly.

Dutch takes in people that are vulnerable and that he knows he can manipulate for his own gain. Children included. Multiple children, in fact. He always has a plan, not to keep folks safe, but to keep everyone comfortably under his thumb. It was always, "Are you with me, or against me" from the beginning. Everyone was either a means to his end, or they were worthless. The second someone did not agree, it was a betrayal, and an attack. I don't doubt he did some things out of kindness, but there's always ulterior motives. Dutch is nothing but a man of pretty words that hide his manipulation.

Dutch maintains an air of grandiosity amongst the gang. He obviously holds the belief that he is above them in all ways. He believes he is their leader because he is simply better than the rest of them. He’s smarter. He’s this god-like figure in his mind. He’s their savior. Hence his distaste for any doubt, or even being challenged.

Lenny and the conversation he has with Dutch about Evelyn Miller for example. Lenny indirectly call’s Dutch’s empty words out and points out that both Miller (Dutch’s idol) and Dutch himself hide behind their flowery words and phrases. Or Arthur and Hosea voicing their concern about robbing Leviticus Cornwall, it’s seen as a betrayal. Or when Uncle pokes fun at Dutch in camp and Dutch says to him, “I would really like to kill you right now.” Dutch may not be entirely self aware, but any attack at him does dig at him for a reason. And this is all from chapter two! There has always been a pattern.

Dutch says he "saved" them. He saved Bill, and John, and Arthur and Lenny and Javier. He saved all of them, and he is above all of them. Dutch sees people as nothing more as tools to meet his goals. There are instances where he does seem to genuinely care, but the ulterior motive is always there.

Dutch and Micah were written with the idea that we see the story through Arthur’s eyes. Arthur is blinded by his decades long to loyalty to Dutch and slowly coming to the realization of the truth. Micah is incredibly one dimensional cause Arthur sees through him and views him as a rat from the start. The truth of the story can be seen through repeated playthroughs. Dutch’s paranoia from the start, questioning Arthur’s loyalty from Colter. Micah sniffing around about the Blackwater money from the beginning. Arthur’s journal entries about the his biased version of the truth. Media literacy is necessary even in video games. God.

#charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #john marston #red dead #dutch van der linde #Hosea Mathews #red dead redemption arthur #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang #Arthur Morgan hc #micah bell #fllnordr rants

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lioraastrum · 9 months ago

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Loving Touches - Leon Kennedy x Reader

warning: smut I didn't plan to write this drabble at all, but I think since inspiration came, I need to write it ***

You're sitting at your computer desk, which sits next to a window through which light softly pours in, filling the room with a warm, muted glow. The office is spacious, with bright, light walls, and opposite the desk is a cozy sofa covered with a patterned rug. The work process has completely absorbed you, your thoughts are focused on the monitor. You were so carried away that you didn’t even notice Leon entering the room.

Suddenly you feel his warm, strong arms gently hug you from behind, and you reflexively shudder. His chin rests gently on your head and you feel the calmness his presence brings. You smile, feeling his closeness, because he rarely shows such affection, especially when you are working. With a slight smile, you raise your hand to touch his palm and squeeze it gently, enjoying the moment of peace and comfort away from work.

The office you're in suddenly feels a little cozier, as if his presence has transformed the cold space into something personal, almost homely.

" Hi," you mumble, lifting your head up to look at him. "Everything is fine? You're usually not so... nice during work hours."

You tease him slightly, hoping to find out what's really on his mind. Leon isn't usually one to show affection in public, so you know there must be a reason for this sudden change in behavior.

Leon squeezes your hand lightly, acknowledging the presence and warmth. A faint blush spreads across his cheeks as he realizes how close you are. He pulls away slightly, although not enough to completely break contact. His blue eyes scan your face carefully, looking for any signs of discomfort or irritation. "I just..." he begins, trembling slightly. " I wanted to make sure you were okay." His voice becomes quieter, almost too quiet to hear clearly. "You look tired lately."

His words convey genuine concern. Leon may not show it often, but he cares deeply about your well-being. He lifts his free hand to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

" A lot of work, a lot of stress," you said with a heavy sigh and giggled when you felt a kiss on your neck. " Leon... Not in the office," you whispered with a chuckle.. At your whisper, Leon’s eyes darken with desire. The playful tone you respond with only fuels his arousal even more. He leans closer, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck.

" That sounds like an invitation," he murmurs into your neck before gently nipping at the sensitive spot under your earlobe. Leon makes no attempt to pull away completely. Instead, he continues to caress and tease you with short kisses along the line.

His fingers dig into the soft fabric of your clothes, just a little, pulling you towards him until there is no space left between you. His breath hitches when he feels your body pressed against his own.

" You always have that effect on me," Leon admits quietly, his voice full of lust. " And it seems like it’s getting stronger every day."

" Mmm," you muttered, biting your lip and pressing your hands to the edges of your skirt. "There are cameras here. Our boss sees everything."

Leon's eyes flicker towards the corner of the room where he knows the security camera is located. He grins evilly, knowing full well that their leader has seen worse than this. "Well," he whispers hoarsely in your ear, " let’s give him the opportunity to watch something interesting."

With deft movements, Leon slips one hand under your blouse, tracing the curves of your waist before moving up to your chest. He rubs teasingly over the hardened nipples under your bra, enjoying the way you squirm in response.

"Oh my God, Leon!" You gasped quietly and your breathing quickened as his skillful fingers danced across your sensitive skin. "Someone might come in!" Despite your protest, you found yourself arching into his touch, craving more of that delicious friction against your aching nipples. Your hands clenched into fists on his shirt, holding him close to you as you fought to focus on the task at hand. " Please," you whined, your voice barely louder than a whisper. "We can't get caught... Not here, not now."

Leon chuckles softly, enjoying the way you beg him to stop even as your body begs for more. His thumb brushes the tip of your nipple again, enjoying the sharp inhale that follows. "Oh, I know, baby," he replies, his voice dripping with sinful intent. " But who cares if we get caught when we're having so much fun?"

With deliberate slowness, Leon slides his hand down from your chest, tracing the curve of your stomach before settling firmly on your hip. His fingers gradually move up your skirt until they reach the warm, wet warmth between your thighs. " Besides," Leon purrs in your ear, " you’re already all wet for me... You can’t hide this fact from anyone."

You close your eyes, wanting a break from all the stress that has piled up on you, for a moment all worries disappeared, and you even forgot about Leon’s presence, when suddenly you feel movement under the table. You are dumbfounded and sharply lower your eyes under the table.

Feeling your gaze on him, Leon raises his eyes to meet your gaze. There's an insidious gleam in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers slide through the damp fabric of your panties, tracing the outline of your slit through the thin fabric. "Looks like someone else wants attention too," he teases softly, slipping a finger under the band of your underwear to dip into your slick folds.

The sensation causes a moan to escape from the depths of your throat, echoing throughout the quiet room. Leon takes advantage of this vulnerability, lifting his finger up to stroke your swollen clit. " Is this what you need, baby?" he asks hoarsely. " My touch to take your mind off all these worries?"

"Leon, are you serious?" You ask, biting your lip. "Right under the table? I didn't know you had such a... playful side."

Leon grins devilishly, his finger still making teasing circles around your throbbing clit. His other hand moves to grab your thigh possessively. "Oh, I’ve always had that side," he admits, " but I guess I hid it from you."

