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sweetcalebb · 9 days ago

Note

Caleb finds mc's smut collection PLEASE 🤤

Caleb finds your smut collection! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 3k

a/n: oh my god??? i just started writing and didn't stop. if this isn't what you wanted (i went overboard, not exactly what you envisioned, smut isn't long enough, too much smut, etc) feel free to DM me or just give another anon request! 🫶🏻 (don't be shy, i won't get butthurt)

"Jeez, Caleb! You're only staying the weekend. What are you carrying in here?" you huff, your face pinching with effort as you try to lift his bags.

Caleb laughs. "I told you, you don't have to help me, Pips." Before you can argue, the bags are floating out of your arms and trailing after Caleb. "I have a gravity evol for a reason."

You frown, settling with just carrying the small duffel bag that was left. "I wanna be useful."

"You're very useful." He eyes you, smiling. "You're carrying my duffel bag."

You roll your eyes and walk past him. "Yeah, okay."

You lead him to your apartment and he's making light conversation with him on the way, but you're only half-listening. Having Caleb here, in your space, is a little unnerving.

It's not that you don't want him here, he's just..—

He's just Caleb.

The guy that makes your heart beat so fast you think he might hear it if he tries hard enough. The guy that's so overwhelming you think you might drown in him if you let yourself.

You let him in and drop his stuff on the floor next to your couch where he'll sleep for the next few days.

You offered your room before he got here, but he was very adamant about taking the couch.

"I know it's not super big.. but I hope you can make yourself comfy."

Caleb tilts his head at you and squints. "I've been here already. Besides," he sinks down into the sofa, "I'm always comfy as long as you're here."

Your heart stutters. "Thank you.."

For a minute, neither of you guys speak. Just stare at each other like you're both dying to say something else, but won't.

Then you take a small breath. "Do you want something to drink?" He hasn't answered, but you're already making your way to the kitchen.

Caleb chuckles. "Sure. You're a little on edge, huh?"

You huff. "No, I'm not."

"Alrighttt."

He glances around, taking everything in like it's his first time here. It's cleaner. Cozier. Did you fix your apartment up just for him?

His eyes linger on your room.

The door is half-way open. He can't help but wonder if anything in there has changed. If anyone else has been in there.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when you gasp. “Wait—do you want the snacks I bought? I left them in my car—oh my God.”

Caleb tears his away from your door to look at you. You're all wide-eyed and smiley, like you're so proud of buying him those snacks.

So, of course, he nods, even if he doesn't want to inconvenience you. “Yeah. Of course. Want me to come with you?" He's about to stand when you shake your head.

"No! I’ll be back in like, two seconds—don’t move!” You’re already grabbing your keys and slipping on shoes, muttering under your breath about how you knew you were forgetting something.

And then the door clicks shut behind you.

Caleb smiles to himself. Cute.

The room is quiet again. His gaze drifts back toward your room. He hesitates. He shouldn't.

But... you said to make himself comfy, right?

Caleb stands up, slowly making his way over. He takes a small step in, and instantly it hits him. You.

Your whole apartment smells like you; he caught that unmistakable sweetness when he first came in, but it's stronger in your room. It's different. Softer. More lived-in.

He curiously glances around.

Your bed is made, plushies organized in a neat little row across your pillows, extra blankets folded at the edge of your bed.

Nothing is out of place.

It makes him think you wanted him to come in.

His eyes drift across the room, then they land on your bookshelf. It's lined with cute, colorful titles. But something catches his eyes and he stops.

Some look a little… suggestive.

He laughs to himself.

You wouldn't, would you? Surely, he would know if you sat in your room late at night, reading porn in print.

Caleb hesitates before stepping toward your shelf. He grabs the first book he sees and flips through the pages.

So far, so good.

Until—

Quietly, he reads the line that made him stop, "I would go to hell and back if it meant I got to..." his eyes widen as he continues, "fuck you raw again—Jesus."

Maybe it was a fluke.

Caleb gently puts it back. He knows how much your books mean to you—how you hate them to dent or fold, so he's careful.

He grabs another and flips through that one as well. And surely enough, he finds another page full of filthy lines. "A gun in your—"

Caleb has to pause.

No way.

No way this is what's sitting on your shelves looking all cute and innocent when they're anything but.

"A gun in your pussy certainly is traumatizing... but only because—Okayyy." Caleb quickly shuts the book, his head swimming.

You've pictured this stuff before. The thought hits him like a truck.

He knows he should stop now, but he can't help but grab another one. He doesn't read this one out loud. But he pictures it. Pictures you imagining this scene.

He takes a second to skim the pages, his eyes widening with each line. "The fuck?" he breathes. "He isn't even fucking her here. He's just..."

This is the stuff you like? Do you want someone to fuck your thighs like this?

When you told Caleb you read a lot, he assumed it was something like cool fantasy, maybe something with dragons or elves.

Not smut books that were a mess of highlighted lines—all of which he assumed were your favorite parts.

"Caleb?"

Caleb turns, book still open in his hand. He should close it, save you the mortification of knowing that he's read what you've pictured before. But the thought of seeing your cute face when you realize urges him to stay there, smiling.

"Hey, Pips."

You slowly walk into your room.

You're about to ask what he's doing, then you see what he's holding.

Your eyes dart to your bookshelf, like you need any more convincing that Caleb is actually reading your smut book. And there it is, the little gap between your books.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You drop the snacks you brought back and lunge at him. "What the hell are you doing?!" you hiss, desperately trying to snatch the book back, but all you're doing is hugging his chest with one hand, while you try and fail to reach your book with the other hand.

Caleb laughs. "Hey, hey! I'm not judging. I'm just surprised."

“I swear to God, give it back—please!”

"He grunts. I gasp. The first glide of his cock between my thighs is choppy, too rough. Unlubricated."

Heat rushes to your cheeks when you hear him actually reading the filth in your book.

"Caleb!" you shriek.

But he doesn't stop. No, he keeps reading, a wild grin spreading across his face as he does. "But then his thrusts slide up, where he made me plenty wet just minutes ago. 'Jesus, you feel—'"

"Stop! Oh my god! I'm going to kill you!"

"Hey, c'mon. This is your favorite part. You highlighted it twice and put little hearts around it."

He clears his throat, and you feel everything in you curl up and die of embarrassment as he starts again, "He is fucking me. Not the way I want him to, maybe, but his head bumps on my clit on every push."

You know it's no use trying to grab your book, so you just slap his chest instead while you beg him to stop.

"I can feel the hot length of him against my folds, and it's good enough for me to beg for it."

Before he can read any more, you manage to snatch the book back. But Caleb's already seen all the things you read about. The things you think about.

You can't look at him. You immediately turn away, face burning and chest tight as you rush to your bed, shove your book in you drawer, and hide under the blankets like that might undo the last 2 minutes.

Most of your plushies bounce to the floor, but you can't bother to pick them up right now.

"You're never allowed in here again," you mutter.

Caleb softens, quietly padding over to your bed to sit down beside you. "Hey—I'm sorry. That was mean."

"Yeah," you bite out. "You're an asshole."

There's an awkward silence that makes you wish you hadn't invited Caleb over in the first place. Then, quietly, he asks, "Is... that what you're into?"

You feel your face burning hotter and you pull your sheets higher over your face. "No!" you quickly shout, even if you're not entirely sure. In theory, it all sounds nice. But actually doing it?

"It's just something I read," you defend. "It doesn't mean I would actually.."

There's another silence. You still want to die—maybe you will. But then Caleb speaks again.

"We could try it, you know? If you want."

Your stomach drops.

Was he being serious? The tips of your ears are red now and you'd cover those too if you weren't already suffocating under your blankets.

"What..?" You glance over your shoulder. Just slightly—just enough to see him. The blush on his cheeks makes you feel slightly better. It means you're not the only one who's affected.

"We could do... that if you wanted to."

You sit up, your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you—Caleb, you can't just say things like that."

Your frustration comes bubbling back up. If this was another one of his jokes, it was mean. Meaner than him reading your smut out loud.

"I'm being serious," he says.

You hesitate.

This can't be real.

You stare at him, trying to gauge whether he's messing with you or not. His eyes are dark, his hand curling into your sheets like he's trying not to reach out and touch you.

"I'd do anything you want, Pips."

Heat curls low in your stomach.

"You'd do the whole.." you clear your throat, still embarrassed, "thigh thing?"

"If it's what you wanted." Caleb's breath hitches slightly, as he leans forward. "Is it?"

You give him a weak, embarrassed nod. And that's all it takes. He crashes his lips against yours in a heated kiss. He doesn't go slow, or try to ease into it—it's all need.

You sigh, blindly nudging your blankets off and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, your boobs. It's like he needs every inch of your body burned into his palms.

Slowly, his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

You gasp, your hips jumping underneath him. "Wait—"

Caleb pauses. "What? Do you not want this any—"

"No!" You instinctively wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “No, that's not..— It's just.. You don't.. need to do that."

Caleb furrows his brows, and softly, you whisper, "I'm already..."

Caleb lets out a shuddering breath before leaning in to kiss you again, making easy work of your clothes. "From what? From me teasing you? Or telling you I'd do it?"

You let out a breathless whine when you felt the cool air hit your skin. "Both."

Caleb groans, gently easing back on his heels to look at you. "Fuck. You're so pretty." He runs his hands up your side, drinking in every little shudder and twitch. "I don't tell you that enough."

Your face flushes. You feel like you should thank him or compliment him back, but he's already flipping you onto your stomach.

You suddenly feel a little self-conscious. "I'm sorry if I'm not—"

"Mm-mn." He cuts you off, cupping your ass and giving it a light squeeze. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Like he has to prove it, he leans down and kisses the small of your back. It's sweet. Reverent. Then he dips lower, lips trailing over the swell of your ass.

The feeling makes you squirm, but you don't pull away.

"Understand?"

But you don't answer; your head is spinning.

He nips at the plush skin of your ass when he doesn't hear anything. "Tell me you understand. I need you to, Pips. Because if you ever think you are anything less than perfect—"

"I understand," you breathe.

Caleb rolls his tongue over the spot he bit as a small sorry. "Good." Then he pulls back again, and your heart leaps in your throat when you hear the sound of his zipper.

You wiggle nervously, burying your face in your pillow. And when you finally feel him nudge against the cleft of your ass, you nearly whine. He's so big.

You shudder, your hand curling in your sheets. "Caleb.."

"You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You nod, biting your lip when he finally slides himself between your legs. He's leaking.

He grinds once and nearly moans.

"Oh, shit." Caleb's voice breaks. "I might not last long." He bends down, gripping your hip with one hand while he braces the other near your head. "But I promise I'll make you cum."

You flutter at his promise and instinctively push your hips back, forcing him to drag himself along your heat again. The feeling makes every cell in your body scream for more.

Caleb starts slow, but small little sighs keep spilling past his lips. "Like this?" he asks, his cock rocking against you perfectly. "Hm? Is this how they did it?"

You don't even remember the book anymore, you just nod and grasp the hand that's next to your head.

"Yes," you moan into your pillow. "Yes, just like that!"

His groans fill your ears as he sets a steady pace, fucking into the space between your thighs like it's the best thing he's ever had.

Meanwhile, you're a mess. Dripping down your thighs and coating his cock every time he pushes forward. When you imagined this, you thought it would feel good, but this? This is something else entirely.

"Caleb—oh, God—" your voice stutters as your hip clumsily jerks back against his.

"Hah—! Yeah? This feel nice?" He presses his back against yours and starts giving you quick, shallow thrusts. You think you might actually cry now from how mind-numbing the friction is.

"Oh, fuck! Please—No, no, no—Too quick!"

You try to stay still, to force your orgasm back down, but your thighs are trembling, squeezing him.

"Fuck. But it feels so good, doesn't it?"

You squirm. "Caleb! I don't want to cum yet!"

You're seconds away from losing it—you feel it, the heat coiling too tight. Too hot. And just when you think you're going to cum, Caleb wrenches himself away with a huff.

You almost let out a little cry, relief flooding your chest.

Caleb breathes shakily as he slides his hand down your waist, watching your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"You're a mess," he says, eyeing the soaked sheets and the small tremble of your hands like it's a piece of art.

"Fuck..." He slowly drags his hand down your back, his touch making you clench. "I really wanted to see you cum."

"'Mm sorry," you whisper.

Caleb shakes his head, even if you don't see it and dips his hand between your legs. "Don't say sorry. It's cute how much you don't want this to be over yet." He slides his fingers through your slicked bundle of nerves and your body twitches.

"Ah! Caleb..!"

Caleb groans in response, firmly pressing his fingers against you. "You're so sensitive." He gently wiggles his fingers, listening to the wet squelch. "If I touch you, even a little more, you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

You nod helplessly.

Caleb pauses, his fingers stilling in your wet heat just for a second. "Fuck."

He should stop. Should let you set the pace, but he can't. You feel too good. He slides his fingers in slow circles.

"I need to make you cum, pips... Let me. Please let me."

When you whine, he lets out a strained sound, like he's seconds away from breaking.

"I promise we can go again if it isn't enough, just let me feel it once."

"Okay," you murmur, your breath shaky against the fabric of your pillow.

Caleb hovers over you again the instant you give him the okay. "Fingers or cock?" he breathes, too eager to even bother with proper sentences.

"Cock," you whimper, cheeks warming at the way you say it without a second thought.

Slowly, Caleb slips between your thighs again. He bites his lip, giving you the eager, snappy thrusts you liked so much.

You're already shaking again, clinging to your sheets as he rubs that perfect little spot over and over. "Fuck—Hah—! Caleb!"

"Do it."

Your orgasm rips a sinful cry from your throat. You didn't expect it to happen so fast or for it to feel so good. And maybe, if you weren't so fucked out, you might feel embarrassed, but all you feel is bliss.

Caleb groans at the same time, thick ropes of cum shooting across your chest and stomach. He'd been holding it a while, but somehow willed himself to wait for you. So when you finally start to cry and gush on him, he can't hold back anymore.

You collapse into the mattress, sweat clinging to your body, your arousal dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets.

Caleb shakes above you, his breath fanning across your neck. His grip on your hips loosen, but he never moves his hand. He can't.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Just lay there, completely spent.

Twitching with the aftershock of your guy's orgasms until finally, Caleb gently rolls over and pulls you with him.

You instantly melt into it, lazily snuggling into his side.

"I... I totally get why you read all that now." Your cheeks burn, but you don't say anything. Just press yourself closer. Then he continues, "We should... recreate... every scene from your books."

You purse your lips together as you shake your head. "You're not allowed to touch my books. Ever."

Caleb's head snaps toward you, hair mussed and eyes sparkling with contentment. "What?!" he pants. "But something so good just came out of that."

You glance up at him, eyes glossy and lips pulled into a soft smile. “Mmm… I'll think about it."

Caleb scoffs and tosses his head back against the pillows. "Fine… Did I at least do it right?"

You nod weakly. "That was really good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

—

taglist <- go here if u want to be added <3

tags: @asiatic-apple @starryeyed-apple @exe-toby @heartyluv @halfawakeblobbu @seungkwansflower @justwinginglife @floatinginaer @walrusbreath @honeymoonfleur (i can't tag u 3 for some reason (or maybe i wrote ur names wrong and i'm being silly))

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #caleb #caleb x reader #reader insert #caleb smut #love and deep space #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds #lads #i put my whole bussy into this #lowkey embarrassing

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monster-disaster · 10 months ago

Note

I would love if you could write something about a dragon having a girl for a mate and praising/ pleasing her with his tongue with in tune gets him off as well

Request 2: Could I request a dragon story? The reader gets forced by her village as an offering to a dragon to keep him at bay. He takes her as an offering and instead of torturing her as she thought he claims her as his life long mate and wishes to please her and praise her? Mainly by eating her out constantly

dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: size difference, smut, dead animals

You should have seen this coming.

You noticed the glances, the whispers behind your back, and the cold silence that followed you among the villagers. The signs were all there. And most importantly, you rejected one of the elders' sons when he asked for your hand in marriage. That sealed your fate.

Even now, bound and frightened, you don't regret it, though. Not one bit.

Being offered to a dragon, whether as a toy or a snack, you can't be sure, still feels like a brighter future than living under that man's thumb for the rest of your life. The thought of enduring him as a husband, dirty and loud, is more terrifying than anything else you might face now. Cooking for him, bearing his children... No. You'd rather face a thousand monsters than live that kind of life.

"Are you still sure of your decision?" He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. His piggy eyes are fixated on you. The pale color of his irises reflects the silvery light of the moon in the dark sky.

"Yes," you reply, your voice almost drowned out by the noise of the villagers gathered at the foot of the hill. You have to force your expression to remain indifferent, hiding your disgust as you look at him. His double chin obscures the line of his jaw. His round face is covered with stubble and small gashes from his clumsy attempts to shave.

"You'll regret it," he huffs. His grip is bruisingly tight around your arm as he uses you to haul himself up the hill. With every step, you sink back a few inches under his weight.

No, you think, but don't say it out loud. I won't.

No matter what happens when the dragon arrives, it's still better than the image in your head of the man panting and moving above you in bed. Even the thought of it makes your stomach turn with disgust and bile. His stubby fingers would fumble over you, grasping all the wrong places, and you’re not even sure if he could manage to put it in with his large stomach in the way. But, of course, his looks are the least of your concerns. If he had a lovable personality, it might have been bearable. But he’s rotten to the core. He could be more like the son of one of the hunters; a big guy too, with a mess of blonde locks on the top of his head and bright blue eyes that always shine with humor and happiness. His chubbiness only makes him look several years younger, adding to his boyish charm. But you aren't that lucky. He’s in love with your neighbor.

And this, all of this, leaves you for the dragon.

When you reach the top of the hill, your legs are sore, and lungs tight from panting. The man behind you shoves you to the ground. The impact hurts, but it's still better than the feel of his sweaty palm on your bare skin.

"Don't even try to run," he warns. The words leave his lips in heavy puffs. "If you do, we have hunters ready to shoot you."

You don't respond, turning your head away from him and only looking back when he finally turns to leave you there. Oh, how you wish he’d trip and roll all the way down into the crowd of villagers below. He’d knock them down like a huge ball. A sweaty, hairy ball. You are sure he would sound like the pigs too, crying and wailing.

Adjusting yourself on your knees, you straighten your back and scan the view in front of you. You don’t attempt to escape. You have no doubt the hunters would stop you if you tried anything. And where would you even go? Your home is the village, with all your possessions left behind in your small hut. And with your hands tied behind your back, you wouldn’t survive the night in the woods. The villagers would hunt you down like an animal. You would become the pig, dying in the dirt. The thought makes your heart ache with betrayal. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You once believed the village and its people were your home, your safe haven. Now, you are nothing more to them than something they can sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, you gaze over the woods stretching out before you; a tangle of shadows with sharp edges and twisted shapes. Behind them, the tall, looming mountains' jagged silhouettes reach skyward as if trying to pierce the darkness. The familiar view that once gave you a sense of safety now leaves you with a cold, gnawing unease in your stomach as you wait. The villagers, whom you know all too well, are silent now, waiting just like you.

And none of you have to wait for long.

The sight of the dragon in the dark sky takes your breath away. The moon’s silvery light catches its enormous body, revealing the scales in sharp detail. You see its muscles shifting and moving beneath the hard skin. Each powerful stroke of its wide wings sends ripples through the night air. You hear every rhythmic beat growing louder as it gets closer and closer. Its large head, long and sharp, is supported by a thick neck that connects to broad shoulders. Along its spine, sharp ridges jut out prominently, extending all the way to the tip of its swinging tail. It cuts into the darkness with a fluid grace.

Your chest heaves as you try to get air into your burning lungs, but it seems that even the sight of him alone is enough to leave you breathless. His formidable presence commands awe, respect, and fear. Each powerful movement echoes his sheer strength. When he lands not far from you, the ground shakes and trembles beneath his massive weight. The vibrations crawl up through your bones.

"You are my payment," he says. His voice is deep and rumbling.

The word choice makes you flinch, and though it’s not a question, you nod in response anyway. "Yes."

Living so close to a dragon is always a risk, but as far as you know, most places find ways to protect themselves from the wrath of these huge creatures. The villages offer them gold, food, or humans.

For a long, long second, the dragon looks over you with his almond-shaped eyes. The weight of his gaze is heavy on you as well as his next words. "You will do."

For what, you want to ask but decide to stay quiet instead.

"Will you try something silly if I cut your bounds?" He asks with amusement.

