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calcifiedunderland · 7 months

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Pride and Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

The Keeper of the Underworld: I. Shroud

Introduction, or Pick another route!

Idia x GN Reader (they/them)

Warnings: P&P-level angst and miscommunication, some cringe dialogue, parties, possibly ooc Idia, I wrote this before playing Book 6 so I apologize if there’s any inconsistencies

Notes: The level of overthinking I put into these fics is unreal 💀 First and foremost, thank you all for your patience!! Idia was hard to write, but I hope you enjoy, shrimpies~

———

Well this is certainly something, you thought. Of all the things you’d witnessed at NRC, (even overblots), you didn’t think you’d ever see Idia Shroud at one of Kalim’s parties.

You sipped on your drink when a shock of bright blue flames came in the corner of your eye, contrasting the orange-red of Scarabia. Kalim lead Idia into the dorm, bright and sunny, compared to the look on Idia’s face. Poor guy couldn’t even escape, because Cater and Rook ambled in behind him, chatting happily.

It was like the beginning of a joke: A sultan, a card soldier, a huntsman, and a blue flame-headed gamer walk into a room.

Kalim spotted you and grinned, grabbing Idia’s hoodie sleeve and dragging him over too. “Hey (name)! I’m glad you could make it!”

You smiled at the Scarabia Housewarden, “Thanks Kalim! I-“ At that moment, Jamil reached him to drag him away, mumbling exasperatedly to Kalim about being careful. Kalim laughed Jamil off, “sorry (name)! I’ll see you later, okay?” “Alright then…” you trailed off and turned to Idia, who looked like a deer in headlights.

“So…” you rocked on your heels. To be honest, you didn’t know how to approach him sometimes. Sure, you’d gamed with him a few times (with heavy insistence from Ortho) and you weren’t on his ‘avoid at all costs’ ranking list, but Idia did have his odd moments. Some days, you two would get along like a house on fire. Other times, it was like Idia hated you - avoiding you even in tablet-mode, and ghosting your chats.

You’d like to think that your more friendly moments were the ones that Idia counted, but sometimes it was hard to get a read on the guy.

“I didn’t know that you’d be at Kalim’s party today. I thought Ortho said there was an event in… um…?” You finished, cringing at your vagueness. You might not have known much about the game he played, even though he’d made you play it when you came over to Ignihyde, but you knew he probably didn’t want to be here of all places.

Idia’s hair flared a bit, and he looked resigned and moody. He pulled out his tablet. Ya, the event dropped today but I got mobbed by kalim + the extroverts. “That sucks,” you said, “I got dragged here by Ace. Still, it’s nice to see you.” In the oil lamp lighting, you could’ve sworn Idia’s hair turned a bit pink.

You were both silent, and you opened your mouth to speak when Lilia yelled out from the front, “let’s get this party started!” Kalim started drumming wildly, and then electric guitar swelled. Lilia began screaming heavy-metal-style into the mic. Around you, everyone started dancing, and even you found yourself moving to the rhythm.

You glanced at Idia every now and again, but he looked vaguely annoyed and tired despite the liveliness. He looks so over it, you thought. Probably since Kalim maybe dragged him here. You looked around, biting your lip when you noticed your friends having a grand old time on the dance floor, and kind of wanted to go too. Still, it wasn’t every day you saw Idia, and you wanted to do something with him. Especially since he was… well, here.

“So, Idia…” Idia’s eyes snapped to yours, dull. You rocked back on your feet, “do you dance?” Idia rolled his eyes, and you felt your heart sink, for some reason. Obvi not, id probs distract everyone anyway. And also id just rather not if I can help it. Your smile wavered, “c’mon Idia, anyone can dance, even if it’s not good!” Idia typed rapidly into the tablet, i mean ur not wrong. Like literally anyone can dance but ppl only do it bc its wat normies do.

You opened your mouth, then squared your shoulders, words failing you. Idia shoved a hand into his pockets and opened an app on the tablet, scrolling. You swayed for a bit, feeling awkward while Idia kept his eyes glued to the screen, a frown creasing his brows. Finally you shrugged your shoulders, trying to shake that sinking-feeling off.

You stepped into the crowd of dancing people, swaying to the music and trying not to look over at the blue flames swaying in the corner. Unknowing to you, Idia glanced up from his tablet every few minutes, trying to catch a glimpse of you, before trudging back to the cold chrome of Ignihyde, back to his dorm.

———

Ugh, could this get any worse?

Idia flopped onto his bed, shoving his headphones on and opening the mobile game on his phone. Not only did he get a late start on the game event, but he flubbed a chance to talk to you. Even if you did want to dance like all the other non-introverts at Scarabia. Thank Sevens Ortho didn’t know he missed his chance, otherwise the little robot would’ve torn Idia apart.

Idia shut his eyes and went over the details. Doing this IRL was trash-tier. Why couldn’t this just be a good-old-fashioned otome game, or romance anime? First you meet the love interest, then you find things they’re into, then you talk to them more. Then finally you confess, and cue the outro. He’d watched countless shojo and romance anime’s, and that was the basic outline. Eventually, the ethereal, gorgeous, smart, kind protagonist (aka you) would fall in love with their love interest (aka him) and it would all work out. Boom. Happily ever after.

Ah, yes. He could see it now.

Cherry blossom petals rained around both of you. Where are they coming from, this campus doesn’t grow cherry blossoms? Whatever, don’t question it. Anyway, the petals fluttered past your beautiful, sparkling eyes as you stared up at Idia with adoration and love. Idia stared down at you with full-rizz, kabedoning you against the wall.

“Oh, Idia-senpai!” You’d cry, eyes turning into hearts as sparkles and pink flower petals surround you both. “You’re so cool and not cringe at all! I could never want one of those normies! You’re the only one for me! Please date me!” And then Ortho would set off the heart-shaped fireworks and you two would finally kiss-kiss-fall-in-love, just like the popular anime Our High School Has A Host Club And The Leader Falls In Love With Me?!

“Whee hee hee…” Idia stared off into the distance, giggling ominously to himself and hair turning pink at the ends. His character on the screen went into idle mode, and he didn’t even hear when Ortho floated into the room. “Big brother?” Ortho gently tapped him on the shoulder, yanking him from his shojo daydream. Idia jumped, hair flaring. “AAAIIIIEEEE-“ Ortho jumped back, eyes wide but not detecting any signs of injury on Idia.

Idia breathed heavily, wide-eyed. “Ortho! Wh-when did-? I wasn’t-!” Ortho analyzed his heart beat, noting that Idia had traces of blush on his cheeks and his erratic behavior pointed to- “Were you thinking about (name) (last name)?” Ortho asked innocently, his theory proven when Idia flushed and went pinker. The younger boy suddenly got an idea.

“You know, (Name)’s heart rate goes up when they interact with you,” Ortho watched his brother’s eyes widen, “even when you’re not there, when you’re mentioned, their heart rate increases by 45% and they are more likely to be in a positive mood. 82% of the time, they regard you in a positive way.” His eyes lit up happily with realization, “If my calculations are correct, they have feelings for you!”

Idia sat there, thinking. What were the odds you would like him back? Sure, you made him happy, and more importantly made Ortho happy. And it was actually nice talking to you. And he never felt exhausted after interacting with you. And maybe you did enjoy the artificial light of Ignihyde to the spring sun above, and maybe you would like being with dreary, nerdy him.

Ortho could see his brother lost in thought, noting that Idia’s heart rate spiked when he mentioned you. “I also overheard them telling Grim about finding a partner,” he said casually, omitting that you’d been wanting a partner in Alchemy, and not necessarily a romantic partner.

That seemed to fire Idia up. Ortho could see the metaphorical cogs in Idia’s brain turning, an entire blueprint of a plan being made in his mind. At last, a wide cunning grin spread on his face, and he opened his arms, “well, who else but a genius could be partners with the MC?” He said arrogantly, “it’s not like just anybody can woo the protagonist!”

Ortho beamed, cheering, “all you need to do now is confess!” Idia immediately began sweating, freezing up. “H-huh?!”

——

You frowned at your textbook, rubbing your temples as you read through the alchemy procedure. Ugh, this couldn’t get any more confusing.

As you turned to begin writing, the door burst open. You flinched and immediately locked eyes with a frazzled Idia. His golden eyes were wide, and he was panting - he even looked sweaty. Somehow his blue fire hair seemed just as frazzled as him, looking pale-blue in shock. Could flames somehow look poofy?

“Prefect!” He squeaked. “Idia?” You questioned, what’s he doing here? It was odd that he’d be out of his room at six in the afternoon, not to mention he looked afraid of you. It wasn’t like you were a stranger, even though as of late, he treated you like one.

He stared at you from the door for an uncomfortable amount of time, then sped-walked to stand in front of you. You looked up at him from your seat, tapping your fingers. You awkwardly asked “do you wanna sit down?” He shook his head quickly, the ends of his hair were turning pink. You frowned, “…dude, are you okay?”

Idia flinched. He pivoted on his heel, “no, no, can’t do it, not today-“ he scuttled out of the room and slammed the door, screeching to himself and pulling his hood over his head. You stared at the door, vaguely hearing Idia freaking out to… was that Ortho? You heard the little robot boy’s voice through the door, probably calming Idia down, along with an odd spraying sound.

It went quiet and you assumed they’d left. Whatever, weirder things have happened at NRC. As you went back to writing, the door slammed open again. You jumped, heart beating wildly. Idia stormed over to you, hair blazing a trail behind him. He slammed his hands down on the desk, and your eyes watered with the scent of overpowering cologne bodyspray.

“Prefect! I need to tell you something!” Idia’s eyes steeled in determination, and he looked you dead in the eye. He was breathing heavily, and his flamed hair blazed and curled more than usual, turning deep pinkish-red near the ends. The last time you saw his hair similar to that, was when he was rage-playing during one of your gaming sessions. How pissed is he? You felt your heart leap into your throat.

“Idia,” you began, freaked out, “I think you should sit down-“ Idia blazed on, “this is honestly a horrible decision for you and definitely for me. I don’t even want to think about what Mother and Father would say, not to mention how this’d affect Styx.” He was tunnel visioning now. “Plus you don’t even have magic and this might not even work out anyway ‘cause I don’t see us working out TBH…” Slowly his hair began fizzling out, voice getting quieter and quieter as he mumbled to himself.

This was a terrible idea, Idia realized. After everything that had happened with Styx, not to mention everything you had to deal with personally, it wouldn’t be good to get involved with him. You could be in danger, especially as a non-magic user. No, it would be selfish of him to ask you to be with him. Why would you, anyway? There were other guys at NRC, not to mention the entire Sage’s Island, who would be a better fit for not. Especially ones who didn’t kidnap your friends and Grim. Especially someone like Idia.

No, he concluded. He shouldn’t have come.

You frowned deeply. “Idia, what…?” Your alchemy work definitely wasn’t done yet and Idia was making zero sense. He sighed, as if tired all of a sudden. “Nope, no… this isn’t going to work.” He stood abruptly and sped-walked out the door, brushing past Ortho. You overheard the boy try to get his brother to come back, but Idia didn’t stop. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. So that’s what this is about? Idia didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? All because you weren’t… what? A tech whiz? Good at gaming? Magical? Your heart dropped. Because you were just too different from him? So you weren’t good enough to be even friends with him?

Your eyes stung at the thought. Fine. If Idia wanted to be that way, then fine. You shoved your books into you bag and headed back to Ramshackle. You doubted you’d be able to focus, anyway.

———

Poor Ortho was confused.

After running simulation after simulation, scouring the Internet for any clues, and piecing together what Idia said after running out of the classroom, he just couldn’t understand what happened. That was a first, considering it was Ortho.

Idia had ran out of the room in a hurry, mumbling incoherently. “Brother! What’s happening?” Ortho flew to him, scanning his vitals. Idia seemed to be ok, but his brother seemed… strangely melancholic. “Ortho, it won’t work out,” he said dejectedly, not wanting to talk about it.

Ortho called after him, trailing behind “What did (name) (last name) say? There was a high probability they’d accept your-” Idia sighed in exasperation, shaking his head. “It won’t work. I should’ve never left the dorm…” As Idia trudged back to Ignihyde, Ortho was left with more questions.

He hovered for a moment, before heading back to the alchemy room for you, only to not find you there. Ortho thought hard, thinking back to what Idia said. ‘It won’t work out,’ was what he said - not a flat-out rejection from you. So that meant…

He began floating back to Ignihyde, determined. I can still save this!

———

You were taking overthinking to a new level.

You bit your lip, staring at the game’s chatbox in front of you. Idia was online, and probably didn’t realize you were too. You leaned against the Heartslabyul common room couch (curse Ramshackle’s lack of internet!), and hit send.

Hey is everything ok??

You watched Idia’s game icon immediately switch to “online less than 1 minute ago,” and groaned.

Cater exited the kitchens, leaning over the couch back. “Hey~ what’s got my fave frosh so worked up?” He chirped, looking at your phone. “Ohh, isn’t that the popular game that’s been trending? Wait, didn’t you say Idia got you into it?” Cater immediately had his phone in hand, “that’s supes adorable, playing with friends is so fun-“

You cut him off, throwing your hands up, “that’s it! Idia just doesn’t want to talk to me! He- he just-!” You grabbed a throw pillow and smashed your face into it, groaning. Cater patted your shoulder sympathetically, “well, we’re playing at another one of Kalim’s parties tonight, you want in?” You sniffed dramatically, thinking. “Well, I guess. Sure, why not?”

Later that evening, you stepped into the Scarabia mirror. You and Cater made your way to the food table. As you both munched on Jamil’s cooking (damn, the guy made a good curry), you watched everyone dancing. “Y’know, it was weird seeing Idia at a party,” you commented, while Cater nodded. “Yeah! We decided to bring him along that day, it was fun seeing him.”

You sighed, “yeah, it was, but… it’s not really often that we can hang out in person. I kinda wanted to dance with him last time, but he sort of… blew me off? I guess maybe it wasn’t the best idea.” You winced, while Cater’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t tell me that. So, he did that and also told you he didn’t want to be friends?” You nodded, frustration flooding back, “Yeah! And I just don’t understand how he can be so conceited about him being so high and smart, and not like me because I don’t-“

“Prefect,” Cater cleared his throat. You looked up mid-rant, meeting Ortho’s eyes, and jumped. He just snuck up on you both like it was nothing. Did he hear you? Hopefully he wouldn’t be mad. In your mind, Idia started it.

“Hello (name) (last name)!” Ortho said pleasantly, so you assumed he hadn’t heard you. Great. “I didn’t know you’d be here! What a coincidence!” That was a lie, Ortho overheard you and Cater talking about the party when you were walking to Scarabia. He absolutely knew. And he dragged Idia here because of it.

“Yep,” you smiled at Ortho, “it’s nice to see you.” Ortho mentally readied himself and remembered every bit of acting advice Vil gave him. “I almost forgot!” His eyes widened, while your eyes narrowed. Ortho was a robot. He didn’t forget shit. “Big brother is here, and he wanted to ask you to dance!” What? Your neck snapped around, looking for Idia’s bright blue hair. Cater elbowed you, bringing you back to reality.

“I-well, I- had not-“ you stammered, fumbling for an excuse. Ortho’s eyes shone at you like puppy eyes, and your anger at Idia cracked. “…yeah, sure,” you watched Ortho rise a bit in the air happily, “Yippee! I’ll go get him!” He zipped off, and you rubbed your temples. Cater twisted a strand of his hair, eyes wide. “Yikes…” “tell me about it,” you groaned.

A few minutes later, you both looked up when Kalim tapped the mic. You didn’t miss Ortho hovering a ways behind Kalim. “Hey everyone! Thanks for coming!” When the cheering died down, Kalim continued, “We’re gonna try something different! Everyone, find a partner and join the dance floor!”

Cater glanced at you, mischievous. “Welp, I can’t leave them hanging~ TTYL, Prefect!” And he left faster than you could say ‘Magicam.’ Sweet.

You hesitantly stepped to the dance floor, half expecting Ortho to float up to you and sheepishly tell you Idia left. Your mind drifted back to that day in the alchemy room. I guess it wouldn’t work, anyway.

To your surprise, a finger tapped your shoulder. You turned, seeing Idia with a with a flushed expression, wearing a casual-but-chic blazer. His hair looked a bit tamer than normal, and cascaded down his back in a low ponytail, bangs flickering over his forehead. Undoubtedly, this was the work of Ortho, who definitely got pointers from Vil.

You both stared at each other, unmoving, until slow music began playing. You averted your eyes. Idia gulped, eyes widening until waving caught his eye. Ortho was flying upwards a little ways away from the slowly-crowding dance floor, gesturing wildly at you. As if that wasn’t enough, he projected words above his head: DANCE WITH THEM!

Idia was lucky that everyone else was more interested in dancing with their partner than Ortho. His eyes snapped back to you, “s-so I guess you wanna-“ he swallowed thickly, eyes shifting to the dance floor. You shrugged, feigning nonchalance and looked ahead. Idia looked back at Ortho, who was pointing wildly at the words. He thought to himself, this is fine. It’s just the mandatory side quest. It’s not fighting the boss. It’s…

It’s charming the love interest. It’s solidifying your route!

Idia steeled himself and forced your hand into his. Your eyes shot to his in surprise, and he walked stiffly to the dance floor. Your hand clasped his, and you both swayed gently to the soft rock from the stage. Your brows furrowed, but Idia locked his gaze onto you, focusing only on you.

Yes, he thought. This is just the player’s pov on the screen, and he was only focusing on the love interest. The other waltzers didn’t exist. The party didn’t exist. It was just you and him.

Meanwhile, you were at a loss for words. While Idia seemed taciturn, you glanced up at the stage. Cater, Kalim, and Lilia were in their own little bubble jamming out, so that wasn’t a lifeline. After a little while of swaying with Idia, you hummed, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Since that day.” Idia’s hands felt clammy, and in the dimmed lights you saw a small pink dusting Idia’s cheeks. You saw him swallow heavily, but he didn’t say a word.

The tension grew between you two, and despite feeling hurt, you felt a little bad. Still, you wanted some answers out of Idia, after the incident in the alchemy room. “Y’know, you never used to be this… odd around me.” Was it the crowd that made him quiet, or… You felt a lump in your throat. Was it you?

Idia’s eyebrows shot up, thinking fast on what to say. Why can't conversations irl have ready-made dialogue?! “I… we c-can talk about wh-whatever you want? I guess?” He tried, kicking himself internally for leaving his tablet with Ortho. You bit the inside of your cheek as you stepped with him, that’ll do for now. “Scarabia parties are a little much, but they’re more pleasant than the Pomefiore mock balls,” you tried “wouldn’t you say?” After an uncomfortable pause, expecting a reply, you mumbled to yourself, “I guess we can stop talking now.”

“...is it like a rule for normies to chat while dancing? Isn’t the act of moving enough?” Idia mumbled in exasperation, hand tightening a little on your own. You bit your lip, your eyes burning. “No, I prefer to not talk to my friends at all and tell them we can’t be friends. It’s so much fun, right?” Idia’s eyes widened, and he scrambled for words, “I- I didn’t mean…” You stopped swaying abruptly, both of your clasped hands in the air. “Why are you here, Idia?”

A chill went through Idia. “T-To be honest, I didn’t even want to come to this stupid IRL dance,” he rushed out, “TBH Ortho had to make me come ‘cause he told me you’d be here-“ “You didn’t want…?” You cut Idia off, heart dropping. The other dancing couples swirled around you, but all the commotion around you felt like nothing more than idle chatter. Hurt flashed in your eyes, and Idia seemed shocked, which made you angry.

“I guess you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who’s magicless, especially since you have STYX right?”

Idia’s eyes were wider than the Heartslabyul tea saucers. For once, he didn’t have a smart-ass reply. “Um, what? Obvi, I’m kind of stuck with STYX-” You let go of his hand and took a step back, almost bumping into a waltzing couple. “Yeah, wouldn’t want me to mess things up. Make any bad decisions and all that, right?” You felt your eyes water, despite yourself.

Furiously balling a fist and wiping your eyes, “Since you said we wouldnt work out n’stuff.” Idia suddenly remembered everything he’d muttered to himself, from the moment he’d stormed into the room to when he’d left dejectedly. When he’d made his choice and left before you could even get your word in.

Like a coward.

Idia’s heart pounded but shakingly, he reached a hand out to you. “P-prefect, I-I-!” You dodged the crowd, and ran out of Scarabia. You didn’t look back until you crashed through Ramshackle’s door, raced up the stairs, and fell onto your bed, Grim yelping in surprise as you tried your darndest to forget everything that just happened.

Back in Scarabia, Idia somehow stumbled off the dance floor, staggering to a table and breathing heavily. Mentally he replayed everything that just happened. Ortho floated over to him, “Brother? I don’t understand, why would (name) (last name) not accept your feelings?” Ortho went over the footage when he was observing you both dancing, and frowned.

“My senses indicate that based on their body language, they were upset with you. What happened?” Idia swallowed heavily, “I-I said it wouldn’t work out between us c-cuz they don’t have magic,” he stammered, eyes wide, “a-and STYX and-...” Ortho’s eyes widened, then narrowed, “That shouldn’t be a problem! You know that!”

“I meant for them, Ortho.” Idia sighed heavily, sinking into the chair. “I don’t want them to get hurt. Not when…” his mind wandered to Ortho, before NRC. He fell into deep thought. “In the end, I couldn’t even tell them...” He frowned deeply.

Ortho fell quiet, computing. Idia stared at the table, dejected, until Ortho spoke. “You know (Name) (lastname) doesn’t back down easily from a challenge.” That’s true. From playing games with Idia to taking down overblots, you weren’t someone who ran away when it mattered. Maybe that’s why Idia liked you - you were like the protagonists in animes, who found a way to make the world their own.

“You shouldn’t make (name) (last name)’s decision for them.” Idia looked up at his brother. Ortho continued, head angling to the side, Idia shook his head dejectedly, “it won’t work-”

“Your lil’ bro is right, y’know,” Cater walked over, shaking his hair out with his guitar slung over his shoulder. “Sry, I overheard you two,” Cater could piece together what happened. He did see you blow up at Idia (although he couldn’t hear you), and after spamming your phone with no reply after you ran out, now he had an idea of what was going on. “Y’know, if you didn’t tell them how you felt, then how could you know you were making the right choice?”