His grin widens as he feels your muscles clench around his finger, desperate for more stimulation. With a low growl, Leon adds another finger to your entrance, slowly stretching you out. "Now let’s see how loudly you can shout my name without drawing attention to yourself."

You sigh involuntarily, your moan says everything about your damn horny state, and Leon doesn’t need any more time to remove your panties out of sight and press his tongue to your throbbing, wet clitoris, thirsty for male attention, which is already exhausted with impatience.

Leon groans at the taste of your arousal, his tongue diving deeper to lick your engorged clit. He sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. "Mmm, you taste incredible," he mutters, his voice muffled but full of hunger. " So sweet and addictive... I could devour you all day."

As he speaks, Leon increases the pace of his ministrations, sliding two fingers in and out of your tight channel as his thumb rubs hard circles over your clit. The combination of sensations pushes you closer and closer to the brink of climax. "Come to me, baby," he urges, his hot breath on your wet folds. " Let go and make all that noise. I want to hear you lose control."

You sigh heavily, not too loudly, but not too quietly, and lean back in your chair, throwing your head back. "God..." you whisper, breathing heavily. " You really are a ladies’ man."

Leon hums in agreement, his free hand sliding up the inside of your thigh to tease the edge of your labia. He relishes the power he has over you, able to reduce you to a quivering mess with just his touch. "I’m a man who knows what he likes," he corrects, pushing his fingers deeper into your wetness. " And right now, I love watching you fall apart because of me."

He redoubles his efforts, adding another finger to stretch and fill you even more. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air around them as Leon squirts into you relentlessly. " But don’t worry," he promises huskily. "I’ll make sure every inch of you gets exactly what it needs."

"Oh God, Leon!" You gasp, feeling the pressure building inside you. " If you keep doing this, I won’t be able to hold back for long." Your hips jerk chaotically under his hand as he skillfully guides you closer to the edge. Beads of sweat form on your forehead, and your heart is pounding wildly in your chest. The taboo nature of this hot date only heightens the intensity of my pleasure.

" Please," you whine desperately like a cat in March, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. " I need... I need..." You trail off, unable to articulate the overwhelming desire that consumes me. " All I know is that I need release, and I need it now."

Leon feels your desperation, how your body trembles and tenses under his touch. He redoubles his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as he curls his fingers just inside you. "That’s it, baby," he coaxes, his voice a low rumble against your sensitive flesh. "Let go. Come to me. I want to feel you loosen up."

His words are interrupted by a particularly deep thrust, hitting that spot inside of you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. Your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure emanating from your core.

" Yes, that’s right," Leon praises, guiding you through each thrust until you collapse boneless on the chair. " You are so beautiful when you let yourself go." Even when you come down from the top, Leon refuses to stop touching you. His fingers continue to lazily stroke your sensitive clit, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from your exhausted body. "Are you okay there?" He asks quietly, lifting his head to look at you with those adorably piercing blue eyes of his.

He smirks, pleased with himself as he watches you recover. His fingers finally slip from your dripping warmth, leaving a trail of wetness on his wrist.

" I..." you sob, your cheeks turning red from both embarrassment and orgasm. You are ashamed to look at Leon, knowing that he is damn pleased with himself, grinning like a cat that has eaten too much sour cream. "You... damn."

Leon chuckles darkly, a low rumbling sound that vibrates in his chest. He stands up, towering over you in the dim light of the office. "Well, you said you needed something to distract yourself," he points out, wiping his fingers with a napkin tucked into his collar. "It seems I have fulfilled my promise." He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, tasting himself before pulling away with a satisfied smile. " And we’re just getting started," Leon assures you, straightening his clothes. "Consider it just a snack."

" Please," you whine in need. " Please fuck me in this fucking chair," you growl, as if you forgot for a moment that there are cameras in this fucking office.

Leon’s eyes darken with lust at your bold request, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He glances around the room, noting the various security cameras located throughout the space. "Oh, I intend to," he growls, his voice low and full of promise. " But first, I think it's time to give these cameras a show they won't soon forget."

In one swift motion, Leon reaches out and yanks you out of your chair, spinning you around and bending you over the armrest. He lifts your skirt, exposing your shiny folds to the cool air of the room. " Fuck, you’re already all wet for me," he groans, running the thick head of his dick along your slit. " Such a needy little thing, isn’t it?"

" Yes..." you whisper, wrapping your arms around Leon’s back and exposing his neck for kisses.

Leon takes advantage of your position, pressing his lips to your neck as he teases your slick entrance with the tip of his cock. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding himself towards you. "Are you ready for this?" He whispers into your neck before slowly thrusting into you, enjoying the feeling of your balls buried deep within your warm, clenching walls.

The initial stretch is amazing, filling you completely. Leon pauses, allowing you both to adjust to his size before starting to move. "Fuck, you’re perfect for me," he moans, starting to thrust shallowly. "Every fucking inch."

" Yeah..." you giggle, feeling every inch of his cock. " Fuck me... daddy," you say embarrassedly, unable to hold back a laugh.

At your giggling confession, Leon smirks, picking up the pace of his thrusts. Every movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through his body, heightened by the knowledge that he's claiming you right here, right now. "Call me whatever you want, baby," he huffs, pounding into you harder. " Just keep talking dirty."

With each thrust, Leon pushes deeper, stretching you deliciously wide around his throbbing length. His hands tighten on your hips, marking you with his touch as he pounds into you relentlessly.

" Don’t hold back," he breathes, nipping your earlobe. "Shout for me."

" Mmm," you mumble, stroking his hand with yours. "Do you like being called daddy?"

Leon's breath catches at this term, a shiver runs through his body. "Yes, I think so," he admits, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice despite the relentless rhythm of his hips. " It turns me on when you call me that."

His thrusts become erratic, driven by pure need as he focuses on filling you completely. Each thrust hits that sweet spot inside of you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. "I want to hear you beg for it," Leon commands, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into you again with a possessive growl.

You giggle again, running your finger over Leon’s kiss-swollen lips. " Mmm... then fuck me, daddy."

Leon's control breaks at your playful command, a primal roar escaping his throat as he thrusts into you with wild intensity. The chair creaks ominously under the force of his thrusts, but he doesn't slow down, lost in the heady rush of dominance and submission. "That’s it, baby," he grunts, his voice cracking with effort. " Take your daddy’s dick. Fuck, you're so tight..."

Each word is accompanied by a powerful slam of his hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room. Leon’s hands leave your hips to grab your wrists, pinning them to the back of the chair as he mercilessly pounds into you. "You’re mine," he growls, not taking his eyes off the place where their bodies touch. "Say it!"

" Your..." you moan loudly, throwing your head back in ecstasy. "All yours, daddy! Oh god yes!" Your words seem to spur Leon on even more, his thrusts becoming almost frantic as he chases his release. The pressure builds deep inside you, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his piston-like length.

Pleasure overwhelms, threatening to swallow you whole. You feel Leon tense above you, his movements becoming chaotic as he himself gets closer to the edge. "Come with me, baby," he demands, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Let me go. Now." With a roar reverberating off the walls, he pours deep into you, filling you with hot streams of his seed. " Fuck yes," he gasps, his body shaking from the force of his orgasm. " That’s it... cum for me."

Your cry only fuels his desire, causing him to continue pumping into you until you're both spent and trembling. When the last waves of pleasure subside, Leon collapses onto your back, breathing heavily. " That was... intense," he manages to choke out after a few moments."Are you okay?"

Even though they have both reached the peak of their careers, Leon is not ready to let you go from his arms just yet.