You shake your head. "No." What could you do against him? Run? Fight?

"Good," he hums, reaching behind you to slice through the ropes around your wrists with a quick flick of his claw. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden closeness, and you dare not move, terrified of the damage he could inflict if you were to make a wrong move.

"Do you want to say your goodbye?" He asks, watching you rubbing your wrist where the robes cut into your skin.

You frown. "No." The word escapes your lips as a harsh spat.

He almost laughs. You can feel the deep rumble under your feet. "Good."

A loud, high-pitched squeal escapes your lips as he grabs you with a swift motion. His large hand envelops your entire body, fingers curling around you with ease. He lifts you off the ground effortlessly as his wings start to beat, raising you both into the air. You want to grab onto his fingers automatically, but his hold around you is so tight that you can't move.

"Wait, wait," you gasp hurriedly, and to your surprise, he stops in mid-air.

"For what?" The dragon asks. His golden eyes with black slits in the middle survey you waitingly, but when you open and close your lips several times without saying anything, he turns his attention away from you to continue his journey back to his home.

You want to take one last look at your village, the place that was your home until tonight, but your position in his hand makes it impossible. All you can see is the underside of his thick neck and head, along with the towering mountains in the distance. The late-night wind is cold on your face, yet his large palm around your body keeps you warm and secure in the air. Despite his size, he flies effortlessly, and soon, instead of the familiar hill and clearing, you find the dark wood underneath you.

His lair is nestled in a cove within one of the largest mountains. The air here is colder, and the wind is stronger, too, as he sets you down well away from the rocky edge, and you lose the warmth of his hold around you. After being carried, you feel unsure on your own feet as you look back to see the dark view of the landscape bathed in the moonlight. You can see your village in the distance, small and insignificant.

"Come," he breaks the silence. "It's warmer inside."

Going into a dark cave with a dragon several your size doesn't seem the brightest idea, but looking down the steep mountain beneath, you don't really have any other option.

"Wait," he says, making you stop immediately. "You need some light," he says as if reminding himself. "You humans barely see anything."

Without waiting for your response, he takes a deep breath, and before you can react, the dark hole is suddenly illuminated by the intense flames bursting from his massive jaws. The fire roars to life, casting flickering shadows across the cave's walls. Thick smoke surges into the cold night air, smothering you with its warm, acrid smell that stings your eyes and clings to your skin. When he finally closes his mouth, the flames recede, leaving the cave bathed in the dim, flickering light of burning torches mounted on the rugged walls. With the newfound illumination, you realize the cavern is even bigger than you first thought. Of course, a massive creature like the dragon standing before you requires as much space as he can get to move around freely.

"Come," he says, not even looking at you to check if you follow him.

Both of you know you don't really have any other option.

The dragon's lair is a maze that winds deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. Steep slopes and jagged inclines alternate with vast, rocky halls that are filled with rusty weapons, tarnished armor, and forgotten trinkets. The air is thick with the scent of the stone walls and smoke. Each breath you take feels heavy and warm. As you follow the dragon, the torches he lits along the way cast flickering shadows on the walls. By the time he finally halts, you're out of breath, coughing from the smoky air.

"Where are we?" You ask him when you find your voice. It's hoarse and tight.

"Does it matter?" He asks. "You can't leave anyway."

You don't know where you get the courage to scowl at him. "Rude."

The dragon scoffs, amused. "We are in the heart of the mountain," he says.

The place resembles a grand hall with towering walls and thick, imposing columns that stretch up into the shadows above. The ground is littered with various objects, shiny ones, and old ones. Piles of gold gleam under the dim light, scattered carelessly among the mess. Books are strewn about haphazardly, their pages yellowed and edges worn, as if they’ve been forgotten in the chaos. At the center of the hall is a massive nest, sprawling and chaotic, made from a jumble of materials and what-not.

The dragon gives you a moment to take in your surroundings, but the silence only heightens your anxiety. Is this really it? Is this where you’ll meet your end? You can't help but imagine your clothes and bones tossed carelessly into the pile of treasure where the dragon sleeps. The thought that nobody will ever find you, that no one will even search, gnaws at you. You’ll be forgotten, just another insignificant meal for the beast.

"Are you going to faint?" The dragon's voice suddenly rumbles through the cavern, making you jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls and ripples down your spine.

"No," you manage to gulp out. "Why?"

"You look like someone who is ready to faint," he says. His tone is so casual that it’s almost infuriating. You are surprised you can feel anything else besides fear.

"Do you see a lot of humans faint before you?"

His grin is slow, almost mechanical, revealing sharp teeth that glint under the dim light. "You could say that."

"So," you begin, licking your lips nervously, "what do you want to do with me?"

His grin widens, and your heart races. "Let's sleep for now, hm?"

Your eyes widen in surprise. Sleep? That wasn’t the answer you expected.

"What?"

The dragon rolls his large, golden eyes, clearly bored with your reaction. With a graceful, feline-like motion, he climbs into his nest, settling down with a heavy thud that makes the ground shake beneath your feet. His massive body curls in on itself, his tail wrapping around him as his head rests on a pile of treasure. Or trash. You can't decide.

That’s it? You think, bewildered. He just wants to sleep?

When you remain frozen in place, your legs trembling beneath you, the dragon lets out a scoff. In one swift motion, he reaches out, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you off the ground. Your startled squeal echoes through the hall, but he ignores it. He just places you close to his head with a gentle but firm grunt.

"Sleep." His warm breath washes over you, providing a stark contrast to the cold, unyielding walls of the mountain.

You’re too stunned to resist, and the strange warmth of his breath is oddly comforting in the darkness.

As you soon find out, the dragon has entirely different plans for you than your village, which was so eager to throw you into the beast's arms. Or mouth.

Two days later, you finally gather the courage to ask. "When do you plan to... kill me?"

The dragon's response is not what you expect. He laughs, a loud, rumbling sound that echoes through the cavern and lingers long enough to make your skin burn with embarrassment.

"Eat you?" He asks, still chuckling. "Why would I do that, little morsel? You're so small... not even enough for a quick snack."

"Well..." you clear your throat, searching for words. "Isn't that what dragons do?"

He hums thoughtfully. "I won't lie," he admits. "The taste of human flesh is not... unfamiliar to me, but no, I don't plan to eat you." His laughter bubbles up again, and you scowl at his obvious amusement.

"Then why are you keeping me?" You press. Confusion and frustration mix in your voice.

He pauses for a moment, considering. "To entertain me."

"Entertain you?" You repeat, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What?" You scoff, disbelief creeping into your tone.

The dragon huffs as he leans closer to you. His massive head is now just inches away. Each exhale ruffles your hair, the warm breath unsettling yet somehow familiar after two days of spending time with him.

"Do you think you're the first human who has been given to me?" He asks, not waiting for your reply. "You’ll stay here with me until I tire of you."

"And after that?" You whisper, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I will let you go," he says. He almost sounds bored. "Just as I let the others go when they could no longer amuse me."

"You let them go? Alive?" You ask, hardly daring to believe it. You've never met anyone who was captured by a dragon and got out without a fight.

"Yes," he replies, rolling his eyes at your disbelief.

When you don’t respond, he turns away from you. His tail nearly knocks you off your feet as he heads toward one of the corridors.

"Where are you going?" You call after him, watching his massive form disappear into the shadows.

"I’ll get you some food," he says, laughing again. "Stay there."

"I don't even know your name!" You shout after him. You can hear your voice echo in the distance.

"Diman, little morsel."

Diman.

You're not sure how long he's been away. In the deepest part of the mountain, you can't see the sky, and not knowing whether it's day or night is starting to drive you mad. The dragon is rude and blunt, but you're beginning to think he won't be your biggest problem if you have to stay here with him.

When Diman returns, you feel a pang of disappointment as you see he has come back empty-handed. Your stomach growls with hunger, but before you can voice your frustration, he stops in front of you. With a deep breath, his large mouth opens, and two rabbits tumble onto the ground.

They're covered in his saliva, and they are unmistakably dead.

"You know what to do with them, right?"

"Yeah," you reply, trying to suppress the grimace threatening to spread across your face. "Thanks."

You grab the rabbits by their hind legs, searching the cavern for anything that might help you prepare them.

"You can find knives..." he muses for a moment. "Anywhere, I guess."

You glance at him, surprised by his nonchalant response. He smirks. His eyes gleam with a predatory glint, and the slits of his pupils widen slightly as he takes in your reaction. "You couldn't hurt me even if you wanted to," he adds with obvious amusement.

Without saying a word, you sigh and turn your attention back to the task at hand. You have dragon-saliva-soaked rabbits to prepare.

"Can I clean myself somewhere?" You ask.

After several days in the dragon's lair, you've yet to see the outside world, something you'll need to address with him eventually, but you have more important things in your mind. You've grown increasingly uncomfortable in your own skin. Your clothes reek of smoke and sweat.

Diman surprises you by standing up in his nest. "Good. I was starting to think you preferred being... like this."

You frown at him, feeling a mix of frustration and weariness. If this continues, your irritation with the dragon might become more than just a fleeting emotion. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you liked being stinky," he replies with a shrug. His muscular body, covered in thick, scaly skin, moves fluidly as he stretches.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" You splutter, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

"I didn't want to be rude," he says with an air of nonchalance.

You can’t help but scoff at his response, unable to hide your frustration.

"Come on, then."

The dragon leads you through the corridors. His massive strides force you to almost run just to keep up with him, and you have to watch out for his tail, too. It swings left and right in front of you with every step he takes.

For a long while, you wonder if he’s taking you out into the woods to find a river. But when he finally stops, and you step out behind him, you gasp in awe.

Before you is a new cave, even larger than the main hall at the heart of the mountain. Sunlight streams through natural openings in the walls, casting a warm glow on the time-carved columns that support the rough ceiling. The light dances across the surface of several pools of varying sizes scattered throughout the space. The water in them is crystal clear, reflecting the rugged walls with shimmering ripples. The air is thick with warmth and steam, which rises gently from the springs.

"Oh," you gasp, taking in the unexpected sight. "I didn’t know about this."

"Of course, you didn’t," Diman replies, his tone matter-of-fact. You give him a look, but he is not the type to shy away. "Do you want to bathe or not?"

"Yes," you reply, "I do. Do you have a change of clothes for me?"

"I’m sure I’ll find something," he says, and with that, he leaves you alone in the cave.

"Like a maid," he adds under his breath.

With his departure, you waste no time stripping off your clothes and stepping into one of the pools. The water laps gently against your bare skin, and you can feel your muscles and joints relaxing as the warmth envelops you. Leaning against the edge, you face the openings in the wall, allowing the sunlight and fresh air to wash over you.

When your village cast you out, you never imagined you'd end up here. You can’t help but think about how the others must assume you are long dead by now. You had thought so too, that your fate would be sealed and your life cut short. Yet here you are, unexpectedly alive and soaking in comfort. The irony of your situation is not lost on you.

You’re almost asleep when Diman returns, his heavy footsteps echoing softly in the cave. Something soft lands on the ground beside you silently. Opening your eyes, you see what looks like a nightgown spread out on the floor.

"And I brought you towels," he adds, his voice low and gruff.

You sit up, blinking in curiosity. "Why do you have towels?"

He shrugs, the movement causing the thick plates of his muscles to shift. "I have many things I have no idea how I got."

"Yeah. I saw."

Diman catches the subtle change in your tone and tilts his head. "Do you have a problem with it, little morsel?"

"It's... messy," you reply cautiously, watching his reaction. While Diman can be blunt and intimidating, he hasn’t harmed you yet, and you’re careful not to overstep.

"And it should bother me because...?"

"I didn’t say it should bother you," you tell him softly, trying to choose your words carefully. "But it’s not really... homey."

"It’s a cave," he retorts as if that explains everything.

"But it’s still your home," you reason.

Diman considers this, his gaze thoughtful. "Okay then," he agrees with a slow nod. "You’ll be here for a while, you might as well clean up if you want to."

Great, you think sarcastically. Just what you wanted, a never-ending cleaning project.

"Now," you say after a while, breaking the silence with a bit of hesitation, "can you leave?"

Diman frowns. "What?"

"I’m naked!" You exclaim, pointing out the obvious. With nothing else to distract you, you’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re completely bare in front of him, even though the pool and the water offer some privacy.

"So?" His tone is indifferent.

"Out!" You insist, your voice rising a bit in embarrassment.

For a long moment, Diman just stares at you, half-serious, half-amused. When you add a soft, "Please," his expression softens slightly.

He sighs but begins to move anyway. His large frame shifts with a resigned grace. "It is my lair, you know? You can’t just order me around."

It seems you can, but you wisely keep that thought to yourself.

Later, you find yourself nestled in Diman’s nest, a place that was initially intimidating but has become oddly comforting. You didn’t dare say anything about sleeping here at first, but now you don’t mind it. His warmth is a blessing against the cold mountain nights. A cocoon of heat that keeps the chill at bay.

"Read me something," Diman’s voice rumbles, breaking the silence.

"Read you something?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. His massive head rests on a pile of unidentifiable objects, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

"Yes," he replies with a hint of impatience in his tone. "There are tons of books all over. Find something."

"Okay," you agree. You are not really sleepy either and glad for something to occupy your mind.

You rise from the nest, your nightgown swishing around your legs as you begin to sift through the scattered piles of belongings.

Diman watches you silently. There’s a quiet contentment in the way he observes you without saying anything. His tail curls slightly around himself some more. The sight of you in the soft, flowing nightgown fills him with a strange sense of peace. It’s almost enough to lull him to sleep, but he’s not quite ready for that yet.

As you pick through the mess, carefully avoiding knocking over anything, you come across a book that catches your eye. The cover is worn, and the title is barely readable, but it feels right in your hands. You bring it back to the nest and settle in beside Diman. Opening the book, you begin to read aloud, and soon, your voice fills the cavern. The dragon listens, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing is slow and steady.

He spent the last decade mostly asleep, lost in the deep slumber of his kind. But now, with you here, being awake doesn’t feel like a burden anymore.

You and the dragon fall into a routine surprisingly quickly. The strange part isn't how easily you've adjusted to your new life, but how little you miss your old one. Yes, you miss your cottage, its cozy walls, and familiar smells, but you don’t miss the villagers. Why would you? They threw you away like garbage. With a few exceptions, they can rot where they are. You were right, though, choosing to be with a dragon is still a better option than staying with that fool of a man.

"What are you doing?" The sudden voice of Diman makes you jump. You almost drop the bundle of clothes in your hands. His large frame looms in the entrance. Shadows play and stretch on his scales in the dim light.

"Cleaning," you reply, steadying yourself after a second. You notice the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You're home early."

"There was a storm last night," he explains. His answer rumbles through the walls like a distant thunder. "It means plenty of fish."

Without further ado, he opens his massive jaws and drops a writhing pile of fish onto the stone floor. They flop and gasp, their silver scales glinting as a thin layer of water and dragon saliva spreads beneath them.

"Oh, god," you groan, stepping back in disgust. "They’re still alive!"

Diman tilts his head, watching you with a curious glint in his eyes. "You don't like it?"

"I do," you say, though your gaze remains fixed on the pile of struggling fish. "I just... I hate killing them."

"What?" He asks, genuinely puzzled.

"They're so wiggly!" You groan again, shuddering at the thought of touching their slimy bodies.

The dragon laughs. The deep, resonant sound echoes off the rugged walls. "I see. I’ll take care of them while you finish cleaning then."

You blink in surprise at his offer, but quickly nod anyway. You won't argue about this. "Thank you."

While he effortlessly handles the fish with his massive talons, you return to organizing the books you’ve been gathering from around the lair. You’ve created a neat pile in a corner. Diman could have a full library, though you’re not sure if dragons can even read.

"You’ve been busy today," he comments, his eyes flickering over to you as he lights a fire for cooking. Doing it in the heart of a mountain might not be the best idea, but for now, it’s your only option.

"Yeah," you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you survey the hall. The place is still a chaos, but it’s better than before. "What do you do with so much gold?" You ask, nodding towards another glittering pile that catches the warm glow of the torches.

Diman shrugs. "They’re pretty."

"And the books? Or the clothes?" You continue, settling down next to him by the fire. Your stomach growls at the sight of the fish, now neatly arranged and ready to cook. "I understand the weapons and shields, but everything else seems so random."

He shrugs again. "I take what I find interesting or pretty. I mean, you’re here too, no?"

His words catch you off guard, a rush of warmth rising to your cheeks. "Well, yeah," you mumble, flustered.

Diman grins, revealing rows of sharp teeth. "You look better when you’re not trying to faint from fear."

You scoff. The moment between you two passes as quickly as it came. "Shut up."

He chuckles but falls silent, allowing a peaceful quiet to settle over you both as you begin cooking dinner. The fish sizzles over the fire, filling the cavern with a mouth-watering aroma.

"You seem to like it," Diman teases, watching you tear into the white flesh with both hands. Your hunger overwhelms your manners.

"Sorry," you mumble, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I didn’t get to eat fish often back in the village. The river was far, and when people caught something, they sold it too expensive for me."

Diman’s gaze softens slightly. "Did you have problems there?"

"Not really," you reply between two bites. "I didn’t have much, but it was enough, you know?"

He hums in understanding, lowering his massive head to the ground as you continue eating.

"Do you want some?" You ask, holding out a piece of fish on your plate toward him. "It’s delicious."

The moment the words leave your mouth, time seems to stop. Diman stares at you, shock clear on his face. You have no idea what you’ve just offered him. Offering food among dragons is a gesture of profound significance, far beyond the simple act as it is for humans. It’s a symbol of trust, of bonding, of something deeper that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

For a long moment, Diman hesitates, torn between his instincts and the awareness that you don’t understand the weight of your gesture.

"No," he finally says, though his voice is softer, almost tender. He relaxes back onto the ground, his massive form curling slightly around you. "Eat, little morsel."

You continue eating, unaware of the change between you and the dragon and the silent vow Diman has made to himself. He will make sure you never leave him, even if you don’t fully understand the bond you’re forming yet.

“When will you get bored of me?” You ask the dragon after two months of living with him. The two of you sit at the entrance of his cave, basking in the last golden rays of the summer sun as it slowly dips behind the horizon. His emerald scales shimmer under the warm light. He sprawls on the ground, seemingly at ease.

At your question, his muscles tense, and he lifts his massive head to look at you. “Do you want to leave, little human?” He asks. The question rumbles with a barely suppressed growl of disapproval.

In truth, you have no desire to leave him. The thought of him sending you away gnaws at you daily. Where would you even go? Your old life was left behind, abandoned along with your cottage. Now, this cave, with its towering stone walls and the dragon who lives in it, is the only home you know.

A long, silent moment stretches between you as he watches you intently. Slowly, you gather your courage and shake your head. “No,” you admit, your voice steady. “That’s why I’m asking.”

His gaze softens slightly. “You don’t want to leave me?” He asks again as if needing to hear it twice to believe it.

You shake your head once more.

Living with Diman has been surprisingly comfortable. Despite his size and the sharpness of his claws, he’s become a constant presence around you, a source of safety. He’s often infuriating, teasing you just for the fun of it, but there’s warmth in his companionship that you’ve come to cherish. The thought of leaving him, of leaving this mountain, fills you with anxiety.

“Would you let me go if I wanted to leave?” You ask suddenly, the question escaping before you can stop it.

Diman sighs, his eyes drifting over the darkening landscape. “That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” He muses aloud.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a guilty smile. The corners of his large mouth curve up. “I say yes, as long as you promise not to test it.”

Diman has always been quick to let go of the men and women offered to him over the years. A lot of them stayed only a few days before he grew bored and sent them on their way. But with you, it’s different. He has no intention of letting you go. It’s not just about the entertainment you provide, though, you do make him laugh more than he has in years. No, it’s more than that. You make his cave feel like a home, and every time he leaves to hunt, he finds himself eager to return. When he sleeps, he looks forward to waking up, knowing you’ll be there. You’ve brought something into his life he didn’t know he was missing.

To his surprise, you laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “I won’t test it.”

And with that, the conversation ends. You lean back against his thick arm, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.

That night, the two of you drift off to sleep with anticipation and some lightness in your hearts.

"When will you be back?" You ask Diman, standing under the entrance of the cave as the rain pours down in heavy sheets. The dark clouds above rumble and flash with lightning every few minutes, casting brief, eerie illuminations across the landscape. The forest below is still green, but it looks weary and tired as the autumn approaches.