Idia looked down. Ortho piped up, “Cater Diamond is right.” Idia shut his eyes, then stood up, hands tightening into fists. Cater jumped back as Idia’s hair flared up bright blue, and the Ignihyde housewarden headed straight to the exit. Ortho called out, “thank you, Cater Diamond!” and floated after Idia, “Brother! Wait!”

“Lets go, Ortho,” Idia’s golden eyes steeled in determination, “I can fix this.”

—----

A knock on the door jolted you from your reading of Prejudice and Pride.

It was early morning. Somehow, even though it was the weekend and you’d stayed up all night, you still woke up at an ungodly early hour. After being unable to fall asleep (totally not because of Grim’s snoring and sleep-munching) you decided to go to your living room and read. You were sure that you didn’t have a guest coming, so why would…?

You got up and opened the door, expecting Ace or Deuce or something. The annoyed look on your face turned to shock when you saw Idia standing on your porch. In one hand, he held a bouquet of pomegranate-red roses and some flowers you recognized to be asphodel.

You both stared at each other, unwilling to move. “Idia,” you breathed, “why are you here?” Idia shuffled awkwardly, “I wanted to see you.” You crossed your arms, looking around. “Where’s Ortho?” You were sure the little robot boy made his brother come. Otherwise, why would Idia be here? Idia rubbed the back of his neck, “Ortho isn’t here. I… I wanted to see you,” he repeated.

Wordlessly, he thrust the flowers into your arms, and you wrapped your arm around it instinctively. “I- um,” you looked everywhere but Idia, who was staring at the Ramshackle doorway. “Idia,” you cleared your throat, “about what happened-” “Prefect, I… I wanted to apologize.” Your eyes widened, but Idia continued.

“I… I didn’t mean what I said that day.” Idia looked bashful, face turning pink and the ends of his hair turning a deep blush. He kept talking, rambling on and fighting he urge to grab his tablet and let the device speak for him. “I… really like being friends with you.” The words came out quietly from him, and even though he looked like he wanted to sink into his hoodie, Idia didn’t shirk away.

A lump rose in your throat as you didn’t make eye contact with him, instead playing with the flower bouquet, “I like being friends with you too,” you bit your lip, rubbing an asphodel petal, “I like you, Idia.”

Idia’s eyes widened and went rigid. Both his face and his hair went deep pink. Your own eyes widened at the color, and you felt your face grow hot. So that’s what it meant…? Not anger…?Wordlessly, without thinking, you dropped the bouquet. Your body moved on its own, and you flung yourself at Idia, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Idia staggered back from the momentum with a squeak, but wrapped his arms around your torso with an iron grip. You gripped his hoodie tightly, finally understanding what had gone on for so long. Your cheek was pressed against his, and despite the early morning chill, you both felt warm.

High above, Ortho hovered in the distance over the tree canopies from afar. He zoomed in on you and Idia, and behind his face mask, he beamed. In midair, he did a heart-shaped loop-de-loop in happiness, and hovered back to Ignihyde.

After a few minutes, you leaned back in Idia’s arms, the both of you chuckling in happy disbelief. You looked up and saw a little blue streak leaving a smoke trail of a heart, and laughed to yourself. Idia turned around, seeing his brother above, a soft reminiscent look on his face.

“…guess Ortho was right.”

~END

——-

Fun fact: the beginning is inspired by idia’s school uniform vignette!!!

Me, while writing this: wow Idia and Cater’s dialogue are unique, they’d be hard to write

Also me: *puts both of them in this fic and suffers*

Writing Idia was SO HARD but I hope I managed to get him right-ish. Trying to balance his reactions with the dialogue was hard 😭

anyway thanks for reading~ please leave a comment/reblog!! <3

Taglist: @cerisescherries, @eclecticprincecollector, @ars-tral, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps, @casperandcats, @ttokkisbee, @mitsuriswaifu, @parad-ice-lostandfound, @sad-sie, @moyo5653

(If your user is in bold, I wasn’t able to tag you properly)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader #twst idia #idia shroud #ortho shroud #twst idia shroud #idia x reader #twst Pride and Prejudice AU #ignihyde #calcified writing

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definitelyisd1ce · 4 months

Text

“It’s always been you.”

K. Baji — Tokyo Revengers.

Synopsis : Being somewhat affiliated with gang because you like one of its members; leaves you feeling strung along. Although, if it all fells, it’ll end well. Right?

Content Warnings!

contains the following ; unestablished relationship(s) , light angst to fluff and comfort, sweet nothings and sweet sorrows! ——— very much SFW!

As always, A/N! : My content is for those who wish to read it, though it is heavily recommended that you are 18+. I have no control over what you read, nor is it my business. Read at your own discretion. I’m not holding your hand.

WC; 2.3K !

Viewer Discretion Advised. <3

7:32pm.

The sun had cast a bright orange-yellow through the sheer white curtains of your bay windows, praising its rays on you as you decided it was time to crash in for the night. It was Friday, so there was nowhere to go. All your homework and upcoming assignments had been done, so you were basically just… here.

You settle in your bed with a book, letting the sun set in on you, and watching you read the book (it's more like reading the words and not retaining the information).

You needed help figuring out why you weren't interested in the book. It fits your taste; it was on your "To read!' list, so what was the problem? Unbeknownst to you, the deep-rooted desire to text your situationship was brewing, and it annoyed you.

You tossed the book to your side and picked up your phone, looking at the time and date on the home screen, though there was no notification from the guy you were looking for.

Keisuke.

You didn't like to accept the fact that he ghosted you every now and again, mainly because he always dragged his sorry ass to see you before anything was said and done. You still couldn't hold that over his head because he had a gang, family, mom, and school to cater to.

He wasn't your boyfriend, and you weren't his girlfriend; at least, that's what it comes out to be after you do the mental gymnastics.

You laid your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling, the ridges in it doing imaginary dances to entertain your brain and distract you from the impending silence. Eventually, your eyes grew shrouded, and you fell asleep.

2:43am.

The light taps of rocks hitting your window roused you awake and caused you to sit up and glance at your phone.

The time read 2:43, and the day was a new day. The only thing different was a couple of missed notifications: various calls and text messages, Instagram, TikTok, etc. But the one that stuck out to you was from your ravenette.

3 new messages and 2 missed calls from 'Baji <3."

It was weird; you didn't even know you had fallen asleep, exhausted and missing everything lively before the world went quiet.

You were pulled out of your stirring thoughts by another pebble thrown at your window, forcing you to pull yourself out of your bed and head to the window. You pulled the curtain back a little, only giving you a view of the ground below it without being seen, and there he was.

Baji, standing in his toman uniform and leaning against his motorcycle, tossed another pebble in his hand, almost nearing to look like he was about to throw it before he glanced at you and put his hand down.

You drew the curtain back and made a questioning face at him, which only caused him to throw his hand up, insinuating for you to open the window.

You grabbed the crank of the middle bay window, the biggest of the three, and turned it until it was open enough to talk with him.

"What are you doing here?!" You whispered-yelled to the boy below you, who only displayed a shit-faced smirk as he saw you.

You were wearing a fitting tank top, nylon shorts, and a bright pink bonnet—a scene that was way too familiar for Baji. It brought him clarity as he saw that, for the first time in a couple of days, you were facing bright even though your expression was dark as you looked at him quizzically.

"I just wanted to see you. I thought you were with Hina or Emma for a while. You really are a heavy sleeper," he answered, kicking the gravel as he chuckled out his response. His hair was in his all-knowing fighting-style ponytail, blood that may or may not be his, and a snark attitude just for you at this unearthing hour.

You rubbed your eyes and fetched your glasses to get a better look at him. Once you returned, you leaned on your window sill and spoke.

"Yeah, well.. when you have basically nothing to look forward to, what's the point of sleeping light?" you asked, head propped up in your palm.

Baji stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at you with a slight tilt to his head, a light pout to his lips. He looked around, trying to find an answer to lighten the mood.

The streets were empty, with the occasional car passing through. People were either on their way or coming back home from work. Bright orange streetlights shadowed the midnight sky, giving Baji a talking point.

"You normally never miss my calls; if you do, you call me straight back. What up with you, babydoll?" he asked honestly, wanting to understand the scarcity of your two moments.

This sent a countdown in your brain, counting the seconds you were about to have a meltdown or self-implode. What's up with you? More like, what the hell is up with him? Who just randomly ghosts people you claim to be infatuated with? But you digressed.

"What's up with me? Nothing is up with me, Keisuke. It's you. I should be asking that question, considering you act like you don't know what phone or a response is." You answered in a quiet yet tired tone, still putting heavy emphasis on his name.

Being woken up from her sleep was warranted, though her calling him by his name caught him off guard.

You could see the look on his face after you called him his name and not his last name or a pet name, slight appalment, and the look of being taken aback. He couldn't lie; it hurt a little, but his pride was too big to show it.

"First name basis, huh…" he muttered back before standing back up straight and opening his mouth to speak again. "I understand. But can you put off being mad at me for a tad bit longer? We can talk it out, yeah?" he asked, feather-light pleading and a somewhat sincere smile on his face.

"And what makes you think I want to do that?" you asked back, deadpan and with a smirk of sarcasm.

Baji looked back at his motorcycle and then back up at you, clicking his teeth as he insinuated a joyride on it.

“Uhn uhn.. uhn uhnnnnn Baji, no. It's too late, and my mom would kill me if she found out I left to go on a joyride. Especially with you." You gritted through your retainer-ridden teeth.

His bike, Ol' Alessia, was almost as old as Baji. You looked at his bike just about two or three feet from behind him, the memories of your shared laughs, your tears, his sweat and blood, and long conversations flooding your senses.

"Come on, I won't keep you out long—just long enough to fill in the missing time." He begged, a slight smirk on his face, his mischief fang, as you like to call it, on display.

After some thought, you caved and rolled your eyes, strolling to your already shut bedroom door and locking it. A slight prayer to hope for an easy in and out slipped past your lips as you put on your robe and house slippers and came back to the window.

"20 minutes?"

"20 minutes."

You sighed once more and climbed out the window, using the tree next to it as your way down. Once you got on your feet, you avoided Baji and went straight to his bike, putting on the helmet he kept for you.

He got on the bike, pulled it out of its idle stance, and revved it to warm it up. You got on right behind him, your body immediately going to backpack him as he pushed off and started to ride down the street.

The light breeze brought a sense of security that you haven't felt since you've last been with Keisuke. You used to reflect on your non-situation-relationship with him in times like these. Sometimes, he'd be with and around you like a lovesick puppy; others, he'd go with so much without a slight acknowledgment toward you.

You laid your cheek on his back as he made precise turns in your neighborhood, fighting the urge to break the stiff silence between you both. He found you being deep in thought cute, but since it was he who was on your mind, he had stirred the conclusion that it was probably a bad thing.

"I'll give ya a penny for that thought.." he spoke up a while after a mindless 7-8 minutes.

"You can keep your penny. I'm just thinkin'," you responded, perching your chin on his shoulder.

"About?"

"You, me, something I'd normally call us," you mumbled, paying attention to orange-hued streetlights. "It doesn't really feel like it's been that recently, y'know?" you urged.

Rueful silence racked through the air as your question surfaced, and Baji's hand was forced to speed the bike up a little.

"Yeah.. but you know I have good reasons, right?" he wondered, also wanting to see where you stood in understanding.

"No, Kei, I don't." you started, leaning up to sit up straight, "I don't know that you do because you don't communicate that."

He hung his head a little, sucking in his bottom lip. He knew he wasn't (and still isn't) the best at communicating. He wholeheartedly felt awful after Mitsuya and Chifuyu dogged him about it.

He guessed being together and not committed drew a fine line between his girl and his gang. He was together with you, but committed to his gang; thus causing a painful realization. After that brief realization, he got slightly startled out by feeling your hand creep up to his and guide Alessia back onto the road.

"Yeah, I guess I do owe you a lot more than I give you, huh?" he asked, feeling the hell-ridden embarrassment creep up his neck and rest on his cheeks.

"Yeah. I'd like to think so. I mean, for god's sake, Kei. I know we aren't in a relationship, but you can at least have some decency and acknowledge that you treat me more than just somebody. You and I have both admitted that." She ranted, pausing occasionally to push down the urge to cry.

"I don't ask for so much as a 'why, what are you doing, run this by me'… just something. Don't even let me get started because it makes me feel like I'm talking in circles, then I'm wasting my brea-"

"Hey! Hey! It's alright. I hear you." He cut you off, looking over his shoulder at you.

You bit your bottom lip, sniffling a little as you finally caught wind of your word vomit. You shook your head, not knowing what more to say. The silence was filling the space you two as he turned back onto your street, the light cruise bringing you back to a level head.

"Look, it's always and has been about you. I just need to work some things out before I can officially say I'm all yours, yeah?" he murmured, pulling up back under your window.

As much as you wanted to scream and hit him and tell him it was not fair, you understood he wanted to go through the troubles to get rid of them before being with you. And for that, you had to commend him.

"Okay, Baji. I guess I can't argue with that." You answered, taking off your helmet and getting off the bike.

It had been exactly 17 minutes since you left, and you still had 3 minutes to return to your window. Baji had gotten off his bike and came for a hug, wrapping his arms around your neck and bending down to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry, ma. I am immensely sorry for not making you feel like a priority, not holding myself up to a higher standard, and leaving you in the mud. It's not so manly and Toman code of me." He spoke, etching his apology into your forehead.

You grinned a little at his formality and apology, hugging him back. You pulled back, looking at his pale brown hue, smooshing his cheeks in your hand.

"I understand. I'll forgive you when I see you change and hold yourself up to what you say. But as for now, come on. I'm not letting you drive back home this late," you confided, motioning for him to help you into the window.

He nodded, boosting you into the open pane, allowing you to climb in and make sure everything was in order. Baji turned off his motorcycle and climbed into your window himself. He looked around, feeling the sense of familiarity creep up on him.

"Hey, while you stand there, close the window." You whispered,-demanded, already back into your tanktop and shorts.

He playfully rolled his eyes as he shut your room off from the outside world, removed his uniform, changed into basketball shorts and socks, and prepared to climb into bed with you.

He followed suit, climbing back into your plush sheets, big-spooning you to give you a tinge of protectiveness. You curled up into his caged arms; his faint cologne that wafted on his wrists seeped into your nose and started to lull you into brief, deep sleep. At least not before you got your final words out for the night.

"Kei?"

He grunted politely.

"Just promise me you won't keep me waiting."

"I won't keep you waiting, n/n. I promise. I want nothing but you. I want your past, your present, and your future." He answered, holding you tight and secure.

You smiled, keeping his promise close to you as he kissed the crown of your head.

And with that, you fell asleep.

silly little a/n!🤭: hey guys! second fic, how we feeling about it? Keisuke Baji is my man so there DEFINITELY will be a lot of fics about him as i write more. Feel free to drop suggestions. i’m open to just about any fandom i’m familiar with. as always, im open feedback and critiques! (though do be nice.). and as per usual; divider by @benkeibear:). reposts are highly appreciated ;).

#baji #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #baji keisuke #baji x black!reader #baji x reader #baji x y/n #toman baji #tokyo revengers #tr fluff #tr fanfic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 months

Text

It's Who We Have | Part Two

Summary: Billy's world comes crashing around him when the girl he once called a friend returns to London | Word Count: 4k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Taglist | Series Masterlist

Warnings: angst, mentions of sexual intercourse, mentions of terrorism, toxic relationship with a parent, insinuations of neglect

Billy couldn’t relax the entire evening.

He felt his leg shaking incessantly beneath the table of the booth they were sitting at. Feeling, for the first time in a while, small and insignificant as he sat cramped in the corner next to the wall, having nursed the pint Paddy had bought several rounds ago.

But he felt like he couldn’t move.

She sat right next to him, her face alight with happiness like nothing had ever happened as she spoke animatedly with their old friends, with Libby at her side as well giving the heart eyes to Abi across the sticky table.

Billy fiddled with the soggy coaster, his fingers idly picking at the frayed edges, reminding him of that moment he’d seen her across the assembly hall all those years ago, her own friends then turning their backs to her, heedless of the empty and unimportant feeling they instilled in her.

Why did that memory stick?

Perhaps it was a kind of irony.

For he sat, completely disenfranchised, their elated conversation now sounding very much like that squelch when you twist the dagger inside someone, pushing between their ribs in such a fatally searing way.

Her voice, her laugh, her smile.

Why was she pretending as if nothing happened?

He only raised his gaze when he saw her move, leaving her denim jacket on the seat as she slid out the booth with her bag over her shoulder. Nothing lingered but her perfume, which Billy recognised as not the same as the Charlie RED she always used to spray whenever she came bounding out the changing rooms after PE.

But for some reason it still felt nostalgic.

He watched her walk away, his chest twisting painfully.

Until Libby jabbed him in the ribs, giving him a pointed look, “what you all mardy for?”

“If one more person calls me fucking mardy I really will be”, Billy rolled his eyes, emptying his pint, that by now was flat and bitter. Slamming it down to the table in a way that surprised both Harry and Paddy on the booth opposite.

“Out”, he gestured with his head, shuffling along the bench, “I need a fag”.

Shuffling a cigarette out the packet he kept squashed in his back pocket, he felt his mates’ confused gaze on the back of his head. And he didn’t even make it past the table before Libby hissed ‘tetchy’, furrowing her brows at Abi.

He knew it was late, as by now the once raging beams of sunlight were now touching the spaces between the houses in the distance in a sort of sombre, mellow orange colour, taking the bright blue sky with it. Shrouding the starless night above the pub into darkness.

Still, the crispness of the evening was a welcome one to the heat on the back of his neck. One that he’d not felt in a long time.

The irritation that had begun with the lack of Becky’s text, had now been replaced with one that ached in a different place, deep between his ribs, jabbing sharply like when you’re out of breath, panting with your hands on your knees, and unable to swallow air down your throat.

“Fuck’s sake”, he muttered shallowly, the cigarette pressed between his lips, several frustrated clicks of his cheap lighter later.

“Graduated from the bike sheds then?”

He lifted his gaze somewhat, down the creaky, steel stairs of the fire escape, spotting her leaning against the wall, blowing smoke from between her soft lips and letting the soft breeze take it away from her. Like nothing toxic could ever just sit around her.

Her eyes glimmered against the low and dim light, and she had one hand on her own arm, covering her goosebumps.

There was a subtle look of urge in her gaze, one he didn’t miss. He was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to her.

He felt his breath get caught in his chest, swallowing painfully, hearing her speak to him again.

She pulled her lighter from her other hand, tapping her fingernails against it, “Come on. I don’t bite”.

Taking the careful and quiet steps towards her felt like walking into a field, not knowing if you were going to step on a mine or not. Like one wrong move, and that kind, understanding and warm expression would shift viciously into disdain, hatred and disgust.

He wasn’t sure he could handle it if she hated him. Truly hated him.

When he was right beside her, she felt so small, as she had then too. A part of him inside began to unfurl as she had to move her head to look up at him, still holding the lighter out to him.

“Ta”, he replied in a sort of whisper, his blue eyes tearing away from her, unable to say or do much else than just light his own cigarette.

She watched the features of his face illuminated behind his hand as he does, his eyelashes lit very much like his blonde, floppy hair when he’s looking towards the sun. The end of it breathes red as he takes a long inhale from it, before sighing the smoke from his full, pink lips.

“How’s your mum?” she asked, idly trying to make conversation. Knowing Billy, his social battery had already run dangerously low by now, sapped even more so by her presence.

He shrugged, “Fine. Same as always”, he answered dispassionately, “Lana’s been in the Met for a bit now”.

“Yeah, I heard”, she smiled, but it fell when she realised he wasn’t even looking at her. As if unable to face this ghost of his past that had remained a ghost for so long.

“Mum tell you?”

She shook her head, “No, Libby came up to see me sometimes”.

There it was. The guilt. The heavy feeling deep in his heart.

He felt that she'd grown into the woman he saw in front of him, without him knowing. Without caring enough to implore.

It's not that he hadn't cared.

But then, what was it?

"How about you?" he asked, barely turning to her, "your mum".

He watched the way her face fell, her eyes losing all shine, and lips turned down into a grimace almost.

Just like the way she always had.

At the mention of her mum.

"Dunno. Haven't seen her yet", she replied dispassionately, tapping the ash from her cigarette and watching the embers drift around their legs.

She felt a faint flutter of panic as their eyes met. Seeing his expression, in what she perceived was judgement at the relationship she had with her only remaining parent.

“Don’t look at me like that, Billy”, she muttered, turning away to bring her own cigarette to her lips again, not half as enthusiastic about the habit as Billy was.

The truth was, and she would hate it if he said it out loud, he somewhat pitied her.

Billy cleared his throat awkwardly, "Enjoy your course?"

"Yeah, it was good".

"Psychology?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

She smiled sadly, and shook her head, knowing that he'd mixed up what she and Becky had studied.

"History".

He tipped his head, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks, "oh, right".

He heard her laugh through her nose, dropping her cigarette to the floor and lightly stubbing it out with her shoe.

He caught a waft of her delicate perfume as she moved to brush past him, the heat blossoming again to his neck at the idea of not seeing her face.

"When are you going back up?"

She was covering her arms from the chill, now with both hands, as she looked back at him. For a moment she saw the panicked, hopeful expression he wore, before he shifted again into someone she didn't know.

"What?"

He swallowed hard before asking again, reaching up to rub his neck, "When are you back going up…to Manchester?"

He swore he saw her shiver.

"I'm not going back up", she replied simply.

And now he felt himself shiver. His body flooded with a chill.

"You're…back here?"

She nodded, swallowing thickly as if to hold back tears, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Why did she feel the urge to say she was sorry, as if she was encroaching on Billy's territory when he'd least expected it?

She felt like an outsider.

And even though she was several steps up that creaky, metal staircase, compared to him, she felt so small.

But then again, he'd always felt big to her.

When she stepped back inside the stifling aura of the pub, she forced a smile to her face, grabbing her denim jacket, "I should get home".