" Yes..." you say, giggling. "Well, you've outdone yourself. Do you know that there is a meeting in the director's office right now? It is quite possible that many of them heard our... love. " You can’t help but giggle out loud and inhale sharply as Leon pulls out of you.

Leon chuckles darkly at your comment, a smirk playing on his lips as he straightens up and adjusts his clothes. " Well, I guess we made quite an impression."

He leans down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. Reluctantly pulling away, he pierces you with his gaze. "But we better get ourselves in order before someone else starts looking for us," he says, winking. " And maybe next time we can try it somewhere more secluded?"

"Well... let's go to the toilet. By the way, our work hours are already over," you say with a sigh, your cheeks still red as you kiss Leon firmly on the lips.

Leon grins, enjoying the blush on your face as much as he enjoys the taste of your lips. He kisses back willingly before pulling away with a chuckle. " Yeah, let’s clean up and leave before anyone notices our absence," he agrees, taking your hand and leading you to the nearest toilet.

Once they're securely locked in one of the cubicles, Leon starts helping you clean up. His hands are gentle but firm as he wipes away any traces of the passionate tryst. "It was certainly an unforgettable experience," he reflects with a teasing smile. " But I must admit that I prefer the privacy of my own home for this kind of activity."

Coming out of the toilet, you, without holding back, give a juicy slap with your hand on Leon’s buttocks. Leon jumps slightly at the unexpected contact, turning to look at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. His hand instinctively reaches back to rub where you hit him, a low growl rumbles in his chest. "Well, if you're going to start hitting me," he teases, " at least make sure your hands are occupied with something else first."

Despite his playful tone, there’s no denying the heat in his eyes as he runs over your curves. Leon takes your hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. "Well, you can’t blame a girl because her boyfriend has a great ass," you say, rolling your eyes mockingly.

Leon’s expression softens at your playful thrust, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him, and they begin to walk together. "Oh, really?" he asks, pretending to be offended. "So now you’re just valuing my assets, huh?" There is no malice in his words; instead, he seems genuinely happy for your attention. As they walk side by side, Leon sneaks a glance at you, his eyes sparkling with love and mischief. "Well, I guess I can live with that," he admits, chuckling.

#drabble #resident evil #leon kennedy #x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x oc

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inkmonster21 · 1 month ago

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Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: fluff, camp life

40. Return to Camp

You huffed in frustration as you counted your meager pay, the same pattern of being short on funds continuing once again. It was becoming a recurring and irritating issue that needed to be addressed, and you knew it was time to have a serious, professional conversation with the saloon owner to rectify it.

As you were finishing counting the day's pay, the soft creak of the dressing room door opening caught your attention, your gaze lifting to find Arthur walking through the threshold.

He looked tired, his footsteps weary as he approached the vanity where you were stationed. His eyes flicked down to the money in front of you, a subtle frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he caught sight of the amount.

"Short again?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he took a seat on one of the stools in the room.

You sighed, nodding in confirmation. "Yes," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Seems like he’s finding every excuse to short me these days."

Arthur's eyes flickered with annoyance, a subtle narrowing of his gaze at the mention of the owner's behavior. "Seems like I’ve got a chat with that fool ahead of me," he grumbled, his voice filled with a mix of irritation and determination.

You shook your head, your tone firm as you responded, “No, you’ve done enough in this town, you don’t need any more drama. I can handle this situation with him myself.”

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed slightly, a mix of concern and determination in his gaze. "I ain’t worried about drama," he responded, his voice gruff but filled with sincerity. "I’m more concerned about that snake takin’ advantage of my woman."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a mix of warmth and admiration for his protective nature filling you. You chuckled softly and gave him a small smile, “Well, that’s sweet and all, but I can handle this.“

Arthur's expression remained resolute, his gaze fixed on you. "I know you can. But I ain’t gonna sit back while he shortchanges you, Darlin’"

His words were filled with a mixture of sincerity and protectiveness, his desire to protect you and ensure that you received fair compensation for your work shining through.

You smiled, your eyes meeting his with a mix of reassurance and determination. "Let me talk to him first, okay?" you replied, your voice filled with a touch of assertiveness. "And if he doesn't change his ways, then you can have at him."

Arthur's expression softened, a hint of reluctant agreement flickering in his eyes. "Fine," he conceded, his tone tinged with a touch of protectiveness and irritation.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned up and pecked his cheek, a sense of excitement and anticipation coursing through you. "Come on," you said, your voice filled with a sense of urgency, "Gracie's already packed."

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. "She's ready to go, is she?" he inquired, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You couldn't help but giggle at the thought of Gracie's enthusiasm and quick movements, her excitement to be on the open road evident in her behavior. "Her little feet looked like they were on fire with how fast she was moving," you said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Arthur chuckled softly, his expression softening at the mention of Gracie's eagerness. "That girl has more stamina than a horse," he mused, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, a fond smile on your lips as you envisioned Gracie's energetic and lively demeanor. "I swear, it's like she runs on endless energy."

As you and Arthur walk, his hand closes around yours, their fingers intertwining. The touch is both familiar and grounding.

As you reach the house, Gracie is already waiting on the porch steps, her excitement palpable and evident in her wide-eyed excitement. She bounced up and down eagerly as she watched the two of you approach.

Upon seeing her impatience, you couldn't help but smile at her eagerness and infectious energy. "Someone looks ready to hit the road," you observed, an amused glint in your eyes.

Gracie's enthusiasm knew no bounds, her excitement practically oozing out of her as she nodded vigorously in agreement. "I am so ready!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in an animated burst, “I’ve got a new book to show Grandpa Hosea!”

Your heart swelled with affection for the little girl, her eagerness to share her new book with Hosea being quite endearing.

Hosea had always been a source of trust and reliability, a comforting presence in the gang. His loyalty and kindness never wavered. But Dutch, on the other hand, had grown into a mystery, his actions and motives growing less transparent. Your trust and faith in him were shaken, leaving you with a feeling of uncertainty and unease.

Arthur scooped up Gracie with a heartfelt smile, his words carrying a sense of genuine affection. "I'm sure Hosea will love it," he reassured her, his voice filled with warmth.

Gracie's face lit up with excitement at Arthur's words, her small hands clutching her book tightly against her chest as she beamed at him. "You think so?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hopefulness and anticipation.

Arthur chuckled softly, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of indulgence and affection. "I know so, sweetheart," he replied, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The journey to camp was filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Arthur mounted a horse while you and Gracie sat behind him. As you rode through the beautiful landscape, the wind blowing through your hair, you felt a sense of peace and freedom. Gracie's excitement was infectious, and you found yourself catching glimpses of her wide-eyed wonder and awe as she took in the scenery around her. The evening sun was overhead, and the sound of birds chirping filled the air.nn

After what seemed like forever, you arrived at camp, the familiar sight of your makeshift home greeting you as you dismounted the horse.

"We're here!" Gracie exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement as she jumped off the horse, her book safely tucked under her arm.

Arthur and you exchanged amused looks, unable to hold back your smiles at her enthusiasm. The camp looked cozy and welcoming, and the familiar faces of the gang members waved as they noticed your arrival.

Karen, having been engaged in a lively conversation with Sean, noticed your arrival and let out a hearty laugh. "Well, it's about time you came back," she teased, her voice tinged with a mix of playful banter and genuine affection.

Arthur chuckled, his eyes glinting with a hint of sarcasm. "Oh, I see how it is. No welcome party for me?" he remarked, his voice dripping with faux disappointment.