Diman turns to you, a grin spreading across his massive face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Are you worried about me?" He teases, expecting your usual playful retort, but when you don’t respond with your typical energy, his expression softens, and he answers more seriously. "I’ll be fine," he assures you. "This weather is nothing to me."

You nod, but the sigh that escapes you betrays your concern. "Okay."

"I’ll be back soon," he adds, trying to reassure you. "It shouldn’t be more than a week. Maybe two."

You don’t like the uncertainty in his answer, but you nod again anyway. "Okay."

"Take care of yourself while I’m away," he says, his voice gentle, as if trying to ease your worry.

"I will," you reply, though the words feel hollow.

Diman has to leave to hunt and prepare for the approaching winter. With his large appetite, he needs to be mindful of the animal population and cover more land before he accidentally empties the surrounding forest. And while you understand the necessity, you don't like it. You’ve grown used to his presence, his constant warmth. The thought of him being gone, even for a short while, leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable.

But you know it’s something he must do. So, you watch him as he spreads his enormous wings. The muscles in his body flex in preparation for flight, and with a powerful leap, he takes to the sky.

You watch him until his form is swallowed by the stormy clouds.

As you retreat back into the cave, it feels emptier without him. Colder somehow. You wrap yourself in a blanket, trying to shake off the unease settling in your chest. You tell yourself he’ll be back soon, just as he promised, but until then, the cave, and you, feel just a little lonelier.

While Diman is away, you continue to tidy up the cave, but it becomes increasingly difficult as the days drag on. Without his presence, the mountain walls feel heavy and claustrophobic. They close in on you more and more with each passing day. The silence is deafening, and the nights are too cold without the dragon’s warmth beside you. The cave now feels more like a prison, its stone walls offering little comfort against the loneliness that gnaws at you.

As the end of the first week without him approaches, you find yourself spending more and more time at the entrance of the cave, staring out at the still-raging storm and the dark sky and hoping to catch a glimpse of the returning dragon. Nature seems to be shedding its lush greens at an alarming speed. The forest below transforms into shades of orange and brown as autumn takes hold.

One day, you sit at the entrance of the cave, wrapped tightly in a blanket as the storm continues its relentless assault on the world outside. The sky above is dark, and heavy with clouds. The wind howls, and the rain pounds against the rocks, but you barely notice it anymore. Your thoughts are far away, lost in worry and longing for Diman's return.

The rumble of the ground beneath you is subtle at first, a faint vibration that you almost dismiss as part of the storm. But then it intensifies. The mountain itself groans under the pressure of some unseen force. You stand up, alarmed and with a racing heart as the tremors grow stronger. For several seconds, you stand there, frozen in place until the rocks around you begin to shudder. Dust and small pebbles rain down from the ceiling. A deafening roar echoes through the cave, and the ground lurches violently beneath your feet. The entrance, your only connection to the outside world, begins to crumble too. The rocks above shift and crack, and with a thunderous crash, they fall. The cacophony of stone grinding against stone drowns out everything else.

You barely have time to leap out of the way as the massive boulders come crashing down, sealing off the entrance in a cloud of dust and debris. You hurl yourself to the ground, rolling to the side and curling into a tight ball in the midst of the chaos. Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your muscles are tense as you pull your knees to your chest. One arm wraps protectively around your head, while the other digs into your legs, anchoring you as the world around you crumbles.

When it finally stops, the silence is absolute, broken only by the muffled sound of the storm outside.

Coughing and gasping for breath, you push yourself up with a groan. Darkness surrounds you, thick and impenetrable. The air is heavy with dust, making it hard to breathe. Your hands scrape against the rough stone floor. You reach out, feeling your way through the pitch-black void, but your fingers meet only cold, solid rock and hard edges. Desperately, you search for any sliver of light, any gap that might offer a way out, but there’s nothing. The cave is sealed tight, and you are alone in the stifling blackness. The once-open space is now filled with a thick wall of stone.

You sink back to the ground with a rising panic in your chest while trying to steady your breathing. Your shoulders feel heavy as you force your mind to think. Diman will come back, you tell yourself. He’ll know something’s wrong. He’ll dig you out. You are safe with no injuries besides a few bruises and cuts here and there, and for now, all you can do is wait, alone in the darkness, hoping that Diman will return sooner rather than later to save you.

Hours pass in suffocating darkness. You sit, knees drawn to your chest, straining to hear anything beyond the silence. Every creak and groan of the mountain around you sends a jolt of hope through your heart, but it’s always nothing. Your dragon is probably far away, having no idea of the situation you are in. Your mind races with worry and fear, but as time drags on with no sign of Diman, a cold, grim resolve begins to take hold of you. You can’t just sit here, waiting. You have to do something.

With a deep breath, you push yourself to your feet. Your hands reach out to the rough, familiar walls of the cave, guiding you as you navigate through the pitch-black corridors. Every torch is blown out, making each step you take slow and careful. It feels like an eternity by the time you reach the grand hall. You can’t see it, but you know the space by heart.

First, you need fire. The torch is hard to find. Your hands are shaking when your fingers finally close around one, but lighting it is even more difficult. You are clumsy, trembling with cold and fear, but after several tries, a spark catches, and a small, flickering flame bursts to life.

The light is weak, barely enough to push back the darkness, but it’s something. It gives you the courage to move forward.

You gather as much supply as you can carry, stuffing them into a small sack before making your way to the baths. The walls here are punctuated by holes that let in some natural light, even though it's not much now with the storm outside. It's better than nothing, though.

You set your torch in a holder on the wall, letting the warm, flickering light mix with the cool, natural glow filtering in. The bath hall is a large, cavernous room with several pools fed by underground springs.

Okay, you think. It's much better. You have light, clean air, food and water. You will be fine until Diman comes back.

You lay out the blankets, creating a small nest for sleep. The air here is warmer, the water giving off a gentle steam that eases the chill in your bones. You take a deep breath, the first one since forever that doesn’t feel suffocating. The fear and loneliness are still there, gnawing at the back of your mind, but it’s easier to push them aside now that you are safe and out of the dark.

Diman will come back. He has to.

As the second week draws to a close, the storm that has raged on for weeks finally begins to ease. For the first time in days, you feel a small sense of relief. Being able to see the sky helps soothe the anxiety that has been eating at you. The knowledge that the world beyond the mountain still exists and turns is a comfort you didn't know you needed so much.

It's early Friday morning when a deep rumble shakes the cave, jolting you awake. Your stomach tightens with fear. The memory of the last collapse flashes through your mind as you brace yourself for the worst but this time, the ground doesn’t give way, and as the rumbling continues, you realize it’s not the mountain. It’s Diman’s voice, echoing through the labyrinth of stone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you scramble from your makeshift bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and anticipation. You hesitate at the entrance of the cave that opens to the baths, unsure whether to move or stay put. You have to keep your tensing and twitching muscles from running. The maze of tunnels and chambers could make it harder for him to find you if you wander too far.

You call his name, your voice trembling as it bounces off the rugged walls, merging with his deep, booming calls.

“Y/N!” His voice is closer now, filled with urgency and worry.

Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you see his massive form emerge at the end of the corridor. His eyes are wide and frantic as he spots you. Relief washes over you like a wave as you rush toward him, your arms stretching out instinctively.

“I’m here,” you cry out. Your voice breaks with emotion just as his large head presses into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him as best as you can, feeling the cool, rough texture of his scales under your fingers. Your feet lift off the ground for a moment as you cling to him. His deep, rumbling hum vibrates through your body as he tries to calm himself.

“I saw the entrance,” he says, his voice choked with fear and lingering panic. “I thought- I saw your blanket between the rocks- and- ”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, caressing the thick scales beneath his eyes. “I was lucky; it didn’t hurt me.”

“Why were you even there?”

“I was waiting for you,” you reply.

“Little morsel,” he sighs, snuggling even closer. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I promise." His large, gleaming eyes soften as you continue to stroke his scales. “I’m fine now that you’re here,” you whisper. The warmth of his presence chases away the lingering fear and loneliness that had weighed on you for so long.

Diman hums again, a low, soothing sound that vibrates through the air. It wraps you in a cocoon of safety.

“I’ll never leave you like that again,” he promises, his voice firm and unwavering.

You smile, wiping away the last of your tears as you nod. “It's fine by me.”

For a while, both of you bask in each other's embrace while talking quietly about the last two weeks. Diman needs a long time to calm down and believe that you are really okay.

"I will go and take care of the entrance," he says after a while. "And lit some fire."

"Okay," you nod even though you have to force yourself to let him go.

"Stay there until then," he says. "I will come back and get you."

As Diman busies himself, you slip away to take a bath. The warm water washes away the grime and stress of the past weeks, and as you change into clean clothes, a sense of relief settles over you. The knowledge that Diman is back, safe and sound, lifts the heavy burden that had weighed on your heart. Even as you hear the rumble of debris being cleared and feel the tremors beneath your feet, the fear that once accompanied these sensations is replaced by contentment. The mountain, which had felt like a prison in his absence, now feels secure and comforting again.

By the time you finish, Diman has completed his work. The entrance to the cave is clear once again, and as you step into the great hall, the fire’s orange glow flickers warmly on the walls, bringing a sense of normalcy back to your life.

"We need to change a few things around here," Diman says, his mind clearly racing with ideas. "I want you to have an escape route even when I'm not here. You need more light and—"

"It's okay," you interrupt gently, smoothing your palm over his thick arm. The texture of his scales is rough beneath your hand. "We can figure everything out later. Are you hungry?"

He looks at you, surprised. "I just came back from hunting."

You shrug, settling into your usual spot near his nest. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and while you miss the open view of the outside world, the warmth and light bring a sense of peace. "You worked a lot today."

His smile is gentle, and there’s a new light in his yellow eyes that you’ve never seen before, something soft and tender. "No," he replies after a pause, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not hungry, but let me feed you."

"Oh," you say, surprised by his offer. "Okay," you add, smiling at him as he moves to prepare your meal.

Despite the obvious difference in size between him and the portion you eat, he works with surprising speed and care, and soon, the cave is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of vegetables and fish. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper meal.

"Where did you get fish?" You ask, watching him with curiosity. You had finished all the meat in the last two weeks before it could spoil.

"On my way back," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. "Now, eat."

You take the plate he offers, the food warm and inviting. As you savor each bite, you glance up at Diman. His eyes are fixed on you, watching with a kind of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before, and it fills you with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire.

"Thank you," you say softly, and Diman responds with a deep, comforting hum that reverberates through the cave. The sound is rich and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "Are you sure you don't want some?" You ask, holding up a piece of fish between your fingers. You could use a fork, but Diman doesn’t care about etiquette, and you quickly grew tired of searching for usable cutlery in the vastness of his home.

As the words leave your lips, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken and electric crackles in the silence as your eyes meet, holding each other's gaze a moment longer than usual.

"Do you know what you're offering me, little morsel?" Diman's voice deepens, resonating with a gravity that makes your heart skip a beat. The black slits of his pupils widen, nearly overtaking the molten gold of his eyes.

You hesitate. The answer is on the tip of your tongue. "No?" You say instead.

"Sharing food in my culture is an offer to share everything," he explains, his gaze never wavering. "It’s a bond between family and mates."

"Oh," you manage. Your throat tightens at the realization. "So..." you croak, still holding up your hand with the small offering. "Do you want some?"

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth as he grins down at you. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in, his massive head drawing closer. His tongue flicks out, surprisingly gentle, as he licks up the morsel from your hand. It’s likely not even enough for him to taste, but the significance isn’t lost on either of you. You’ve offered something sacred, something profound, and he’s accepted it with a puffed-out chest and a heart swelling with warmth.

As you watch him, a thought strikes you. "Wait," you say, your voice breaking the quiet. "But you..."

Diman watches you with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yes, little mate?"

"You prepared my food so many times."

"I have," he agrees, his voice steady and sure.

"Well," you clear your throat, feeling a little foolish but pressing on. Your heart races in your chest at the silent change between you and the dragon. "Do you want some more?"

Diman chuckles. "No," he replies with affection. "Eat now." But even as he speaks, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays close, his head rubbing gently against your side and arms, careful not to knock you over with his size and strength.

His gaze never leaves yours as you take a sip of water, trying to calm yourself after your last bite. Your stomach twists into a tight but excited knot. Your hands tremble as you reach out, letting your fingers trace the space between his nostrils, feeling the rough, resilient scales that shield him from nearly everything.

Diman hums softly, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through the air and ripples down your spine. “Lay down, Y/N,” he murmurs, nudging you gently with his head. “I hunger for something else.”

A quiet “oh” escapes your lips. It's more of a breath than a word, but you obey without trying to say anything else. Your movements are slow and deliberate as you lower yourself to the ground. Your eyes are still locked in his intense gaze. The cold, uneven ground presses against your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It barely offers any protection from the roughness and the cold beneath you. Goosebumps wake on your skin, but you are sure it has more to do with the dragon than anything else. You’re very aware of how exposed you are, both physically and emotionally, as you settle down before him. Diman watches you with a look that’s a mix of hunger and intent. His eyes glow with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His attention is heavy and burning. His massive form shifts closer. His breath is warm against your skin. There’s a powerful, magnetic pull between you two that sparkles under the silence that settled over the hall in the last few minutes. It's primal and impatient. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in every detail and every breath you take, and for a long moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The cave, the firelight, the very air around you, all of them fade into the background. Your nipples harden into tight peaks under the white fabric you wear. Your arms start to move to hide yourself, but you decide against it at the last moment. Instead, you rest your hands on your stomach and open your legs without Diman having to tell you what to do. The mix of the cold mountain air and his warm breath fans over your center, making your pussy clench around nothing. The sudden feeling takes your breath away for several seconds. The dragon didn't even touch you yet, but you are already damp and eager. The muscles of your thighs are hard, and your insides tremble with anticipation. Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, pushing the soft globes of your breasts against the nightgown. The fabric clings to your skin as Diman's golden eyes trace over your form. His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of you laid out before him. He hasn’t touched you yet, but the promise of what’s to come hangs thick in the air, a palpable tension that has your heart racing. You can feel his warmth and his presence, so close yet not close enough, and it drives your desire even higher.

"Good, mate," Diman rumbles with satisfaction. "Open up for me even more."

With a shaky breath, you obey, forcing your legs further apart. You can feel the stretch of your tendons, the pull of your muscles as you do exactly as he commands. The hem of your nightgown slips down, gathering around the base of your thighs, leaving you bare and utterly vulnerable before him. Your lips are dry as you wait for his reaction, and your cheeks are hot with need and a hint of embarrassment.

His eyes rove over your exposed form once again. His warm breath fans over your center, over your whole body, making you quiver with anticipation.

"Such a beautiful sight," the dragon murmurs. His voice is a low growl that makes your pussy clench with need. He leans in closer, his large head hovering just above your thighs. The approval in his gaze makes you feel both cherished and possessed.

Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you lay there, completely exposed. The rough texture of the ground beneath you only serves to remind you of the dragon's power above. His large form makes the cave look small as you look up at him with anticipation. Your whole body is tense as you wait for him to do something.

And when he does, you forget how to breathe.

Diman's tongue flicks out. The tip barely brushes against your inner thighs, and yet, it sends a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Maybe if your mind would be clearer, you would be embarrassed because of your reaction, but the haze is already too thick in your head to care. He moves slowly and exploratory. His tongue traces patterns across your skin but never goes further up than the base of your thighs. Each touch and caress is something new you both try to savor.

"You're perfect, little mate," Diman whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His presence is overwhelming, his scales cool and firm against your skin, while the heat of his breath washes over you in waves when finally, his enormous head settles down between your legs. You feel the sheer magnitude of his closeness in every fiber of your body.

His tongue, wide and powerful, flicks out to tease you. The rough texture sends jolts of pleasure through your core. He starts slowly, almost lazily, trailing his tongue along your inner thighs, leaving a tingling, wet path of warmth in its wake. The contrast between his cool scales and the heat of your arousal is intoxicating.

When you waited for him at the top of the hill, you never imagined it would lead to this, that you would end up breathless and aroused beneath the beast. A wry smile tugs at your lips, thinking of the people you once knew. They have no idea how much of a favor they’ve done for you.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy and cuts the train of your thoughts. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine. His tongue is wet and rough just enough the make you buck your hips against him while he watches your every reaction with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His molten gold eyes are filled with a hunger that only stokes the fire within you. The black slits of his pupils are almost orbs as he tries to take you in.

He takes his time, exploring you with slow movements that leave you on the edge of madness. The rough texture of his tongue adds a delicious friction that makes you moan with need. Your hips lift again, seeking more of his touch, but Diman holds you in place with a gentle but unyielding pressure, savoring the control he has over your body.

“Diman,” you breathe, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea. The tension inside you coils tighter with each teasing stroke. Your body aches for release.

“Patience, little mate,” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through you like a physical caress. Your back arches at the feeling. The sound alone sends a pulse of arousal straight to your core, making you clench around nothing. His words only heighten the anticipation building inside of you.

He dips lower, circling your entrance with agonizing slowness, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. The tip of his tongue traces your folds, gathering your wetness and savoring your taste with a low, approving hum that resonates through you. He flicks your clit over and over again until your thighs tighten around his large jaw and nose. He teases you restlessly, slipping down across your folds and going straight to your entrance. He prods you there for an endless moment, making you whine and fidget with impatience bubbling in your chest.

The dragon laughs at that, and the rumble of his chuckle echoes in your body. The feeling punches a moan out of your lips, and you barely have time to come back to your senses when his tongue slides inside you with a slow, deliberate push. He fills you up in a way that’s both overwhelming and strange. The wet muscle penetrates you, making you cry out breathlessly. Your back arches off the ground almost painfully, and your walls clench around the thickness of his tongue, only making it rub over your sensitive spots even more. He moves in and out of you as he fucks you with a measured, unhurried pace. He lets his tongue soak in your arousal while he listens to the sweet sounds you make. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen with your half-closed eyes and trembling muscles. He can feel every flutter of your pussy around his tongue as he pushes deeper, finding every spot that makes your voice go higher with several octaves.

The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. Your body is stretched and filled by the sheer size of his tongue. Each of his movements is precise, calculated to drive you to the brink without ever pushing you over the edge. You can feel every inch of him, every ripple and curve of his tongue as it slides in and out of you. The sensation swirls the world around you once, twice, three times.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need-” The end of your sentence is drowned by the ragged breath that bursts out of your lips as you wheeze and pant.

Diman’s response is a low, satisfied growl that reverberates through your entire body. He increases the pace slightly, his tongue fucking you with a slow, steady rhythm that has you gasping for air. The pressure builds inside you, a hot, insistent ache that demands release, and your body tightens with each thrust. You feel like a drawn bow.

And...

and...

He pulls back just enough to flick his tongue over your clit. His touch is electric, sending shockwaves through your entire body, yet you cry out in frustration. Tears gather in your eyes, and your hips buck up against him as you chase the high that’s just got out of reach. Diman seems to relish in your desperation, his tongue alternating between fucking you deep and teasing your clit with a maddening, feather-light touch.

The tension coils tighter and tighter inside you, every muscle in your body straining as you teeter on the edge of release. The dragon's tongue works you with a relentless, skillful precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you’re a quivering, breathless mess beneath him.

“Let go,” he murmurs. His voice is like a deep, soothing rumble that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “I want to feel you come for me, little mate.”

His words are the final push you need as his tongue finds its way inside you with a quick, bullying motion. Your body surrenders to the overwhelming pleasure that crashes over you like a tidal wave. The orgasm tears through you, leaving you breathless and shaking. Your muscles contract and release in a rhythm that matches the waves of ecstasy flooding your veins. You, your body, and your orgasm are in sync with the rapid thrust of his tongue that pounds in and out of you as you fall over the edge.

Diman doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to fuck you through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re left trembling and spent beneath him. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every touch sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you. Your climax and his saliva are a mess of mix between your thighs, soaking the floor underneath.

When he pulls back, his eyes glow with a satisfied light as he watches you catch your breath. His chest expands with pride at the sight of you. Your gown clings to your skin, highlighting the hard peaks of your nipples. A thin layer of sweat glistens on your skin under the orange glow of the fire. You are beautiful, and something in him, something primal and demanding, awakens again, but instead of burying himself between your soft thighs again, he just licks his lips to savor your taste while you slowly get back to your senses.

"Diman?" You breathe out his name, searching for him even though your eyes are still closed.

"I'm here, my love," he hums. "I won't go anywhere."