Paddy raised his eyebrows, his head heavy with the several pints he'd had catching up with him, leaning closely to Harry.

"You driving?"

"Walking", she replied, pulling her hair from beneath her jacket.

"What? No! Billy's dropping us all home anyway, he's got his pussy wagon parked outside", Libby giggled drunkenly, "if you ask him I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Don't want you walking anyway".

"Oh, no, really it's fin-"

"Hey Billy!", Libby clocked him as he came back in, the scent of tobacco radiating off him, his cheeks flushing with heat as his skin acclimatised, "room for another one?"

Billy looked between the girls with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing like he couldn't find words.

"Um-uh, I mean, yeah?"

"You're a star. Come on, don't be mardy", Libby grinned at her horrified expression.

All of their friends, in their drunken states, were unable to detect the trepidation and discomfort in either of them.

Or rather if they did, they didn't care.

"Get home safe!" Libby shouted to Harry and Paddy as they stumbled up the kerb, Harry's arm slung over his shoulder, giggling like schoolboys.

"Oh! Oh! Abi, fuck me har-" Paddy mocked at Libby before Harry's inevitable palm slapped over his mouth.

It was no secret that whenever there was alcohol involved, Libby and Abi were literally joined at the hip, often both hips once the doors closed. But even now, Harry himself couldn't hide the bright laughter at Libby's horrified expression.

She'd tried to move quickly to the back of Billy's Vauxhall, intent on giving him his space after what had happened earlier. But Abi slipped in the other side first and eyed her in faux-suspicion, drunkenly pointing the finger at her.

"You're not Libby…", he slurred.

"Jesus, Abi, if your mum could see you now", she laughed quietly.

"Yeah his mum still thinks he's a virgin and doesn't drink so", Libby retorted, slipping past her into the spot next to Abi, who curled up to her, sighing at her fingers through his raven, black hair.

She didn't miss the mischievous expression Libby gave her, wiggling her eyebrows at the front seat.

Passenger seat it is, then.

She sighed as she slid in, Billy already in the driver's seat, one knee bouncing nervously.

"Billy, your car…fucking filthy…", Abi slurred.

It was clear how quickly he shut up when Billy gave him a pointed look in the rearview mirror, "you wanna walk home, or what?"

"Your car is lovely, Billy", Libby added, pressing her lips together to stop herself from laughing.

"Hm"

The car didn't sound it's best, to be fair. He even had to push on the horn harder than anticipated when they passed Harry and Paddy walking home to say goodbye. It was so battered it even seemed to dip as the drunken couple shifted around in the back seat.

And the atmosphere in the front couldn't have been any colder.

She smoothed her hands over her legs, to try and lessen the goosebumps. And everytime Billy reached to change gears, she felt her heart leap into her chest.

One would be mistaken they were strangers.

But strangers wouldn't be so tetchy around one another.

It was more awkward, even as Billy pulled up to a red light, the warmth of it illuminating his sharp features and pooling little red orbs into his baby blue eyes. She'd sometimes look over, seeing him stroke his mouth and chin nervously, and could hear the faint sound of stubble against his skin.

She pretended she was looking somewhere else when he caught her gaze once.

She thought she knew how to read him so well. But now, she wasn't so sure.

The sound of his creaky handbrake tore her from her thoughts. That and the shrill sound of Libby's overexcited voice, her bright bleached hair shimmering in the moonlight.

"Abi, for fucks sake, arms around me, c'mon!"

How she managed to drag her boyfriend out was beyond them both, and she smiled warmly.

"Ta, Billy! See you both soon!"

Libby took the warmth and airiness with her, plunging them both into what felt like ice water. The car dropped a few degrees with their seconds of silence, only broken by Billy clearing his throat and putting the car in gear.

"Your mum's?" he asked.

She only nodded before finding it in herself to reply, quietly.

"Yeah, please".

The rest of the drive realistically was not more than a few minutes, but fuck, it felt like a lifetime.

Her eyes faintly followed the surroundings as they passed them in darkness. They even drove past Cranstead Fields, and she recognised the tree they used to sit under, shrouded in a childhood long gone.

He kept the car running as he pulled up to her house, and he could tell she was thinking deeply as she appeared to have not even realised.

Billy watched her shrink into herself once she looked up and saw the front door of her childhood home, the PVC scratched and the letterbox wrapped shut with gaffer tape.

He knew that look.

He opened his mouth, to offer if she wanted to stay at his, to crash on his sofa or something. But thought better of it.

She sighed and moved to open the passenger side.

"You moving out soon?"

She looked at him, as if surprised he'd bothered to say anything.

"I've got a place, but…collecting the keys in a few days", she replied.

He thought she sounded more and more like a child the more syllables she uttered in front of him. Scared once again to go home to her mother, seeing the lights on in the living room, with the lace curtains twitching.

"Thanks anyway, Billy", she said solemnly.

And so Billy watched her walk away from him yet again, admiring all the things about her he couldn't find the humility in himself to admit he'd missed.

She was looking down into her bag, searching for keys, when the flood of light illuminated the weeded concrete path and the silhouette of her mother swallowed her whole yet again.

He gave a quick wave to her mum. But it was nowhere near as forcibly polite as their interactions as teenagers. As if, her mum saw Billy as a man, and men were tainted in her view.

He wondered if she hated her daughter purely because of her resemblance to her dad.

Billy only drove away when he completed the routine.

Wait 30 seconds.

Listen out for the slamming of doors.

And watch with bated breath, and a sigh of relief as her bedroom light switched on.

“What time do you call this!”

She sighed, walking through the living room, that same musty, damp smell surrounding her senses and giving her perfume a run for its money.

“You can’t just waltz in whenever you bloody like! I suppose you want me to do your washing, ironing and wipe your arse for you as well?!”

She always did this. Pretending like a conversation never happened.

For someone who supposedly hated confrontation and just ‘wanted some bloody peace and quiet’, she’d conveniently forget discussions ever happened, so that it would become a disruption to her otherwise perfect life without her daughter around.

She didn’t even hang up her jacket.

She knew the quickest route to her bedroom. That feeling of dread on the way there.

“Mum, please, can we not do this”.

“Oh right, it’s never your fault, is it”, she barked back, pushing herself off the sofa, tugging her magenta dressing gown around herself, “you should be grateful I’ve let you come back!”

She tried not to look her in the eye as she made for the stairs, “It’s not like I’m staying”.

“Oh, right, so you’re just gonna leave me? Who fed you and put a roof over your head?”

She climbed the stairs, her mum’s voice fading with every step, and with the distance put between them, the voice eventually died down.

“Just like your bloody father. None of me in you at all”, her mum practically spat the words out.

“Well thank god for that”, she muttered, disappearing behind her familiar bedroom door, shutting out the sound of her mum’s huffs of annoyance and subsequent dramatic exit to the living room.

She could’ve wept when she crossed the threshold into her childhood bedroom, the nostalgic smell of her old Charlie RED hitting her instantly. The bed sheets were still lilac with little white flowers, the bed made exactly how it had been when she’d left for uni all those years ago.

Her lightshade, once illuminated, was caked in dust.

Clearly her mum hadn’t been in here either.

She pulled the window to, the PVC squeaking, watching in a state of surprise as Billy’s Vauxhall drove away from the front of her house.

A slight smile tugged at her face, briefly void of that lingering sadness and longing she’d felt all evening.

Even though he was only 14 years old, the prickly beginnings of a beard around his jawline and his bean-pole-esque physique made him look older. He stood there, school tie loosened around the several buttons open at the collar, smiling up at her with tilted lips, one hand shoved into his pocket.

Her mum would know if she opened a window, so she just blinked at him and smiled through the double glazing.

‘You okay?’ he mouthed from the street below, his face becoming slightly serious.

No.

‘I’m okay’ she mouthed back, nodding as if to emphasise her lie.

But she saw it on his face. He didn’t believe her. Never had whenever they did this little ritual.

And yet he still did it, on the off chance that one day, she’d crack and let her stubbornness slip.

They waved sweetly at each other and she watched his tall form walk idly down the lit street, past the street sign, she finally found it in her heart to sigh, tears feeling hot behind her eyes as she pressed them shut.

She looked down at her phone. 18:25. Only thirteen hours until she would see him again.

The hours never passed quickly enough.

Her phone buzzed then with a text as if by some silly coincidence.

She laughed breathily, a wistful sense of loss crashing over her. Sarky bitch.

As if on auto-pilot, Billy drove the short route back to his flat, but at the last second, did an illegal U-turn in the direction of his parent’s house.

He couldn’t face being there again. Where all her stuff was. Facing his mum and dad was easier than the possibility of facing Becky. Whether she was even there or not, it didn’t really matter.

Billy’s mum turned her head, wearing her marigolds and her greying hair up in a ponytail, “Billy duck, you alright? Wasn’t expecting you here”.

He sighed, toeing off his shoes by the porch, “Yeah, sorry to pop in like this so late”.

His mum saw the tired look on his face, his shoulders slouched like the weight of the world was on them. And she needn’t ask him how he was, she could see as clear as anything what was on his mind.

“Cuppa?”

Billy nodded, leaning against the worktop, “Go on then”.

His childhood home hadn’t changed, and he often (especially recently) popped by not only to drop in on his parents, but to in some way escape the tight clutches of adulthood and just…pretend for a while.

That he was a kid again.

When everything seemed so much easier.

"Dad in?" he asked carefully over the hiss of the kettle.

But his mum just gave him a look, "Still out".

It was nearly midnight, and yet, most nights his dad didn't get back home from the social club until gone 2.

Nobody wanted to tell him he had a problem. He had no doubts his mum and Lana had already tried.

The tea tasted of metal and lime scale, and it was PG Tips but he supposed it was better than nothing.

"You staying here tonight?"

Billy nodded once, "If that's alright".

"Course. I've just washed the sheets", his mum smiled at him, her eyes running up and down him as if she couldn't believe her tiny little boy was this tall figure in front of her.

"Should I ask?"

Billy was quiet, for a long moment, "don't think you need to".

She tutted, "I won't keep going on, Billy. It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes, but you know as well as I do she's never been very nice to you".

He could've rolled his eyes.

As if he didn't know that already.

"I'm aware".

"Did you at least have fun tonight?" she asked, earning a confused glance, "can smell you've had a pint".

It flashed through his mind so quickly, he barely recognised it.

Or rather she did.

"Graduated from the bike sheds then?"

Her fucking smile. Jesus.

For some reason, the sadness he saw in her eyes, had his heart rate skyrocket.

"Yeah, um…was good, ta", he said awkwardly.

"Oh! I heard from Abi's mum your mates back! We should have her over for tea, wouldn't that be nice?"

His mum sounded so excited to see her, he didn't have the heart to explain what happened. He didn't know if he'd ever have the courage.

"Which reminds me, I've still got Mrs Ahmed's tupperware, be a duck and take it next time you see Abi won't ya?"

He nodded, not really listening.

Now wasn't the time to say anything, he thought.

He just wanted to curl up in the bed sheets that smelled of fake jasmine, look up at the ceiling and forget about the world.

And that hopefully Becky's stuff would be gone from the flat by morning.

Maybe this time, he'd be able to stick to it.

Maybe this time he wouldn't beg her to come back. Unable to stand the loneliness.

Billy was barely down the stairs of his family home before his phone was blowing up with notifications. Still all dizzy and bleary from sleep, despite being almost midday, he blinked a few times before looking down at it, thumbing through the wall of names and exclamations with burning eyes.

Billy, is your sister okay??? Text me, please!! Hope you're okay bud. Jesus fucking Christ, please PLEASE tell me your sister is alright!!

A BBC news header flashed at the top of his screen.

Six dead and three injured in suspected terror attack at…

In the hallway, he saw his mum pulling her coat on in a hurry, fannying about (as his dad would say) looking for her keys, looking completely frazzled.

"Mum?"

Her eyes were panicked and wide, "Christ, Billy, sorry, I'm just going to pick u-"

"Eh?"

His dad suddenly brushed past him from behind, keys in hand, his cheeks pink like he was still a bit drunk from the night before but had been forced into action.

"It's Lana, Bill”.

God he fucking hated when his dad called him that. No matter how many times he told him not to call him Bill, or William or Will-

“Nut’s dead”.

He gripped his phone tightly, as if putting a feeling to something.

Nut was dead.

But his sister.

Lana.

Was she okay? Was she hurt?

Had the day come where he'd have to carry her coffin on his shoulder?

He remembered shouting that at her when she said she'd be forming a bomb squad with the Met.

His phone buzzed in his hand again, the one lone notification illuminating the screen. He didn't even have time to react to what his dad just told him.

There was no expectation for him to reply, unlike the other texts. No expletives. No urgency.

Calm.

He could tell by the way she used entirely lowercase letters, that it was her. It was just a phone number. One he'd deleted a long time ago.

It was clear she hadn't done the same.

i'm here if you need me.

Billy Washington Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass

#billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington angst #billy washington smut #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fic #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington trigger point #trigger point fanfic #trigger point billy washington #trigger point series #billy washington x you #billy washington x fem!reader #billy washington fluff #ewan mitchell characters #ewan mitchell #ewan nation

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tsunael · 6 months

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If there's anyone out there that cares about flower language and symbolism like I do, I made an informal write-up some time ago about the in-game flowers (that you can put in your house) and the different symbolism that they can mean.

I only included the symbolism for the in-game colors and also their general meaning.

Also as a disclaimer these could be incorrect, have contrasting meanings, or have different meanings in different real-world cultures. White chrysanthemums (kiku) are usually a funeral flower in Japan for instance. (My Japanese professor once said they were a faux pas for her to receive in a bouquet!) So your mileage may vary!

Now with added sunflower.

This was simply a fun personal project I made for myself that I thought other people might enjoy as well! So here's a question to answer in the tags:

What flowers would your WoL have in their residence?

Arums (calla lily) 🔷magnificent beauty, feminine modesty

Brightlilies (easter lily) 🔷purity, refined beauty 🔷White: virginity, purity, majesty 🔷Pink: wealth and prosperity 🔷Red: warmth, desire 🔷Yellow: gaiety, falsehood, "I’m walking on air" 🔷Orange: hatred

Campanulas (bellflower) 🔷humility, constancy

Chrysanthemum 🔷cheerfulness, "You’re a wonderful friend" 🔷Red: I love you 🔷White: truth 🔷Yellow: slighted love

Cosmos 🔷harmony, peace, modesty, "the joys that love and life can bring", beautiful

Dahlias 🔷dignity, elegance

Daisies 🔷innocence, beauty

Lilies of the Valley 🔷return of happiness, sweetness, humility, purity

Oldrose 🔷Red: I love you, love, beauty, passion, romance 🔷Blue: mystery, attaining the impossible, love at first sight 🔷White: innocence and purity, "I am worthy of you", reverence 🔷Yellow: decrease of love, jealousy, friendship

Shroud Cherries (cherry blossom) 🔷spiritual beauty, a good education

Tulips 🔷perfect lover, fame 🔷Red: declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, "believe me" 🔷Yellow: hopeless love, unrequited love, brightness, sunshine 🔷White: ask for forgiveness, purity 🔷Purple: royalty

Hyacinths 🔷sports, games, rashness 🔷Purple: I am sorry, sorrow, "please forgive me" 🔷Red: play 🔷White: loveliness, "I’ll pray for you" 🔷Blue: constancy, sincerity 🔷Yellow: jealousy

Hydrangeas 🔷heartlessness, boastfulness, "You are cold"

Morning Glories 🔷love in vain, affection

Violas (violets) 🔷modesty, faithfulness 🔷Purple: daydreaming, "You occupy my thoughts" 🔷Blue: watchfulness, love 🔷White: candor, innocence 🔷Yellow: rural happiness

Byregotia (begonia?) 🔷Beware

Carnation 🔷fascination, love, distinction 🔷Red: "My heart aches for you", deep love, admiration 🔷White: sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love 🔷Yellow: "You have disappointed me", rejection, disdain 🔷Purple: capriciousness, changeable

Moth Orchid 🔷love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

Sweet Pea 🔷departure, good-bye, delicate pleasure, tender memory, blissful pleasure

Triteleia 🔷 They're a North American wildflower also called 'triplet lilies' or 'Ithuriel's spear' which is a reference to John Milton's epic English poem, Paradise Lost. It's about an angel sent by Gabriel to find Satan in the Garden of Eden. Satan, in the form of a toad, is introducing evil suggestions into the ear of Eve when Ithuriel pokes him with a spear. Satan then returns to his true form, "... for no falsehood can endure Touch of Celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness."

So, I can't find any symbolism for this one. Would make a possibly good Halone/Ishgard reference if you wanted to read into it, though.

Sunflower 🔷 Haughtiness, respect, passionate love, adoration, radiance.

#queue time #mine #ffxiv #tsuna has white brightlillies white daisies and red carnations in her house 🥺#with some white chrysanthemum and shroud cherries growing #and a yellow oldrose bouquet...#I should update them tbh

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 11 months

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Words: 3,899

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her

Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan

Warnings: scary imagery, gore, frightening scenarios

A/N: This is part of a series! Find the rest on the Master List!

Summary: Daryl is awoken in the middle of the night to a strange noise and some concerning discoveries.

The first thing that woke Daryl was a strange noise—some dull thump on the other side of the cabin. He was immediately wide awake and straining his hearing. He wondered if you were up and about, maybe unable to sleep, and moving around despite the late hour. Maybe he should just go check… But you’d asked for space. He laid still on his back staring up into the darkness. Another thump. Daryl sat up and stared into the blackness of his room. That’s when something drifting on the air seemed to hit him at the same time as he noticed a flickering glow at the bottom of his bedroom door.

Smoke. And a fire? Was that just in the hearth in the living room? No… something seemed off. And more noises. They seemed to be growing louder.

That was enough to warrant investigation.

He planted his boots on the floor and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. Click. Nothing. What the hell? Why was the power out? And that smoke smell… it was growing stronger.

Daryl felt for his knife and quickly slipped it into its sheath, then was reaching for his crossbow when a cacophony of sounds rose up from the other side of the cabin. The dogs began barking and at almost the same moment there was a sharp thump on his window followed by frantic growling and pounding. The sound drifting away toward the dogs.

Shit. Oh, shit. Gripping his crossbow, Daryl rushed to the window and peered out between the blinds. The moon was bright and illuminated the snow to a sparkling blue and white with deep purple shadows shrouding between. And then there… he saw the foot prints in the snow first, the disturbed and trampled surface, and then, as he pressed his cheek to the glass to look along the cabin, he saw them. The dead. They too were illuminated, but it was the warm burn of orange and red, flickering and throwing shadows into dark relief.

Panic seized him.

The dogs were still barking.

Clutching his bow, Daryl raced to the door of his room. He could now see the smoke drifting in beneath his door. He pressed his palm to the wood. It was cool enough to touch. He thrust it open and was almost overcome with smoke and heat immediately. The fire was raging up the far wall of the cabin, climbing toward the roof. Stifling his coughs as best he could, he struggled to hear anything over the greedy roar of the flames and the pounding of the dead that rose and fell like an upwelling current. He squinted against the burning smoke in his eyes. “Y/N!” he yelled as loud as he could. He staggered toward your room, feeling with his hand along the wall to guide his way, but with every step the heat grew and it didn’t take him long to realize that there was no way he would be able to get to you. Already the fire was drifting along the wall toward your door.

With panic rising in his chest and tightening his lungs, he hastily pressed his bandana over his mouth and nose and turned back, rushing back to his bedroom and slamming the door. He grabbed the quilt off the bed and shoved it along the bottom of the door in hopes of at least slowing down the smoke. Still coughing and tasting ash, Daryl rushed to the shared wall between his room and the bathroom in yours.

“Y/N!” Daryl roared. He pounded his fists over and over against the wall and then pressed his ear to it. All he could hear were the continued dull thuds on the outside of the cabin for a long moment. Terror seized him. What if you were unconscious, overcome by smoke? What if the infected had already broken in and gotten you… Please, no. Oh God, please no. He pounded on the wall again as hard as he could and yelled your name. Suddenly, the dogs started barking again. It came closer to the wall, and a moment later he heard you coughing. And then—

“Daryl!” More coughing. “Daryl, I’m—I’m trapped in here! There’s a horde outside and the fire—I can’t get out!” You couldn’t stop coughing. Your lungs burned. Your throat burned. “There’s so much smoke…”

Daryl pressed his palms to the wall almost as if he could feel your hands on the other side. “‘M gonna get ya out! Just hang in there! ‘M gonna figure this out…” It was so dark he couldn’t see a fucking thing. He fumbled with the light on his crossbow and got it turned on. “Y/N, wet a towel and put it at the bottom of the bathroom door to keep the smoke out! Then get one for your nose and mouth! ‘M comin’! I promise, I’m comin’!”

“O—okay. Hurry! They could come through the windows…” your voice drifted off and he could only hear you coughing distantly.

He spun and scanned the room with his light. He needed something to open up the fucking wall. Fuck. He had nothing in here.

Daryl hastily tied the bandana over his face and ripped the quilt away from the bottom of the door. The smoke immediately began to curl underneath. He plunged into the heat of the next room and frantically looked around. His eyes landed first on your pack and then the gun rack by the hearth. He seized them and dumped the boxes of ammo into your bag as fast as he could before piling all of it back in his bedroom. Then he returned to his search. Finally, when his desperation had almost overwhelmed him, the beam of his light landed on the hatchet you used to chip kindling from the larger logs for the fire.

“Yes!” he gasped out. He grabbed it and raced back into his bedroom, banging again on the shared wall. “Y/N? Ya still with me?” he asked frantically.

His answer was you coughing and a weak, “I’m here!”

“Get back from the wall and keep the dogs back! ‘M openin’ it up so ya can come through. I think we can get out the window on this side. The dead seem to mostly be on your end by the fire!”

You tugged the dogs back by their collars, coughing into the damp towel over your face. “Alright! We’re clear!” you rasped as loud as you could. Your eyes were now stinging from the smoke.