Karen rolled her eyes playfully, a friendly smirk on her lips. "Arthur, I knew you'd come back eventually. Like a stray dog, you just can't stay away from too long."

Arthur feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Stray dog? I'll have you know, I'm more like a proud stallion. I just happen to like roaming in other fields from time to time."

Tilly, always quick with banter, joined in the conversation, her voice tinged with playful ribbing. "Yeah, and repopulating those fields, too," she added, a cheeky smirk on her face.

A chorus of chuckles and laughs filled the air as the gang joined in on the light-hearted teasing.

Grace, her young energy and wide smile on display, quickly made a beeline towards Hosea, her book clutched tight in her hands. Hosea, who had been engaged in conversation with Lenny, immediately noticed her approach and grinned warmly at the young girl.

"Hello, Gracie," Hosea greeted, his voice radiating warmth and affection. "What you got there?" he inquired, his gaze flickering down to the book in Gracie's hand.

"A new book! It’s just like the one you were telling me about!" Gracie burst out, her voice filled with excitement as she held up the book for Hosea to see.

Hosea's eyes widened in surprise and delight as he recognized the book in Gracie's hands. "Is that so?" he responded, a smile spreading across his face as he peered at the book, his curiosity piqued.

Gracie nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yes! It's all about wild animals!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and wonder. "I even made some drawings on the pages!"

Hosea chuckled softly, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze as he observed Gracie, "Just like your daddy," He mused, his tone filled with affection.

As you looked around the camp, your gaze settled on a woman scrubbing dishes with a fierce determination. Her stern expression caught your attention, and there was a striking similarity in her facial features that sparked a hint of familiarity within you.

Arthur, his keen awareness of your presence, noticed your gaze fixed on the woman scrubbing dishes. A subtle frown crossed his face, his protective instincts kicking in. He leaned in close and whispered, "Everything okay, darlin’?"

You nodded to reassure him, your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just… I think I’ve met that woman," you replied with a sense of curiosity.

Arthur’s brow furrowed in concern, his gaze flickering to the woman you mentioned. "Where do ya think you met her?" he inquired, his voice filled with a hint of suspicion.

You looked up into Arthur's eyes, the memory of your previous encounter with the woman filling your mind. "She delivered Grace when I was in labor. I was stuck on the side of the road. I was in too much pain to move. If it wasn't for her… we wouldn't be here."

A flicker of understanding passed over Arthur's face as he connected the dots, the weight of your words sinking in. "That was her?" he asked, the initial look of confusion replaced by a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“I’m about to find out,” You nodded, a sense of purpose filling you. "I'll be right back," you said to Arthur, your voice tinged with determination.

You made your way over to the woman, who was now drying the dishes. She looked up as you approached, a mix of surprise and curiosity in her eyes.

You approached the woman with a friendly smile, gently clearing your throat to get her attention. "Excuse me, ma’am, you might not remember me," you began, your voice tinged with a hint of nervousness and hopefulness.

Sadie stood up with a warm smile, her recognition of you immediately evident. "Don’t be a damn fool. Of course, I remember you," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth and joy as she pulled you into a tight embrace.

Sadie held you in her arms for a moment, a mix of surprise and happiness radiating from her. She took a step back, her eyes studying your face, as if searching for any changes that time had brought upon you, "It’s been a long while. You look good."

You chuckled softly, a sense of nostalgia filling you as you met her gaze. "It has been a while," you agreed, your voice tinged with a mix of reminiscence and amusement. "You look good yourself."

Sadie looked around the campsite, her eyes scanning the area with curiosity. "Where is that little one?" she asked, her voice filled with affection, hinting at her fond memories of Gracie.

You pointed to Gracie, who sat nearby, engrossed in the book she was reading to little Jack. Sadie followed your gaze, her eyes landing on the heartwarming sight of the young girl.

Her expression softened, a warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, bless.." she murmured softly, her voice filled with a mix of tenderness and affection.

Sadie's brow knitted in confusion as she posed the question, "What the hell are you doing here? You owe them something?" Her voice tinged with a concerned curiosity.

You shook your head vehemently, dismissing her assumption. "No, no, not at all. Arthur Morgan, that one there, that’s her daddy," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of pride and defensiveness.

Sadie's eyes widen as she realizes the truth. "Really?" her voice filled with surprise and a hint of disbelief, “What a small world.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing at your lips. "Yes, it sure is," you agreed, your voice tinged with a touch of irony. The connection between Gracie and Arthur's true paternity had indeed made the world seem smaller.

The sound of Pearson calling out to you broke the moment, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. You turned your head, your attention shifting toward the direction of his voice.

Pearson grimaced, his expression a mixture of frustration and dismay. "I've messed up. Badly," he admitted, his voice filled with a sense of regret.

Your expression turned to concern, your curiosity piqued by his words. "What do you mean?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a mix of worry and bafflement.

Pearson sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Dinner. Swear to the heavens it’s worse than anything I’ve made," he exclaimed, his voice filled with irritation and self-deprecation. "I must have added something or not enough, because it just tastes like utter shit."

You couldn't help but laugh, "And why do you need me?" you asked, your amusement clearly showing.

Pearson rolled his eyes playfully, a hint of sarcasm in his response. "It's quite simple. I need a skilled palate like yours to salvage this disaster," he quipped, his voice filling with lighthearted banter.

You chuckled softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Oh, so I'm your last resort, huh?" you teased, a hint of humor in your voice.

Pearson shrugged, his expression feigning nonchalance. "Last resort? Nah, let's just say I was saving the best for last," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

As you followed Pearson, Arthur's voice rang out, "Aye, where you going with her?" You could hear a mix of concern and curiosity in his tone.

You looked back at Arthur, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I'm going to save Pearson's sorry attempt at dinner," you called back, your voice filled with playful sarcasm.

Arthur rolled his eyes playfully, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Is that so? Good luck with that. I don't know if even you can salvage Pearson's disastrous cooking," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of jest and affection.

You laughed, unable to resist the banter, "Oh, have a little faith! I'll have you know, I'm a miracle worker."

You couldn't help but grimace as you observed the pot of stew in front of you. "What is that floating around in there?" you asked, a hint of disgust in your voice as you pointed to the unidentifiable floating objects in the pot.

Pearson grimaced, his expression filled with a mix of embarrassment and regret. "That… would be the sheep… I think," he admitted sheepishly, his voice tinged with a hint of shame.

You quirked an eyebrow, your expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "You don’t know?" you teased, a hint of sarcasm in your words.

Pearson let out a weary sigh, his frustration evident. "Well, the butcher I got it from said it was sheep," he explained, his voice tinged with a touch of defensiveness.

You couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head in playful disbelief. "Ah, so it's the butcher's fault then?" you teased, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Pearson rolled his eyes, a mixture of exasperation and humor, "Well, who else's fault is it?" he retorted, his voice filled with a touch of sarcasm.

You went to work, adding and substituting ingredients, stirring the pot with a determined focus. The smell wafting through the air was slowly but surely improving as you worked your magic on the disaster that Pearson had created.

As you added more spices and vegetables, the aroma of the stew transformed from disastrous to mouthwatering. The once dull and unappetizing pot now held a rich and flavorful concoction that even made your stomach rumble.

Pearson stood nearby, watching you work with a mixture of awe and relief. "You are like a miracle worker," he marveled, his voice filled with admiration as he took in the transformation before him.