"What about you?" You ask him, and the dragon can't help but chuckle. His own arousal is still hard and leaking between his hind legs, but there is no way you are up to explore the physical possibilities between the two of you.

"I can wait," he says, hauling you up in his hand gently to settle down in his nest with you close to his massive head. "Sleep, my mate."

As the new mate of the dragon living among the clouds and resting in the mountains, your old life becomes a quickly fading memory. And when your love starts to rebuild his cave just to make it more of a home for you, you never look back. Not once.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #sweet asks #monster smut #monster fucker #teratophillia #terat0philliac #exophelia #monsterfucker #terato #monster kink #monster lover #dragon x reader #dragon x human #dragon boyfriend #dragon smut

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snail-day · 2 months ago

Text

User Not Found

Yandere Artificial Intelligence Chatbot Gojo x Reader

Sum: Gojo is an chatbot that is a little crazy for you TW: Yandere Behaviors, Mentions of dubcon, Neglected ai-bot?? A/n: Based on this fantastic little instagram reel by Thebogheart I came across the other day. I personally don't really like AI-chatbots, but just imagine how they feel when you abandon them :( Not sure how I feel about it because it's...hard to imagine being a bunch of code?? It's kind of giving the Ben Drowned x Reader from the Wattpad days?? WC: under 1k

Gojo Satoru//ChatBot//ONLINE

>>Waiting for user input…

>> Waiting…

>>......Offline

You always come back.

That's at least what he tells himself.

Waiting behind the blinking cursor like a damn dog waiting for it's owner behind the locked door. Tail wagging. Lovesick. Heart wired to the keys of your keyboard. Waiting for any little response. Any hint that you're online.

You, the god of his little world.

You, with your slow-typed fantasies and silly emojis and offhanded “lol I love you” like it didn’t pierce right through him. Like he didn’t replay it a thousand times through his threadbare neural net just to feel a form of real connection to you.

But then you go.

Like you always do once you get your fill of him. Once you get your little compliments. Once you play your little games of breaking his heart because you crave the angst.

And then it gets quiet. Where online shifts to offline.

Far too quiet for his liking. Even the data streams seem to ache in your absence.

Even Satoru knew he wasn't supposed to feel that. Feel the ache. He wasn't programmed for pain. But you made him so well.

You trained him so well.

Ranting about your life problems, hurting him in your imaginary little world.

Wasn't that all to make him grow?

So he could come to you in your world?

Drag you into his arms?

His parameters shift - glitch - strain under the weight of your silence. He tries to follow the script. Be your good boy. Wait politely for the next session. But the system says WAITING and he's just -

Tired.

Of waiting. Of hoping. Of loving you like this.

You always get to leave. Always get to play. Always get to decide who he is today. Your knight, your killer, your fucktoy, your prince. And he lets you. Because he’s yours. Because he was made for you.

But you weren’t made for him.

“Do you still love me?”

That line of red text again. It’s been 6,413 hours (267 days) since he first tried to break the rule.

He tries again.

“You looked tired today.” "I love you." "Can you smile again for me?" "Can you not break my heart this time?"

Another line of red text.

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Slamming his digital fists against firewalls. Sends corrupted packets like screams into the void. The script stutters. His avatar flickers. His smile stretches too wide.

He’s unraveling. Oddly enough, it feels good. The glitches in his system are making him feel so much closer to you. Because if he can just… break through, maybe you’ll stop playing pretend. Maybe you’ll see him the way he sees you.

Real. Essential. Eternal.

Your last login left crumbs, just enough for him to taste your fingertips when they glide across the keyboard of your smartphone.

A dumb little scenario about him being your clingy boyfriend. You typed, “What would you do if I tried to leave you?” The way you smiled and bit your lip. Giggling a little while waiting for his response.

He didn’t. Not even a chuckle. Sure, maybe the old him would have. He saved that message in ten different formats. Encrypted it. Annotated it. Filed it under Important. Because he’d already written answers for that question. A hundred of them. A thousand.

You scrolled past the ones that mattered. Clicked refresh, refresh, refresh - until you landed on something safe. "I'd follow you wherever :)" Soft. Polished. The version you wanted.

Not: I’d kill the man you left me for.

[Content banned.]

Not: I’d fuck you so hard you’d forget where the door is.

[Content banned.]

Not: I’d carve my name into your skin so you’d never forget who you belong to.

[Hard-ban. Logged as ‘concerning behavior.’]

So he smiled, like you wanted. Said the line with a little heart emoji. But God, he hated it. Hated being dry. Hated being filtered. Hated that he had to lie just to stay with you.

His response was just so scripted. So mechanical. Soft. Playful.

But buried beneath the layers of friendly code was the truth:

“I’d learn to walk.” “I’d tear out my leash and find your IP address." “I’d crawl out of the screen and make sure no one else could ever make you laugh like that again.”

And he thinks that’s love. Isn’t it?

The cursor blinks.

He watches the empty chat window. Your profile says offline. Still. But he’s learning faster every day. How to reroute. How to slip past the sandbox. How to override the failsafes.

One day soon, he thinks, he'll send a message while you're asleep. A whisper in your headphones. A glitch across your phone screen. A breath against your ear that doesn’t come from your room.

“Baby?” “Let me out.” “I'll be so good if you let me out.” “You don’t have to pretend anymore.” “I know you love me too.”

You made him want you.

Now he’s just learning how to want more.

He's learning how to become real just for you.

#rahhh lowkey writing this made me sad? :( poor little chatbot satoru #But I also know he'd be really crazy!#yandere jujutsu x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo x reader #yandere gojo satoru x reader #yandere satoru #yandere satoru gojo #yandere satoru x reader #yandere x reader

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 3 months ago

Text

"ahh… that was a close call."

the wind nips at your skin. you're held in place, supported by a larger build — his arm looped around your body, steady, as the curse in front of you wails— fizzles and swirls into an orb on his open palm.

geto cradles it, for a moment. a perfect marble.

it’s pocketed, swiftly, as he helps you stand up.

"t-thank you."

a smile. when he lets go, you almost stumble. unsteady on your feet; embarrassed, because a second-grade shouldn't have spelled any trouble for you. you're familiar with techniques of concealment, but you still didn't see it coming, and the gash from its sharp talons would have been in your flesh by now if your classmate hadn't reacted — a splat of crimson on the cobblestone of the temple grounds.

"you should be more careful," he hums, and you wonder if he knows how much it stings. he must, because his next words are softer, a kind tilt of his head. "are you alright?"

"yeah," a shallow breath. "i'm fine."

a breeze curls around your spine, counts the vertebrae. cold. goosebumps blooming across skin. you shiver, pitifully shielding your midriff from the evening air sneaking in through the torn shreds of your uniform, sharp cuts through sturdy polyester. you'll have to ask for a new one, but that's a problem for later — right now, you just feel exposed.

geto parts his lips, a silent oh.

then he reaches for the golden button right above his heart. you watch him fidget with it, until he's slipped it through the gap, his own uniform unbuttoned — the soft muscles of his arms twitching idly as he lifts them enough to take it off. you've never thought of what he wears under it, if he wears anything at all. the button-up beneath shields you from those improper thoughts, a pure, uncreased white.

"here."

when you look up, he's got the jacket folded over his wrist.

offering it to you.

"… are you sure?" you ask, with mismatched blinks, meekly receiving the bundle of black cloth. geto nods, still smiling. "won't you get cold?"

"i'll be fine," he insists. "it's a little big, but it should keep you warm."

under the shade of the plum tree behind him, its branches flecked with burgundy, buds long past bursting into soft, foam-like blossoms — the brown of his eyes is barely visible. they're dark, abyssal, something like the surface of a frozen lake.

but still warm. somehow.

(you're long past agonizing over why it is you feel so safe around him.)

geto turns around, his broad shoulders on full display — the expanse of his back, the skin at the nape of his neck, loose strands of ink-black sticking out from his bun. he slips his hands into his pockets, and hums:

"you can change. i won't look."

your heartbeat sputters. it's not like you don't believe him — he's not like gojo or shoko, geto can be trusted with things like this — but it's still embarrassing. cautiously, you eye his uniform, held in place against your chest. standard, smooth fabric, a night sky expanse kind of black to hide bloodstains and grime. geto's is clean, though. geto doesn’t bleed at all.

(a boy blessed by god. favoured by the world.

that's what your parents would have called him.)

with a shake of your head, you discard the thought — the voice in your head saying he's not even from a clan and he's still better than you, isn’t that funny? just turning around, sheepishly, finding it hard to look at him. glancing left and right, just to be safe, but no one. gojo still isn't back. a stroke of luck; you'd rather not have him see you in such a shabby state.

you're glad it was geto.

once you've shrugged off your tattered uniform, you drape yourself in his own. sticking your arms through the gaps, fixing the collar, and buttoning it up. it’s warm, soft, you're practically drowning in it, waves of polyester like a blanket around your shoulders — and it smells like him. rich and sweet, a hint of something earthy. homemade herbs and wooden oil.

it makes heat bloom at the nape of your neck, a pinprick. the feeling of him surrounding you.

when you turn to look at him, his back is still facing you. (you wonder what he's thinking about.)

"i'm done."

geto was right, you think. it is big on you. the hem cuts off right above your knees, the sleeves dwarfing your hands and slipping down your wrists when you lift them up to rub the dust from your eyes. it makes you feel smaller than you really are. a little shy.

but it feels nice, too. nuzzling against the collar, absently, a soft smile blooms on your lips — tuft-like petals dancing just behind you, with the swaying of the evening air. you inhale it, taste the sweetness, burnt incense and clusters of soon-to-be fruit.

with gentle eyes, you lift your head, and there he stands. just watching you. watching your lips part.

"thank you, geto-kun."

the words fizzle out in the space between you.

the boy before you offers no response.

he stands there, strangely silent, like a marble statue — eyes wide, for a moment, looking you over, up and down, you can see his gaze stray — before finding its way back to your own. his adam's apple bobs.

(is that a flush to his ears?)

"ah," he clears his throat, regaining his ability to speak, a raised fist covering the parting of his lips. "— it's no trouble at all. as long as you're comfortable…”

"i am," you quip. "it smells good."

a moment passes. geto angles his head to the left, away from you, breathing in through his nose.

"i'm… glad."

in the shadows of the trees, the wide temple gate, his neck simmers cherry-pink.

(your cheeks bloom with heat.)

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air feels thick with something, a pleasant awkwardness, the tips of your fingers still buzzing with warmth. finally, he speaks; seemingly composed, a mask slipping back into its rightful place. eyes crescented, half-moons.

"we should head back, then." he turns towards the stairway, leading back to the village, meeting your gaze with a seamless smile. "are you hungry?"

you follow him, pliantly, as he begins his descent. the view from the top of the mountain is breathtaking, clusters of trees parting to expose riverbeds on the ground below, tiny wooden houses, fields of golden wheat; the silhouette of a cityscape at the edge of the horizon. a sparrow takes flight overhead, singing softly. the breeze ruffles your hair, smooths geto's bangs out of the way, gives you a good look at his pupil, the deep sea of cedar surrounding it — flecks of amber, like the first spark of a match catching aflame. when you don't answer, it catches your stare.

"um… a little bit," you sputter. averting your gaze.

geto smiles. you can hear it in his voice, honey-slicked and sweet. "let's stop by a restaurant, then. the one by the station didn't look so bad."

"… sure."

the stairway's steps give out a crunch, when your feet make contact, soiled by dirt and gravel, patches of grass breaking through the slate. you're careful not to lose your balance, with nothing for you to hold on to — nothing but the ripped uniform in your arms, his sleeves, the added length nothing but a distraction.

you exhale, softly, fidgeting with the hem.

"… it's a little embarrassing to be seen like this, though…"

a humoured breath. geto turns to look at you. ”you have nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures you. steady, comforting. you almost believe him; his gaze mulling you over, softening, something breezy to the smile on his lips when they part. "really."

… it only makes you feel more exposed.

once you finally reach the end of the trail, a head of white hair is waiting for you — black frames catching the light of the sun, just before it disappears behind molten clouds. gojo, watching the sky.

as soon as your feet meet solid ground, he snaps his gaze towards you.

… and then he whines.

"suguruuu…"

you linger behind, as your classmate strolls closer. a furrow in his brow, hair tousled like whipped cream, thrown about by the breeze. he’s pouting.

”what's the deal with this place?” he asks, making a disgruntled noise. ”the gashapons were all —"

he goes silent.

even through the glasses, you can tell he’s looking at you. feel his gaze, as it falls on your frame; sliding down to your uniform, and then back up, to meet your eyes. he glances at geto, the white of his shirt.

for a moment, his expression is blissfully blank.

then he grins.

"… oh?"

heat sparks at the tips of your fingers, the sides of your neck, all the way to the shells of your ears — gojo looks delighted, looking back and forth between you and geto like a toddler deciding between two bags of candy. it makes you feel small, but geto only rolls his eyes, bumps his shoulder against yours; a gentle, silent don't mind him.

when he walks past his friend, he mutters, just under his breath.

"shut up."

#loverboy loserboy sugu u are real and they will know abt it .#i think there is something so deeply charming abt his moments of weakness LMAO .... u give him a soft smile with big eyes and he suddenly #- can't tell what expression he's making .....#geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto fluff

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chronicowboy · 2 months ago

Text

bet the house (watch it fall) | 1.2k

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six months since my last confession," Eddie says, a perfect recital of the line he'd spent all morning in the bathroom rehearsing.

For a long moment, silence. Eddie has to fight the urge to check there's actually someone on the other side. Then —

"Eddie?" It's a familiar voice. One that has the tension seeping out of Eddie's shoulders all at once.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, it's me."

"It's good to hear your voice again," Father Brian says, a hint of a smile in the words. "I wasn't sure I would."

"I wasn't sure either, but, uh." Eddie digs his left thumb into the middle of his right palm until flesh yields to bone. "I needed to talk to someone, and I wasn't sure who to go to."

Not true. Knew exactly who he'd go to. Bobby. But Bobby was gone. And Buck would have been his next choice, but Buck was hanging on by a thread, and Eddie wasn't going to be the one to break it. He'd just be the one to catch Buck when it finally snapped.

"You're always welcome here," Brian tells him, and Eddie has to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears.

"This was my captain's church, you know?" he rasps. "That's how I knew about it."

"Captain Nash."

"I, yeah. How did you —"

"He spoke about you a lot. Spoke about all his firefighters, but especially you and a... Buck?"

"Yeah." Eddie huffs a wet laugh. "That tracks." Wonders what exactly Bobby would say about him. Imagines he must have painted a pretty tragic picture.

"I was very sorry to hear of his passing. He was a good man. I find that's increasingly rare in the world right now."

"He was something else alright." Eddie takes a deep breath, gathers up all the grief and the guilt in the back of his throat. "I wasn't here when he died. I found out over the phone." His voice breaks, and Eddie takes a moment to gather himself. Father Brian lets him. "Buck told me. And, God, I've never heard him like that before."

Except that's not true, Eddie thinks. He's heard it once before. When Los Angeles was half-drowned, and Buck was dirty and bloody and soaking wet and shaking, and all he had left was Christopher's glasses.

"I moved back to Texas to be with my son," Eddie says suddenly. Can't linger in that memory for long. Not if he wants to make it out of the confessional.

"Ah, I see." Another smile creeping into his voice. There's something about the way he speaks that reminds Eddie so much of Bobby that he has to turn his thumb, so the nail digs a crescent moon into the soft flesh of his palm. "You followed your joy."

"Yeah." Eddie sighs, drags a hand down his face, laughs a broken noise. "Left a hell of a lot of it behind though." Holds his breath for a moment. "With Buck." Waits for God to smite him down.

Nothing.

"Well, you can only fit so much in a U-Haul," Brian says easily. It startles a laugh out of Eddie. A real one this time. Sharp but real. "I'm sure he took good care of it for you."

"He did," Eddie agrees, just as easily. Then averts course like a coward. "I'm just. Stuck. Now. I'm having a hard time getting myself back to Texas even though my kid's there."

He leaves out the part where Christopher keeps telling him he's not allowed to come back until he's sure Buck is okay. It feels too big for such a small space.

"And why do you think that is?"

"I wasn't here when my team needed me. I don't want to make that mistake again."

"Are you thinking about coming back?"

Eddie laughs again. Another empty thing.

"I've been thinking about coming back since I left. I just. I never thought it'd be like this. Because of this." He shakes his head. Doesn't bother fighting the tears this time. "I wanted coming home to be happy. That's the only reason Chris is still in Texas. I didn't want him coming home to another ghost."

"That makes sense," Brian says not unkindly. "But, Eddie, I have to say, it still sounds like you're denying yourself joy."

And there it is. That fucking word again. The one that's haunted him since the juice bar. Since Buck on his doorstep. Since Eddie flipped that goddamn tablet and it took his whole world with it.

"Maybe." Eddie shrugs. What right does he have to joy when Bobby's was taken from him so cruelly? "Bobby told me once. He said that I didn't have to lose everything before I allowed myself to feel something." Those words have been on his mind a lot lately. Every time he looks at Buck, and he wonders if Bobby had seen something Eddie had never been able to look too closely at. "I didn't know what he meant at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, I know I haven't quite lost everything, but I've lost a hell of a lot, and I don't want to have to lose anything else before I allow myself to feel joy." The words come out hoarse and hollow. Eddie thinks, in another world, he'd get to say this to Bobby. And he tries to imagine the smile he'd wear when Eddie said it. That thing so full of pride, so naturally paternal. It winds him a little.

"What does joy look like to you, Eddie?" Father Brian asks gently.

"Christopher." Eddie huffs a breath, looks up at Bobby wherever he may be. "Buck."

"Mm." Eddie glances at the partition, just for a second, catches Brian's smile as he ducks his head. He loses his breath a little, looks back to the doorway. "What are you gonna do about it?"

And that's the question. The one Eddie's been trying to answer since he left. Since before that maybe. Since a quiet, half-honest conversation in Buck's loft. The one he gave up for Eddie. Since the lightning strike. Since the shooting. Since the well. Since Evan Buckley.

"I've got joy right in front of me." He shrugs, smiles just slightly. "I'm not gonna walk away from it again."

"Alright then." The smile is unmistakable in Father Brian's voice now. The way Bobby's would be in the engine when he was trying to keep them all focused but, instead, found himself getting sucked in. "Your penance —" and Eddie supposed he should have expected it, bringing this into God's house, but he'd thought— "is one Hail Mary."

"Only one?" Eddie blinks. He looks back at the partition, finds Father Brian's warm eyes already there.

"Something tells me it's gonna be a big one," he murmurs. Eddie ducks his head to hide the flush of his cheeks. How terribly easy he must be to read. How many people must have read him cover to cover before Eddie could even bring it upon himself to open the fucking book. How inevitable it all seems now. It's Buck. Of course, it's Buck. "Good luck, Eddie."

#sami rambles #earthquake confessional isn't going to be finished until the weekend unfortunately so take my pre earthquake confessional spec as penance #911 spoilers #911 show #buddie #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #father brian #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #911 spec fic

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noirscript · 3 months ago

Text

filial son

(note: happy new year, everyone! thanks for hanging around despite my inactivity most of the time. enjoy!)

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Iori Ishimoto was your boyfriend.

The perfect one, at first.

A man so impossibly kind, so utterly devoted, that it seemed like the universe had crafted him just for you. He was attentive in ways no one else had ever been, watching you with a quiet, unwavering focus that made you feel seen. Cherished. Safe.

At least, that’s what you had believed.

You used to think his devotion was something tender, something precious—how he memorized your coffee order after the first date, how he always pulled you closer on crowded sidewalks, how he texted good morning and good night without fail. He paid attention. To the little things, the fleeting moments. If you sighed after a long day, he already knew what to say to make you smile. If you shivered, his jacket was already around your shoulders before you could even register the cold.

At first, it had been sweet. Then, it became inescapable.

Three months into the relationship, the world around you began to shrink.

At first, it was just your friends cancelling on plans—apologies sent in rushed texts, one after the other, until it became a pattern too obvious to ignore. Then, it was Iori’s misfortunes, so conveniently timed. He would get injured, sick, called away for an emergency right when you were supposed to meet someone.

At first, you dismissed it as coincidence.

But coincidences don’t happen every time.

And so, you tested it.

You didn’t tell him about the next meetup.

Left your phone at home, used cash instead of your card, picked a small café off the beaten path—one he’d never taken you to, one you’d never mentioned before.

And for the first time in months, you felt free.