The first blow wedged the hatchet deeply into the dry wall. Daryl yanked it free, pulling a section of the wall with it. He gripped the drywall with both hands and tugged, widening the gap. There were wood struts and plywood separating him for you. He swung again with as much force as he could and the wood made a resounding crack. He extracted it with great effort and swung again, and again, and again. Finally, the plywood splintered and he pushed a chunk through. He could now look into the bathroom. Daryl wedged his boot in against the wood and kicked. A significant portion broke away. He could hear you coughing and murmuring to the dogs. The smoke was black and thick in the air toward the ceiling, much worse than on his side, though that was changing rapidly.

Daryl felt another surge of adrenaline and notched the hatchet back into the wood lower, opening the bottom portion of the wall. His palms were slick with sweat and his heart was hammering hard. He had to knock out one of the thick wooden struts. He swung again, as hard as he could and the hatchet blade buried itself into the strut but seemed to do little other damage. Daryl pulled it free with a grunt and swung again. Splinters of wood shot off. He could hear you coughing on the other side. “Hang on!” he roared. He used all his strength and swung again, and again, and again… what felt like endlessly until the strut was sundered.

He threw down the hatchet and grabbed his bow, training the light on the opening. It would be tight, but he thought it would be enough.

“Y/N! Can ya make it through?”

You crawled over to the glow shining into the bathroom from the other side, your portal to safety. Black smoke swirled in the thermals of heat in the air. To Daryl, and to safety. “Strider, go!”

The black lab shot through the opening and bounded to Daryl, whining anxiously and tapping his paws, looking back at the hole toward you and Bear.

“Okay, Bear! Go! Bear, go! Go on!” You pushed the nervous husky toward the hole but he seemed unwilling to squeeze through. “Bear, now!” you yelled at him, trying to move his 70 pound body unsuccessfully.

“Y/N, come through first! He’ll follow! C’mon!”

There was a suddenly creaking noise overhead and you froze before glancing up at the roof, wide-eyed. “Oh, God—Bear, go!” You pushed with all your strength and Daryl reached through from the other side and grabbed Bear’s scruff, hauling him forward.

“Y/N, come on! Quick! We gotta go!” Daryl’s hand was reaching out for you. Now he could hear the cracking above you. You crawled closer, stretching out your fingers, trying to draw a breath but getting mostly smoke and ash. Another creak and then a loud crack and crunch overhead and suddenly the ceiling was falling down behind you. Terror froze Daryl’s heart. “Y/N!” He held his breath. He couldn’t see from the rolling clouds of dark smoke and the rain of ash and debris. “Y/N! No!”

The dogs whined incessantly behind him. Daryl squinted through hole in the wall, framed by splintered wood, his hand outstretched and flecked with ash. No…

Suddenly, he felt your hand in his and he gripped it tight and pulled. Your arm came through, and then your shoulder, then the rest of you, coated with gray and white ash, coughing from the soot. He tugged you through and into him as you tried to regain your breath.

Daryl smoothed your hair, pressing you against his chest for a brief moment. Then he clasped your face with one hand, shining his light toward you with the other. His blue eyes whirred frantically over you for injury. You had a cut near your temple, but beyond that seemed mostly okay, albeit covered in soot and ash, your eyes red and watery. “God, I thought ya—I thought the roof—��

You shook your head and struggled to talk. Your throat felt dry and hot. “No—I’m just banged up. Let’s go. We have to get out—”

“C’mon,” Daryl said urgently. He held up your pack and you dug in the side pocket and pulled out a headlamp which you hastily illuminated and slid on. You were still wearing your clothes from the outing the day before, but your winter gear was already consumed by the inferno. You only had your slippers on. That was something to worry about later…

“Here,” Daryl said, holding out a shotgun. “Try not to use it unless we got no other choice.” He held out the hatchet. You took it with a nod, gripping it far tighter than necessary. You felt shaky and lightheaded.

Daryl grabbed your hand in his and squeezed it tight. “Are ya ready? We gotta try and sneak to the shop, get to the snowmobile. But there are gonna be infected everywhere. Hopefully the horde is still on the other side and stays distracted by the fire…”

“God, I thought I was dead,” you said suddenly.

“We ain’t dead. And we ain’t gonna be. C’mon.” Daryl peeked through the blinds again and then pulled the cord to raise them. He pressed his face nearly to the glass and looked out. “We got some stragglers, but we better go before they surround the place.”

“There are hundreds over there,” you said, hearing the shake in your own voice.

Daryl gulped and nodded. “I know. We’ll be on the sled and gone before they figure it out.” He paused and pulled in as deep and steadying a breath as he could under the circumstances, then he unlocked and raised the window.

A torrent of frigid air poured in like water through the breached hull of a ship. Daryl grabbed Strider and lifted him up to the window. The big lab bounded from his arms and landed in the deep snow, bristling and growling. A walker stumbled toward him from the darkness beyond and you held your breath as Strider launched himself at the skull-like face and took it down. Bear was next and seemed eager to free himself into the night air. “Alrigh’. You next,” Daryl said urgently. You pushed yourself through the window and landed less than gracefully in the deep snow, sinking up to your shins. You shook the snow from your hands and straightened up, glancing back just in time to see Daryl climbing through. A moaning and growling ahead of you snapped your head around. A runner was racing toward you and the dogs. You raised the hatchet, but before you needed to swing, Bear and Strider had seized it and the body lay twitching in the snow, a sick dark puddle expanding around the head.

“The shop!” Daryl said urgently. “Let’s go.”

You whistled to the dogs and took off after Daryl, rounding the little lean-to on the end of the cabin and focusing on the hulking building of the shop ahead, illuminated in an orange glow. Ash drifted down around you on currents of air. Daryl raised his bow and dropped a walker. You turned and saw three more emerging from the darkness. One was alarmingly fast and you swung the hatchet as it got close, cleaving its head in a spray of gore.

When you looked forward again, Daryl’s eyes were on you. You raced to him. The snow had already soaked your slippers and was melting into your socks. Your toes would be numb in no time, but you hardly felt anything but the shake of adrenaline and bite of fear.

The shop was just ahead and you barreled in under the open door. Daryl reached the snowmobile first and fumbled with the ignition.

“Boys, load up!” you commanded the dogs, pointing the makeshift side car Daryl had crafted for them. Bear and Strider jumped in without hesitation, hair still raised along their backs.

The sled hummed to life, the engine loud in the echo of the metal building. You glanced frantically back toward the blaze of the cabin. Infected started rounding the corner. Dozens upon dozens, trying to rush toward you but hindered by the deep snow. “Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“Come on!” Daryl yelled over the roar of the engine.

“Have you ever driven one of these?” you asked, hesitating.

“No, but we gotta go!” he roared.

“Move back! It’s harder than it looks and I know the terrain!” you replied. “Last thing we need is to get stuck in a fucking drift or dead end with a horde on our ass!”

Daryl moved back and you climbed on in front of him, shifting the snowmobile into reverse and backing it up out of the shop. The skis hit the snow and slid with ease, cutting through the powder. “Y/N—hurry up!” Daryl urged you, raising his crossbow. The infected were getting too close for comfort. He let a bolt fly and it dropped a runner, striking it square in the face. More were charging forward, yelling wildly and flailing grasping hands. “Go!”

You shifted into drive and revved the engine. The sled leapt forward into the darkness. The headlights illuminated the trunks of trees and rounded shapes of boulders beneath the snow. The loomed in the light and whipped past, a dizzying kaleidoscope of shapes and shadows.

You turned the sled toward the road that led to the cabin, pointing the nose downhill. Your hands were already numb with cold where they gripped the handlebars and your cheeks felt only the biting sting of snow flurries as they pelted your skin. The cold air cut through your thin layers of clothing. Daryl’s arms were clasped around your waist. You couldn’t hear anything over the hum of the snowmobile and glancing over your shoulder was too dangerous traveling at the speed you were, but you could sense infected trailing behind you. Strider barked to your right, squinting into the darkness beyond the headlights.

Images of dead in the surrounding woods flicked past, momentarily lit by the white blaze of light from the sled and then disappearing behind you. They were everywhere. You needed to get off the mountain.

You felt Daryl shift behind you and you partially turned. “How is it b—back there?” Your stutter made you aware that you were shivering violently in the cold.

“Keep goin!” was his yelled response. “A few still behind us!” The runners were terrifyingly fast but they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the sled for long. In this case, the deep snow was a blessing.

Silence fell between the two of you again and you pressed the snowmobile to go faster, as fast as you dared while navigating in the darkness. Your throat and eyes, burning before from the smoke, now felt dry from the cold. Your feet were frozen in your slippers, the melted snow quickly turning to ice in the frigid wind. There was only the hum of the engine for several long minutes and then Daryl leaned forward into you and spoke into your ear. His voice was finally calm. “It’s alrigh’. We lost ‘em. Find somewhere safe to stop for a minute.”

Your breath hitched in your chest as the weight of what had just happened began to settle heavily over you. You slowed and the engine noise reduced slightly, the high-pitched whir dropping to a low hum. You found an open space in the dark woods and let the snowmobile come to a stop. You cut the engine completely. You felt frozen, rigid where you sat.

Daryl shifted behind you and then you felt him climb off. “Boys, out,” he murmured softly to the dogs. They bounded out of the side car and into the snow. Daryl lifted the seat and rummaged in the hidden storage compartment below. You heard fabric rustling. He reappeared in front of you, clutching a puffy winter coat.

“Y/N—” His voice was tentative, cautious. He moved around to your side again and draped the coat over your shoulders. “Pull this on. S’freezin’ out here. I ain’t got any spare boots in there so we’ll have to find somethin’ but at least I got a coat and hat ya can use.” You still didn’t move. Your eyes were a bit wide and almost unseeing. Daryl realized that tears were pouring down your cheeks. He chewed on his bottom lip for a long moment, his heart sinking into his stomach. “Y/N,” he said again, even more gently.

Finally, you moved. You hurriedly wiped the tears from your frozen cheeks and slipped your arms into the coat and zipped it up. You tucked your freezing hands into the long sleeves and sucked in a breath. Your throat and lungs still burned with ash and soot. Your eyes found Daryl’s face finally. “You aren’t gonna say ‘I told you so’?” you said.

His brow furrowed heavily, casting his blue eyes into deeper shadows. “No…” Daryl replied quietly, shaking his head. He moved back to the little storage compartment and shuffled some items around until he found the mittens he’d stowed inside. He came back to your side again and held them out. “I understand what ya were holdin’ onto there. I mean—I never had what ya had by blood, but I’ve got a found family. And I’ve lost some of them along the way, including Brian, and—I get it.”

You sniffled, turning to look back over your shoulder. You could vaguely see the orange glow of the fire up the mountain, reflecting on the tall trees. You watched the distant smoke, illuminated by the flames, curling into the gray sky and disappearing among the winter ceiling of clouds. “What I was clinging to was already gone, really. And I almost got both of us killed because I wouldn’t let go.” You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut, reliving the terrifying chaos of sound and confusion in the smoke and flames. Your throat still burned. Your palms still burned.

“Ya didn’t know they’d get to the cabin last night. Ya couldn’t know. We coulda been safe there another day or another week… maybe even a month. It isn’t your fault. It was the dead. It was this goddamn world we live in now,” Daryl said.

“I still should have listened to you. You were seeing it all with a clear head. But I’m too damn stubborn…”

This drew a low laugh from Daryl despite the situation and you looked up at him in surprise. One corner of his mouth was curved up. “Ya dun say…” he drawled.

You mopped at your face again with a mitten and let out an amused exhale. The pit in Daryl’s stomach loosened a little. “Alright. Let’s—let’s figure out what we’ve got and what we need,” you said.

Daryl nodded. The dogs were nosing around din the snow and he was relieved they showed no sign of smelling any approaching infected. “With what I grabbed fast and what I had packed, we’ve got plenty of ammo and food for now. I put some cookin’ stuff and firestartin’ materials in the saddlebags. Have a few more spare clothes. But tonight, we need a safe place to hole up and we need better gear for you—especially shoes. Ya can’t go around in wet socks and slippers. Yer gonna get frostbite.”

You nodded. Your feet were numb. You gulped and tried to think. All of your shelters on the mountain were off limits. There were simply too many infected and they weren’t anywhere near strong enough to keep the dead out. “Let’s just get down off this mountain and hit the edge of town. There are enough stores down there… Unless the area is flooded with dead too, we should be able to find somewhere to crash and scavenge what we need.”

Daryl nodded. “Alrigh’. Are ya okay drivin’ this thing still?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it.” You whistled softly to the dogs as Daryl closed up the storage compartment again. Another shiver wracked through you as Daryl climbed on. His arms wrapped around you again and now he seemed to be holding you extra tight. You started the engine and turned back toward the remnants of the road down, buried under the deep snow. You wondered how long the cabin would burn behind you and what exactly lay ahead…

#daryl dixon fanfic series #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Only Me

kyle spencer x reader smut

warnings: dubious consent, biting, kissing, shameless smut, undead kyle, zombie sex, zombie kink, halloween, song lyrics, dead dove: do not eat

word count: 6,205

a/n: hiiii !! halloween fic in june !! lol this one's my most bizarre fic yet probably !! i made kyle a lot more zombified than he was in the show !! if you're squeamish about corpses and wounds and stuff, i wouldn't tread any further !!

apologies for the usual: inconsistencies, characters ooc (kyle's a little more instinctive/aggressive here), clunky writing, etc etc etc

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz (as usual, ask to be added !!)

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A full moon shined in a bright, stunning spectacle, high above Miss Robichaux’s Academy. A striking contrast to the black skies of a particularly cool Halloween night. Shrouded in a veil of evening darkness, the old-fashioned academy emitted an otherworldly glow. From the first floor windows, flashing lights of slime green and hellish orange flickered in endless repetition.

Inside, a small group of young witches danced. Dressed in their skimpiest costumes, they moved fluidly to the beat of Oingo Boingo’s Dead Man’s Party. Blaring loudly through a large set of speakers, the tune mingled with the girls’ laughter. Meanwhile, the older women of the academy socialized near cluttered snack tables. They chatted away with each other, paying no mind to their free-spirited students.

Dead Man’s Party.

An ironic song, you thought. Given the only ‘dead’ man in the room seemed beyond confused. You wondered if he even knew what the purpose of a party was. His Frankenstein brain might’ve forgotten parties entirely. Such a concept was also ironic. Considering, when he was alive, Kyle had attended enough frat parties to keep the beer industry thriving for years at a time.

The ancestral room felt alive with energy. You stood in a corner with your back against the wall, sipping overpriced punch Myrtle Snow had prepared herself. An unamused look crossed your face, as you watched Zoe and Madison dance. Their movements were effortless and intentionally suggestive.

Between them, looking out of place and somewhat lost, was Kyle. The zombified blond was hunched over in his loose-fitting flannel shirt. And his expression spoke of someone who had no idea what was happening around him. Unlike everyone else in the room, he hadn’t worn a costume.

Poor guy. It seemed like no one had warned him ahead of time.

There was an unmistakable tension in the air, as Madison and Zoe grinded their thin figures against Kyle. The indecent movements of their dancing were almost unbearable to watch. And you couldn’t help but recoil at the sight. The girls glared at each other, trying to outdo the other in a shallow competition for Kyle’s attention.

As Kyle stood there, he kept his head tilted down. His curly, blond hair fell into his face, and his eyes were blank and empty. Kyle must have been oblivious to the girls’ intentions. You felt a pang of discomfort in your chest at the thought.

“Jeez…it’s like I’m watchin’ a car crash in real time…and I can’t look away…” You said, sipping your punch.

Queenie, dressed in a dingy, striped sweater and a Freddy Krueger cap, leaned casually against the wall next to you. Her sweater fell loose off her shoulder, leaving it bare. She sipped her punch as she laughed, her Kreuger claws resting on her hip. Oingo Boingo echoed in the background, competing with the sound of her voice as she spoke.

“Those two are a wreck if I’ve ever seen one.” She joked, shaking her head, “Somebody’s gotta get in there and save that poor guy. Dude looks miserable. ”

“How pissed do you think they’d be if I cut in?” You asked. Glancing down at the lacy hem of your dress, you toyed with it idly in thought.

The pounding music in the room seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Danny Elfman’s wavering voice echoed, booming throughout the floor.

I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go

Walkin’ with a dead man, with a dead man

Your ruby red slippers twinkled on your feet. You wore an (admittedly) revealing Dorothy of Oz costume, with a blue dress lined with white lace. The skirt barely reached past your thighs, showing off your legs in thin, white stockings. You clutched a decorative picnic basket, with a plush, scottie dog sticking his head out from inside. His beady eyes shined in the party lights.

“You’d be doin’ Kyle a favor if you did. But, girl, I dunno…” Queenie pushed herself off the wall, “You know those two ain’t messin’ around. They’re feral over him. Listen, whatever you decide to do? It’s your funeral. We’ve all seen what happens when Madison loses her shit.”

Queenie sauntered off then, her hips swaying with each step. She joined Nan on the dance floor. And you let out a sigh, knocking your head against the wall. After watching Zoe and Madison’s shameful display for a few moments longer, you decided enough was enough. You pulled your phone from your basket to check the time. Only 6pm.

Gracing your ears in tune with the catchy beat of the song, Danny Elfman’s voice rang out.

Don’t run away, it’s only me

Don’t be afraid of what you can’t see

If your hunch was correct, neighborhood trick-or-treating had only just begun. And even though you and Kyle were well into adulthood, the thought of indulging in such an innocent, nostalgic activity was too enticing to resist. Halloween was a holiday wherein Kyle could blend in with the general population. And if you accompanied him, he’d finally get some reprieve from the constant objectification he was accustomed to. It was a win-win.

You waited a few more minutes, hoping the two girls would eventually tire of their petty competition. As time passed, Madison finally stumbled off in her heels. Presumably to have a smoke out back. Queenie, ever the helpful friend, pulled Zoe away for a dance. Leaving Kyle free of anyone’s clutches. Seizing your chance, you immediately stepped in. And you lead him upstairs to your room.

It took around ten minutes for the two of you to finally leave the academy for trick-or-treating.

Five minutes to patiently explain your plan to Kyle, trying your best to help him understand. And another five minutes to help him get ready, after struggling to clarify what Halloween was to begin with. You asked if he wanted to dress up in a costume.

Kyle’s only response was a simple, slurred-

“W-Woooooolf.”

He then made an awroooo sound in an adorable attempt to mimic a wolf’s howl. It was the cutest thing you’d ever seen Kyle do. And hearing him make such a precious sound instantly melted your heart.

You took the time to chat with Kyle. And you joked that if you’d known ahead of time he wanted to be a wolf, the two of you could have coordinated costumes. Perhaps you could have gone as Little Red Riding Hood, and him as the big, bad wolf. Even though you weren’t sure if Kyle understood the reference, he gave you the sweetest smile nonetheless. In his undead eyes, you saw a sparkle of lingering humanity. You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling your heart melt just a little more.

Carefully guiding Kyle to the bathroom, you brought him in front of the mirror. Using a dark, eyeliner pencil, you drew a big, black dot on the tip of his nose. Then, with a steady hand, you doodled adorable, cartoon whiskers on his cheeks.

Which, in retrospect, made him look more like a cat than a wolf.

But Kyle seemed delighted with his new appearance regardless. He held his big hands up in front of the mirror, curling his fingers into claws. Kyle faked a snarl, scrunching his nose and showing off his pink-tinted teeth. The teeth of a dead man.

To your own surprise, you managed to sneak Kyle out of the academy without a single hitch.

For the next few hours, you lead him around a local neighborhood. As the two of you made your way down the street, you marveled at the eerie decorations at every house. Politely, you approached each doorstep, excitedly proclaiming, “ Trick-or-treat! ” while holding Kyle’s hand loosely in yours.

Thankfully, nobody seemed to mind that you two were well past the necessary age for trick-or-treating.

You stopped to explain the concept of Halloween to him once more, after he struggled to understand what trick-or-treating was. He furrowed his blond brows, as though deep in thought. Kyle made a frustrated grunt in response. You couldn’t help but smile, finding his confusion…strangely endearing. Everything about him was endearing, really.

Despite his initial confusion, Kyle definitely enjoyed the candy aspect of Halloween. The treats. His opaque eyes lit up with glee, and he held his pumpkin bucket up in front of you like a fabulous prize. You cheered him on, showing off your basket overflowing with goodies.

A thick mugginess in the air felt sticky against your skin. As the hour grew later, the air shifted to a sharper, colder chill. Crisp, autumn leaves fluttered in the breeze, twirling in colorful circles along the road. The once charming decorations at every house now appeared all too creepy in the dark. Illuminated only by a combination of moonlight, and the occasional streetlight; the neighborhood appeared desolate and empty. You wrapped an arm around yourself for security and warmth.

Perhaps it was time to return to the academy before things got any spookier.

Kyle loomed in close proximity to you all night. And as the hours passed, he leaned in even closer. Part of you began to question your assumptions about him. Perhaps you had misjudged. Maybe Kyle appreciated the constant attention Zoe and Madison gave him back at the academy.

His craving for physical touch was obvious. Every time you tried to create some space between the two of you, he pressed himself against you again. It became clear then, physical intimacy was something Kyle wanted on an almost constant basis. And given his limited communication skills, you figured he had no other way of expressing such a need. He stuck to your side like glue, walking with you throughout the cold, dark neighborhood.

You were reminded of that Oingo Boingo song. Dead Man’s Party.

I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go

Walkin' with a dead man, with a dead man

Ooh-ooh, waitin' for an invitation to arrive

Ooh, walkin' with a dead man, with a dead man

Despite his proximity, Kyle’s body provided you with no warmth. You were left plagued by the nightly chill in the air. And out of nowhere, Kyle groaned, sounding displeased about… something. You didn’t know what. Worried it was your fault, you moved to give him more space. Kyle appeared even more annoyed then. He choked on words he couldn’t say. And you stopped in your tracks on the sidewalk. Gazing at him with concern in your eyes, you tried to deduce what the problem was.

“Hey, K-” You started.

Before you could ask him, Kyle reached out a hand. He stared down at you with black, cloudy eyes. Between his pale, grey lips rested a half-eaten candy bar. His fingers were covered with sticky chocolate. And he made a move to pull the collar of your low-cut dress down.

“Oh! Wh-...Kyle!! What are you doing, honey?!” You shrieked in hushed surprise.