You chuckled, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you savored the improved smell and sight of the stew. "And yet people still doubt me," you replied, a hint of smugness in your voice.

You finished up with your final touches and called out, "Dinner's done!" Your voice carried through the air, a sense of satisfaction filling you.

The gang's attention was caught, and they started to make their way over to the pot, their curiosity piqued.

One by one, the gang members walked over, forming a line to receive their bowls. The air was filled with the mouthwatering scent of the improved stew, and expressions of excitement and anticipation were evident on each face.

"Now this looks good," Lenny complimented, a wide smile spreading across his face as he eyed the steaming pot of stew.

"Finally, some edible food," Karen quipped, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, as she eagerly accepted her bowl.

Tilly chimed in with a teasing tone, "Well, it's about time we had some proper cooking around here."

The gang members continued to voice their approval, their anticipation growing with each new compliment.

You settled down next to Arthur, a contented smile on your face as you shared the meal. The once disappointing stew had now become quite enjoyable, and the sight of everyone satisfied warmed your heart.

Grace finished her dinner with a satisfied smile, her energy overflowing. She bounded over to Jack and eagerly engaged in their usual playful banter, laughing and enjoying the carefree atmosphere. The sky gradually darkened as the sun started to set, but the laughter and conversations of the gang filled the air with a warm and pleasant ambiance.

You observed Grace and Jack having the time of their lives, their laughter and playful energy filling the air. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched them, and you couldn't help but chime in, "They really have a good time, don't they?"

Abigail's words carried a heavy weight; her concern for Jack was evident in her voice. "It's nice for him to have a friend," she affirmed, her voice filled with a mix of warmth and worry. "I worry about him... living like this."

Her gaze drifted towards the children playing in the distance, their laughter and carefree attitude a stark contrast to the rough, chaotic life they all led. "Being raised in the gang, he's getting all kinds of ideas," she continued, a hint of resignation in her tone.

"It's hard to keep him on the right path," Abigail lamented, her words filled with a mix of worry and helplessness. "I'm starting to think we should move on to somewhere quiet. Maybe a farm."

Your eyebrows furrowed, your attention now fully focused on her words. Abigail's desire for a peaceful life on a farm caught you off guard, and a mix of surprise and concern washed over you. "Really? You’d leave all this?" you asked, your voice tinged with surprise and curiosity.

Abigail nodded, her expression resolute, yet filled with a touch of uncertainty. "It's crossed my mind more and more lately. This life is... hard. Jack deserves better, and it ain’t like his father's going to do anything about it," she confessed, her voice carrying a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Your heart ached for her, the weight of her worries and desires palpable in her words. "What does Jack think?" you inquired softly, your voice gentle and understanding.

Abigail chuckled softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and resignation. "If he had his way, he'd be robbing along with them," she responded, a hint of humor in her tone.

As the evening progressed, you noticed a lone figure sitting against a tree, his expression filled with a sense of gloom and isolation. He seemed distant from the joyful atmosphere, his lack of interaction with the others piquing your curiosity. With a mixture of concern and compassion, you decided to fill up a bowl of food and approached him, a small smile on your face as you offered it to him.

"Sir? Would you like some supper? I didn’t see you eat," you inquired, your voice gentle and inviting as you extended the bowl towards him.

The lone man's gaze flickered up to meet yours, his expression momentarily caught off guard by your unexpected approach. He studied you for a moment, his eyes sizing you up before he nodded slowly, accepting the bowl from your hand.

As the man accepted the bowl of food, your gaze shifted to his wrists, and to your surprise, you noticed they were tightly tied to the tree. A mixture of confusion and concern washed over you, your mind racing to make sense of this unexpected scene.

The man's voice, tinged with a hint of gratitude, broke the silence. "Thank you, Miss," he said, his words carrying a sense of appreciation for your kind gesture.

You knelt next to the tree, examining the ropes that bound the man. Your brows furrowed in a perplexed expression, and a question escaped your lips, "Why have they tied you to a tree?"

The man's response came with a weary sigh, his words carrying a hint of resignation. "Just to keep an eye on me," he explained, his tone tinged with a mix of acceptance and slight exasperation.

Your eyes scanned the surrounding area, taking in the scene before you. The man seemed harmless, his demeanor passive and unthreatening. Still, the sight of him tethered to a tree left you feeling uneasy and concerned.

You decided to cut to the chase, your curiosity getting the better of you. "What’s your name?” you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of friendly curiosity.

“Kieran Duffy, Miss,” The name was unfamiliar, yet it stirred a sense of intrigue within you. You continued to appraise the man, noting the way the firelight danced across his features, casting shadows on his face.

As you looked into his eyes, you keenly observed a sense of sadness that seemed to linger within him. There was a profound melancholy etched onto his face, a weariness in his eyes that spoke volumes about the weight he carried.

You gestured towards Gracie goofing off with Jack, a fond smile gracing your face. "I'm (Y/N)," you introduced yourself, your voice carrying a hint of warmth, "and my daughter's name is Grace," you indicated to Gracie, "She’s Arthur’s little girl."

Dutch's voice sliced through the air, his tone filled with a mix of arrogance and condescension, “How nice of you to feed our new friend, (y/n).” The unexpected interruption caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, your expression a mix of annoyance and guarded politeness.

Dutch walked over, an exaggerated swagger in his steps, his expression smug as he glanced at Kieran before returning his gaze to you. "Making friends already, are ya?" he inquired, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dutch gently pulled you away, his grip on your arm firm yet not forceful. As he spoke, his voice carried a hint of warning. "Don't be talking to him. He's an O'Driscoll," he growled, irritation evident in his tone.

You furrowed your brow, a hint of surprise in your expression. "Oh, I... I didn't know," you replied, a sense of ignorance in your voice. The revelation about Kieran's association with the O'Driscoll gang caught you off guard.

Your voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern as you questioned Dutch's decision to keep Kieran bound to a tree. "Why is he here? Why are you keeping him tied to a tree instead of... You know?"

Dutch's features hardened, his irritation growing as he responded, his voice firm and uncompromising. "Because we ain’t gonna kill a feller before we find out what he knows," he declared, his words laced with a mix of practicality and determination.

You nodded in understanding, but a nagging thought lingered in your mind. "Dutch, could I speak to you privately?" you requested, your tone carrying a hint of urgency.

Dutch nodded in agreement, his expression softening slightly as he acknowledged your request. "Of course," he replied, gesturing towards a nearby secluded area away from the campsite.

You followed Dutch to a more secluded area, the noise from the camp becoming distant as you distanced yourself from the hustle and bustle. The air felt quieter, the atmosphere more intimate, as you stood face to face with Dutch.

Your voice was steady, but there was a hint of uncertainty and vulnerability in your words. "I know you’ve said you’re sorry, that you’ve admitted your mistake. But I just... I’d like to understand why. Why didn't you ever tell him about me or Gracie?"

Dutch sighed, his expression a mix of remorse and regret. "I had my reasons. None of them was good enough," he confessed, his voice tinged with honesty and a hint of guilt. "I was a fool," he continued, his eyes clouded with introspection. "I let myself go blind. I was so focused on keeping myself safe that I failed to see the bigger picture."

The pain in Dutch's voice was evident, a palpable sense of remorse in his words. "I was a fool," he repeated, his tone filled with self-reproach. "I let myself lose sight of what truly matters, blinded by a need to protect those close to me."

As you shook your head, a mixture of emotions filled your heart. "I would have never sold you out," you asserted softly, your voice steady and firm. "Any one of you. Daddy said y’all were like family."