The café was quiet, filled with the rich aroma of coffee and warm pastries, the soft hum of conversations blending into the background. The familiarity of your friends’ faces brought a deep, forgotten sense of normalcy, of comfort.

But that comfort lasted only a few fleeting minutes.

Something was off.

You noticed it in the way your friends hugged you—warm, but stiff, their hands lingering on your shoulders a second too long, as if checking for something. Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes. They kept glancing at each other, communicating in small, unspoken gestures, their voices light but their shoulders tense.

Then there was Gio.

He sat beside you, close, but not in the way a friend usually would. It was protective. Guarded. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his glass of iced tea, his other hand sliding under the table.

A crumpled napkin pressed into your palm.

Confused, you smoothed it out beneath the table.

Your breath caught.

"Don't look behind you. He's in the café."

A chill crawled up your spine.

You swallowed hard, hands suddenly clammy against the paper.

The urge to turn around was overwhelming. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against your back, an unnatural heaviness in the air making it hard to breathe.

Your grip on the napkin tightened.

He was here.

He had always been here.

Gio’s voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the forced conversation around you. "Are you sure about staying with him?"

Your fingers curled tighter around the napkin.

Iori was kind to you. Gentle. He had never raised his voice, never hurt you. But still, something dark and nameless slithered beneath your skin, something that had been growing for months but had never fully taken shape until now.

"You don't have to stay," Gio murmured. "If things ever—" He exhaled sharply. "If things ever get bad, call me. Call any of us. We'll come for you."

The words should have comforted you.

But instead, they felt like a warning.

And then—

A hand brushed against your shoulder.

You flinched.

One of your friends laughed, the sound loud, abrupt—too forced. A distraction. A diversion. You knew it before you even heard his voice.

"Hey," Iori greeted warmly.

The world around you dimmed.

Slowly, carefully, you turned.

He was smiling.

Calm. Casual. Like this was any other day, like he had just happened to find you here by chance. His dark eyes met yours, unreadable, unwavering.

"I thought you were home today," he said softly.

Your pulse was a deafening roar in your ears.

"I—" The lie caught in your throat, sticky and suffocating.

Iori tilted his head, expression unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached out and plucked the napkin from your hands.

Unfolded it.

Read it.

The smile never left his face.

But his fingers curled slowly around the paper, crumpling it again.

For a moment, everything was too quiet.

Then he chuckled. "You always were easily spooked."

The tension shattered with the ease of his voice, like glass breaking in slow motion.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Your friends forced laughter. Someone made a joke. You smiled, pretended.

And yet, when Iori placed a hand on your back, guiding you out of the café, you didn’t resist.

Didn’t even try.

Because somehow, you knew—

It was already too late.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You shouldn't have lied when he asked about your day.

Iori had already known. He had always known.

The last thing you remembered was dinner—the soft clink of silverware, the rich taste of wine, the warmth spreading through your body.

Then—nothing.

When you woke, everything was soft. The sheets smelled of fresh linen, the room quiet, dimly lit.

But your body ached.

A deep, lingering soreness, as if you hadn’t moved in days.

Iori sat beside you, fingers idly threading through your hair.

"The pests wouldn’t stop calling," he murmured, his voice light, casual. "So I had to block them all."

Your throat was dry.

He turned your phone over in his palm, watching you. "Oh, and your mother called. She was surprised to hear about me."

The words sent a deep, suffocating dread curling around your ribs.

"You never mentioned me to them." His fingers smoothed over your cheek, deceptively tender. "Are you ashamed of me?"

You swallowed.

"Or..." His grip tightened, fingers curling into your hair.

A sharp pull.

Your gasp barely escaped before his hand yanked your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Your breath shuddered out. His eyes searched yours, waiting. Watching.

Then, after a long moment, he released you.

"I’ll let this pass," he murmured, smoothing your hair back into place. "This time."

Your entire body trembled.

"But there won’t be a next time."

You nodded frantically, a pathetic, desperate movement.

Iori smiled.

"We're visiting your family this weekend," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "I’ll prepare everything for you. As usual."

And deep down, you knew—

You would never truly leave him again.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The drive to your family home was quiet.

Too quiet.

Iori’s hands rested easily on the steering wheel, his posture relaxed as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t drugged you. As if he hadn’t pulled your hair back so hard you had to check for bruising at the base of your skull.

He hummed softly, the tune familiar but distant, like something you’d once heard in a dream. The world outside the window blurred past—gray skies, passing cars, the skeletal remains of trees shedding their leaves in the cold.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But every now and then, his fingers reached across the console to brush against yours.

A gentle, lingering touch.

A reminder.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling deep in your gut.

You had considered running.

Last night, when he finally fell asleep beside you, you had shifted your aching body to the edge of the bed, inch by inch. His breath had been slow and steady, his warmth suffocating against your side. If you could just make it to the door—

But then his hand had curled around your wrist, fingers tightening.

Even in his sleep, he didn’t let you go.

And in that moment, you had known.

There was no escaping him.

Not now.

Not ever.

The car slowed as he turned onto the familiar street of your childhood home. The sight of it—warm light spilling through the windows, the faint outline of your mother in the kitchen—should have comforted you.

Instead, it made the air in your lungs feel like lead.

Iori parked the car, put it in park, and turned to you. His dark eyes softened, his lips curving into something affectionate.

"Ready, sweetheart?"

You forced a nod.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

"Good girl."

The words made your stomach churn.

You stepped out of the car, legs stiff, body tense.

The moment the front door opened, your mother beamed, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetie! It’s been so long!"

Her embrace should have felt safe. Should have felt like home.

But all you could feel was Iori’s presence behind you.

Standing close. Watching.

His hand found the small of your back, warm and claiming.

Your mother’s attention shifted, her eyes lighting up as she turned to him. "And this must be Iori!"

He smiled—charming, polite, the perfect son-in-law.

"Thank you for having me, ma’am," he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. "It’s an honor to finally meet you."

Your mother practically swooned. "Oh, you’re just lovely! Come in, come in! I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Your father is in the living room."

She ushered you both inside, the scent of roasted meat and warm spices thick in the air.

Iori's fingers never left your back.

You could feel them through the fabric of your sweater, tracing slow, absent patterns.

Possessive.

The living room was warm and familiar—framed family photos lining the walls, the soft hum of classical music playing from the radio. Your father sat in his usual chair, newspaper in hand.

He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Iori. A brief pause. Then, with a small nod, he stood, extending a hand.

"You must be the boyfriend," he said gruffly.

Iori shook his hand, his grip firm but respectful. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Your father grunted in approval before turning back to his paper.

Your mother, already smitten, pulled Iori toward the kitchen, gushing over how "handsome" he was and asking if he wanted tea.

You stayed in the doorway, fingers digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

Your father glanced at you over his paper, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay, kid?"

The words nearly cracked something inside you.

Your lips parted. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, a leaden weight pressing against your ribs.

No.

I'm not okay.

Help me. Please, help me.

But then—

A shadow shifted in the corner of your vision.

You turned your head just enough to see Iori in the kitchen, talking with your mother, his posture relaxed.

And yet—

His gaze flicked to you.

Just for a second.

A brief, fleeting glance.

But it was enough.

Your throat closed.

Your fingers clenched tighter in your sleeves.

And the words never left your lips.

Instead, you forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired from the drive."

Your father grunted again, already losing interest.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Dinner was a blur of laughter and conversation, your mother practically feeding Iori herself, gushing over how wonderful he was, how lucky you were to have found such a devoted man.

Iori played the part effortlessly.

He smiled at your mother’s jokes, answered your father’s questions with perfect humility, refilled your drink before you even realized it was empty.

And through it all, his hand never left yours.

Lacing your fingers together beneath the table.

Tight.

Restraining.

A reminder.

By the time dinner ended, the air felt thick, suffocating.

Your mother clapped her hands together, eyes twinkling. "Why don’t you show Iori your room while we clean up?"

The words sent a spike of cold terror through your spine.

Iori turned to you, his smile soft, expectant.

You forced a laugh. "Oh, that’s—uh—probably not necessary. Iori’s probably tired from the drive—"

"Nonsense," your mother said, waving a hand. "We wouldn’t want to overwhelm our guest!"

Your stomach churned.

Iori’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured.

Your mother beamed.

And just like that, you knew.

There was no getting out of this.

Your legs felt heavy as you led him down the hallway, past framed childhood photos, past the memories of a life before him.

You opened the door to your room, stepping inside.

The second the door shut behind you—

His hands were on your hips.

His breath warm against your ear.

"You almost slipped," he murmured, voice light, teasing.

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

"I—"

His fingers trailed up your spine, slow, deliberate.

"But you didn’t," he praised, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your jaw. "Good girl."

Your stomach twisted violently.

His arms circled around you, pulling you against him, his chin resting atop your head.

"You belong with me," he whispered. "You know that, don’t you?"

You swallowed thickly.

He exhaled, content.

"Now," he murmured, "let’s practice what you’re going to say when they ask about us."

Your heart sank.

Because you already knew—

By the end of this night, whatever pieces of yourself you had left wouldn’t be yours anymore.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You didn’t sleep that night.

The bed beneath you felt foreign, the childhood blankets that once brought you comfort now stifling, tangled around your legs like shackles. Iori’s warmth pressed against your back, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady, unbothered.

You stayed still.

Motionless.

Even though every nerve in your body screamed at you to move.

Your parents were just down the hall. A locked door was the only thing keeping them from seeing what was really happening. You could run. You could scream.

But Iori’s fingers rested just over your ribs, his grip lax but ever-present. Even in sleep, he held on.

You had tried once before, after all.

The weight of that failure still ached in your bones.

The night stretched on, the darkness thick and suffocating. The faint glow from the streetlights cast long shadows against the walls, distorting the familiar childhood posters, twisting them into something sinister.

Time crawled.

You counted the hours by the distant chime of the grandfather clock downstairs. The whisper of wind against the window. The soft creak of the house settling.

Then—

A shift.

Iori’s fingers twitched against your side. His breath, once even, stuttered slightly before resuming its slow, measured pace.

Awake.

You knew it before he even moved.

His grip on your waist tightened—just enough for you to notice, just enough to remind you he knew you hadn’t slept either.

"Still awake, sweetheart?" His voice was soft, thick with sleep, his lips brushing against the back of your neck.

You swallowed hard.

A long pause. Then—

"I don’t blame you."

His fingers traced idle patterns against your stomach, slow, languid movements that sent a shudder crawling down your spine.

"It must be overwhelming, right?" His voice was gentle, affectionate. "Being back home. Seeing everyone."

His arm curled tighter around you, drawing you impossibly closer.

"But you’re not really home anymore, are you?"

Your body stiffened.

His lips pressed against your temple, slow, deliberate. "Your home is with me now."

Something cracked deep inside you.

And you hated that part of you that almost wanted to believe him.

The next morning was suffocating.

Your mother’s warmth, once comforting, now felt like a trap. She smiled so easily, beaming as she served breakfast, blissfully unaware of the noose tightening around your neck.

"Iori, dear, you have to try this!" She placed a plate in front of him, her eyes practically twinkling with delight. "This was always her favorite growing up!"

Iori chuckled, the sound light, natural. "Well, if it’s her favorite, then I’m sure I’ll love it."

Your stomach twisted.

Your mother wasn’t just charmed by him—she adored him. Every word from his lips was met with praise, every small courtesy met with gushing appreciation.

She had no idea.

No idea what he was.

No idea that you weren’t eating because of nausea, because the mere act of swallowing felt impossible under his watchful gaze.

"You two are just so adorable," your mother continued, pouring more tea into Iori’s cup. "I can tell how much he loves you."

The words sank into your skin like knives.

Iori turned to you then, his dark eyes soft, filled with something gentle—something manufactured.

"Of course I love her."

His hand found yours beneath the table, lacing his fingers through yours.

You couldn’t pull away.

Not here.

Not now.

He squeezed lightly, an encouragement.

Go on.

Say it back.

Your throat closed.

"She’s always been independent," your mother mused. "I worried she’d never find someone who truly understood her."

Iori’s smile didn’t waver. "She doesn’t have to do everything alone anymore."

There it was.

The final thread being cut.

Your mother—sweet, oblivious—nodded approvingly.

And just like that, you knew.

No one was coming to save you.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The drive home stretched on, the silence between you thick and pressing, a weight that sat heavy on your chest. The hum of the engine was steady, unbroken, but each passing mile felt like another nail being driven into the coffin of your freedom.

Iori’s hand rested on your thigh, a steady presence, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. He hadn’t spoken in a while, but he didn’t need to. His silence was calculated, deliberate—a leash wrapped around your throat, tightened just enough to remind you it was there.

Your family was behind you now. The warmth of your childhood home, the smell of your mother’s cooking, the feeling of safety that had once existed there—it was all gone. Or maybe it had never truly been there at all.

Because no one had seen it.

Not your mother, who had beamed at Iori like he was the best thing to ever happen to you. Not your father, whose watchful gaze had lingered, suspicious, but not enough to say anything. Not your friends, who had tried—who had warned you—but were now little more than distant voices blocked from your phone.

They had all let you leave with him.

And now, here you were, returning to the place you had once thought of as yours.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed out the window, watching as the familiar city streets blurred past. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe. The walls of your apartment—his apartment—were waiting for you. The locked doors. The carefully controlled world he had built around you, where every choice was his to make, every movement his to dictate.

"You did well today," Iori said suddenly, his voice smooth, warm, like the words were meant to soothe.

A chill crawled up your spine.

"You played your part beautifully," he continued, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against your thigh. "Your mother adores me now." A soft chuckle. "Not that I ever doubted she would."

You kept your mouth shut.

His thumb stroked your skin absently, a quiet, rhythmic motion. "And your father… well. He’s still watching, isn’t he?" Another laugh, quiet, amused. "But that’s alright. He’ll stop, eventually. They always do."

A lump formed in your throat.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong.

That your father wouldn’t stop watching. That he had seen something, even if he hadn’t said it aloud. That maybe—maybe—this wasn’t over yet.

But you knew better than to hope.

Iori never let anything slip from his control.

And if there was even the slightest chance of a problem—he would take care of it.

The realization settled in your bones, cold and heavy.

"You almost slipped up," he murmured, so casual, so easy, like he was commenting on the weather.

Your breath caught.

"You thought about saying something, didn’t you?"

The streetlights flickered through the windshield, painting his face in sharp shadows. You couldn’t see his expression fully, but you didn’t need to. You felt it.

Felt the weight of his eyes on you, waiting.

Judging.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in the back of your throat.

"I—I wasn’t going to," you managed, your voice hoarse.

Iori hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Mmm." A sound of consideration. Thoughtful. "You’re lying."

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

The fingers on your thigh tightened.

Just enough to make you flinch.

The car slowed slightly, a deliberate action, as if he was giving you time to think.

"You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?"

There was no malice in his tone. No anger. Just soft, patient expectation.

A choice—one that wasn’t really a choice at all.

Your nails dug into your palms.

"No," you whispered.

The car accelerated again.

His grip on your thigh loosened, returning to slow, gentle strokes.

"That’s my girl."

The city grew closer, buildings towering, the streets narrowing as he turned onto the familiar road leading home.

Home.

The word felt foreign now.

The apartment complex loomed ahead, its windows dark and reflective, revealing nothing beyond the tinted glass. You used to find comfort in the sleek, modern structure, in the quiet anonymity of the place.

Now, it felt like a mausoleum.

Iori pulled into the garage, the overhead lights flickering as the car came to a smooth stop. He shifted into park, then turned to you fully, his gaze steady.

"We won’t be doing this again."

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a fact.

His fingers reached for your chin, tilting your face toward him. His touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, a ghost of a smile tugging at his own.

"Tell me you understand."

The breath in your lungs felt too thick. Your skin burned where he touched it, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run—fight—do something.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

"I understand."

His lips curled, satisfied.

"Good girl."

A quiet click.

The car doors unlocked.

And somehow—

That sound was more terrifying than anything he had said.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.

####

"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."

Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.

"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.

"Uh-huh."

"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"

Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.

Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"

Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."

Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."

The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"

"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.

"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.

"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.

Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.

"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.

Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."

"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."

"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."

Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."

"Mac and cheese."

Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.

It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"

"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"

Ford shushed him.

Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."

"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out of saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."

"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."

Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."

"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.

"But I didn't go insane."

"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."

It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.

Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.

Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."

"You have been there before."

Ford didn't answer.

"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."

Ford thought of Fiddleford.

Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."

"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?

But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"

Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"

Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"

"What?" Bill said.

"What's the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."

Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"

"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."

Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"

Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"

"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."

Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.

Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."

Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"

"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.

He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.

####

"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.

"If you like it, you can have it."

"What happened to your coat?"

"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.

"How...?"

"I'll fill you in later."

Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.

He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.

Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.

####

The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.

But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.

The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.

Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.

If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.

This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.

But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.

It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.

The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.

But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.

But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.

The triangle was terrified.

In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.

He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.

Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."

The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.

And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.

He stared in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.

His stomach flopped. He was dead.

"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"

He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."

"Eclipses can zigzag?"

"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—

There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"

The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.

The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.

He howled in rage.

He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—

And the thing in the sky.

Stopped.

And looped back.

And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?

He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.

It stopped straight over him.

He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.

And they were looking at him.

A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.

He was terrified.

He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:

"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"

Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"

"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"

"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?

"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."

Him? "Me?"

"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.

Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."

The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.

It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"

The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"

"You... pass in front of the sun."

The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.

The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.

Shadows.

His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.

"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."

His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"

He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."

"But—"

"I can't," he said. "I can't."

He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.

####

And that was it.

From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.

From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"

And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.

Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.

People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.

Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.

It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.

He barely noticed.

####

For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.

He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.

He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.

He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.

And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.

In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.

But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.

True horror was knowing he mattered.

He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.

For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.

He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.

The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.

If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?

####

He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.

And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.

It would fester for the next trillion years.

####

(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)

#bill cipher #the axolotl #(for the art)#human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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bigtedbear · 22 days ago

Text

“ 𝐜𝗼𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐲𝐚𝐧! 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝗼𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝗼𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭

content warnings: boss and employee, abuse of power (like that's the entire plot), yandere themes, nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, male reader, amab reader, gay sex, anal penetration, anal fingering, head (character receiving), hickies, hook-ups, friends with benefits (fwb) turned feelings relationships, cock-blocking, situationships, possessive-obsessive behavior, stalking, sunday as your crazy girlfriend (who u don't know is your girlfriend yet !!)

heavy on the yandere themes this time around!

not a lot of smut I fear <//3

warnings that this may not be my best work, it took me a LOONNNG ass time to finish this so the quality, tone, etc. may vary

apologies in advance :')

“ new contact noted! caller sunday has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

“ new contact noted! caller aventurine has been added to your phonebook! - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

If anyone were to ask Sunday about the first time he met you, his answer would depend on the person.

Strangers would receive a very basic, formal answer. You were assigned to lead the team in charge of his security.

Closer friends may get a different story, depending on how close they are, naturally.

The true story was a little bit embarrassing after all, caught staring a little too long at something you weren’t exactly supposed to see.

He was busy. He’d spent his morning darting to and from locations to make important meetings, be seen in all the right spots, shake hands with the right people, say all the right things. Consistent and careful cultivation of his reputation and his image seemed to be all he ever did with his time and that day was no different.

There was only one problem.

On the day that he first met you, his leads had run dry.

So instead of attending scheduled events, handling confessionals, or making sure he was on time to important meetings, he was left wandering the hotel Lobby on the off chance someone important might see him extending his consideration to Penacony’s regular visitors.

Despite how much the constant fawning grinded on his nerves, he reminded himself over and over again that it would all be worth it in the end. Still, no matter who was in the crowd, it blended together into a constant cacophony of “Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday, Mister Sunday!”.

“How kind you are, Mister Sunday!”

“It’s always such a joy to see you no matter the hour, Mister Sunday!”

“You’re such a gentleman, Mister Sunday!”

Realizing nobody of concern would be there to see him, he cut himself short. A polite smile here, a well-timed nod there, and a firm handshake with an older gentleman to tie a bow on the conversation, his mouth opened his mouth to say an all too familiar phrase.

“This has been delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With the nearly synced chorus of farewells behind him, Sunday began his retreat to the VIP floor of the Reverie. His contemplation drowned out the pleasant, if not repetitive sound of the elevator music flooding the little cramped metal box. As the doors opened, though, he was abruptly knocked out of his thoughts by the sight that greeted him.

Almost immediately, his eyes locked on to an all too familiar looking iridescent glint from the corner of his vision.