At that moment, something must have clicked in Kyle’s Frankenstein brain. Some kind of instinctive shift.

Even though he loved his candy, chocolate wasn’t necessarily the kind of Halloween treat he wanted. He pulled the chocolate bar from his lips, tossing it aside into the grass.

“Treeeaat…” He slurred, with his pale, chapped lips coated in chocolate. Kyle tugged the front of your dress down even lower, “Tr…tr-trick…or treeeat?”

Your breasts almost popped out from the force of his strong tug. The swell of them bounced in a mesmerizing display, looking supple and smooth. Smears of chocolate stained the clean, white lace of your dress. Gasping, you backed up before Kyle could do anymore damage. You stumbled on your sparkling, ruby slippers. As you struggled to find your balance, Kyle eagerly followed. He pushed his strong body against yours, leaning down to kiss you.

“Kyle, no! N-Not that I mind, if this is what you want! But…can you at least wait until we get home, bud?” You protested, bringing a hand to his mouth to stop him.

You were fearful of any late-night passerby catching the two of you in such a compromising position. Kyle knit his brows together, put off by your rejection. You gave him a sympathetic look, and lowered your hand.

Whatever you said before, none of it registered. Kyle abruptly attacked your neck with his mouth, and you sucked in a sharp breath. His lips were frigid and cold against your skin, their rough, chapped texture scraping across your neck. Reveling in your taste, he hungrily swirled his cool, slimy tongue.

“Honey, no-...s-stop! You can’t-” You pathetically whined, patting him repeatedly on the shoulders to get his attention.

Kyle devoured your neck like a Halloween treat, sloppily tonguing your smooth, warm skin. You squirmed as he wrapped his thick arms around you tightly, pulling you closer. The entire weight of Kyle’s body pressed itself into yours. Dead weight. You lost your balance again, stumbling backwards. And without meaning to, you slipped off your feet behind a nearby lining of bushes.

Taking a tumble, Kyle came down with you. He immediately took advantage of your vulnerable position on the ground, crawling over your body. Even as you continued to protest, Kyle’s attention returned to your neck. He nipped at your skin, flicking his sticky tongue in a desperate thirst for more of you. Underneath your body, you felt dewey grass seep wetness into your dress. You squirmed again, hesitant to give in to Kyle’s reckless desire.

“Pleaaaase! Just let me-...Kyle, please, help me up, won’t you?” You begged in a desperate plea.

He groaned a throaty noise into your soft neck, and his hands began to explore your body. Fighting to maintain your dignity, as well as your modesty; you made another move to push Kyle off of you. Your hands pressed hard at his thick shoulders, but he refused to budge.

“I’m serious! If you wanna do this together, we can, okay? Just…not here! This is…it’s a neighborhood, right? What if someone sees?? Let’s just wait until we get home, please?” You insisted, “Kyle, p-

Unexpectedly, he cut you off (or shut you up, rather) with a surprise kiss.

Lips of a muted, grey hue collided with your own, more saturated ones. A kiss of life and death. Kyle’s lips were ice cold, molding effortlessly with your warmth. He tasted of a bizarre mix between cheap, dollar store chocolate and…something else you didn’t recognize. Something almost…earthy.

He was the sloppiest kisser you ever locked lips with. Prodding at your lips fiercly with his tongue, Kyle demanded entrance. When you didn’t let him in, a frustrated growl vibrated through his mouth. His hand darted down to your chest, where he tugged the front of your dress with an even stronger pull. Threatening to rip it apart, as though he knew you would protest.

You opened your mouth with a surprised squeak, scrambling to pull Kyle’s hand away.

That oozy, freezing tongue of his slithered its way past your lips like a wiggly leech. Thick and slimy in your mouth. Kyle’s kisses became filled with a wild and unrestrained passion. Even though such a messy makeout session would be off-putting to anyone else, you found yourself melting into it. Despite having no concept of restraint or consistency, Kyle’s lack of skill was somehow intoxicating. You were irresistibly drawn to his discolored, dead man tongue.

You couldn’t help but think of how you always admired the way he looked.

When he was alive, Kyle was undeniably stunning, and so gorgeous. He had one of those beautiful, sunshine smiles, and golden hair to match. But after his resurrection, he was viewed as somewhat of a monster. Since the initial work done to bring him back had been less than subpar. To the average person, Kyle looked like a walking corpse pulled straight out of Night of the Living Dead.

However, Kyle’s zombified appearance did nothing to deter you. In death, you found him attractive in about a million other, more forbidden ways. Perhaps you were a bit of a freak behind closed doors.

And now, you had the opportunity to appreciate Kyle, in all his reanimated glory. Allowing yourself to explore his bulky, undead form. Corpse-like in appearance, Kyle’s body seemed right on the cusp of decay.

Maybe you could indulge in your curiosity and unconventional attraction…for just a few minutes. A moment or two wouldn’t hurt. Kyle was obviously desperate for the attention anyway. It was almost cute, really. The way he fought so hard to fool around with you.

Yeah. A few minutes of teasing touches. And then, you’d surely head back to the academy together.

You hesitated to touch Kyle intimately at first, careful not to cross any personal boundaries.

You knew Kyle harbored strict boundaries somewhere in that Frankenstein brain of his. Misty had told both you and Zoe all about it. Though, none of you had any clue where such boundaries originated. Was Kyle somehow self conscious? Did his instincts operate on a more intense, animalistic level of fight or flight? There wasn’t any way for him to tell you, and you’d never be able to guess on your own. Best to tread lightly.

Kyle loomed over you, guzzling your lips and tongue like a hungry man starved. Raising a hand, the tips of your fingers took a careful chance. They brushed across the poorly sewn stitches in his neck. Grazing his prominent scars, you traced their irregular lining.

You were afraid he might recoil, but Kyle instantly melted into your touch. His shoulders fell slack for a moment, and he moaned a soft, little whine into your mouth. It was as if tracing the scarred etching of stitches brought him some sense of relief.

A trail of thick, gooey saliva connected your tongues, as Kyle pulled his lips from yours. He gazed down into your eyes with a soft expression. The cute dot you'd drawn on his nose was slightly smudged now, along with those kitty wolf whiskers. You noted the way his hefty form looked, illuminated by a faint blanket of warm, yellow light. The street light flickered from above, as if threatening to abandon the two of you in the dark.

You stared back into Kyle’s foggy eyes. They were somewhat empty of humanity, with black pupils blown wide. His brawny chest became exposed, as you unbuttoned the thick flannel of Kyle’s shirt. Trembling fingers felt across his pecs, your skin burning hot against Kyle’s lifeless cold. He shuddered under your touch, arching his back slightly.

“W-Waaarm.” He slurred, “Mooore…”

Patches of discoloration decorated Kyle’s broad torso. They reminded you of a tropical desert map. One in which Kyle’s pale skin was the desert sand. Portions of his flesh had turned yellow in color. Faint hues of deep purple and sea-foam blue leaked through, similar to a watercolor palette. You ran your fingers over the discolored patches of skin, feeling subtle, textural changes. Kyle’s skin was overall smooth, but slightly torn near his ribs.

“Stop me if-uh…if this hurts, okay?” You whispered in a soft tone. Kyle tilted his head, the blonde curls of his hair dangling over his face.

Morbid curiosity overcame you, as you momentarily delved deeper into Kyle’s ripped flesh. The texture of his skin was uneven, as the surrounding skin had dried out slightly. Hesitant, yet alarmingly eager, you dipped your fingers into a decaying wound close to his ribs. Keeping your eyes on Kyle’s face, you searched his expression for any signs of discomfort. Beyond the scabbed edges of his skin, your fingers found a cold, mushy cavern inside.

You felt the cold rigidity of his rib bones just beneath the surface, the dampness of his insides slimy and raw. Kyle’s breathing steadily grew labored the longer you explored him from the inside. His jaw fell slack, dark eyes rolling back in his deep sockets. After teasing the wound for a few beats longer, you pulled your digits from it. A warm blush pooled in your cheeks, and you exhaled a flustered laugh. Ashamed of yourself.

“S-Sorry, honey…” You apologized, “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Kyle whimpered in response, wildly shaking his head. A slimy stickiness lingered on the tips of your fingers. And you made a mental note to thoroughly wash your hands once you finally returned to the academy.

You explored Kyle’s peculiar body for a moment longer. Beautiful, blue veins were visible under the thin layer of his skin. You traced those veins, following their intricate, web-like patterns. Kyle’s eyes fell closed as you did. He hummed soft, submissive whines. His head occasionally jerked in sudden, instinctive motions. After opening his eyes, Kyle stared down at you with a more lax, half-lidded expression.

You noted the way his eye sockets were slightly sunken in, appearing almost skeletal. A smokey darkness surrounded his foggy, black eyes, making them pop when they widened with abrupt impatience.

Growing fed up with your slow-paced, careful touches, Kyle darted down. He returned to his original task, gnawing pink teeth against the burning flesh of your neck. Your blood pulsed under your skin, beating against his slimy tongue. You brought your hands up to his blonde curls, carding your fingers through the somewhat-ragged locks.

Kyle’s hair was clean and washed. Yet, the strands felt like those of an old, decrepit dog. Curls dangled in his face as he mouthed your neck, and Kyle sloppily licked the bruises he sucked harshly into your skin. He pulled at your skimpy outfit, tearing rotted, jagged fingernails into the cheap fabric. Exposing your bra-covered breasts, Kyle ripped the front of your dress apart in one, harsh jerk. You wrapped a hand around his wrist, fighting to pull it away before Kyle tore your bra off as well.

“WAIT! Kyle, no! You can’t, honey!! I-It’s cold out here!! And someone might see!!” You insisted, “B-Before we do that, let’s go back home first!”

You were in too deep now, that much was obvious.

He jerked his hand away from your hold, groaning in protest. Kyle brought his massive palm to your chest, curling his fingers into your bra. He ripped the garment apart, letting your tits bounce freely. Immediately upon seeing them in their lucious, supple glory, Kyle made another noise. A groggy, throaty sound dripped from his tongue, drooling cool saliva over your breasts. He didn’t hold back, dropping to swipe his sticky tongue hungrily around one of your nipples.

“T-T…T….Treeeeeeeat…” Kyle groaned, ragged over your breast.

You whimpered, your nipples immediately hardening in response to his numbing, chilly touch. Your hands dropped to Kyle’s broad shoulders again, as you attempted once more to push him away. Ruthless with desire, Kyle licked and sucked your tits, as though thirsty for the milk you couldn’t provide.

By now, Kyle was handling you a little more roughly than you preferred.

As the dull flats of Kyle’s teeth sank into your flesh, biting hard; you were beginning to second guess yourself. Kyle chomped into your smooth skin like he wanted to rip you apart and feast on your blood. You wiggled from under him, trying to shimmy away. The hand of his not occupied with your breast, darted up to your shoulder. Kyle forced you down with his palm, keeping you in place. Mesmerized by the pheromones permeating from your pretty breasts, Kyle couldn’t stop himself. He gnawed your tit even harder.

And for you, that bite crossed a line.

Imprints of Kyle’s teeth were left embedded into your skin. Weakly raising your basket, you fought Kyle off, repeatedly whacking him on the shoulders with it. Candy flew out from the basket in every direction. In the back of your mind, you mourned their loss.

No matter how much you fought, Kyle refused to budge. If anything, your protests encouraged him further. Kyle grew more frustrated, growling monstrous noises into your tits as he sucked one hard. He scraped his teeth up to your collarbone, chomping into your skin so harshly you nearly cried.

“Stoooppp!!! Please!!! Kyle, sweetheart, that hurts!!” You pathetically begged, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes, “Please stop!! It’s not good, Kyle! It’s very bad!”

He shook his head wildly with another animalistic growl, keeping you caged under his body in the wet grass. Kyle moved himself further down your squirming form, jerking the skirt of your dress up over your belly. The tiny, lace panties you wore underneath were exposed to him completely, along with a shameful, wet spot between your legs.

“Noooo! Good… v-very good …” Kyle grumbled, frustrated. He sank down between your legs, enveloping your clothed pussy with his whole mouth.

Goosebumps shot across your thighs as his cold breath met your cunt. Kyle’s teeth roughly grazed you, his slimy tongue prodding your folds through the thin fabric of your panties. You instantly panicked, kicking his shoulders with all the might you had left.

Kyle violently tore your delicate panties off, ripping the fabric at the seams and leaving you bare. Crisp, late-night air nipped your poor, defenseless pussy. Fearful that Kyle might start chomping at your cunt like a corpse in search of brains, you quickly rolled onto your belly in the grass. You crawled forward on trembling limbs, your veins pumped full of adrenaline.

“L-Let me go, Kyle! No more! We gotta get back now!! P-Please!” You cried, rushing forwards with your knees pressing into the dirt.

Kyle came charging after you on all fours, his movements similar to that of a vicious, feral predator. The panic swarming your brain heightened, surging down your spine. Your heartbeat kicked to high-speed. Scrambling to stand, you were faced with the unfortunate reality…that your legs were too shaken and weak to function.

Your thin stocks were stained with mossy green, as wet dew seeped into their fabric. Just as you made it to the sidewalk pavement, you felt the tight grasp of cold hands wrapping around your ankles. Your ruby slippers kicked frantically against Kyle’s hold. But his grip tightened around them. Kyle dragged you by your ankles behind the bush in the dark, his jagged, rotting nails sinking into your skin over your stockings and scratching holes in the fabric.

That Oingo Boingo tune stuck on repeat in your head, echoed eerily topical lyrics in your subconscious mind. Don’t run away, it’s only me

Don’t be afraid of what you can’t see

Don’t run away, it’s only me

Don’t be afraid of what you can’t see

You couldn’t hold back the terrified scream that leapt from your throat.

Kyle’s eyes flew open wide. He moved quickly, climbing over your body from behind. Reaching around to clasp a large, cold hand over your mouth, Kyle growled chilly breaths into the shell of your ear. You could feel the hard press of his sizable bulge against your ass.

You barely registered the sound of Kyle’s hushed, throaty voice shushing you, as you cried for him to stop in loud pleas. He whispered in your ear gentle, slurred reassurances…or, at least, he tried to. Kyle apologized repeatedly, mouthing your ear and neck in a more loving, yet clumsy way. Less teeth. Thank fuck for less teeth.

“S-Ssssss-...sooorry.” He mumbled slowly, “N-N…N….Neeeeed…”

Trying to calm yourself, you breathed long, deep breaths through your nose.

Realistically, you knew Kyle never intended to hurt you. And if he did, it wasn’t necessarily his fault. He was a creature who operated purely on animalistic, carnal instinct. His brain functioned at a process slower than the average person. Like Frankenstein’s monster. Of course, it should come as no surprise. If Kyle desired something as natural as sex, his thirst was bound to make him slightly more deranged.

Maybe he just hadn’t been taught otherwise.

With one of his hands clasped tightly over your mouth, Kyle brought his other to his jeans. He felt around aimlessly for the button, finding it difficult to free his cock from the constrictive denim. After a bit of agitated fumbling, Kyle finally released his hefty, undead cock from his pants. Perched in the grass on your elbows and knees, you curiously dropped your head to take a glance at his dick.

You were lucky enough to catch a quick glimpse of Kyle’s thick, bouncing cock. It was discolored like the rest of his body, and covered in vivid, blue veins. In your mind, you questioned the logistics. How was it even possible for a zombified man to get an erection?? Was it witch magic? Was witch magic really powerful enough to keep oozy, undead blood flowing through a zombie?

Kyle mounted you much like an animal in heat, guiding the fat tip of his cock to your weeping entrance.

The stark contrast between his corpse-like temperature and your own, more lively warmth shook you to your core. You gasped into Kyle’s palm, your lower-half squirming as the deathly cold, smooth length of his cock pushed its way through your searing walls. Your pleasant heat engulfed Kyle’s dick completely, and he immediately roared a guttural noise from deep in his chest.

“T-Trrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaat!” He slurred in a broken tone, “ G-...G….Gooood treat.”

Those were the last, coherent words Kyle spoke, before carnal instinct took over his brain completely. He violently jerked his hips forward, sinking his stiff cock deeper into your pussy. The leaking, wet tip hit your cervix in a bruising pressure. You fell forward into the grass, almost losing balance on your trembling legs. Kyle released his hold on your mouth, instead raking his blunt, uneven nails down your body.

Pumping his cock through the tight squeeze of your cunt, Kyle dropped his palms to the grass. His brittle nails dug themselves so deep into the dirt.

“K-Ky-” You choked, feeling a thickness bubbling in your throat, “Kyle, please-”

The slickness of his length felt inhumanly cold inside you. Your blistering hot pussy constricted around him, grasping hold of Kyle’s cock and pulling him in deeper. He wanted so desperately to gnaw and bite you again, but he refrained from doing so. Kyle made huffy, monstrous noises as he fucked you raw and hard in the grass. Guttural, zombie-like groans echoed, ragged against your ear from behind. He carried no restraint, as he drilled you with his dick so hard and deep, it began to hurt.

Your entire body buzzed with sharp, pinpricks of overwhelming pleasure, edging so closely to pain. But somehow, you registered the ache as intoxicating. Your body couldn’t stop itself from betraying your brain’s warnings. Despite your suffering, your pussy fluttered so wet around Kyle’s cock. Hot, slick heat made it so easy for him to fuck you as hard as he desired. Allowing him to act on his unfiltered, baseless instincts.

“P-Please-...Ky-...Kyle…slow down, please-” You begged, mewling little cries.

Your soft voice only encouraged Kyle. His thrusts turned more violent and rapid, losing any consistency. Heavy balls slapped repeatedly at your hot mound, teasing your clit. Out of your control, your eyes rolled back in their sockets, as you moaned in blissful ecstasy.

Kyle’s nasty, unrelenting thrusts were so powerful in force, the overstimulation was enough to make you cum from penetration alone. Your fiery heat tightened around his pulsing cock, and your body erupted in a mind-altering onslaught of uncontrollable, orgasmic trembles. Kyle roared another guttural, monstrous sound, unable to resist sinking his blunt teeth into your neck. He wrapped an arm tightly around your middle, jerking you backwards to meet his thrusts.

“Kyle, wait!” You struggled to speak, your head dizzy and swimming. Turning your head slightly, you felt Kyle’s messy, blond hair brush the skin of your cheek, “Don’t finish inside! You have to – f-fuck – you have to pull out! You can’t cum inside me, baby!”

Your ass bounced recklessly against the hairy mound of Kyle’s pelvis. If he understood what you meant, it was clear Kyle had no intention of listening. Burying his length to the hilt in one, final, savage thrust; Kyle spilled his sticky, zombie seed deep inside your hot, living pussy.

“N-NO! KYLE, NO-” You panicked again, trying to crawl forward and out of Kyle’s grasp, “FUCK! YOU CAN’T-”

He roared his loudest noise yet, the sudden sound tearing through your eardrums. Latching a palm tightly around the back of your neck, Kyle forced you face down into the dewey grass. With your ass up and out, he fucked the last of his cum into your pussy with a near damaging force. A frigidly cold sensation pooled in the pit of your belly.

For a short moment, Kyle kept his slick cock buried inside you. Even as the length softened, he took his time before pulling himself from your cunt. And once he finally did, the thickness of his off-colored, oozy cum came spilling out of you in heavy spurts.

As it turns out, zombies cum a lot.

You shivered, sniffling as hot tears raced down your reddened cheeks. Kyle released his hold on your neck, reaching up to pet you clumsily over your hair. Behind you, you heard shuffling as he fought to tuck himself in his pants and fumbled with the button. Your knees collapsed into the grass, and you heaved rapid, frantic breaths. You couldn’t deny the way your body quivered with blissful, euphoric exhaustion.

“Kyle…for fuck’s sake…why…” You sniffled with a hiccup, lying with your cheek pressed to the grass.

Several bite marks of deep, dark violet littered your once clean skin. You rolled onto your back on the ground, your chest rising and falling with every quick breath you took. Kyle sat back on his knees, staring down at you with an expression of fearful, worried confusion. It seemed that, somehow, he didn’t understand why you were so immobile and worn out.

Kyle’s black eyes steadily trailed across every mark he left behind, all over your neck, collarbone, and breasts.

He frowned, his foggy eyes pooling with heavy tears. The whiskers and nose you’d drawn on his face earlier were smeared to high heaven, leaving black streaks on his cheeks.

Crawling over you again, Kyle gently buried his teary-eyed face in your tits. He pressed soft, cool kisses along your abused skin. Before resting his cheek on your chest. His thin, blonde curls tickled your chin.

“S-S…ssssorry… ” He mumbled through his tears. Kyle rubbed his thumb across one of the bites he left behind, making you wince, “B-Baaaad…not gooood…sorry…”

Despite his rough handling, you knew you couldn't stay mad at Kyle for very long. In a way, he'd made you feel pleasure beyond anything you ever experienced with an average, living man. And the loving kindness he carried under the surface of his monstrous exterior made you adore him. So much more than you already did.

You let out a long, tired sigh, raising a hand to gently run your fingers through Kyle's curls.

"What am I gonna do with you, huh? It's okay, honey. It hurt a little bit, but...I'm fine. Just..." You breathed an exhausted laugh, wincing as you tried to move, "Let's try to teach you a little restraint next time, okay?"

If you thought about it logically, there was no possible way you could actually get pregnant from a reanimated corpse, right? His swimmers were probably dead as doornails. Regardless, you felt a little squeamish knowing loads of gooey, zombie spunk resided inside you. You shivered at the thought, shaking your head.

Yeah, you definitely needed a long, hot shower. Asap.

"Can we please go home now, Kyle?" You begged, weakly sitting up on your elbows.

Peering up at you through adorable, innocent, dark eyes, Kyle blinked slowly. He nodded, pushing himself quickly off your body.

"H-Hhhhhh-....Hoooome..." He mumbled, politely holding out a hand to help you up.

You found yourself too incapacitated to stand. After such a raw, violent fucking, your body felt on the brink of death. Consumed by exhaustion, it was as though you'd become the living corpse. Undead and barely functional. Falling into the grass on your back, you groaned, burdened by a deep ache in your bones.

Catching on to your pained, tuckered-out state, Kyle reached down. He wrapped his thick arms around your body, effortlessly lifting you up over his shoulder. It was a ridiculously careless way for him to carry you, but you couldn't find it in yourself to complain.