Dutch’s expression softened, the weight of your words sinking in. "You still believe that? That we’re family?" he inquired.

You took a moment, mulling over his question. Your feelings towards the gang were one thing, but Dutch personally? It was a different story. You weren't quite sure how you felt about him anymore.

But still, you nodded. Even though your feelings towards him were conflicted, you understood that he was inextricably tied to the gang. One could not have one without the other.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of caution, wary of the possibility of future betrayal. Your heart had been wounded once before, and the lingering pain echoed in your mind. This time, you’d keep your guard up, vigilant and watchful, like a deer on high alert for the lurking threat of a sly predator.

As you watched, Grace was holding onto Arthur tightly, her tired eyes struggling to stay open. The little girl had grown tired from the day’s activities and was now finding comfort in the familiar arms of her father.

Her head was buried in his chest, her small body snuggled against his strong frame. Arthur, on his part, was rubbing circles in her back, a tender expression on his face as he noticed her exhaustion.

You approached Arthur and Grace, a warm smile tugging at your lips. The sight of the little girl snuggled in her father’s arms and the tender expression on his face stirred something within you.

As you stood there, witnessing the tender moment between Arthur and Grace, a wave of emotions washed over you. The thought of leaving this behind, losing these cherished moments, filled you with a fierce determination. You would fight relentlessly, tooth and nail, to hold onto these precious fragments of happiness.

As Arthur looked up, his gaze locking with yours, his expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment as your eyes met, a silent understanding passing between you both.

“‘m tired, daddy,” Grace’s small voice broke the silent moment, her words muffled by the fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

A soft smile spread across his face. "I can tell, sweetheart," he replied affectionately, his voice tinged with tenderness. He lifted her into his arms, adjusting her position against his chest.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his voice both tender and commanding. With a final glance in your direction, he began walking towards the tent, cradling the sleepy girl securely in his arms.

Arthur placed Grace in bed, tucking her in with care, his gentle tone carrying a promise of protection. "You sleep good now, okay?" he whispered gently. "Me and your momma will be right outside if you need us."

Grace nodded sleepily, her tired eyes barely open as she mumbled, “I want every day to be like today.”

Arthur’s expression softened further, a mix of affection and tenderness in his eyes as he heard her drowsy request. "Yeah, sweetheart," he responded softly. "I do too."

Arthur leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Grace's head, his affection expressed through the gentle gesture. He then stood up and turned to leave.

As Arthur approached you by the fire, he noticed the glass bottle in your hand as you hummed a familiar tune. The warmth of the flickering flames cast shadows across your face. A soft smile graced your features, a sense of contentment settling in.

He joined you by the warm glow of the fire, his arm wrapping around you in a comfortable embrace. He took the bottle of moonshine from your hand, lifting it to his lips and taking a generous swig, the familiar taste of the strong moonshine filling his senses.

He leaned in closer, his voice soft and low as he spoke. "I saw you talkin’ with Dutch," he noted, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Everything okay?"

A pensive expression spread across your features, the recent conversation with Dutch still lingering in your mind. You sighed softly and stole the bottle back, taking a sip of the sharp moonshine before replying, "It will be. Just need some time to… to understand his point of view, I guess."

Arthur nodded, his gaze fixed on your face, understanding etched in his eyes. "Good luck, darlin’," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of empathy. "Dutch ain't an easy man to understand."

You let out a weary sigh, acknowledging the complexity of Dutch's character. "I can see that," you responded, your voice tinged with resignation as you took another swig from the bottle. "He's an… intricate being."

Arthur chuckled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Intricate. Now that’s a new way of putting it," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.

The hours ticked by lazily, the night enveloping the camp in a peaceful stillness. The moon shone brightly overhead, casting silvery light on the camp, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the intermittent hoots of owls in the distance. The night remained blissfully free of any major disturbances, creating a tranquil atmosphere that settled over the camp like a warm blanket.

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whxtedreams · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 6: A Fragile Existence

Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)

Summary: Four years after the outbreak, you're travelling through the new world with you dad.

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: reader age: 8, violence, death, fear, typical outbreak emotions and actions, swearing, separation, reader isn’t a helpless kid, Joel goes feral off screen.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3

PART II

THE RAIDER AND THE GUILT - 2007

Chapter 6 - A Fragile Existence

If nightmares had music, it would sound like the storm that rages above you.

The wind howls, the rain lashes your skin and the thunder roars. Each sound blending together in an eerie melody that infiltrates the very core of your being.

Your small hand is held firmly by your father's, guided along the cracked concrete surface as you trail behind the rest of the group. The road is paved with fractures and blemishes, bearing the scars of time and destruction, yet it remains a path that you navigate together.

The roar of thunder pierces the air, sending vibrations through the very foundation of your being, creating an unsettling symphony that echoes the fear reverberating within you as you clutch the torn green sweatshirt two sizes too big for you. The ground trembles with each thunderous clap, almost as if mirroring your own internal turmoil. Your heart races in response to the primal force of nature, each strike of lightning illuminating the darkness with a fierce brightness, only to plunge everything into a deeper, more ominous shadow once the brief flash subsides.

The storm had made its presence known overnight, settling into an unsettling, overcast morning. To your father's dislike, the group had decided to press on, disregarding his concerns about moving through the city under such unfavorable weather conditions. Frustrated, he had lashed out, hurling expletives and curses, calling them reckless and ignorant. Yet his protests fell on deaf ears as the group's decision overshadowed his worries, leaving him to begrudgingly swallow his concerns as they braved the storm-ridden city.

Your father had sat you on a log at the edge of the makeshift campsite. He sat beside you watching the others rush about. Their urgency palpable as they hastily packed up their belongings, preparing for the journey ahead. You, on the other hand had long ago abandoned unpacking, knowing well the need to be ready to flee at a moment's notice. The constant state of readiness had become second nature to you, a reminder of the fragile existence you now navigated.

Shoes always on and tied tight as you slept.

The pattern was familiar to you, a cycle repeated time and time again. The group would accept you and your father, allowing you to travel with them for a while. But inevitably, after a few weeks, doubts would set in, and those who once welcomed you would now question your presence. It became a predictable journey, as you never managed to stay with a group for longer than a month, making it impossible to remember names or faces when every encounter seemed fleeting.

Your father leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper as he shared his plan with you. "We stick to the back of the group, and once we're outside the city limits, we slip away, head out on our own," He kept his voice low, careful not to attract the attention of any wandering ears that might overhear his instructions.

“You got your knife?” He asked and you pulled it from your belt to show him before securing it back safely.

You had asked your father why he didn't suggest leaving right away, doubting anyone would notice your disappearance. Your eyes followed the clumsy movements of the group, witnessing someone drop their bag's contents, scattering them in the mud. Confusion mingled with frustration on your father's face as he surveyed the scene, clearly weighing the options in his mind.

Your father sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he witnessed the group's behavior. "Cities are dangerous," he reminded you, his tone filled with concern. "It's safer for us to travel with a larger group. It'll be easier for us to slip away if we encounter any trouble." His hand found your shoulder, gently pulling you into a side hug, a gesture of comfort and affection amidst the uncertain circumstances.

"The only trouble we'll encounter are these stupid fuckers," you grumbled quietly, your eyes scanning the disorganized group before you with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he playfully chided you, shaking his head slightly. "And what have I told you about that language?" he teased. A chuckle escaped his lips as he jokingly threatened, "If I had soap right now, I would wash out your mouth." He punctuated his remark with a playful shove, his lighthearted gesture indicating his attempt to alleviate the tension.