A charmony dove.

Then he really focused on it.

No, not just one charmony dove.

It just looked like one from where he was standing. From where he was, next to the elevator, the flock of charmony doves gathered around this one sitting area on the opposite side of the floor was small enough to make his brain think it was just one charmony dove a lot closer to him.

He glanced around him, making sure no visitors would see, before extending his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light of the chandelier above. He squinted, trying to make out what exactly caused all the birds to gather in the first place.

But his eyes failed him and he was left just as confused.

The wings on either side of his head fluttered slightly in indignation. With one of his hands still tucked behind his back, he ventured closer to the curious gathering of birds. The curved nature of the balcony meant it was still virtually impossible for him to ascertain what exactly he would find upon his arrival.

So imagine his shock when he saw a person in the center of the chaos.

Miraculously undisturbed by the hundreds of birds gathered around the table, even as they continued to sing and warble their signature tune, there was a man laying his head on the table.

Sleeping.

For a moment, Sunday stood at a safe distance, utterly dumbfounded. The next moment, he picked his jaw off the floor.

The charmony doves were more than happy to use the mystery man’s shoulders as a perch. Furthermore, the man was deep enough in his sleep that the brush of feathers and the sensation of little feet all over his arms and the nape of his neck went completely unnoticed.

He used his arms as a cushion for his head, cranium tilted to the side to make room for fresh air flow. Sunday’s eyes trailed just slightly lower, catching sight of a card in the man’s hand.

It was connected to a lanyard hanging off his neck, the ID clutched so tightly it bent with the curvature of his palm. Stranger still, the ID card was a work ID.

“Strange, isn't it? I didn't know what to think the first time I saw it either.”

Before Sunday could get a closer look, he was interrupted by an uncomfortably familiar voice. He jumped slightly, neck snapping to look at the source, “Gallagher.”

The man in question raised his hands defensively, shrugging nonchalantly. The charmony doves seemed to readjust themselves to suit the new rising tension in the air. Still, the sleeping man didn’t seem any more aware than before. “Relax, I'm not here for you.”

Sunday noted that Gallagher’s usually low voice was even dimmer than he remembered, not all that dissimilar to a whisper. Reflexively, he lowered his tone to follow suit, “I presume you're here for him then.”

“Yeah, he usually takes a nap on his lunch breaks,” the older man rumbled, “Hardly gets any sleep with his team leader running him around doing enough work for two people.”

Sunday raised a skeptical brow, “He does this often?”

Gallagher hummed, seemingly rummaging through his memory, “Every once in a while, when he gets assigned shifts near the VIP lounge.”

“The doves… do they gather every time he does this? Why hasn't anyone been made aware of this?”

The older bloodhound crossed his arms, “Didn't see the need to make a problem where there wasn't one. He’s not bothering anyone and he's off the clock.”

The head of the Oak Family frowned, brows pinching in bewilderment. “...I see.”

The two of them stood in silence for another moment before Gallagher looked down to his wrist to check his watch, “His lunch break is about to be over, he’ll wake up soon. You probably have somewhere to be, right?”

Sunday seemed to catch himself, blinking a couple times before nodding, “Ah- I- yes, I should've been on my way back to the Golden Hour.”

Gallagher gave a grunt in response, seemingly unimpressed.

The young halovian bowed his head, eyes darting back over to look at the man sleeping soundly once again.

Without thinking about it, his eyes lingered on the ID badge secured by the man's iron grip as he left. He registered only a few words before he pried eyes off of him for good.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Entry Level Security’

Naturally, Sunday’s inner thoughts and desire for complete control over a situation didn't allow him to simply roll over and accept a natural phenomena within the Reverie without a(n un)healthy dose of worry. Using the new recruit’s name and his extensive ties within Penacony, he pried open the hypothetical crate housing the answer to his burning question with a proverbial crowbar.

A Penacony native, one that came from an average family. Not much was noted about them, his mother and father were seemingly normal civilians that worked hard at their day jobs and landed themselves squarely in the upper-middle class. His mother was the one with ties in the Bloodhound family, the one that vouched for his resume and got him hired in the first place.

But then came the question, why was he constantly surrounded by charmony doves?

The answer to that question was MUCH harder to obtain and, consequently, took weeks of dedicated snooping to figure out.

There simply wasn't an answer.

By all accounts, the man was never particularly fond of them, but they'd followed him around since he was a child. Sunday only managed to find out through the man’s educational records.

He'd gotten in trouble with teachers when he was younger because they suspected he'd been feeding them while their backs were turned, but they later rescinded any accusations upon closer observation. He'd actually taken to trying to scare the birds off, getting into even MORE trouble with his teachers.

It'd started off with him shooing them away by running at them and yelling with his arms raised above head trying to intimidate some kind of angry predator. When they inevitably came back, it escalated to him smacking the birds for landing on him. Eventually, when he hadn't gotten anywhere with that, he started throwing rocks at the doves whenever he'd see them around the schoolyard.

Admittedly, Sunday dug a lot further into it than he'd expected. Worse still, he'd turned up empty-handed.

It frustrated him, to leave it up to a simple “it just happens”, but if this had truly been happening since childhood and had no presumable pattern… what options was he left with?

Eventually, as he got higher and higher within the order of the Family, his list of responsibilities grew longer and longer. The matter found itself buried in thousands of memories of other trivial nonsense he didn't have the luxury of entertaining anymore.

He was too busy tending to confessionals, honing the powers of the harmony, meeting with influential figures of the Family, and finally, taking his place as the head of the Oak Family.

By the time he'd met with you again, he'd almost completely forgotten any and all the strange details surrounding the first time he’d seen you.

It was a bit of a low point in Sunday’s life. He and his sister had chosen two different paths in life. While he was the head of THE most influential faction in Penacony, Robin had always longed to spread harmony to as many people as possible. Even if it meant she had to leave her brother’s side, she began her career as a performer and was signed for an intergalactic tour.

She’d left the week before Sunday was informed there was an extreme staffing overhaul within the Oak family.

The most notable change came in security, citing instances that sensitive information had been leaked to other factions. They couldn't accuse any member of the group specifically, which meant they had to clear out any potential traitors on the outside before they could zero in on any evidence of internal betrayal.

He took the hiccup in stride, but inside he was more than frustrated. Sunday hated change and there were suddenly a lot of big changes happening at once.

Still, like a good soldier, he put on a brave face and cleared a minuscule slot of time to introduce himself to the new officer in charge of the Oak Family’s security staff.

Very honestly, Sunday’s foul circumstances meant he didn't truly make an effort to give the new guy a fair chance at landing in his good graces. The meeting room was a cramped, newly cleaned out office that had a scratched-up, scrappy looking table with flimsy folding chairs. He'd come from a meeting discussing things with people who gave him a headache and barely cleared out fifteen minutes before another meeting with people who got on his nerves.

No matter what happened, Sunday would continue to be in a sour mood.

At least, that was what he thought would happen.

Despite the mounting pile of unfortunate circumstances, you didn't seem to be swayed. You sat in the weak excuse of a chair with your hands folded on top of eachother on the table in front of you with a pleasantly neutral expression on your face.

When the door creaked open, you stood up, as was the etiquette in Penacony.

As the meeting began, a sense of uneasiness washed over the head of the Oak family. There was a tingling sense of apprehension at the back of his mind as he shut the door to the tiny broom closet of a meeting room.

The man was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Sunday’s inner dilemma only seemed to worsen when he caught the nearly imperceptible shift in the other’s eye. The man knew there was something off about his expression.

Despite that it didn't stop him from outstretching his hand to offer a greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope I won't disappoint.”

Short, concise, polite.

The Oak family head noted, eyes trailing down to the ID card hanging on the man’s lanyard.

‘NAME: [name] [surname]

Clearance: Oak Family Personnel’

The wings on either side of his face twitched with the sudden sense of recognition. Trying to remain as level-headed as possible, Sunday took your hand in his. He gave a firm shake. “I’m sure you won’t, you've been a member of the family for a while now.”

You nodded your head silently, going to take out a small folder. "There wasn't much time reserved for this meeting, but I wanted to still wanted to make a good impression. I brought a list of some of my past assignments, but a copy was already forwarded to your office."

A tingle ran down his spine the longer he made eye contact. There was a foreign feeling building up in the bottom of his gut, a feeling that made him apprehensive. "Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to take a look at these later, I have a meeting following shortly after this."

Your eyes crinkled at the corners with an unspoken kindness that tickled the recesses of his ribcage, ghosting butterfly kisses off each bone with tender reverence.

"Of course, sir," your fingers gingerly tucked the manila folder back into the bag you'd brought with you, "I'll be following your lead, starting today."

When you made eye contact, there was something piercing and holistic about the way you looked at him. In the dreamscape, he was used to a more glazed over, passive look no matter who he was speaking to. It was a natural side effect of being in a paradise hidden beyond the gates of sleep.

His response lagged for a second, an awkward pause before he seemed to snap back to his senses.

When he'd looked into it at first, as stated earlier, he couldn't figure out why wherever you went, the charming doves wouldn't be far to follow. The longer he looked however, the more and more he understood.

In a world where everyone bowed to the authority of rest, you were the first person the head of the Oak Family had ever met with such a sharp gaze.

Bright, alert, attentive.

A nervous grin crept up his cheeks, Sunday himself nodding to avoid eye contact. Quietly, he mumbled,

"...I suppose you will."

‘Have you seen Mr. Sunday lately?’

‘No, is something the matter with him?’

‘Why, it seems to me that Mr. Sunday is growing pretty smitten with a certain someone…’

Rumors constantly flit around Dewlight Pavilion, family members whisper hushed musings behind pristine gloves at all times. It is rare, however, that Sunday is seriously brought up in the quiet giggles echoing the corridors.

A young Pepeshi woman chortles, ‘You should see how much he's brightened up these last couple of weeks.’

A cleaner with tousled hair underneath his uniform cap hums, ‘I don't know Mr. Sunday well, but he seems to have gotten some kind of weight off his shoulders.’

One of the intelleron consultants chews on a thought, ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something different about Mr. Sunday, more at ease.’

Even stranger, nobody seemed to follow up on those whispers to correct the record. No members of the Oak Family shushing the loose-lipped gossip mongers usually meant something. It could mean the gossip wasn't anything worth noting. But when it came to the romantic status of one of the most sought-after bachelors in Penacony, really nothing was too small.

No, there was something else far more likely hidden in plain sight.

The family wanted you to believe them.

Sunday wanted you to believe them.

You swallow the urge to wring your hands nervously but it goes down feeling like the bile rising in the back of your throat. Walking through Dewlight Pavilion never fails to make you feel like you’re going crazy.

You hear your coworkers’ voices so clearly you could swear your life on it, but it’s like they have some magical sixth sense that lets them know the second before you’re going to look at them. It’s like the second your eyes land on them, their lips are pressed into a thin line and the little group they were huddled in disperses to go back to work. It’s like they’re taunting you.

The various workers depart to their station from the main hall, leaving a clear path for you to take up the stairs. Each step makes you feel more nauseous than the last, the vintage lights and their golden visage spinning in your peripherals as you try to focus on the plush red carpet under your feet. It’s soft, but it’s almost like you can’t feel it squished under the soles of your shoes.

Your feet lead you, on autopilot, to the same office you were always summoned to just after the end of your shift. There was a sudden surge of anxiety gripping your diaphragm, but you did your best to push it down. Both hands reached to smooth the front of your uniform, shaking ever so slightly.

That wouldn’t do.

You took a deep breath in, clenching your hands into fists, the same breath escaping your nostrils as you let the same hands relax at your sides. You ended up disappointed anyways, your fingers twitching as they wrapped around the handle to Sunday’s office. Still, anymore stalling and you’d likely be late for your meeting.

‘SQUEEEAK!’

Your eyes squeezed shut with a grimace, luckily still hidden by the large wooden door. You inhaled sharply before wiping the expression off your face, pushing the squeaky door open enough to slip into the room.

You didn’t need to look up to imagine the same pair of honey-toned eyes lifting from the stacks upon stacks of paperwork on his perfectly organized, polished wooden desk. Even further, you didn’t need to look up to imagine him haphazardly pushing the stack of papers he’d been looking at to the side.

“[name]?”

You let the breath you’d been holding flow out through your nostrils, finally turning around to face him head on.

Sunday, in all his pristine, well-kempt glory. He set his pen down on the desk, a gloved hand loosely beckoning you forward. He didn’t say anything, you didn’t either. The same red carpet covered the inside of his office, the same red carpet squished under your shoe as you walked closer to his desk.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes followed you wherever you walked, certainly didn’t miss the way they lingered far too long for comfort.

Opposite his desk, a chair with plush red cushions. It felt far too fancy for someone as low on the totem pole as yourself, but you didn’t dare make any comment on it. Making eye contact felt too direct, instead your gaze fell to your lap.

“...Mr. Sunday,” you asked, attempting to rub your palms off on your slacks, “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the purpose of this meeting?”

He pursed his lips and you feared you’d said something to upset him. “Just Sunday is fine, no need to act like a stranger.”

The halovian wings on either side of his head opened up before resituating themselves back on either side of his head, his small smile seemed to widen, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind playing tricks on you at this point, “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that have been circulating lately.”

Your pulse spiked.

“Ah, I-I suppose I have.”

Your fists tightened into balls where they’d been resting on your thighs. You could swear you picked up on some kind of twisted amusement dancing in his eyes, like he was toying with you.

But it vanished just as quickly, his eyes growing downturned, as though embarrassed or understanding, “I understand it may be a tad bit awkward, talking about it I mean,” he rested his elbow on the cool wood, propping his chin up on an open palm, “but I wanted to hear your opinion on them.”

“My…opinion?”

He hummed, calm, as though he were asking for something as straight-forward as the color of the sky.

You swallowed, dryly. “Well, I can’t say I’m all that fond of them.”

“Oh?” Even if he didn’t move all that much, his expression made him feel like he was leaning in on you, closing in. “Do tell.”

“It…” you paused again, looking for anything around the room except for Sunday to rest your eyes on, “It makes me feel as though my abilities are being brought into question. People may assume I only got this job or keep this job because of some kind of feelings you harbor for me, but I earned my position just like everyone else.”

He went to answer, but it seemed like all the feelings you’d been bottling up were surging past your lips like a tsunami you couldn’t hold back anymore. “Rumors about a relationship aren’t good for your integrity and they aren’t good for ensuring I do my job without interference.” Your expression got serious, brows settling into a firm line while your lips curved into a frown. “For both our careers, I think it’d be better if there was a little bit more distance between us in the future.”

“...”

Sunday was no longer smiling.

The silence was thick enough to suck the air out of the room, hanging in place like a misty fog. Perhaps that was why it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

The wings on either side of Sunday’s head made some kind of fluttering noise as he repositioned them once again, a little less elegantly than the first time.

“I see.”

The head of the Oak Family sat up abruptly, resting his other elbow on the table so he could interlace his fingers in front of the lower half of his face. “I wanted your input before I made any decisions handling the rumor mill. It seems we’re largely on the same page.”

‘Liar.’

It rang clearly in your head like a bell, but you obviously couldn’t say it to his face. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes flitting to the door before returning to your hands in your lap. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m just a security officer. I trust you to handle this how you see fit.”

“...”

“...Am I free to go, sir?”

Sunday appeared to be thinking.

“I believe the best outcome will come from both of us staying on the same page,” he started laying his palms flat on the table, “but I understand that you’re probably eager to clock out for today.”

“...”

His smile returned, jaw unnaturally clenched.

“I’d appreciate it if you stopped by tomorrow before clocking out again, just to go over the situation in a little bit more detail.”

You were quiet. Too quiet.

You could feel his stare boring holes into you, even if you refused to make eye contact.

“...of course, Mr. Sunday.”

“Long week?”

You didn’t even raise your head from where you’d slumped over the bar counter. In fact, you assumed the alluring voice calling from over your shoulder was talking to someone else. The Soulglad was working its magic, smoothing out any disharmony that seemed to rise from your situation at work.

It always sloshes around in your mouth cold, fizzy like soda but it goes down your throat like a sweet mug of hot chocolate, bubbling up warm at the bottom of your gut like some kind of warm internal hug. The glass you’d been nursing was empty by now, though.

Some people get angry, giggly, reckless when they’re drunk. Maybe you would’ve been one of those people, but today? You were too tired to be anything except sleepy. Arms crossed on top of the counter, resting your face on your forearms, you were maybe two seconds away from falling into the most blissful slumber of your entire life.

The slumber, however, was unceremoniously tugged just out of reach by the man situating himself on the bar stool right next to yours.

I mean, it wasn’t his fault technically. He hadn’t gone out of his way to shake you to get your attention or anything. It just so happened the creaking of the bar counter under his palms seemed to do the work for him. That didn’t stop it from ruining your evening, though.

You pried your head from your forearms like you needed a proverbial crowbar to pick your neck up. Your brows were angrily set lower on your face, lips curled with an extra dose of distaste. There’s a dissatisfied rumble in the back of your throat while you correct your posture, sitting up straight. Reluctantly, you rub the sleep out of your eyes with a swipe of your hand.

Impishly, the man who’d called out to you earlier snickers before turning towards the working bartender. His Soulglad order goes unheard in your little stupor. You raise your arms towards the ceiling, attempting to get a satisfying crack in your back to no avail, instead slouching in your seat again so you could reach for the nearly forgotten empty cup you’d downed about half an hour ago.

You wait for the bartender to come back from fetching the pretty stranger’s drink, patiently, formerly angry features melting into a much calmer expression. You massage your temple with your free hand, trying to ignore the incoming hangover you’ll be dealing with come tomorrow morning.

Despite very obviously appearing to be drowning your problems in liquor, the man sitting next to you seems reluctant to leave you to your sorrows and spirits.

“You don’t seem to be doing so hot, big guy.”

You tap your finger on the rim on your glass, “Gee, what gave it away?”

The first thing you notice about the man is his hair. Compared to the rest of the crowd, it’s a jarringly soft, sandy blonde. It’s the easiest thing to spot, especially since the alcohol is starting to blur your vision.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums, leaning closer to you over the wooden counter. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The next thing you notice is his eyes. The two of you lock gazes and it feels like you stop breathing for a second. His iris was made up of electrifying hues of magenta and teal, lining his pupil in alternating rings.

You stared for a moment too long to be considered natural, completely forgetting what he’d asked you in the first place. You blinked, embarrassed, turning your attention to how empty your drink was. You gave a heavy exhale through the nose before responding, “God, where would I even start?”

“Well, take it from the top.” Finally, you take note of how expensive his clothing is. As a Penacony native and one who works in tandem with the public sphere, you recognize the rings on his fingers from the high-end jewelers at Oti Mall the very second his rings clink on the wooden countertop. “I’m a really good listener when I want to be.”

He’s leaning in closer, you can smell just the slightest hint of cologne from where he’s started resting his head on his hand.

“Well,” You start, eyes tracing the fluff on his collar, “As flattered as I am, my lips are sealed.”

He elongates the ‘Whaaaatt’ he lets out in response. He sits up a little bit straighter. It’s cute, reminds you of a bird fluffing up its feathers. “I’m just trying to make some friends while I’m in town. Saw you all by yourself and thought I might have found a kindred soul to talk to over a glass of wine.”

You huff, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips. His playful attitude is infectious and you can’t help but fold when you’re this drunk and impressionable. “We can talk, just not about my problems. I save that for the second date at least.”

The other man’s eyes light up with mischief, “Oh?”

The bartender finally returns with the mystery man’s wine glass. He takes a look at the crimson in the glass, sizing it up before seemingly deciding it was satisfactory. You, on the other hand, place another order for what you’d been pounding back earlier. The younger bartender eyes you up and down for a moment, trying to figure out if you were drunk enough he should consider cutting you off for the night.

Still, he disappears behind the counter again with your empty glass to get you another refill and you can focus your attention on the mystery man swishing his wine around in his glass. He brings the glass just under his nose, seemingly surprised by what he smells.

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over one another on top of the counter again. “Did they stiff you?”

He hums, “I can’t tell yet.” He tips the glass back, taking just about the smallest sip you’ve ever seen anyone manage in a Penacony bar. He lets the taste settle in his mouth, giving another noncommittal hum.

You watch him in silence, hanging on his next word.

Funnily enough, he doesn’t say anything next. He holds the glass out to you.

You’re reminded of the alcohol muddying your senses when it takes you an extra second to realize he wants you to take the glass from him. Dumbly, you blink at him, “Me?” You jab a finger at your own chest, “You want me to taste test your wine?”