In one hand, Kyle held his pumpkin bucket and your basket, both slightly empty of the candy they once held. With your limp body lying slump over his shoulder, he used his other hand to keep your skirt pinned over your butt. Nice of him to consider your decency.

In the empty, desolate cold of a moonlit, Halloween night; Kyle carried you all the way back to the academy.

And the whole way, as you hung limp over his shoulder in a fucked-out daze...you hummed a song softly to yourself.

Oingo Boingo kept looping endlessly in your head, like a persistent parasite.

I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go

Walking with a dead man over my shoulder

I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go

Walking with a dead man over my shoulder

#kyle spencer x reader #kyle spencer x you #kyle spencer x y/n #smut #txt #ahs

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biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer · 3 months

Text

Torrid (Geo x My/Any MC/Reader) (Part 2/2)

TO ALL THE MANDIVIDUALS AND TO THE ANONS FROM ALL THE PLANES, I GIFT YOU THE SECOND PART OF THIS GEO x MC ONESHOT.

A/N: So, I know this was meant to be out a week ago and I am SO SORRY TO EVERYONE! I have health issues.

This is an original work, made and thought up entirely by me.

PART 1 LINK: Gelid (Part 1)

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Torrid: very hot and dry.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes ached; the darkness of their lids shielding you from the dim lights that threatened to shine past its pitch darkness, morphing the dark shrouds into muted cacophonies of flame-oranges and honey-yellows.

“Hnn…”

You wonder, briefly, if you’re even still alive. The torrid birching of summer had cooked your flesh, fried your mind-circuits and seared your soul…but this didn’t feel like summer.

Your body feels toasty, as if a warm spring breeze was gently caressing its balmy palms over your unmoving form. Gently soothing and healing the harsh burns that summer’s scorching ornery had devastated upon you.

You notice, in your comatose state, that the light has started to grow more radiant, more luminous, more intense; as if a match had been struck inside the gloom and murk of your consciousness, illuminating the umbra in chandeliers of twinkling lights.

You felt yourself gradually commencing the tedious process of reaching the gates of hypnopompia, whilst somewhere far away, a faint beep started piecemealing its way into your mind. Its annoying chiming reverberates in your skull.

Beep…Beep…Beep…

You feel a wave of irritation slash through the numbing murk, shattering the calm into sharp, serrated shards; their whetted edges piercing and dragging their points into the fogged veils of your somnolent state.

If you weren’t waking earlier, you are now.

But your eyelids felt so heavy, so leaden. How could you possibly slip out of your subconsciousness’ anteroom if your body wouldn’t abide by your minds’ commands?

The beeping was becoming more domineering over the murked blur of the quiet noises that encircled your head.

What in the absolute fuck is that shit?

…am I dead? That’d make a lot of sense actually.

The noise began to pulse in your ears, slowly punching your brain-fogged mind into a state of configuration.

You should open your eyes, lift the accursed flesh-lids that curtained them and let the radiance of the world puncture your pupils and blind you.

Aight…MC…you got this girlypop…you got this.

1…2…wait. Nah, that’s fucking stupid. Whoever actually gets up when they count to three is too self-controlled.

What motivates you. That is the query.

Geo…? Geo would whoop my ass for sleeping in.

God he’s fucking awesome.

You hiss, before gingerly opening your weaker eye.

Then you immediately shut it, because, well, your pupils are so used to the shadows that the overhead flare-bright lights have probably blinded them. You wince, a scalding pain begins its fervid assault on your eye socket.

Owie.

You think you swallow. Your throat distinctly — and painfully — aches from the force.

You faintly grimace.

As your cerebrum continues its reboot, your physicality and its wounds become more obvious to you. What once was benumbed progressively became blisteringly arid, parching your skin and clawing at the dried walls of your esophagus.

You think you hear a voice; a heavenly harmony that continues to cautiously pry you from the darkness. A siren, come to guide you towards her island, towards your doom.

But…waking up wouldn’t be your doom, right?

Well. It would be if I happened to be in some psychotic lunatic’s basement. That’d suck.

Either way, you had to assert dominance over your stubborn body.

Okay. Baby steps…baby steps.

You agonisingly slowly begin to open your eyes, aiming to at least squint. Any sign that you were alive was good, especially if you get to hear that beautiful voice again.

Your eyelids pried open a crack, the dazzle of the overhead whites and yellows immediately abusing its power over your weakened eyes.

No…c’mon MC. You’ve got this.

Fortunately, eventually, your eyes began adjusting.

Marvellous. Now…gotta sit up.

You tried to move your arms, testing whether moving them was even a possibility in your current state. You move your focus to your hands, making attempts to flex them or to inch your fingers around, to get a feel for your surroundings.

As soon as your hand left your side, it felt horrifically cold, as if some wraith had exsanguinated all the warmth from your soul and left your body a frore husk. You shamefully retract it into the comfortable cocoon of…blankets?

Oh my god…blankets! I love blankets. Blankets are wonderful.

You felt a surge of joy fill your heart, its unnervingly swift pounding now serving as a steady background drumbeat to the endless, unbounding bliss that you now felt. Alas, the realisation that you needed to alert someone of your consciousness quickly became the priority in your mind.

You also just happened to acknowledge you didn’t have a clue where you fucking were.

You draw in a deep gasp, a thinly veiled storm of frustration suddenly onslaughting your mind, pelting your brain with orders to fucking do something.

“H-. Hell…Hello…?”

Your voice comes out faint and rasped, as if your voice box had rusted to near-irreparability and your tongue had been encased in lead.

“Oh?! Oh my goodness!”

Your ears perk up.

It’s that voice…the pretty one.

The silhouette of a woman comes into view, her head blotting out the ceiling lights and leaving her face anonymous under the shroud of darkness.

“Oh my…I’ll alert the doctor, please relax for now!”

. . .

The next few hours passed by in a blur of boring examinations, excessive interviews with some wacko journalists — who were curious about why the famous, privileged, alleged ‘sex-fiend’ Geo Oogami was seen with you in his car (you were so discombobulated with their choice of nickname that water spouted out your nose like it was a fountain).

Now here you lay, stultified, annoyed and exhausted. The emotional toll it had taken to recall why you decided to lie out in a hailstorm was…immense. You cried multiple times in front of the nurses and doctors, who were demanding every piece of information that they deemed necessary for healing you. Also the consistent beeping of the nearby heart rate monitor was pissing you off, but you understood its pricelessness.

As expected, you had hypothermia, and would have to remain here for at least a week under supervision to ensure your organs and bodily tissues hadn’t suffered any long-lasting or permanent complications.

You were thankfully allowed to read books after about a day, so now at least your crippling, (and very lethal) boredom had a temporary fix.

“MC?”

The angelic voice called out again. The woman – Timea was her name, if you recall correctly — stood in the doorway, before swiftly entering and checking your vitals. After deeming your current state as satisfactory, she turns to you.

“I hear you have a visitor.”

You blinked. You? A visitor? Who the fuck would visit you?

What the shit?

You sit up, the sheets rustling under your weight as you turn to look at the doorway.

And from the unseen depths of the corridor, painted in gilded light, a wild Geo Oogami emerged, his icy turquoise eyes staring right into yours.

You swear you forgot how to breathe.

May God Himself preserve you because if this hypothermia doesn’t kill you, the asphyxiation will. Frankly, you don’t exactly care, you’re too busy gazing upon the angelic, elegant face that belongs to the man who sits at your side.

“...Why.”

His voice was like a gong, short and straight-to-the-point; yet so firm and demanding that it left you stunned.

His eyes were filled with a thousand shards of broken glass, each one having once belonged to a mosaic birthed of the stars themselves. Maybe the mosaic was like his heart, cold and sharply-edged, yet so beautiful you couldn’t help but look at it with love.

Wouldn’t that mean his heart is shattered though?

“Why what?” Your query seems to have stilled the air, stilled the molecules in the entire room. Geo looked like he’d been frozen in time, before his face turned bitterly ornery.

“Why the fuck did I find you sitting practically naked in the middle of a storm, then have to watch as you die in my car, then have to pay over 10 grand in fines for speeding you to this bloody hospital?”

His voice was far more hiemal and frosty than whatever you’d felt during that storm. It was as if 0° Kelvin itself had been personified, given a permafrozen heart and the voice of a cold wind-whip. You shiver slightly, but how could you not? Like before, you were now in the direct vicinity of the princeling of winter himself. A very unhappy one, at that.

It was never a good idea to provoke or challenge the wintry wrath of Geo Oogami. Unfortunately, you weren’t exactly the wisest person to have ever lived; a hot burst of annoyance flashed before your eyes, splattering your peripherals in a thousand shades of crimson and scarlet.

“I had my reasons. There’s nothing you need to concern yourself over.”

The scattered shards in his irises seemed to form into serrated points, each one aimed directly at you, as if his eyes themselves wanted to carve you into pieces.

“Need not worry…? Need. Not. Worry?”

He paused, a small vein prodding under the skin of his temple. You gulped.

“Are you demented?”

He was malding now, a spine-chillingly livid anger in his eyes.

“You could’ve died in my car, under my watch, and it’s not something to be worried about?”

“Aren’t I a nuisance to you either way? What difference would it’ve made if I died?”

The words are caustic for the walls of your mouth, leaving a bitter coating on your tongue. You’d thought this way for years, yet having your thoughts be thrown into the expanse of the real world, in front of a real man was…different. Especially considering the fact you idolised, respected…maybe even loved this man.

His face was a vial; a potion concocted of shock, disdain and woe slowly morphing the fury into a condensed cloud of sorrow. One that was now waiting to let loose its tears, to pour rain onto the barren soils of the earth beneath.

“How dare you.”

And so, Winter himself looked you in the eye, piercing the veil of whatever hallowed thing was keeping your emotions safely hidden. The aquamarine depths seemed to be slowly exsanguinating you of reason, of any form of logical function. You wanted to drown in them.

Aight. MC. Stop staring at him, he already resents you, he doesn’t need you to fawn over him like that.

You decide to survey the room you were in, it would be easier than continuing to peer into the unknown depths of his eyes.

White walls. White tiled floor. A couple of pretty paintings. Some fake plants.

A slender bejewelled hand firmly latched onto your chin, steadily, almost like the arms on a clockface, he moved your head towards his.

His hand feels tense, his gelid fingertips bruising the warmth of your flesh. To your left, the bed seems to sink, as if a weight had been strapped unto it.

You still don’t look at him, instead opting to (cautiously) check out his thighs. They were covered by his usual dark pants, the brown fabric ripped and torn in a multitude of places.

God he’s so beautiful.

“You are as much of a nuisance to me as I am unstylish — not in the slightest.”

His voice was monotone, yet — unlike earlier — within its melodious notes was a soft melancholic chime; as if his voice had revamped itself into the epitome of dejection and despondency.

You were as astonished as he was uncomfortable.

Then you felt yourself lose every manner of self control as you began to sob your ghastly heart out.

Fucks’ sake MC. Can’t do jackshit right can you?

You feel a few torrid tears leap over the cliffs of your eyelids and crash onto his pale flesh. His eyes follow the wet trails down your face, before smearing it across your cheek.

You felt yourself losing grip over your mind again, trying to catch onto the grains of whatever cognition you had.

Whatever your brain had repressed from that horrific night was flooding through your consciousness, sweeping you off your feet and leaving you stranded on an island in the storm that was your eternal, unbounding sorrow.

But you supposed that’s one of the reasons why you loved Geo oh-so much. He was cold, hard logic; an anchor for your restless, maladaptive thoughts. His chill soothed the hot anger that pulsed beneath you, both from your fate and at the world for stuffing you into a school where you’d never thrive.

But destiny had its ways, you suppose; for even the most treacherous, onerous and dolorous of winters will eventually (and willingly) surrender to the balmy nature of a newborn spring.

“Whatever it was that led you to commit such a stupid act…I hope you can one day entrust me with the context and reasons.”

“That almost sounds like you care, Geode.”

“Hm. Perhaps.”

You feel his hand, rings and all, land atop your head; before gently, softly, stroking your hair. The tears still fell down your face, but the despair slowly fell muted as you gingerly placed your head on Geo’s shoulder and closed your eyes.

If you’d had your way, you would’ve squished him to death, but you couldn’t afford to push this. Whatever this was.

“Promise me something, MC.”

There’s that monotone voice again…

You give a small thumbs-up in affirmation.

“Promise me that you’ll come to me before you resort to such an extreme act. No matter how stupid it may be to you.”

He lowers his hand, it now lurking near yours; and you feel a small ray of confidence shine through the murk of your paranoia.

“...okay.”

And now, cautiously, almost as if fate Herself was puppeting you; you felt your hand grasp the slender fingers of him.

Touch him, partake in a quick, fleeting moment of heavenly contact.

To your surprise?

It wasn’t short, or brief, or sudden.

It felt more purposeful than every breath you’d fucking taken, hell even Geo looked a tad astounded by the prolonged contact.

Your soul feels a little lighter now.

Maybe the enigmatic winter himself would learn to accept the dawn of a flowery, dainty spring. Maybe he’d even accept himself. And hopefully you’d accept yourself too.

#geo subaru oogami #tkatb vn #tkatb x reader #geo oogami #the kid at the back #reminder that geo is superior #tkatb geo #tkatb #I FUCKING TRIED #WAHOO #I COOKED #HELP

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puppysirie0-0 · 6 months

Text

Anybody Call A Doctor (I'm 1000 Degrees In Love)

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Lantsov!Reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff that I wanted to be smut

Chapter 3 of "The Bunny and It's Shadow"

Aleksander slowly starts kissing down your body with a tenderness you had not expected. He kisses every inch of your skin, and all your insecurities and worries melt away. You knew you loved him and he loved you, you knew this was going to be forever, even if nothing else was.

You watch as he travels down. The admiration and utter devotion in his eyes, evident as he looks back up at me. My heart skips a beat as I make eye contact with him. He also made me feel special and the intimacy of this moment pours over me like a refreshing shower.

You and Aleksander had done this before. The fleeting makeouts in his room and quickies in the hallway. Him whisking you away into his chambers or a bathroom to let out your mutual frustrations. But, now you’re married, it’s 100 times more intimate. It was coveted, it was sweet, it was something you’d only dreamt of doing with Aleksander. Never knowing that you’d ever be able to marry him.

You snap out of your haze of reflection as he reaches down between your thighs. He knew what to do to make you come undone quickly, but he didn’t want it quick. He wanted to savor this moment, cherish it like an ancient relic. You being his most prized possession. He thrust a finger in your cunt, slowly pumping it at a steady pace. Stretching you out for him, despite your numerous other times taking him.

He adds another, and another, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and the air around you. Kissin down your neck, littering your collarbone and neck with love bites. Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hide them in the morning, purposefully making sure that they would be bright purple and noticeable when you had to face your friends at breakfast. He made you feel safe and on the edge at the same time.

He teased you like you were a puppy jumping up at a treat right before it was pulled away. And you loved it. It might have seemed cruel, but you did. His mere attention made you feel like a star shining bright in the midst of a void of darkness.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º° ▩ ∾

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of violets. They had a very distinct smell for you because they were your favorite. Your nanny as a child would always pick them and bring them to you. Those were some of your happiest memories, happily playing with your older brother, Nikolai, and your shared nanny.

You turn to see Aleks still asleep. He looked so peaceful there, lying in the morning sunrise. The orange light illuminates his skin, making him glisten like a gem. He was a gem to you, the most precious, beautiful, perfect gem of the world in your eyes.

His eyes flutter open and he catches you staring. You blush as a smile spreads across his face. He reaches for you, pulling you back into bed and you let him. You trusted him with everything, your heart, your life, everything. He whispers in your ear, “Morning, Mrs. Morozova.”

You can feel his grin on your neck and you look back at him, “Mrs. Morzova is hungry right now, Mr. Morzova.”

He chuckles before shrouding the room in darkness. He grabs your wrist to amplify your new-found power, illuminating the once pitch-black room with stars. You both look in awe, completely and utterly amazed to see not only the beauty of your stars, but your respective stars and shadows mingling together, in harmony.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º° ▩ ∾

You head to breakfast with the rest of the camp and your skin prickles with the stares of everyone. You had forgotten about the marks Aleks had given you. You feel a hand on your back leading you to a fairly empty section by the stoked out fire. You know it’s Aleksander, you lean into his touch, and let him guide you.

Breakfast had a tension thick enough to cut with an axe. You slowly eat your food as Aleksander casually talks with Ivan beside him, leaving you swimming with awkwardness. You turn and talk to Fedyor, but you feel the eyes boring into the back of your head.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º° ▩ ∾

Once Breakfast is thankfully over, you start packing up to head back to the Little Palace. You knew Aleksander had duties and you wanted to move out of the Main Palace as soon as possible.

The trek back home was easy, simple. It was actually quite calming, you grin every time you see a flower. You had studied them for hours as a child, continuing far into your adulthood, ever the anthophile. But you were still nervous, you had to face your parents not only about the failed Fjerdan engagement and your marriage to Aleksander, but about your powers as well.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º° ▩ ∾

When you're back at the Little Palace, Aleksander immediately tells the servants to move your belongings into his, or your now shared chambers. You follow him into his war room, wanting to relax after the ride home. Aleks asks for tea before sitting down on a chair he’s had for years. The leather worn from both of you napping in it after a long day of Aleks’ work.

You climb into his lap and wait for the tea. He cuddles you and grads a purple and black blanket to lay over the two of you. The tea arrives and you guys sip the tea in silence, enjoying each other’s company. But your mind is racing a million miles a second, because what are you going to do about your powers? And more importantly, what are you going to do about your parents?

Your mind snaps out its trance as Aleks exclaims, “Anybody call a doctor!”

You turn to look at him and he’s grinning before saying “I’m a thousand degrees in love.”

You smile at each other. In a soft, sweet, domestic way. You were in love and you were going to cherish every second of it.

∾ ▩ °º❤️º° ▩ ∾

A/N:

Hey guys! This is the third chapter of Aleksander Morozova series, I'm writing this while collaborating with @lost-tothe-centuries! I have been swamped with classes so I am sorry for the wait. We'll, lemme know what you think. Also, always remember that my DMs and requests are always open if you wanna talk. Love y'all! Mwah!

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #he is literally the love of my life uugggghhh

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

Text

Playing with Fire

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

As the age-old saying goes, “if you play with fire, be prepared to get burned”! Will Idia and Ace be able to withstand the chef forged in the flames of hell’s kitchen?

asdhbasildsb PRETEND LIKE THIS ISN'T BEING PUT OUT AFTER THE EVENT 😭 (At least I'm all caught up on Master Chefs now...)

Imagine this…

"Alright, let's start cookin'!"

"HOLD IT!! Where do you think you’re going, Trappola?!”

"Gack!" Ace felt himself being yanked back by the collar, forcing the air out of him. The Ramshackle Prefect had him in a formidable grip—one rivaling that of Riddle's iron fist. "What's the big deal, stoppin' a guy from makin' a meal?"

A drawn-out sigh came from behind Gordon. “Fwehehe… Leave it to Ace-shi to solo-rush the boss battle… He's the type to button mash to skip past the tutorial and jump straight into things."

Annoyance surged up, and Ace spat out his heated words. "Oi, can it! Least I'm not shaking in my boots before getting anywhere NEAR the kitchen!"

“Not looking like that you aren’t.” Gordon flicked the first year’s chef’s hat, setting it askew. “Fix your hair! We don’t want any of it getting into the food.”

“Yeees, sir,” Ace groaned with an eye roll.

Gordon glanced at Idia, taking in the few hair clips he had scrounged up to clip his bangs back.

“You, Shroud!” Gordon snapped at him. “All your hair’s got to go up.”

“E-Eh…? All of it? B-But Ace-shi doesn’t have to! Th-This is gamer discrimination!!”

“Are your ears not working? Yes, I said ALL of it.” Gordon pointed to the blue flames that sprouted from the dorm leader’s scalp. “It has nothing to do with your hobbies, you’re a walking fire hazard!! What’s going to happen when a drop of oil hits you?”

“B-But my hair doesn’t even behave like regular fire does…” Idia mumbled, earning a glare from his instructor. “E-Eeep!! I-I got it, I’ll do it already!!”

“Oh, how the tables turn,” Ace sniggered as he secured the last of his bangs. The rest of his hair was too short to maneuver under his hat, spiking out on either side of his head.

“Alright, I’m gonna go ahead! Smell ya later, senpai!” He threw a wink and a wave at Idia before prancing into the kitchen.

The cheek and cheer made Idia cringe. What little motivation he had for this class wilted down to cinders.

He sniffed and mournfully did away with his hair, tucking every last bit of blue out of sight. When he at last dragged himself to the kitchen entryway, he hesitated on stepping through.

Haunting memories plagued his mind—the booming demands, the door being bashed down with fists and frying pans. Two monstrous men hovering above him as he cowered in a ball. The darkly easygoing expression on Floyd, Sebek in an imposing, militant stance, glaring down at him.

“Oi, Firefly Squid-senpai. This all the noodles you got? You’d better tell the truth or else Crocodile-chan and I will squeeze you senseless~”

Idia's fingers trembled terribly at the thought. Clamminess collected on his palms. The room seemed to spin

Gordon materialized by his frozen student's side.

“In you go then!” He gave a firm smack on Idia’s back, propelling him stumbling forward.

Ace, already at his station, looked up from inspecting bell peppers. A rainbow of red, orange, yellow, and green filled several baskets-but when he saw Idia, the peppers’ bright colors paled to Ace's massive grin.

“BAHAHAHAHAH!!” The first year keeled over, unable to contain his laughter. One arm cradled his stomach to keep himself from collapsing, the other pointing a knife at his upperclassman. “YOU TOTALLY LOOK BALD!!"

Idia flushed, shrinking into his chef's uniform. Were his hair visible, the flames would have, no doubt, been tinged pink with embarrassment.

"S-Sure, go for the low blow and pick on the guy whose character looks like crap in the event exclusive armor... This is why I wanted to send my tablet for this course instead of coming in person!!"

"Not bloody likely."