"I wish you had soap, you stink," you remarked, wrinkling your nose in exaggerated disgust. His eyes widened at your retort, a mix of surprise and amusement evident in his reaction.

Your father's playful shove sent you toppling off the log, and you landed face-first into the mud with a startled shriek. Mud splattered across your clothes and face, adding another layer to your dirty appearance. You couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter as you tried to wipe the thick mud from your face, your amusement outweighing any irritation.

With a smirk, you threw mud from the ground at your father.

Every ounce of laughter had faded as the crumbling city looms before you, casting an eerie shadow over the once cheerful atmosphere you shared with your dad. The mood shifts dramatically, the change palpable as if crossing that invisible line brought with it a sense of foreboding. The once-cheerful air turned heavy and uneasy as the reality of the city's dangers became more real, dampening the earlier lightheartedness.

Your father's eyes dart around anxiously, scanning the surroundings with a watchful gaze. Every noise and movement seems to catch his attention, causing his head to turn incessantly. His sweaty palms and quick breathing betray his inner tension, a clear indication of his nervousness. You cling tightly to him, feeling the unease that radiates from his tense form.

A shout from ahead disrupts the howling storm, its sound swallowed by the gale. The group comes to a halt, and your father swiftly shields you, positioning himself protectively between you and the approaching figure. A woman emerges from an alleyway, her hands clutched at her stomach, a desperate plea for help escaping her lips as she reaches out to the group, pleading for their aid.

Your thoughts race as you recall the name of the person rushing towards the wounded woman in the alley - Jack, you remember. Your father's reaction, marked by muttered curses and rapid eye movement, conveys his growing sense of unease and apprehension. He appears to be on high alert, scanning every corner of the street, anticipating potential danger lurking in the shadows.

Your voice trembles as you call out through the relentless rain, seeking reassurance from your father. "Dad?" you cry out, your panic evident in the urgent tug on his sleeve. In response, his gaze turns toward you, and you're met with a disheartening sight - the sorrowful look in his eyes betrays the fear he had worked so hard to conceal.

Your father's urgent cry rings out above the chaotic sounds of gunfire and screams. "We gotta run," he hollers urgently, his desperate plea piercing through the chaos of the alley. Your eyes snap back to the group, where the once wounded woman now holds a gun, firing at Jack who collapses onto the ground. The unfolding scene is a terrifying sight, as more people brandishing weapons emerge from their hiding spots.

The iron grip of your father's hand around your wrist tightens into a bruising hold as he forcefully yanks you away, urging you into a sprint. The adrenaline surges through your veins, heightening your senses as your legs strain to keep up with his pace. Fear drives each stride, fueling your determination to flee from the unfolding chaos behind you.

Your vision blurs as tears mix with the relentless raindrops cascading down on you. The alleyway becomes a maze as you dart into it, only to glance behind you as you hear the sickening sound of the group's demise on the street. Fear grips your heart as heavy footsteps draw nearer, their presence a sinister reminder of the impending danger. The echoes of bullets striking the slippery brick walls send a shiver down your spine, mingling with the sound of your own desperate screams reverberating throughout the winding alleys.

Your father hastily locates a potential escape route and forcefully kicks open a door, propelling you inside before reluctantly unclasping his grasp on your wrist and drawing his firearm. In a moment of urgency, he drops to his knees in front of you, his heavy breaths mirroring your own panic. His hands cradle your face with an intensity that speaks volumes, holding your gaze firmly as he locks eyes with your frantic gaze.

"You run," he pleads, his voice firm and commanding. Yet beneath the stern words, there's a hint of desperation. His desire to keep you safe shines through his steely expression. But your defiant head shake tells a different story, the love and fear interwoven into your expression, refusing to budge from his side. The sound of approaching footsteps and shouts serves as a chilling reminder that time is of the essence.

Your tear-streaked face stares up at him, your voice shaky with emotion as you firmly declare, "I'm not leaving you, dad." Your fingers clutch onto his arms, anchoring yourself in the fleeting sense of security he offers. A sob wracks through your body, the weight of the situation pressing down upon you, and your father pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. In that embrace, all the fears and anxieties pour out, finding solace in his protective hold.

His grip on your shoulders tightens as he pulls you off him, his voice filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "I'm right behind you, baby," he assures you, his weak smile unable to conceal the trepidation in his eyes. "You keep running and don't look back," he urges, desperation lacing his words. "Promise me you won't look back, no matter what you hear." In that moment, his plea hangs heavily in the air, the weight of his fear for your safety echoing through the tense silence.

“Dad-”

His voice rises, breaking the fragile silence as your father's desperate plea echoes in the air, "Promise me!" His grip on your shoulders tightens, his gaze filled with intensity as he gently shakes you, his voice quivering with anguish.

Your voice catches in a sob as you echo his words, "I promise." The pain of separation is evident in your trembling voice, mirrored in the tears streaming down your face. With a mix of love and determination, your father gazes at you one last time, his eyes filled with a bittersweet resolve before he gently pushes you away, standing up once more.

His voice blares like a siren in your ears as he bellows "Run!" The urgency in his voice is unmistakable, and you instinctively spin on your heels. Tears fly from your cheeks as you begin to sprint, knowing that the sound of your father's voice may be the last you hear it.

As you crawl through another gap in the wire fence, a curse escapes you as the rough edges catch on your sweater, causing yet another tear. Though the storm has subsided to a soft sprinkle falling from the sky, the ominous sounds of shouts and gunfire continue to drift from the distance, hinting at the dangers that lie in wait. Despite having put several blocks between you and the hostile group that attacked you, the lingering sense of unease remains as you press on.

As you struggle to wipe away the caked mud that clings stubbornly to your skin, you let out a frustrated huff and lean against the wall, feeling the rough bricks against your back. The impact of your head hitting the wall is a testament to the exhaustion that seeps through your bones, and a wave of weariness washes over you. Just for a moment, you tell yourself. Just one brief moment to rest, to clear your mind before pressing onward. The adrenaline that had fueled your escape begins to subside, leaving you feeling drained and vulnerable in the deserted backstreet.

Your eyes fixate on a broken sign swaying in the breeze across the street, marking the location of a pet store. Deciding it would be a safe spot to rest, you summon what remaining energy you have, pushing yourself away from the wall and moving across the deserted road. As you reach the entrance to the pet store, you reach for the knife at your belt, grasping it firmly in preparation for any surprises that may await you inside. The anticipation courses through you, leaving a sense of unease mixed with determination as you step into the unknown confines of the abandoned storefront.

The chime of the bell announces your arrival as you push open the door, causing you to roll your eyes in annoyance. It seems that every single store has a bell to signal newcomers, and you're growing tired of its relentless presence. As you step inside, the sounds of the city outside fade into the background, replaced by the eerie silence that pervades the abandoned pet store.

The sight of lifeless animals behind the glass cases evokes a mix of pity and discomfort, and you try to suppress the emotions that surface. Resolutely, you push forward, forging a path through the store. As you reach the back, you hesitantly push open the door, the creaking noise it emits adding to the already eerie atmosphere.

The room is illuminated by a soft glow, with sunlight creeping through the window as day breaks through the night, casting a faint luminescence on the surroundings. What captures your attention, though, is an unexpected sight - a light bulb hanging from a string on the ceiling, gently swaying in response to an invisible draft.