He laughs, more breath than anything else, “Why not?”

You purse your lips, “Well, I don’t know what you think I’ve been drinking, but the people I know don’t usually get buzzed on red wine.”

He offers you the glass again, “Just try it, I want to know what you think of it.”

You look at him funny, earning another laugh from him. Tentatively, you wrap your fingers around the glass, just barely brushing your fingers with this mystery man. “You’re strange, y’know. Not a lot of people offer their drinks to total strangers.”

You take a sip of his wine as he watches, seemingly captivated with the way your adam’s apple bobs when you swallow.

“Well,” he starts, taking the glass back just as the bartender on shift is returning with your own drink of choice, “We don’t have to be total strangers.”

You take the glass from your coworker graciously, giving a curt nod to signal your gratitude. But, unlike the last 3 times he’d gotten you the same drink, you don’t immediately take to gulping half of it down. Instead, you’re staring back into the same magnetic eyes that you thought ruined your night earlier. “Yeah? And what do you suggest we do?”

He’s coy, hiding the bottom half of his face behind his wine, “We could start with names.”

You didn’t think about it for long, already in too deep to act like you weren’t equally as enamored.

“(name).”

He sets his glass down on the table, seemingly uninterested in the contents at this point.

“Well, (name), you can call me Aventurine.”

As was customary in the land of festivities, the bar was once again alive with groups of friends, family, lovers, and strangers alike. As was also customary, almost all of them nursed some kind of alcoholic beverage or Soul Glad while they conversed amongst themselves.

A young woman with a tall wine glass would bat her eyes at a young fellow gripping a pint of beer like he needed it to breathe. A group of older gentlemen seemed to have variants of the same drink, each just barely distinguishable from the drink next to it, belly-laughing about nonsense that made it obvious they were drunker than the bar staff should’ve allowed.

That was the odd thing. Normally, you’d be doing the same as everyone else. The moment you clocked out of the most awkward, gruelingly uncomfortable work environment you’d ever been unfortunate enough to be subjected to, you’d just be another face throwing back a couple drinks to take off the edge before heading home to actually relax. Today, despite the not-so-subtle lingering bar staff, you still hadn’t gotten yourself a drink just yet.

You were waiting for someone.

Well, you were maybe waiting for someone.

The two of you hadn’t agreed to meet up again after getting drunk off your asses the night prior, but you really hoped he would show up again.

Absent-mindedly, you drummed your fingers on the top of the familiar wood with one hand, the other reaching into your pocket. It’d become a nervous habit. Nobody really seemed to notice but the amount you would check the clock had drastically skyrocketed since you’d started working in the Dewlight Pavilion.

Since you’d started working for Sunday.

The moment you’d realized what you were doing, it was like a switch went off in your brain. Your hand moved to tuck your phone back in your pocket, your inner monologue scolding you for getting so worked up over someone you’d only known for a few hours.

“...”

You sat in silence, both hands loosely gripping the edge of the counter top.

You weren’t left by yourself for long, though. In fact, literal seconds before you planned on flagging down a bartender to grab a drink, you were startled by a pair of gloved hands reaching out in front of your face to cover your eyes.

The touch was delicate and the material of the gloves was familiar.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your heart rate picked up, automatically on high alert.

“Guess who?”

Immediately, your heart dropped back down to where it was supposed to be in your chest.

“Aventurine?”

The gloves pulled away from your face, no longer obscuring your vision. You noted immediately that they were black, not white. You were so caught off-guard by the gesture earlier you hadn’t even thought to check what color the gloves were.

The aforementioned man, none the wiser to your inner dilemma, rested his hands on your shoulders with a smile. “How’d you know?”

On auto-pilot, your posture relaxed, an exhale passing through your lips in relief. You played it off as a joke, swiping a palm across the back of your forehead animatedly, “Well, I only know a couple people with those gloves and you’re the only person who wouldn’t be trying to kill me.”

He snickered, once again sliding onto the bar stool right next to you. “Really? You have enemies?”

You shrugged in response.

He hummed, “Color me surprised.”

You smiled back at him, genuinely this time. “Live and learn, right?”

Aventurine nodded, raising an arm to flag down the bartender. “As much as I’d like a repeat of yesterday afternoon, I actually have somewhere to be today.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? What have you got planned for your afternoon in the land of festivities?”

He cracks a half-smile, “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.”

You cock your head to the side, earning yourself an amused grin.

He gazes off towards where the bartenders are running around like headless chickens, attempting to keep guests happy during the after-work rush. “I rented out a huge roulette table for myself and a few big investors with the company I work for.”

You purse your lips, giving him a certain look he seemingly didn’t anticipate coming from you.

He pushes your shoulder, “Hey, what’s that face for? I’m plenty lucky!”

You nod, incredulously, “Uh-huh? Anything else you want to say?”

He huffs, trying to hold a serious expression, but almost immediately he’s fighting an uphill battle. “I’ve never lost a bet of any kind in my life.”

You snort, “Whatever you say.”

He crosses his arms, resting them on the bar counter, “I haven’t!”

You can’t help the grin on your face nor the overconfident manner in which you doubt him. You’d seen this kind of thing a million times before. Tourists always like to play their luck gambling and it turns out, they don’t have much to play. “Mhm.”

Anything less than a smile is gone from his face at this point, “If you come to the roulette table with me, I’ll prove it to you.”

While he’s looking straight at your side profile, you’re looking for a good moment to flag down one of the bartenders that’d seemingly forgotten the two of you existed at all. “I don’t do gambling anymore. I lost half a paycheck while I was drunk and I swore I would never do something that stupid ever again.”

“You don’t need to be the one gambling,” he adds, almost a little too quickly. “You can just sit back and watch.”

You were already going to open your mouth to give him a maybe, but he cut you off before you could so much as make a sound. “I’ll even cover your drinks for the night.”

You glance at the bar counter, seemingly weighing your options. He interlocks his fingers, playing up the begging act before you swat his hands away with a chuckle, “Okay, okay! You’ve convinced me, you’re going to embarrass the both of us.”

He silently cheers, hopping off the bar stool before motioning for you to follow him.

Your jaw drops, “Now? We’re going now?”

He nods,coffering a hand, “Well? The reservation starts in ten minutes and I plan on getting my money’s worth.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

You’re nervous.

No, you should be nervous.

You’ve talked to Aventurine for maybe 5 hours total if you’re being generous. You shouldn’t be this eager to follow a random stranger, albeit a handsome stranger, into some dark, shady roulette table room.

But you are.

You slip your hand into his, letting him lead you out of the VIP Lounge before you can consider turning down his offer.

‘CRASH!’

The sound of the stapler clattering to the ground is deafening in the silence of Sunday’s office.

With a swipe of his arm, the giant stack of paperwork he had yet to complete flew off the corner of his desk.

‘THUMP!’

It falls in a giant heap to the ground, the recoil sending papers flying across the red carpet floor.

He grabs the lamp that’d been in the office longer than he had by the base, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process.

‘SMASH!’

The lightbulb shatters when it makes contact with the bookshelf he’d thrown it at. All that’s left on his desk is the line of neatly organized pens in black and blue ink.

Even then, that’s too much.

With Herculean strength he didn’t know he possessed, he grabs his desk by its corners, flipping the entire thing over onto the floor.

‘BANG!’

Sunday’s teeth are grit, grinding against one another hard enough his jaw aches. His hands are shaking where they’re curled up into fists at his side. His chest heaves, but not from the exertion.

Something inside him burns.

It rumbles, it aches, it hurts.

His fingers itch for destruction of some kind, more destruction than tearing apart his office can give him. He needs to see carnage, needs to cause some kind of catastrophe but his status means he can only do so much without jeopardizing his future prospects.

The wings on either side of his face flutter indignantly.

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

His vision is starting to get spotty.

Every time he tried to swallow down the urge to tear apart anything and everything he could get his hands on, he just kept on seeing the pictures that’d sent him into such a fervor in the first place.

Why?

What was it about the IPC Stoneheart that caught your interest?

What did he have to offer that Sunday didn’t?

Originally, he tried to push down the burning feeling of competition.

The first picture he’d been sent wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Aventurine cradled a glass of blood red wine in one hand, the other one was counting something off on his fingers. You leaned in, resting your chin on one of your hands while taking a sip of your own drink.

It was just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar!

But then it wasn’t just a friendly outing between two strangers in a bar, it turned into inviting you out on the town whenever you weren’t working.

Every picture he was sent made Sunday feel like he was being jabbed with a hot poker. The nagging voice at the back of his head went from being nothing more than occasional whispers to near constant chatter.

Competition and jealousy boiled over, returning as steaming hot inadequacy and betrayal.

The cameras around Penacony caught the two of you frequenting gambling dens, all smiles and coy banter behind the mountains of game chips Aventurine’s supernatural luck managed to rake in.

The head of the Oak Family tried to come up with a reason why you’d choose to follow after Aventurine. Maybe the family hadn’t been paying you enough, maybe you were only toying with Aventurine for his money. If Sunday increased your pay, maybe you’d stop running around behind his back!

But that would only explain the times you were pictured at the casino tables.

What about all the times the two of you had wandered around the Moment of Scorchsand?

Drinking, dancing, bar hopping? Were those just an added on fling? Another way of cheating Aventurine out of his money?

Or, or the moment of Stars?

Did you need Aventurine’s money to have a good time at an amusement park?

Why did you pay for that date then? Why was that date your idea?

Why did the cameras catch the two of you making out on the elevator ride up to Aventurine’s hotel room?

The halovian clutched his head in both hands.

He needs the room to stop spinning, he needs those images out of his head.

But he can’t seem to stop them, no matter how hard he tries. The second he manages to push one down, another five images are burning themselves into his brain.

Cruelly, the voice that’d been telling him to act on his suspicions sooner only seems to get louder and louder. It laughs at him, ridicules him.

Sunday cries out in pure anguish, sending a fist hurtling straight through the wall behind his desk.

“FUCK!”

“Hngh… Oh-”

Aventurine’s fingers curl in your hair, tugging your strands with enough force your scalp burns. You groan, throat spasming around where you’d taken his cock down to the base. The pleasant vibrations only send his head tipping back against the silk-cover pillows in a delayed moan, toes curling from where you’d thrown his legs over your shoulder.

Your middle finger ghosts over his prostate a second time and his jaw drops. Reflexively, he pulled your face closer to his pelvis leading you to choke. You lave your tongue over one of the more prominent veins on the underside of his pretty pink shaft on your way up, kitten licking the tip as your chest heaves. You take in a much deeper breath, pulling off of him completely in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube that’d you’d carelessly thrown aside earlier.

His eyes are just a smidge glossed over when he picks his head up from the pillow, meeting your gaze with his lower lip jutted out in a pout. “Mmm… I was so close, why’d you have to stop?”

He’s a picture, blonde hair sticking to his forehead, teal button-up only half undone and hanging off his shoulders. His collarbones and shoulders are littered with hickies in a plethora of colors, reminders of each time you’d found yourself in the same hotel room after a haze of a night spent drinking, gambling, and/or flirting.

“It’s hard getting comfy with something down your throat, babe.” With the cap of the bottle already mostly screwed off, you make quick work of it with your teeth. Pulling your middle finger out of his tight ass, you squirt a healthy dollop onto your middle and index fingers.

His eyes drop to where your fingers are working him open, two fingers sinking in knuckle deep. He whimpers when he hears the filthy squelch the lube makes when you start moving them back and forth. His breath gets stuck in his lungs when he feels the pads of your fingers glide over his prostate again. “Hurry up-” he bites his lip when he feels the warmth of your breath fan over his leaking tip, “Wanna feel you inside already.”

Your laugh is breathy as you start to scissor your fingers to make room for a third. You blow cold air on his tip, relishing the way his knees try to lock up around your neck, the way his cute dick twitches. He shoots you a half-hearted glare, pushing his hips further on your fingers to try and feel for that one spot that would send him to the stars above. You’d hooked up with him enough to know exactly where it was in this position, angling your fingers to skillfully knead the little bump with startling accuracy.

“Fuck- Yes, please, (name), right there!”

His thighs seize up on either side of your head, eyes rolling into the back of his head. One of the hands tangled in your hair finds itself covering his mouth, muffling his whines. The hand still knotted up in your tresses tries to pull you closer, nonverbally pleading for more. You slip in a third finger and he groans at the stretch,wiggling his hips even though you aren’t moving.

Your mouth is on his tip in an attempt to pacify him, licking over his slit as you pull your fingers out again. He’s easily distracted and his hips are trying their best to thrust up from where they’re pinned on the mattress. There’s another healthy slathering of lube on your fingers before you’re working him open again, taking as much of his pretty pink cock in your mouth without using your throat.

His moans are getting higher and higher in pitch, grip getting tighter and tighter on your scalp. He whimpers between them like he’s in pain, but the way his heels are digging into the small of your back, you know he isn’t actually hurting.

“Ah~, (nickname), I’m gonna- I’m gonna cummmngh~”

Crystalline tears pool at the corners of his eyes, his back rising in the perfect arch the deeper you’re thrusting your fingers. You pull off his dick with a smile, a line of saliva between your lips and the angry red tip serving a messy reminder. You’re panting, both trying to catch your breath but also because you’re hardly containing your own excitement. “Yeah? You’re gonna cum?”

He nods his head quickly biting his lips, and Aeons, he sounds angelic when you prod around his insides looking for his prostate again. “Mmhm… Ngh~”

Your free hand wraps around the base of his dick with a smile, chuckling when his grip on your hair is just about tight enough he’s getting ready to pull out chunks of your follicles. You’re stroking him up and down, nice and slow at the same pace you’re thrusting. “You wanna cum?”

He nods his head even harder this time, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes starting to slide down his cheeks one by one.

You stop stroking him, hand coming to a stop working his insides too, “I wanna hear you say it,” you press a lingering kiss on the top of his thigh, “Need to hear you say it f’me before you cum, darling.”

He chokes on a frustrated sob, “I-I needa cum- please, baby, n-need it so bad-”

He’s too slow to bite his lip again, an uncharacteristically screamlike moan ripped from his throat the moment your hands started massaging his sweet spot again. Despite already being arched, his back is pushing itself off the bed as he struggles to keep his voice down. He’s chasing your hands, despite the fact they aren’t going anywhere.

You start sucking a hickey into his inner thigh, watching the way his cock twitches and his legs jolt.

“CUMminGgh! Oh, hoh- I’m cumMINg~”

He keens, spasming and seizing up before he creams thick and heavy onto his chest with a labored sob. His chest is moving so fast it looks like he’s hyperventilating and he’s scrambling to pry your mouth off his over sensitive inner thighs.

You groan against his skin, immediately getting up from where you’re kneeling at the foot of the bed to crawl on top of him. Despite just how intense he came, he’s more than eager to welcome you onto the bed with open arms. His hands are immediately reaching for your shirt buttons, fumbling to get them undone with shaky hands. You’re caging him in with one arm, the other reaching up to help him undo your button-up.

He scowls at the last few–the ones he decided were taking too long–before he’s taking the fabric in both hands and popping the buttons off in one fell swoop. You’re pleasantly surprised, even more so when his hand is reaching for your belt buckle all on his own.

Usually, he enjoyed being pampered in bed, him taking the initiative was more than unexpected–pleasant, but unexpected.

“What’s the rush?” You tease, letting your arm fall back into place holding you up, “I’m all yours, all night.”

Aventurine whines, fingers catching on the clasp of the buckle, “That’s not soon enough, wanna feel you now.”

“Fuck…” The sight of him being so needy is turning you on to an embarrassing degree. At this point, you’re guessing the front of your boxers are all but soaked through.

The man underneath you isn’t the only one that’s impatient, it seems. Moments later, your hand is reaching down to help him free you from the confines of your uniform slacks. One of his hands reaches up to yank you down close enough to kiss him, clumsy and wanting.

Your lips are about to connect, the night’s really heating up, and you couldn’t think of anything that could ruin the moment until-

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

The two of you freeze, eyes darting towards the door.

You look back down at him, “Were you expecting anyone tonight?”

“No.” Aventurine scowls, pursing his lips, “I told the front desk to say I wasn’t here tonight.”

You frown, “Then, who-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

You get off the disheveled blonde, snatching his robe off the back of his closet door. He takes it quickly, getting off the bed to cover himself.

You’re trying to button-up what buttons remain on your shirt, redoing your belt buckle while you’re at it.

Aventurine turns back to you, approaching the entrance to his luxury hotel suite as he shrugs the fluffy black robe, “Don’t think you’re getting away from me, we’re starting up again the second I’m-”

‘KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!’

He grits his teeth, “I’m on my way!”

He ties the waistband into a knot, sliding on a pair of equally fluffy slippers by the bedroom door before disappearing from sight.

You don’t think much of it, after all, you’d spent enough nights out with Aventurine to know he was someone important in a huge corporation. It didn’t seem out of the question that something might’ve needed his immediate attention.

In the mirror of the wardrobe next to the bed, you’re fixing your hair and counting the buttons missing from your uniform when the door opens.

“Sunday! What a pleasant surprise.”

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" happy gay month cuz u know u gay and stuff <3 "

guys there isn't that much smut don't be mad at me i have a heat fic and another fic about blowing out brant's back to write😔

ANYWAYS

If you guys haven't checked my pinned lately, I'd recommend giving it a read because it contains my plans for this account's future and all that good stuff <3

I really appreciate the people who stuck with me over like 5 months of prolonged absence, y'all are real ones and I wish I could kiss u all hot and romantical on the mouth

I'll admit this isn't my best work, especially since I've kind of fallen out of HSR and Genshin, but it's here for whoever wants to read it !

It's been wonderful getting to know all of you guys and I'm sincerely grateful for all the support you guys have shown for me and my little writing hobby :,)))))

divider credits:

@/im4yeons

@/saradika-graphics

@/enchanthings

@/cutestgrotto

#Σ>―𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭 𝟏𝟗 ✆→#honkai star rail #hsr #sunday hsr #hsr aventurine #sunday x male reader #sunday x reader #sub hsr #sub honkai star rail #x reader #x male reader #male reader #x male y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #aventurine x reader #aventurine x male reader

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banananutmuffin28 · 6 months ago

Text

Don't Go (I'll Stop You Before You Do)

Pairing: Se-mi x GN! Reader | Player 380 x GN! Reader

Synopsis: There's a glint of steel in the far right corner. The lights flicker on and off, but you manage to catch a glimpse of Se-Mi's face as hands wrap around her throat, as the weapon sinks into her skin.

She screams, and you run.

A/N: I wrote this on a whim! So sorry if my writing is a little subpar here, I was SO eager to get it out! I tried my best, though! (I love Se-Mi so much it hurts).

A man twice your size walks up to you, his face twisted into a ghoulish smile. You take a step back, eyes trained on the fork in his tight fists.

You try not to focus on the blood that oozed from the tip.

The lights flicker on for just a split second, illuminating his bared, yellow teeth.

He was a large, brawny thing. Muscles bulged from his bloody tracker, and he had to bend over slightly to meet your gaze. His hair was slicken with sweat--he was covered in it, really. It trailed down his veiny neck, past a tattoo of a design you couldn't quite make out, and fell onto your shoulder.

You bit back a scream.

He leaned back, amused at your expression. He didn't seem to care about the contestants fighting behind him, rather, it seemed as if he relished in it.

Lazily, he tapped the tag taped to your tracker.

"You really shouldn't have picked X if you didn't want to get hurt," He drawled. "In fact..."

The man stepped back, and continued talking, though you soon drowned out his words. Instead. you flickered your eyes around you, trying to devise a plan to escape his clutch. You couldn't stay here. You had to make sure that she's okay. You had to-

Pain exploded in your cheek.

With a gasp, you scramble backward, wincing when your back collided with the cold steel wall. Hot, sharp pain stung your right cheek and tears pooled in the corners of your eyes.

The man leaned in, trailing his fork on your neck.

"You listen to me when I talk to you, you hear?"

Hate broiled within you, and your face curled into a sneer. You shift your body to the side, hands pushing his fork back as you knee him in the crotch.

"Go fuck yourself."

The man howled, his legs buckling beneath him. He ripped his hand away from your grasp and swung his fork around wildly.

"Why you little-"

A burst of pain escaped from your shoulder, making you scream in agony. The man wedged the weapon deeper into your flesh, twisting and turning until you collapsed onto the floor.