Idia stiffened at their instructor's voice, and the sharp clap that followed it. The sound echoed like static tracing along his scalp. His culinary nightmares had only just begun.

"If you've got the time to fuck around, you have time to cook. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, you two!"

Gordon Ramsay made sure to plant himself squarely between Ace and Idia's work benches. Knowing what chaos the kitchen grounds could breed, he didn't want to take any chances by leaving either or unsupervised. Not again, not after so many sessions with NRC's various problem children.

Chop, chop, chop...

"Groan..."

How many times have I taught this course by now? Gordon mused to himself, dragging a hand over his face. The horrors he had witnessed brought back the beginnings of a migraine, the slow simmer of rage.

Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop...

"Groooan..."

They aren't all bad kids, he thought. Some were just misunderstood, overeager, or lacking the technical abilities. Patience, Gordon, patience. They're children. They have plenty of room to grow.

Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop…

"GROOOOOOOOOOAN!!

He snapped.

“… Trappola, your task is to cut the bell peppers, not to complain as you do it!!" Gordon bellowed with a huff.

"But teeeach," Ace whined, "there's so many veggies!! Why do I have to be the one to chop them all, anyway? Just cuz it's easy doesn't mean I like doing this, y'know!! My hand hurts, it's totally cramping!"

"You have the talent to make them the same size and shape. That will help the peppers cook more evenly once we throw them on the heat." Gordon pointed to another basket full of peppers. "So suck it up!"

“Can’t you make Idia-senpai split this work?! He’s barely doing anything on his own anyway, and a cute little underclassman like me sure could use the extra helping hand!”

Gordon deadpanned.

“What?! I am cute,” Ace insisted, “and I wasn’t joking about wanting that helping hand.”

“And you’re not getting it.”

"Uggggh, fiiiiine.”

Ace unenthusiastically returned to his chopping board. As he brought his knife down, bisecting a crimson pepper, his expression lightened with a realization. “Hey, you know what? With so many peppers lying around, I could cram an extra helping of it into Deuce’s portion!!”

Gordon frowned. “… Is that seriously what’s motivating you?”

“Haha, yup 🎵”

What a fast turnaround. Perked right up.

“All I need now’s a dish that’s easy to hide peppers in! What should I go with? A soup? Stir fry? Oh, ooor I could do an omelet—the ultimate betrayal!” He snickered in a self-congratulatory manner. “Deuce won’t ever know what hit him!!”

The master chef heaved a sigh and glanced at Idia’s station, leaving Ace to his mise en place. “And how are you doing over there, Shroud?”

Idia jumped at the mention of his name. His fingers, sticky and (aptly) peppered with pepper seeds, were fumbling with measuring spoons.

"I-I'm fine..."

"Well, what's taking you so long? In the same time Trappola's knocked out a few crates, you've been standing around twiddlin' your thumbs."

"S-So what if my stat growth is a little slower than Ace-shi's?! Cut me some slack here, this process couldn't be more inefficient if it tried!!"

Idia furiously shook his head. "It'd all be done by now if I had a machine to throw together a meal... instead, I have to tediously measure spices by hand and deal with this stuffy place. These steps could all be automated."

Gordon snorted, unimpressed with the dour attitude. "If everything were automated, you'd be putting a lot of people out of their passions."

"Jobs," Idia corrected. "You mean their jobs."

"No, I mean their passions," Gordon shot back. "A fire burns because it has fuel, and passions exist because of the spirit behind them. That's something no A.I. could replicate."

"Hihihihi..." A smug, challenging smile emerged on Idia's blue lips. "Try telling that to Ortho. Bet he could perfectly recreate any recipe you throw at him in record time. Think you could honestly take him? Heh, bring it."

“You certainly changed your tone quickly—but if you can talk like that about your own creation, then I’d better see that same energy in your dish.” The closest pan was gripped and handed to a slack-jawed Idia.

“B-B-But…!!”

“Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

Gordon was already at the stove, cranking up the heat. A circle of flames erupted from the burner. In the glow of the fire, Gordon appeared not human, but like a demon chef from hell.

“I-I wasn’t built for this!!” Idia wailed in protest, only to have a spatula at him.

His instructor’s response was blunt and full of snark. “Perfect opportunity for you to ‘get good’, then. There’s no teacher like experience.”

Idia struggled to produce a counter argument—but his mind was moving fasting than his body. Gordon had seized the arm with the pan by the wrist and guided it to the stove, adding a splash of oil to it. The third year flinched as heat crept onto his skin.

“Peppers in, and cook until tender!!” Gordon ordered. "If you can’t take this much, you won't last long in my kitchen!"

Idia fearfully obeyed, tossing in a few of the peppers he had just washed. The water droplets crackled upon contact, and—

Crackle, sssszzzt, POP!!

“E-EEEEEEeeEEeEP!!” Idia launched back, dodging the flecks of hot oil that sprayed at him. Cook until tender? The apprentice chef would be tenderized sooner than the vegetables would!

“Hoo, boy. This is gonna be a looong class,” Ace muttered from his station. "Dude has no chill at all..."

“Haven’t I suffered enough?! J-Just put me out of my misery alreadyyyy!!”

“We’ve only just started, boys!!” Gordon barked. There was no mistaking the blazing passion in his composure and in his eyes. “Put your backs into it!! I’ll make men out of you yet!!”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Idia Shroud #Ace Trappola #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #disney twisted wonderland #Gordon Ramsay #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #Gordon Ramsay in Twisted Wonderland #something no one asked for #imagine this #beyond the looking glass #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #can’t believe we’re now 16 students in to Master Chef #SORRY FOR ALSO GETTING THIS OUT LATE BUT AT LEAST IT'S NOT DURING ANOTHER MASTER CHEF THAT I HAVE TO ACCOUNT FOR #if twst won't give me bald!Idia then I will make it happen myself.

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theharrowing · 1 year

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An Ghealach

Field Linguist Jimin Park travels to a remote island called An Ghealach off the coast of Ireland to research and document an endangered language, just in time for the community’s Beltane festivities. What he encounters is both horrifying and mesmerizing beyond his wildest dreams.

🌑 Jimin x Female Reader 🌒 word count: 9k 🌓 speculative horror, gore, major character death, dub con, smut, nsfw, 21+ 🌔 warnings: 🕊 dead dove! creepy folk horror themes (shapeshifting, human sacrifice), unable to tell dreams from reality, gore (mention of entrails, mention of bleeding someone dry, cutting palm and drinking/smearing blood), dubious consent (use of magic to put into a trance & coerce), angst, infidelity (mention of an engagement), smut (voyeurism & exhibitionism, oral & vaginal sex, a bit of ass eating, rough sex, holding of throat, blood licking, a little biting, forest sex, a need to be cum inside of), nickname "pet", major character cloning & off-screen death. 🌕 note: hello, and welcome to my fun little Beltane horror fic! appearance of reader in this fic shifts, and is therefore described. sometimes she has pale skin, other times dark, purposefully left vague aside from hair and occasionally eye detail. this story is a bit rushed because of yoongi concert week and final exams happening in the same month; i had a lot of ideas, but the time just kept creeping up and up and up, and here we are, at the end of May!

🌖 i also made a lot of shit up in terms of the magic, left a lot of shit vague, and did not worry much about whether things make any sense, so...go into this with a grain of salt; this is not meant to reflect any real Beltane rites or rituals, even if certain things (like the maypole) sound familiar. it is also not meant to depict a real place or a real dialect of a language. the Gaelic words are meant to feel wrong and strange because this place is wrong and strange. (a friend of mine who is Irish & a linguist helped me with the words; i promise you, the intent is to feel wrong.) enjoy!

🌗 mc goes by the name Rí; Jimin's pov appears in italic paragraphs

🌘 written for A Spring Offering Collab! check out the other works! 🌑 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🌒posted may. 2023 | read on ao3

Cross his heart, hope to die Hang his entrails, bleed him dry

He is Here. He is here. Heard, have you? He is here.

The women of the island chirp and coo at one another, heads tilted inward, as if sharing a profound secret. Their voices are low but lilted with excitement, and the language in which they whisper is old – nearly extinct.

Your footfalls crunch through grass that has hardly seen rain – unseasonably dry, despite the air holding onto a thick, shrouding dampness. Soon, the sun will stay risen for more than eight hours, and, if this summer is bountiful, the clouds will open up and shower your island with abundance.

Seen the man, have you? They whisper, unused to men from outside the confines of the island; unused to skin darker than porcelain. No outsider has stepped foot permanently on this land since your father had, all those years ago; only mysterious strangers who last as long as the holiday allows.

Strange, his name is. They whisper. And the sun, his skin shines with deep hints of its rays.

"Girls," you call in a tongue that whisps through your lips, wind fluttering between delicate petals, ancient. "Our manners, let us not forget."

"Our manners, Rí," the women respond in a chorus, pulling their expressions straight, only to begin giggling the moment they think you are no longer listening.

Bright orange hair falls in tight curls to your shoulders, which are exposed to the sunlight. You wear a white long-sleeve chemise that rests mid-bicep and is tied loosely in the front over perky cleavage. Your emerald green bodice sits under-breast and opens to a long emerald skirt that falls to your bare feet over a hoop skirt made of layers of cloth.

Your girls are dressed much more simply in white chemise dresses and underpants. Some wear modest green or burgundy bodice dresses, and some wear plain white or black cloth shoes.

The propellers on the white aquatic plane whirr as you approach, and you hear two male voices speaking loudly over its engine. One man, dressed head-to-toe in a white pilot uniform, docks with the help of four of your women, and he exits the small aircraft.

After a pause, another man appears wearing a tan blazer over a white tee that is tucked into fitted blue jeans, with a black leather belt and black boots. Around his neck, a white kerchief is tied, and his hair is coiffed delicately off his forehead, casting a beautiful wave of silvery-blond that hardly blows in the winds coming from the sea. He looks as if he is dressed for a weekend getaway to somewhere far more exotic than here, and you find it absolutely adorable. He is more petit than you anticipated – average height and slender – but what stands out the most is the man's face.

Even from this distance, the man is breathtaking. His full lips pout as he straightens himself out, and he seems surprised and apologetic when the girls begin to assist with his things, pulling suitcases from the plane.

At his shocked expression and attempts to communicate with precious creatures who do not speak a common tongue, you make your way forward, holding your many skirts in hand so your feet do not trip. As soon as you approach and begin to shout to the girls to be careful, the man's eyes lift, lips part, and you watch the moment he notices you, deeply breathing in and holding it while you speak.

"Girls, girls," you call in the ancient tongue, "handle gently."

As his things are brought to the pier, the man begins to organize them. Everything is on wheels, and he must deem a certain suitcase more important than the others, taking it by its extending handle and dragging it to dry land first. There is a short set of steps between the path and the pier, and you walk down and reach a hand out to offer help.

"Thank you," the man mutters, seemingly uncertain whether you are one of the many who do not speak English.

"You must be Jimin Park," you say, reaching for the handle and watching as recognition and relief paint his pretty features.

Up close, Jimin is a thing out of fairytales. Wide, dark eyes glance curiously at the landscape, and each curve of his face is soft and delicate, despite his profile being sharp lines. An anomaly of beauty, carved with careful hands.

Jimin guesses at your name and you nod, flashing a sweet, welcoming smile – you had been the one corresponding with him before his arrival. He must relax, because as you begin to tug for his suitcase to lift it up the three short wooden steps, his hold loosens, and he eventually allows you to take it, only letting his gaze linger a moment before he turns to grab more of his things.

You help him with his belongings – four black cases in total – and each of you take two to wheel down the dirt path past the open field, along the edge of the woods that peeks out into the village, to the inn that sits ahead, to the left. Although your home is in the woods, you have prepared a room in the inn, sharing a wall with Jimin.

The village is quaint. There are a few homes at the far end of the walk, along a stretch of foothills. A town hall rests between the homes and the inn, and there is a small store room holding onto all imported wares, farmed goods, and hunted items. To the right is all forest until the cliffs open up to the vast ocean, and on the other side of the wood, village elders live out their days, never minding what you and girls do on this side, so long as their bellies stay full and hearths stay ablaze.

"Have you lived here your entire life?" Jimin asks slowly, annunciating each word with precision. There is a hint of his own accent giving the English a very pretty lilt.

"Nearly," you respond, eyes slowly wandering from the inn, sweeping the small hints of village that come into view, landing on the forest. "My parents arrived when I was little, but my mother was born here. The island is in my blood."

"And you are the only person here who speaks English?" Jimin asks, voice a bit shaky and hesitant.

As you turn to gauge his expression, you find hints of anxiety. You wonder if Jimin is not the kind of person who likes to seek the help of others; if, perhaps, you will have to be assertive in offering assistance with everything he may need.

"I am," you respond with a smile, "which means you and I are going to become quite well acquainted, Jimin Park."

Over dinner on the first night, Jimin opens up about growing up in South Korea and attending university both at home, and in the United States. As girls come to fill your plates with more cured meats, he notices that they call you Rí.

Jimin is an inquisitive fellow, whose pretty dark eyes are wide and curious – and somewhat glossy after two cups of honey wine – and you smile with feigned shyness, nodding your head demurely when he asks you about the nickname.

"It means king," you tell him with a grin.

"Ah," Jimin responds with a growing smile of his own. "So are you their king?"

With a chuckle, you shrug and say, "I suppose I am. We have elders but they live on another part of the island. I'm the one who takes care of the girls."

"And the hunting and farming?" Jimin asks.

"Much of our bounty is from the autumn equinox," you admit shyly, vaguely. "We had an abundant winter."

"Wow," Jimin responds curiously. "Good weather last year?"

It was luck that two cops came snooping around the island just before Samhain; their blood was the perfect offering to the old gods. With their entrails strung up, dangling from the trees, and slowly drip-draining into the grass below, the skies shined favorably through the cold season, and wild animals practically skittered and galloped happily into your traps.

"Yes," you respond simply, smiling fondly at the memory of the two transmuted squirrels who were sent home in the men's stead with nothing to report on but normal goings-on, on the island.

Magic of that caliber works best on the holidays, when the passages are open and the power from the other side covers your island like a rich fog, sparking it to life with intrinsic energy. A shame you used that power to create two men of the law, but the last thing your little homestead needs is more blue-capped guards snooping around for their missing men.

With the perfect specimen for this year's festival sitting beside you, your excitement shimmers, vibrating under your skin and making the air around you feel charged. You had hoped that, being as young as he is, you would be sent someone without a spouse, making it easier to fall under your spell – buying you a little time before having to clone the poor guy and send him back.

A shame that this season's sacrifice not only comes with a gold engagement band around his finger, but is so dreadfully pretty that you almost lament the thought of watching the light drain from his eyes.

But the land is hungry, and feed, she must.

“Cross his heart, hope to die. Hang his entrails…will he have pretty entrails, do you think?” you sing-song, lifting a handsome red squirrel in both hands, holding it eye-level to inspect. It had come to your window at the stroke of midnight, cheery and pliant.

An offering from the land.

A host.

“What a shame I can’t just keep him for myself,” you muse, considering the fact that you were able to transmute two men before. “Perhaps I will have to make a second clone, this time. Can you bring me a friend?”

The sound of thumping is what wakes Jimin up. At first, he thinks it may be a tree branch tap, tap, tapping against the window. But as sleep falls away to wakefulness, he realizes the sound must be coming from the other side of the wall.

Your wall.

Falling asleep was difficult, in the first place. Something about the island, and especially the inn, feels incredibly ominous, like there is a presence looming just out of the peripheral, never fully seen. And the scent that you carry – spiced cloves and fresh bouquet of wildflowers – lingered in the air, filling his head with thoughts of you.

Now, as he blinks through the darkness, he wonders if he had slept a wink, at all.

Jimin rolls over, attempting to ignore the sounds in favor of getting more sleep, noticing in his brief moment of wakefulness that it is still pitch black outside. But then he hears it…humming…low and inviting, causing all the little hairs on his arms to stand at attention.

Somewhat mindlessly, Jimin pushes the thick quilted blanket away and climbs out of bed, heavy-lidded and barely aware of his surroundings in the mostly-empty room. Golden lantern light glows in through the window, allowing him to see ahead of him just enough to make a clear path toward the sound.

In his dreamy haze, Jimin imagines voices whispering – beckoning him forward. Come to me, they say, tangling and slipping over one another, mostly incomprehensible flits of lips, teeth, and tongue, spoken too softly to truly be fully heard.

Jimin places his hands against the wall, presses his ear against the wood, and listens. The humming continues, muffled delicately by the layers that separate it from him. Is it Rí, he wonders.

As he continues to listen, his eyelids flutter closed. The thumping sound is rhythmic and soft, and the humming has shifted into something more sensual. Moaning, perhaps? Whimpering, even? He feels entranced by it and presses harder against the wall, feeling the cool wood against his cheek gradually heat, until his breath huffs out sticky-warm against it.

Come to me, Jimin, he is certain he hears in a voice that can only be yours. Don't be shy.

He feels drunk and loose-limbed, rubbery and pliant, and he sways his hips to the inviting song, dragging his blunt fingernails over the wall. The humming – the moaning – it intensifies, drawing his breath ragged, forcing small sounds of his own to come falling past his lips. His body feels electric – charged with a current that runs ultraviolet through his bloodstream, desperate for more, picking up hints of spiced clove and musky floral notes.

With a crescendo of whimpers, the thumping quickens and abruptly ends, and Jimin gasps, waking from his stupor, stumbling listlessly from the wall and wiping drool from his face. His head feels hazy as he blinks and turns, taking in the dark room and wondering what kind of dream he was just having.

In the quietude of the night, he stands still and listens. Had he imagined hearing something before? Was it all a dream? Only the scent of the trees below his cracked-open window fills the space, but he inhales deeply in search of something more.

Silence settles, heavy but somehow light, and he sighs, runs a hand through his damp silver-blond hair, and returns to the bed, trying his best to ignore the ache in his pants – hard and neglected.

"Not tonight," he whispers, scolding himself. Not over the thought of you. Not when he has someone waiting for him back home.

"Sleep well?" you ask at the sight of Jimin exiting the inn.

He wears a black tee tucked into black fitted jeans, with his black belt and shiny black leather boots, and you smile to yourself, both over the simplicity of it all, and from how much he stands out in a place like this.

Although denim is not frowned upon in the village, and is worn often by the elders on the other side of the island, the girls love to dress up in renaissance-reminiscent clothing and make believe that every day is a fairytale. After all, on An Ghealach, it can be.

You are modestly outfitted in a white chemise dress that is cinched at the waist, with an undershirt to hold your breasts in place, and simple cloth white shoes. Your straight, black hair falls waist-length, braided intricately away from your face, letting the sun hit your deep-golden skin.

"I slept alright," he responds, voice rough from disuse.

Jimin smiles softly, and you check for any glimmer that he has noticed the shifting of your appearance, of the outside of the inn, of the stone path that stretches around the forest edge. When Jimin smiles and asks if there is anything he can do to help set up for Beltane, seemingly unaware, you nod and lead the way.

"All there is to do today is prepare the land, which the girls have under control," you inform. "We can discuss phonemes in the meantime, if you have your equipment handy.”

With a wide smile, Jimin pulls a small recording device and notebook from his back pocket and holds them up. "Always prepared."

You chuckle and mutter, "Perfect," continuing along the path to the field where the girls are cutting the grass with old, metal devices on wheels, and gathering all the prettiest weeds and wildflowers to fashion into crowns.

Jimin makes good company, curious and open-minded without asking too much. You can see in the way he watches the girls that there is so much he would like to know – can read each question that flits over his eyes, only to be blinked away. Where did they come from? Why do none of them speak English? Where are the men? These are questions that just hang for brief seconds at the tip of his tongue but that he never works up the courage to ask.

Perhaps he knows it is best not to know. Perhaps some part of him is aware of the horrors that might lurk behind the corner of posing one question too many.

The two of you spend the day discussing vowels, consonants, and syntax. His grasp on modern dialects of Irish Gaelic is enough that he instantly begins to draw similarities between those and the older language spoken on the island.

And as the sun moves from burning hot overhead to sinking beneath the horizon, moving your studies into the inn's tavern, you find yourself scooting close on the bench while offering more honey wine to your eager, beautiful guest.

Jimin has never sleepwalked before. In fact, he tends to lay so still that often, his neck and limbs are sore the next morning, popping as he stretches in an attempt to get the blood flowing adequately.

So when he opens his eyes to find himself standing barefoot in the woods, hands outstretched toward the trunk of a tree, he yelps and jumps backward, nearly fumbling to his butt.

“What the fuck,” Jimin mutters to himself as he glances around, eyes becoming more alert.

The woods are nearly pitch dark, save for the bright glow of the waxing gibbous moon shining through the trees. What luck, he thinks, that the clouds are scarce tonight.

Although there is no foreseeable path, the ground appears mostly clear of thick brush. Jimin turns and makes his way out, careful not to step too hard, gently shuffling his bare feet outward with each step, avoiding sticks and rocks as best as he can.

Fear simmers just below Jimin’s skin. He attempts not to spiral, telling himself that he could not have possibly walked far. His blue flannel pajamas are warm, but thin enough that the chilly night air would likely have woken him quickly. And so, onward he presses.

A flickering yellow flame glows through trees ahead, just to the left, and Jimin lets out a deep sigh of relief as he changes course. Although he is pleased to be making his way back to civilization, his new worry is being disruptive as he walks back through the old, creaky inn. He does not want to disturb Rí, who he imagines must be asleep at this hour.

Despite the island being mostly covered in dense forest, the night is surprisingly quiet. Eerily so. Even in the daytime, insects and rodents are lively to the point of seeming cacophonous. How is it possible for everything to be so…still?

The sound of a particularly loud stick snapping – not underfoot but ahead – has Jimin tensing and freezing with fear. He holds his breath while his shoulders raise to his ears, trying his hardest not to be detected, until smoked clove hits his senses, and—

“Jimin!” you call softly, certain that his fear has spiked nearby, radiating like heavy, bright fumes between the birch trees.

And then you hear it, a soft, delicate voice, calling a tentative, “Rí?”

Ah, so the pretty thing is just ahead, and your plan to at least get him into the woods has worked without a hitch. You wonder what it was that snapped him out of his trance too soon. Next time, you think to yourself. You still have one more night to get him into the passage of his own volition.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, feigning worry and exasperation.