That’s strange, there’s no wind?

A searing panic shoots through you as you're suddenly blindsided, hands wrapping around your mouth, effectively silencing your cries and effectively cutting off your air supply. Your body instinctively stiffens, adrenaline flooding your system as you fight against the unexpected assailant.

Your teeth tear into the flesh, a desperate attempt to defend yourself from the unexpected attack. Simultaneously, you bring your leg up, planting a powerful stomp on his foot. A guttural groan escapes the man behind you as he stumbles back, releasing his suffocating grip on your mouth. "The little fucker," he curses, his voice filled with surprise and irritation.

In a swift motion, you spin around, brandishing your knife and slicing it across his chest. He lets out a cry of pain and instinctively kicks you backwards, sending you stumbling into the room. Quick thinking leads you to kick the door shut as you land on your back to buy yourself some time, trying to create a barrier between you and the hostile stranger.

Your breath catches in your throat as panic floods your system, causing a wave of unease to wash over you. You force yourself to your feet, desperately trying to regain control over your breathing. Drawing upon the knowledge your father bestowed upon you, you steady your breaths, willing yourself to remain calm. With determination, you shove a fallen chair under the handle of the door, silently hoping it will buy you precious time to find a means of escape.

Your heart skips a beat as the door begins to shake and the chair creaks under the relentless battering, signaling the futility of its defense. Acting on pure instinct, you swiftly push away the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty face, your body propelled in a frenzied dash toward the window.

Their voices filter through the crack in the door and a woman's voice chimes in, tinged with the unmistakable undercurrent of mockery. She chuckles as she addresses the other assailant, her tone dripping with derision. "What happened to you?" she taunts the man, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

The man's annoyed growl fills the air as he kicks the door in response, his voice laced with irritation. "Little shit had a knife," he mutters, the anger evident in the force behind his kick. Desperation claws at you as you spin back toward the window, attempting to pry it open. However, your efforts are met with resistance, the window stubbornly refusing to budge. In frustration, you bang your fists against the glass, the fear within you swelling as the seconds tick by.

The distinctive chime of the door echoes through the air once more, announcing the arrival of further assailants. Your mind races, desperately scanning the surroundings for something, anything, that can aid in shattering the glass barrier before you. A fallen brick amidst the rubble cascading from the damaged wall catches your attention and you quickly grab it, a flicker of triumph seizes your emotions as you clutch it in your trembling hand.

Chaos erupts in the adjacent room as a heated argument escalates into the eruption of gunfire, its echoes reverberating through the air. Realizing there's no time to waste, you swiftly hurl the brick through the window, shattering it into fragments. Without hesitation, you hastily retrieve a piece of wood and begin frenziedly slamming it against the remaining shards still clinging to the broken windowpane, determined to create an opening large enough to squeeze through without cutting yourself.

Just as you prepare to climb through the shattered window, the door behind you explodes open with a jarring crash, signaling the end of your desperate escape attempt. A shout rings out through the chaos, followed by the thundering footsteps that approach at a rapid pace. Unrelenting panic grips your throat as a hand snatches your foot, exerting an iron grip and forcefully yanking you back into the room.

Your voice rises defiantly as you howl, "Get off me!" In a desperate bid to break free, you miraculously manage to land a solid kick to his face. He lets out a pained groan, frustration palpable in his response as his grip tightens on your wrists, seizing control over you. He violently flings your knife across the room, its metallic clatter blending with the chaotic symphony of sounds. The man is uttering words, but his voice is swallowed by the tumultuous roar of your own screams.

The touch of a calloused hand on your face surprises you, as it feels inexplicably gentle against your skin. In your frenzied screams, the dichotomy registers, and you stop abruptly. With a sense of confusion, you open your eyes, your heart still racing from the adrenaline-fueled panic that consumed you moments ago.

"It's me," he exclaims, his eyes locking onto yours, pleading for recognition. A note of urgency tinges his voice as he tenderly pushes aside the strands of hair that cling to your face. "Baby, it's me."

Time seems to stand still as the oxygen leaves your lungs, rendering you momentarily speechless. A sense of disbelief washes over you, wondering if this is a cruel trick played by your mind, if his face is merely conjured up by fractured memories. In this surreal moment, you entertain the possibility that you're already in the afterlife, and he has come back to guide you. But the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the undeniable sign of life itself, confirms your reality - he's alive, and it's truly him.

“Joel?” Your disbelief transforms into a tentative hope as his name escapes your lips in a whispered question. As he rises to his knees, your struggles come to an abrupt halt, freeing him from your desperate attempts to break free. In this moment of ceasefire, your eyes meet his, and the tension that had gripped you melts away, replaced by the mutual relief mirrored on both your faces. His chest rises and falls with the weight of his own labored breaths, a testament to the intensity of the struggle.

The image of his battered form burns itself into your mind - his body a canvas of smeared blood and dirt, his soaked hair clinging limply to his face as blood drips from him. Despite the mess that surrounds him, there's an undeniable familiarity in his presence. No matter how beaten and bloodied he may be, the unmistakable essence of Joel remains intact, a glimmer of recognition flickering through the turmoil.

It's him, Joel, kneeling before you, battered yet unbroken.

With sudden urgency, you push yourself off the ground, rushing into his embrace. His arms encircle you with a powerful and desperate hold, as if he fears that you might disappear if he lets go. His grip tightens, holding onto you as if his very existence depends on it.

His words, spoken gently into the crook of your shoulder, hold a soothing promise. "You're alright, princess. Everything's alright," Joel reassures you, his voice a balm to your frightened heart. He pulls you closer, nestling your head against his chest, his own head resting upon yours as he slowly rocks you. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat seems to steady your own racing pulse, serving as a grounding presence amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

As your eyes slowly flutter open and rise, they are met with the gruesome scenes that surround you. The room across from you is marked by a stark display of violence and devastation. Your gaze falls upon the splayed bodies, their limp forms spread lifelessly on the ground, starkly contrasted against the backdrop of sticky blood that drips silently down the walls.

With gentle and soothing motions, Joel's hand begins to stroke the length of your back, offering a comforting presence. Your gaze remains fixed on the still form of the dead man, his lifeless eyes staring back at you as blood drips from the hole in his neck. Joel's voice breaks the tense silence, whispering reassurances once more. "Everything's alright." The repetition of his words serves as a soothing mantra, a lifeline that grounds you in the face of shock and terror.

You’re not sure if he was telling you or himself.

Click here for Chapter 7 - Comming soon

Notes

I had way too much fun wrirting this. It's been a while since I wrote anything within the outbreak so it's nice to write scenes in this world again. I havent written anything like this since The hardest part is who we are and it's been a while since i wrote anything for that series. Since the year is 2007, reader is around 8 now - a 4 year time jump. also looking over joels shoulder to see what he did, yikes.

Next chapter Sneak Peak!

And now in this moment, as he cradles her tightly in his arms, a tear runs Joel’s face. The bittersweet feeling of contentment washes over him as he gazes down at her, the sight of her clinging to him echoing the memories from years past. He realizes that his tumultuous journey, marked by the shadows of guilt and the weight of his past transgressions, has somehow led him back to his girl - his reason, his purpose. In this tender reunion, everything he's done, both good and bad, suddenly seems worth it, leading him back home to her, breathing and alive.

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @sunandmuun , @rain-soaked-sun, @frootloops1213 , @samarav , @geralallfandoms , @joelmillersblog , @severussimp

#joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #platonic relationships #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou

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