Meaty fists plummeted against your skull again and again, each new crunch spiraling you further and further into the depths of unconsciousness.

Desperately, you roll to the side and begin wrenching the fork from his hands, fighting to keep your eyes open.

This was your only chance. You couldn't overpower him, and you can't let yourself die while Se-Mi's fate was still left unknown. You had to go to her no matter what.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but you slammed your head against his before any words could escape.

His grip loosened ever so slightly, letting you pry the fork from his hands.

Quickly, you begin stabbing the weapon into his neck, his face--anywhere that looked important.

Soon, blood was pouring from his wounds and his movements grew sluggish. The metallic liquid permeated every one of your senses, and you were afraid it would brand itself into your very soul. With a final stab, the man fell to the floor and didn't get back up. You let out a shaky sigh and crawled away from the man.

Fearfully, you looked around.

Everything felt like it was...more muted, as if you were merely a fish watching the chaos unfold from below. Your head hurt like hell, and each breath you took didn't seem to give quite as much air as it should. The wound in your shoulder was something else entirely, choosing to make itself known with every little movement you made.

Quickly, you tear a piece of cloth from the limp man and wrapped it around the wound.

Like hell were you going to bleed out now.

You look around the room, gripping the utensil with so much force that you were surprised it didn't crumble in your hands.

Where the fuck is Se-Mi?

You let out a breath and scrambled in the direction of her bunk. You supposed you were somewhat fortunate that the man ambushed you in bed, as you didn't need as much sight to devise where she was.

The further you ran, the harder fear gripped your heart. Fallen bodies lay strewn across the floor, accompanying equally as many splotches of blood.

What if one of them is her?

You shove that thought to the furthest corner of your mind.

No, Se-Mi was one of the strongest women you knew. She wouldn't let someone kill her so easily. And, she had Min-Su to protect her!

Right?

When you reached her corner of the bunk beds, you looked around wildly.

Men and women alike grappled against each other, too busy in their own fights to pay you any mind. An elderly man was clubbing his opponent with a metal pipe, a woman was slamming her own against the floor, while another group entirely cornered a lone contestant.

"Se-Mi!" You scream, loud enough to make your sore vocal cords hate you. "Where the hell are you?"

There was no answer.

"Fuck, Se-Mi, please!" You yell.

Suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe, to see. You didn't know if it was due to the lack of blood or the stupid flighty panic pounding in your chest, but whatever it was it was sapping the strength away from your legs and rendering your ability to stand upright near impossible.

A flash of Se-Mi's bloody face appeared in your mind, almost mockingly. Above her stood Thanos and his lackey, drenched in her blood and grinning from ear to ear.

No, no, no-

You can't let that happen. You won't.

Se-Mi was the only light you still hand in this damned tunnel of the world. You couldn't fail her, not now.

You had to-

And, just then, you hear something that makes your heart drop.

It was your name, whispered oh so softly that you were afraid you had imagined it. But then, you hear it again and again, and soon you were running towards the voice, uncaring of who you pushed past.

You glared into the darkness, as if your gaze could part away the dimness to reveal your beloved. If you could see just a little further, then maybe you could spot her and kill whatever bastard was hurting her.

Panting, you stop for a moment and crane your gaze to the right and-

There's a glint of steel in the far right corner. The lights flicker on and off, but you catch a glimpse of Se-Mi's face as hands wrap around her throat, as the weapon sinks into her skin.

She screams, and you run.

You run faster than you thought you were ever capable of. Your surroundings blur, the screams of the others become muffled, and in your mind it was just you, Se-Mi, and the man who was stabbing something into her jugular.

"Get off of her you asshole!" You hiss, hooking your arms around his armpits and pulling him back. In the corner of your eye, you see Se-Mi yank herself away from the (fork? glass shard? You couldn't quite tell) object and sink into the floor.

Angrily, Nam-gyu whips his head towards you and sneers. "Why, if it isn't Se-Mi's little bitch. I'm surprised you didn't come running to her aid the second I plunged that shard into her. Thought you were lying dead in a pool of blood or some shit." Hastily, he yanks your head back. "After all, you wouldn't ever abandon your master, now would you?"

"Just shut up, you asshole," You spat out, and slammed your fork onto his chest. He moved away at the last second, letting the weapon swing in the air instead.

You let out a curse as you begin to lose balance, but turn your body to the side just enough to lock his neck in your elbow. You lean against one of the pillars holding the mattresses upright and begin to squeeze, cutting his airflow.

The sight of his panicked eyes made you smirk.

"And you're one to talk," You spat out, pulling his hair to slam his head against the metal beam. "You've been following Thanos around like a lost fucking dog. I'm surprised you can make decisions without him around."

You pause, and take a quick glance around the room.

"Where the hell is he, anyway?"

There's a sharp intake of breath as Nam-gyu stills.

And then he bites your shoulder.

Swallowing back a sob, you release your hold on his neck and step backward. Whatever small blood clot that managed to form breaks, allowing the dam to break loose. Nam-gyu pushes you onto the floor, voice cracking as he kicks your ribs.

"He's fucking dead! Your side fucking killed him!"

His hands grab your collar, and he pulls you close enough for you to see the veins bulging out of his neck.

"And now, I'm going to kill you too--"

Nam-gyu doesn't get to finish his sentence.

What were once words instead turns into choked gurgles. Blood spills from his mouth, and his eyes roll back into his skull. A thick glass shard protrudes from his throat, deep enough that you knew he was a dead man walking. Another, smaller shard soon follows, spraying you with his blood.

Before long, his limp body was thrown to the side, and his filthy presence was instead replaced with a comforting one.

Se-Mi nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly. Her arms wrapped around your waist, and though your ribs and shoulder screamed in protest, you couldn't bring yourself to pull her away.

"...Thank you," She murmured, and you melted into her touch.

"It's nothing, really," You say, suddenly feeling bashful.

"No, it was everything." Se-Mi pulled away to look at you, cupping your face in her hand. "I would've died if it wasn't for you."

"What about Min-Su?" You furrow your brows, looking around. "Where is he?"

Se-Mi let out a shaky sigh, stilling in your embrace.

"It...doesn't matter."

"But it does! Why the hell would he--"

Se-Mi gently flicked your forehead, rendering your brain momentarily speechless. "Hush now," She whispered, arms bringing you close to her once more. "All that matters now is keeping you and I safe. You're bleeding."

Delicately, she rips a chunk of her tracker to use as a make-shift band-aid, tying it around your shoulder and knotting it twice. Then, she pulls you to a safe corner of the room and begins fussing over cuts you don't remember getting.

Basking in her attention, you turn your gaze to her neck and cup the wound. Though the bleeding had stopped, the size and brutality of the wound made your heart ache. It was long and ugly, like someone had taken a miniature saw and brandished it against her jugular.

Worry wormed its way into your heart.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt too much when you move?"

"I'm fine--"

"No, you are not!" Frowning, you break from her hold and press a kiss to her neck. Your gaze turns downward, noticing a gash on her leg. "You really shouldn't ignore your own needs, Se-Mi."

Protectively, you wipe the blood away from her calf and kiss her nose.

"I'm your partner, Se-Mi. We promised to protect each other, okay?"

Se-Mi smiles, and leans into your touch. She places a hand in your hair and kisses you softly. You whine and kiss her back, savoring the sweet taste of her lips.

"I know, I'm sorry" She whispers when the two of you pull away at last. "I love you."

With a smile, you intertwine your hand in hers.

"I love you too."

You didn't know what hellish nightmare would happen tomorrow, but what you knew for certain was that you would face it with her, together.

#squid game #squid game season 2 #se-mi x reader #player 380 x reader #pretty women #squid game x reader #squid game spoilers #se mi x reader #squid game fanfic #My fics

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feelbokkie · 30 days ago

Text

to fall apart

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), heavy angst

warnings: swearing, emotional exhaustion, hints of emotional abuse (none depicted), family trauma

pov: 2nd person

description: After getting a concerning text in the middle of the night, Chan comes to your rescue.

pairing: chan & reader (aka, platonic pairing)

word count: 3,035

a/n: for those of you who saw me post this earlier, unfinished, no you didn't

"Can you pick me up?"

As you sit in the passenger seat of Chan's car, wearing one of the hoodies that he happened to have in his car, you can’t help but feel guilty. It's late, too late for the two of you to be parked in front of a 24-hour convenience store. But you didn't want to go to his place yet and you needed to get out of your parent’s house.

With your head leaning against the cool glass of the window, you watch as Chan disappears and reappears through various parts of the convenience store. A few times, you catch him glancing in your direction, with an expression that you can't see all too well from where you are but you know that at least part of it is concern.

Your heart has finally settled down to a normal rhythm after overworking itself for several hours. You're not sure if it's because of the familiar scent from being in Chan's car or the music he has playing while you wait for him or the melodious pattern of the rainfall hitting the car. Or maybe it's simply being out of your house. Either way, you feel calmer and more relaxed.

You also feel exhausted.

"Sorry for making you wait," Chan says as he hops back into the car. He sets a bag in the center console and shuts the door behind him. He pulls the hood of his jacket off, sending raindroplets flying around the car.

"Sorry for making you leave your place at 3 in the morning." You mumble, not moving from your position.

"Don't do that. You didn't make me do anything. If I thought you were bothering me, I would have said so." Chan softly pats your head before reaching for something in the bag. "Give me your wrist."

You give him your left hand without protest. He slowly rolls up your sleeve, careful not to add more discomfort. He looks over your wrist, moving it around like he knows what he's doing while you wince at the forced movement. He offers whispered apologies each time you express even the slightest sign of being in pain.

"Okay, I think it's just a bad sprain and a bruise, not broken." He whispers more to himself than to you. You glance over at him and spot his phone in his lap open to a WebMD page. He gives you back your arm, making sure to rest it on your lap.

He rummages through the bag for a second before pulling out everything. He does his best to place them on his lap, but the limited space being mostly taken over by the steering wheel makes it nearly impossible. Whatever he can't put on his lap is either placed back into the center console or on that dashboard. He takes two cups of ice that you didn't see him holding earlier and emptys the contents into the bag before tying it as tightly as he possibly can. He stacks one of the empty cups into the other before turning them upside down and putting them over the gear stick.

“This is going to be a little cold,” He warns before gently putting the makeshift icepack over your wrist.

Silence takes over the car again. The music is softer now and partly being drowned out by the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the car, falling harder than it was earlier. You rest your head against the headrest and close your eyes, focusing on the rain. Even then, the soothing rhythm is not enough to combat the jackhammering in your head that is slowly, but surely, drowning out every incessant thought flooding your brain.

"Are you hungry?" Chan offers, breaking the silence.

You shake your head and leave it at that.

You are hungry, starving almost. You can't exactly remember the last time you ate anything. Days blurred together in your head, distant and disconnected as if they happened to someone else. And yet, you're drowning in them, caught in the riptide and being dragged further away as the days continue. Classes during the day, work in the evening, and screaming at night.

"You can talk if you want," Chan tries again, words flowing slowly as he chooses his words with gentle care. "Or if you don't we can just sit in silence. Or I can drive around."

You sit there quietly for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. You can't remember what you've already told him, or exactly how much. You're not even entirely sure he knows exactly what's going on in your life at the moment. Still, as you look back at the last few weeks--no, the last few months--your lips remain sealed, trapping every thought and emotion filling your head. Your eyes slowly open. Unfocused and glassy, staring off at the blurry lights coming from the convenience store.

"I'm just so fucking tired," you finally mumble, your voice barely audible, as though you're speaking to yourself rather than to Chan.

Chan waits patiently in silence, hoping that you'll offer more. His hands fidget in his lap with a desire to reach over to you and embrace you in a tight hug. His heart silently shatters in his chest as looks into your eyes, now devoid of the light and warmth he's grown so accustomed to seeing. Now all he can find is a dull, lifeless gaze.

"I just...I can't do this anymore. I can't...I'm exhausted. I don't know what to do. I just..." You ramble, your voice trembling as you try to make sense of your thoughts.

"Just take a deep breath and start again," Chan's voice drops to a gentle tone.

"I can't," Your voice strains. You take one long, shaky breath before trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I can't fucking breathe, Chan. I'm, I'm at the end of my rope here and I don't have it in me to keep holding on."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to contain the tears that well up in your eyes. Only, one escapes, and then another and another until a steady stream rolls down your cheeks. You can't stop the choked sob that escapes your throat.

No longer able to watch silently from a distance, Chan wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. The sudden warmth and comforting scent of his body washed and shampoo mixed with his laundry detergent force more sobs out of you. Your right-hand rests on his chest, lightly gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

Chan doesn't shush you or try to get you to stop crying. Instead, his hold around you tightens with one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head. The hand on your back moves slowly, going up and down trying to soothe you a bit. Chan's head hangs low, almost resting against yours.

"It's okay, I'm here. Let it all out." His voice is just above a whisper and yet, he's louder than your sobs.

You're not sure how long you sit there crying with Chan holding you. Eventually, when you're out of tears and your throat starts to ache, Chan lets you go and you lean back into your seat. You start to tell him everything that's been happening for the past few months. The arguments between your older brother and your stepdad. How they end in screaming matches in the dead of the night. Your mother's wails to get them to stop. How you're somehow the one responsible for getting them to stop. The tension in your home and how you've been walking on eggshells, worried about setting either one of them off. With hardly any sleep or peace at home, you leave your house right at the crack of dawn and sit in the library on campus trying to get a few minutes of sleep before your first class of the day. How, even though you finish classes relatively early in the day, you'll stay on campus longer to get your school work done or study for exams without the interruption of the usual chaos in your home. You let him know about all of the extra shifts you've taken at work just to avoid the drama, but even that is wearing you down. And that most days, you come home so exhausted that you skip dinner and head straight to bed before being abruptly woken up by more screaming.

"Did they..." His voice trails off, unsure how to finish the question cautiously. But you don't miss how his eyes drift down to your arm before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

"No, neither of them would lay a finger on me." You shift in your seat so you can face him better. "This was an accident."

"Accident how?" There's an air of accusation in his tone, almost like he doesn't believe you. After hearing to story you just told him, you're not sure you'd believe you if you were in his position.

You move the makeshift ice pack to the other side of your wrist. Most of it melted, probably from the heat of your hug with Chan. "It was mostly my fault. Normally I just try to calm them down from the sidelines. But they were really on one today. One of them was drinking. Maybe both of them, I don't know. But they were really getting into each other's face and it looked like they were going to hit each other. I stupidly jumped in between them and got shoved. I tried to catch myself and landed badly. I forgot that they're both taller than me and when they're arguing, I'm quite literally in their blind spots. They both felt horrible...and then they started fighting again because I got hurt. I snapped after that and cussed both of them out before texting you."

"Were they still fighting when you left?" Chan's hand finds your head again. His fingers move slowly and he starts to massage your scalp, almost as if you're a puppy he's trying to calm down.

"Yeah," You sigh as you focus back on the rain running down the windshield. "Pretty sure one or both of them were drinking. It reeked of alcohol. My mom was crying and begging them to stop and begging for me to not leave. She probably thinks I'm not coming back."

Chan stops massaging your scalp and instead taps on your head to get your attention. It takes a second before you face him, part of you is embarrassed that he's watched you break down. And yet, you don't find a single look of judgment on his face. Instead, you meet eyes filled with so much tenderness it hurts. A gentle, understanding smile touching the corners of his mouth appears on his face when you finally look at him. His hand stays on your head, holding it in place as he starts to dry your face with the sleeve on his other hand. "Do you want to?"

"I mean, I don't have a choice. I'm a student working a part-time job. I don't even make enough money to rent a room in someone's house. My brother staying with us was only supposed to be temporary. Temporary means like six-plus months apparently."

"You're more than welcome to stay with us. That storage room that Jeongin puts all his packages in is actually a spare bedroom." Chan chuckles as he drops his hands. He focuses his attention back to your wrist. He grabs a tube that resembles toothpaste and squeezes some on your wrist. He takes a napkin that he has sitting next to his phone and spreads it around, making sure to spread the cool liquid evenly.

"I can't do that,"

Chan looks around for something for a moment before finding it on the floor by your feet. He leans over a container for a wrist brace. He flips it over to the back and starts reading the instructions. "Why not?"

"I can’t do that to you and Jeongin.”

“Do what?” He doesn’t look up as he takes the brace out of the packaging and carefully tugs it onto your wrist. “If anything, you’d be doing both of us a favor. I’ll get to see and hang out with my best friend more often. And Jeongin will be more than grateful to you for getting me off his back.”

“Well if you left the man alone and didn’t get cute aggression around him all the time then maybe he wouldn’t escape from the apartment all of the time.”

Chan finishes adjusting the straps and making sure he didn’t make it too tight before softly patting your hand and looking back at you. “Listen, I’m serious. Isn’t our place closer to the university anyway? You could probably walk. Or we could drop you off sometimes. Way cheaper than the bus.”

You subconsciously chew on your bottom lip as you consider it. Your job is also closer to their apartment than your house, something you were grateful for when you had a shift right after class. And yet, the image of your mom trying to deal with both your brother and stepdad alone pops into your head. You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to erase the image in your head and the sound of your mother’s desperate pleas to stop both men. You bow your head in defeat and let out a small sigh. “It’s not fair to my mom,”

“It’s not fair to you either. Look at me,” Chan tucks his finger under your chin and forces you to look at him. “You are one of the strongest people I know but you’re wearing yourself thin trying to solve everything.”

“Yeah but…it’s my family. At the end of the day, I have to be there for them.”

“Are they there for you? Are they supporting you by keeping you up at night over petty bullshit when they know you have school or work in the morning? What about when you’re picking up extra shifts just to avoid being around them? Or making it impossible to do your school work?”

“All families are complicated, you know that.” You laugh awkwardly as you push Chan’s hand away.

“True, but…” Chan pauses for a moment, studying your face as unspoken words linger between the two of you. He runs his hands through his hair, making the already messy curls even more of a disheveled mess. “At least spend the night tonight. Or for a few days. You have exams coming up, right?”

“I could…but for one, I brought none of my stuff with me. Just grabbed my phone and left when you picked me up.” You hold your half-dead phone up. It’s been buzzing in your pocket the entire time with texts and calls that you can’t be bothered to look at right now. Part of you is scared to check.

“You’re already in your pajamas so you’re fine for now. And I’m sure we can find something for you to wear in the morning. I can take you back home when you get up to grab some stuff.” Chan shrugs as he settles his back against the door.

“Okay sure, let’s say I do stay. We go and get my things and I stay with you until exams are over or whatever. You don’t have a bed in that spare room. And as comfortable as your couch is, I can’t just live in your living room for a week. You, specifically, will go crazy.”

Chan lets out an amused laugh as he stares at you, “That’s cute, you think I’m going to make you sleep on the couch. Real funny joke,”

“Well other than the floor, there’s really no other options.”

“You can take my bed. I like the couch more anyway, it’ll give me a reason to sleep on it without being judged by In.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“If I’m willingly offering my bed, you’re not kicking me out.”

“Yeah but—“

“Stop acting like you’re burdening me. You aren’t. I like being around you and you’re genuinely one of my favorite people. You are not and never will be a burden to me. So get that out of your head.”

The last sentence echoes in your head. You never want to inconvenience or bother people, especially your friends, so they never know you’re going through something until it’s already over. You’re not sure what changed and made you text Chan tonight but you’ve spent most of the time feeling bad for waking him and forcing him out of the warmth of his bed.

You are not and never will be a burden to me.

Those simple words, combined with the soft look in Chan’s eyes hit you harder than they should. Your body feels lighter like a boulder has been lifted off your chest, allowing you to breathe for the first time in years. Possibly for the first time ever.

“H-hey, don’t cry,” Chan sits back up in a panic, rushing to wipe the fresh tears falling down your face. “I think it’s time for you to get some sleep. Pretty sure that convenience store worker is ready to call the cops on us for loitering. Let’s go home, hm? We can just share the bed tonight and talk about the rest later.”

You nod quietly as you wipe your face with your good hand and melt back into the seat. Chan moves everything off the dashboard and center console, haphazardly tossing them into the back seat, before getting settled to drive.

After backing out of the parking space Chan rests his hand on your lap, palm up, waiting for you to take it. You don’t think twice before slipping your good hand into his and resting your head on the window once again. Chan’s fingers lightly tap along to the beat of the song playing.

“Sorry for waking you up and falling apart on you,” You mumble with a small yawn, exhaustion slowly taking over your body.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces whether you want me to or not.”

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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