“Ah—“ Jimin begins, voice sounding somewhat closer. “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Is that something you do often?” you ask, holding the lamp higher.

Jimin’s pretty face comes into view, peeking from between a thin birch that separates you, and you smile wide and welcome, taking in the blend of fear and affection that wafts from his pores and surrounds you.

“No,” he responds softly, eyes wide and curious. “Never.”

“Strange,” you mutter, momentarily stuck in time and space from him standing so close to someone so dreadfully beautiful.

“Yeah,” he says soft as a whisper, blinking heavily before standing straight and rounding the tree.

You also straighten out and take two steps backward to give him room. When Jimin appears before you, your eyes drop to his bare feet, and you frown, making a mental note for the next time.

With skin shades darker and hair shorter than earlier, you wonder if Jimin catches onto the new appearance. But his face gives nothing away. So the spell is just as strong, even if he broke the call of the other side just before entering the passage. Interesting.

“How did you find me out here?” Jimin asks as you turn and lead the way back to the inn, searching the shifted dirt path for a believable excuse.

You slowly lead the way toward the inn, and Jimin quickly falls into step beside you. When you walked outside to follow your guest just moments ago, you had left doors open and lights on intentionally, and you raise a hand to point in the general direction of the building.

“I came out of my room and your bedroom door was wide open," you say. "The front door, as well. So I grabbed a lantern and ran outside; I figured you could not have gone too far.”

“Oh,” he responds, already sounding ashamed even from one syllable. “I’m so sorry.”

With an insistent shake of your head, you say, “Not at all. I am just glad I found you.”

“What if an animal, or—“ Jimin begins, but you cut him off.

“There is nothing on this island that we fear. Closed doors are only such to keep the cool air out where it belongs. In the temperate months, doors and windows are left wide open.”

You are the witch of the wood, after all. Nothing that lives and breathes on this isle exhibits an ounce of free will if you wish it otherwise. Which reminds you… Slowly, you will the creatures of the night to stir – a scurry here and a dance of wings there – gentle enough to keep Jimin from noticing.

Except he does notice. You can practically feel each hair on his body stand at attention the moment a squirrel is heard clawing up a tree, and you take a step just a little too far to the right, bumping into him softly with the hope of providing a bit of a distraction.

"S-sorry," Jimin mutters, rubbing his hands on his blue pajamas. He seems nervous. Cute.

"Lost my balance," you respond, shaking your head with a gentle chuckle. "It is past bedtime, I am afraid."

"Sorry again for the trouble," Jimin says as you reach the inn, passing through the threshold and stopping just at the foot of the stairs.

You turn to Jimin and give a soft, sympathetic gaze.

"It is no trouble at all," you mutter sweetly, smile saccharine. "I'm just glad I was able to find you."

Jimin hums, nods, and says, "It won't happen again," with a light bow of his head, then makes his way up the stairs, dirt-dusted feet falling quietly on each step until he is down the hallway, past your room, and closing his door softly behind him.

The look of wonderment on Jimin's face really is something. As you walk through the small town, past the stretch of woods in which you found him last night, he keeps turning his gaze back to the trees. Is he wondering what it is he was doing there when he woke up from sleepwalking? Is he curious what drew him to that spot?

You watch his micro-expressions as his brows knit and he wets his lower lip with just the tip of his tongue. He had been mid-sentence before, trailing off the moment you approached the spot through which he emerged.

Jimin's gaze drifts to you, and he seems shy suddenly, cracking a soft smile while blush rises to his cheeks. Once you pass the wooded area and come up to the opening of the field, he seems a little more present.

"Sorry," he mutters, and you continue to study him, noticing how his shyness seems to steadily build the more you watch him.

"Has something caught your eye?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder toward the line of trees.

A dark mist pulsates between the slender, white and brown trunks and branches, beckoning with tendrils that billow out and evaporate – yearning for the pretty man with the soft smile. Soon, you want to tell it. Be patient.

"Ah," Jimin mutters, scratching the back of his head with his face scrunched as if searching for a memory. "I guess I feel a little strange about sleepwalking last night. How did I end up in the woods, of all places?"

You hum in understanding and say, "The wood calls to us all, I suppose."

Without giving Jimin much time to dwell on your words, you hold out your hand and point him to where, in the center of the open field, some of the girls are setting up a maypole, and others are building a tall triangle of logs in the center of a stone circle.

Jimin takes out his small recording device and field notebook, and you begin to describe the scene before you in a mix of English and the ancient tongue, carrying your studies through the evening and into the early night.

In the woods again.

Jimin stares down at his hands covered in dirt and wonders how he has managed to sleepwalk two nights in a row. He stands with his shoulders slumped forward, bent slightly at the knee with an arm outstretched as if he was reaching for something before waking up. In front of him is the u-shaped opening between two thick tree trunks. Or is it the same tree? Jimin cannot quite tell – too difficult to parse in the dark – and he tucks the information away to ask Rí about later.

He would be freaked out, only the smell of the wood – rich, earthy, and damp, with the sweet, musky smell of blooming flowers – feels calming now that he is confident that he can find his way back. He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to wipe his hands on his pajama pants.

The walk back to the inn is short, and although there is no path where he is, a golden lantern glow flickering past the thin birch trunks guides him. As twigs snap underfoot, he notes that he took the time to put his sneakers on before sleepwalking, relieved to not be barefoot again.

Jimin thinks he can hear faint sounds of voices – whispering, or, perhaps, chattering. Maybe singing. The island inhabitants certainly are an interesting bunch. He supposes that being far from modern civilization and with minimal technology would make people behave a little strangely. With Rí being the exception.

Something about you seems…different. And not just because of your appearance. There is an aura about you that feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps in the way you carry yourself. Jimin finds himself intrigued by you...he wants to know more…

"Right there," you sigh in a tongue as rich and ancient as the soil, tilting your head back to reveal more of your neck, switching to English. "Feels so good, little pet. Don't stop."

His kisses are tentative and shaky, but he grips onto your hips with purpose, pressing his chest firmly against your back to hold you steady. Golden lantern light flickers through the curtains, one long, bright glow of a lamp that hangs just below your window, signaling that your friend is awake and that he has not entered the passage.

The woods are calm tonight, seeing Jimin swiftly return to tilled earth without interference. It is only a matter of time before he breaks through the forest edge, and you huff impatiently. Tomorrow is your last shot; you will need to beckon him with a blood ritual.

You reach for the ties on your chemise and begin to pull them open, but your pet takes over, raising his hands to deftly do the work while his lips and teeth drag over your neck, sending a small but steady tingle of arousal through you as the sticky-sweet huffs of breath warm your skin. With the top undone, his hands freeze in place, and you yank the fabric open, exposing your breasts as they fall past the thin white material.

"Touch me," you sigh, needy. "Touch me the way he desires to."

On your command, his hands cup your breasts eagerly, fondling your nipples until the skin is pebbled and sensitive, making you hiss with pleasure. Your dress falls down one shoulder and he sinks his teeth gently into the skin, sending a flow of electricity through your body, exiting in the form of a moan.

You tremble and tilt your head further to the side, giving his mouth more room to explore while his hands fall lower, attempting to gently lift the cotton layers of skirt and farthingale hoops before impatiently taking handfuls of the garments and shoving them up, over your hips.

Clear of the woods, Jimin moseys along the path, in no rush to return to his room, enjoying the crisp but warm night air. Something about tonight feels ominous, and he tips his head toward the sky, noticing a bright moon shining back. Is it full, he wonders. It must be, given the way it glows past the thin sheets of cloud, illuminating his path even more so than the lantern light that hangs from the inn.

As he approaches the inn, Jimin glances up, noticing light coming from one of the windows on the second floor. He wonders if it is the room you stay in, and what you might be doing awake at this hour.

Gravel and dirt crunch underfoot, quiet and calming as he walks down the path. Shadows seem to dance over the window above, and Jimin finds himself gazing upward. Briefly, he thinks he sees the appearance of palms pressing into the window, halting his steps. But the glass is frosted, and he cannot clearly see through.

Shame travels up Jimin's neck as he gets his bearings, realizing he had been trying to peer through someone's window. He shakes his head and takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air as he presses forward.

Voices continue to chatter and sing, but Jimin does not see where they are coming from. Rather, the sounds seem to be lifting and floating with the wind, settling around him on all sides only to slip away into the night. Despite feeling fully awake mere moments ago, shivering against a chilly gust that blows his hair into his eyes, there is a heavy sense of drowsiness that begins to tug at him, pulling him forward, as if willing his feet to take each new step, craving his bed.

The man behind you grips your hips tightly, then sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down to your ass as he lowers. He grabs firmly and spreads you, causing you to fumble forward and place both hands against the glass. Below, Jimin glances upward, attention caught by the movement. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this – breasts exposed and mouth parted with surprise.

Perhaps it is the way eagerness and curiosity emit from Jimin, or how your own excitement from being touched has mewls and gasps falling from your lips, but the man digs his tongue eagerly into your ass, slurping and sucking over your hole, sending a steady wave pleasure and arousal coursing through you.

"That's it, pet," you whimper, nails scraping down the glass as you get your bearings. "Don't stop."

The man attempts to bend you further, tongue trailing down to your cunt, in search of your clit, but bending more would be too precarious, especially with the layers of material gathered, making it tough to move. He shuffles back instead and takes you by the hips to spin you roughly, causing you to yelp as you attempt to get your bearings and not fall over.

When you look down at the man – the imposter that was spawned from the flesh and blood of a mature red squirrel, crafted perfectly to look just like him – you gasp.

His plump lips are slick, glistening, and soft, reddened by the dim lamplight, and his short, silver-blond hair is a mess as he stares up with an eagerness that has you burning with desire. Ordinarily, you keep the clone for a bit; play with them a little until you have to wash their memories of you and send them home. But staring down at an imitation of Jimin just makes you want him – the real deal.

“Please,” you mutter, breathy and aroused. “Don’t hold back.”

The imposture rakes his blunt fingernails up your thighs, sending a shiver through you that escapes with a gasp, and he leans forward, eagerly lapping over your cunt with his tongue. It feels charged and galvanic – a hum that vibrates in your bloodstream on a low but steady frequency.

As your head lolls back you hear a gentle footfall on the bottom step.

Jimin finds it odd that your light is on at this hour. He hopes that somehow his absence from the inn has not awakened you again, and he does his best to tiptoe up to the landing.

It is soft, but he hears what sounds like a moan coming from your room, and he freezes, foot suspended in air just before your doorway, which is cracked open two enticing inches. A sliver of golden light casts a streak against the otherwise dark hallway, and Jimin feels a pull to it, eager to have just a tiny peek.

A whimper of the words please don't stop has the hairs on his arms standing tall.

Come to me, Jimin, he thinks he hears the voice say lowly, inside his head. Don't be shy.

Jimin wills his feet to move – exerts all the force he can muster into taking three more steps ahead. And then he stops in the light that shines from within, and he looks.

Surely, he must be dreaming. There is no other way to explain how he is standing in the doorway to your room, watching as a man who has his exact same hair and body type devours you. Your legs are spread, one ankle over his shoulder, toes outstretched as you hold him close, and your bare breasts heave as you pant softly and beg him not to stop.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to watch. As your fingernails dig into the wooden edge of whatever the look-alike has you pressed against, you unravel from his mouth. His sounds are lewd and wet, slurping and humming in a low tenor that Jimin recognizes as his own, and arousal stirs between Jimin's legs. He grants himself permission to touch, just this once, gently grasping onto his erection and squeezing it over his pants.

Since this must be a dream, he allows himself to whimper from the warmth of his palm, eyelids flitting from pleasure as he listens to the man who looks just like him eat you out. He wonders what you must taste like – wonders if you would let him crawl in there on his hands and knees and try for himself.

The man stands, turns his head slightly to the side, and wipes his hand over his mouth, leaving a trail of slick behind. The jaw, the nose, the shape of the brow – he is a spitting image of Jimin. How Jimin is in two places at once, he does not know, but he keeps his eye on the man who undresses in a flash, displaying his own tattoos exactly where he remembers them, flexing familiar taut muscle that he has spent years building and maintaining.

When you wrap your leg around his hip and pull him close, your eyes find Jimin, gazing over his look-alike's shoulder, and he gasps, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. You shift before his eyes, hair turning black and then orange and then blonde, and he begins to question how you are supposed to look; he cannot remember your hair, nor eyes, nor skin, but nothing he sees now feels incorrect.

"That's it, Jimin," you moan, eyes trained on him, looking over the look-alike's shoulder, and causing his aching cock to twitch in his pants. "Don't stop."

Jimin squeezes his eyes closed tight, and when he wakes up suddenly in his bed, he gasps for air, covered in sweat. The heat from what he presumes had to be a dream covers him like a blanket, and he cannot stop himself from relieving the ache between his legs.

Guilt and shame do nothing to stave off just how hard he cums thinking about you.

"Just this once," he tells himself, whispered softly like a prayer. "Just this once."

Today, you have returned to the long, orange curls, with piercing green eyes. Shadow and light morph your skin tone with each passing step, as the full strength of the island's magic fills you from the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers and toes. When Whitman waxed poetic about the body electric, could this have been his meaning? Certainly not.

Beltane begins today.

Around the maypole, you and Jimin will dance, with a belly full of cured meats and a heady concoction of honey wine laced with blood and a generous dash of magic. But first, you must greet your sleepy guest, and you tiptoe to his bedroom door dressed only in a thin, white chemise dress with light blue embroidered hems, and rap your knuckles three times against the stained wood.

"Just a moment," Jimin mutters from the other side, sounding sleep deprived.

What must he have dreamt about after stumbling like a lust-sick zombie back to his bed to the sight and sound of his clone fucking you breathless? Did he come to in a cold sweat, gasping for air? Did he touch himself thinking of you?

When Jimin opens his door, he is dressed in a loose-fitting white cotton shirt hanging over matching cotton pants. Along each hem is an embroidered design of light blue rounded flourishes that match those on your dress, and on his feet are plain white shoes. You offered the clothing to him last night, to be worn for today's festivities, and you are pleased to find him outfitted in the attire.

His silver-blond hair is somewhat disheveled, and he has a hint of bags under his pretty, deep brown eyes. As he takes in your appearance, his petal-soft lips part, and you watch as his eyes linger here and there, as if tracing the faint outline of a memory, for split, fleeting moments.

"Good morning, sunshine," you tease, adding, "May the fires of Beltane light your path," with a gentle bow of your head.

When you glance up once more, Jimin is still staring, curious eyes glowing with a new spark that seems entranced and somewhat foggy. Here but also not. You allow him to stare until he begins to blink and shake his head, and then he smiles softly and returns your greeting with a hint of blush darkening his cheeks.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," he says with a slight bow to his head. "May the fires of Beltane light your path."

At the breakfast table, down in the decorated inn tavern, Jimin laments having no pockets for his recorder and field notebook. "What if there are things I want to make note of?" he pouts so cutely beside you.

"Today is a day for celebration," you insist, dropping a generous serving of spiced honey into his tea and scraping the wooden spoon against the porcelain just enough to make Jimin stir where he sits.

"For celebration," he responds in a tired, malleable haze.

Lust and curiosity pour from Jimin, covering him in a rich cloud. Each time you speak, his body shifts ever so slightly closer, gaze lingering on your lips and throat, flitting down to your breasts. Shameless, the way he does not seem to care that you take notice.

"My dear, did you sleep poorly last night?" you ask, trying not to tease, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks darken further and he heavy-blinks again and again.

"I had a dream I woke up in the woods again," Jimin responds, slowly reaching for his tea and raising it to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the sweetened chamomile and spice. "And then…you were there."

"In the woods?" you ask, tilting your head with feigned curiosity.

Jimin shakes his head. "In the inn. Your door was cracked open and I walked by. I saw you—"

Pulled from his trance just enough to mind his tongue, Jimin cracks a soft smile and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"My dreams have never quite been so lucid before," he continues after a quiet moment.

You hum in response and mutter, "Perhaps the magic of the wood is calling to you."

Jimin nods, slow and shallow movements, brows knitting a hair before he concedes to the notion. "Perhaps."

Jimin certainly is an eager man.

Eager to drink from the wineskins and learn all the steps to the harvest dance and dangle colorful ribbons from nearby trees. Eager to join the girls around the maypole and cast his wishes and fears and desires into the tall bonfire which licks at the stars above.

At nightfall, under the glow of the full moon, you slice open the palm of your hand with a stone dagger and allow droplets of blood to fall into his cup of magic-imbued wine. Jimin sits unaware, eyes glazed over as he watches nude bodies jump over the dying fire. You lick over your wound, tasting brassy warmth, and pass him his cup, which he grabs automatically to sip from.

"Enjoying yourself?" you ask, leaning close.

Jimin hums in response, downs his cup, and turns to you with wide, ever-eager eyes, hair sticking out on the sides from beneath a daisy crown.

"What have you done to me?" he mutters after a long moment, and you giggle in reply.

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching as his eyes travel to your lips and back up.

"I feel…" he begins, eyes widening as he gazes at the celebratory scene before him, then back at you again. "I don't know. High?"

Jimin searches your features, which shift in the flickering flame light, and he shakes his head lightly. "How do I feel so high?"

"Blood ritual," you respond with a grin, noticing as Jimin's face and scent alternate between fear, acceptance, and confusion – unsure where to land.

"Blood ritual?" he asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy.

With a nod, you lift your hand and begin to stand from the wooden bench, beckoning Jimin to follow you with your index finger. Blood trickles down from your palm to your wrist, tickling the skin.

"Your hand," Jimin mutters as he stands in a rush, stepping forward to inspect your wound.

"Follow me," you sing-song, taking large strides into the wood as the dripping red begins to stain your sleeve.

"Rí," Jimin mutters sadly, following dutifully with his eyes trained to your wrist, reaching out with limbs that are just slightly too slow to grasp. "you're hurt."

As your footfalls snap twigs and the world around you darkens under the cover of trees and long rainbow ribbons, you press yourself against a thick trunk and reach your uninjured hand out to grab onto Jimin's wrist and pull him close.

"Rí," Jimin pouts, "I can't—"

With a whispered, "Shh," you reach up and smear your spilled blood over Jimin's lips and chin, pulling a surprised gasp from his lungs.

"You're mine now," you say, and Jimin nods as he lunges forward, slotting a knee between your thighs as his hands lift to your chin to draw you close.

Jimin's lips are pillow-soft and tangy-sweet with blood and wine mingling deliciously. He moans as you open your mouth for him, and he eagerly licks inside, tasting and taking like a man starved.

Blood smears across his neck and into his hair as you pull him close, and he gasps and moans between your lips as his hands begin to untie your modest cloth dress and push it down past your arms, past your hips, to the forest floor.

"Need you," Jimin growls as his fingertips press harshly into hips and, waist and he lifts one of your legs to rest over his hip.

He shoves his pants down and in one swift movement, spears you on his hard cock, stretching you with a pleasure-pain that has you sobbing into the night. Jimin fucks you in a rough tangle of balanced limbs, skin slapping desperately against skin, and you clench around him, working yourself up as pleasure unfurls in rich tendrils through your bloodstream.

Once he cums inside you, there will be no going back. He will belong to you – to the land – and the passage to the other side will open up and swallow him whole.

But his hips still before he reaches his orgasm, and he pulls out and drops to his knees, making you whimper in confusion before clawing at the tree for stability from pleasure the moment he tastes you. Your eager pet was good at mimicking just how greedy and talented Jimin's mouth is, but pales in comparison to the real thing. Jimin hums and moans as his tongue laps at your cunt, devouring you while his fingertips sink into your soft flesh.

How can you sacrifice something so remarkable? Will the lands forgive you if you keep this one, just this once?

Pleasure builds and breaks suddenly, and you cum on Jimin's tongue, gasping and sobbing into the cool night air as the trees flutter and rejoice all around you. The air is effervescent, filled with power, engulfing and billowing around you, reaching its greedy fingers for your sacrifice as you ride your high, trembling on his soft, kiss-swollen lips.

When Jimin stands, covered in a pink smear of blood and your slick release, he yanks his borrowed white shirt over his head and throws it to the ground. You pull him into a kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth until only faint traces of your essence remain.

"Please," you whine as you spin and grip onto the tree, rubbing your ass against his throbbing cock. "Please, Jimin."

Never have you needed to be filled with the seed of a sacrifice so badly; never has the oxygen coursing through your bloodstream shimmered opalescent for someone like it does tonight.

Jimin lines himself up with your entrance and wraps one hand around your throat, sinking himself in slowly while manicured fingernails dig into your hip. The pleasure is white-hot intense, quaking through you as you tilt your hips backward, desperate to feel full.

"So tight," he groans as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward. "Been wanting you so bad."

You moan as Jimin slowly pulls out and roughly thrusts in, asking, "Yeah?" when you find that no other words are able to form.

"Feels like I'm going fucking crazy," Jimin groans, slowly pulling back and roughly snapping forward, back and forward, back and forward. "These woods…the blood…what are you doing to me?"

Before you can respond, Jimin's grip on your throat tightens, and he fucks you at a rough, quick pace, forcing air to punch from your lungs as arousal and pleasure ebb and ebb endlessly.

You scratch at the tree, ripping away chunks of bark while you lean your head against your wrists and try not to collapse under the treacherous, horrifying weight of euphoria as Jimin thrusts hard and deep, filling the night with the sounds of skin against skin and feral, animalistic grunts.

The hand on your hip reaches down between your legs, and as the pads of Jimin's fingers swirl deliciously over your clit, he growls, "Cum for me" into your ear.

Your walls pulsate and squeeze, and you follow his command, building and building your pleasure until you can no longer hold back, allowing the floodgates to burst as you cum once more.

"Fuck, that's it," Jimin moans with a drag of his lips and teeth over your shoulder and neck. "Feels so good. So fucking good. I'm so close."

"Cum inside me," you beg, desperate, squeezing around him with every last ounce of willpower you have.

As if having a sudden moment of clarity pulling him from your spell, Jimin quietly mutters, "Wait…I can't," against your shoulder, dropping his hand from around your throat.

"You must," you beg, petulance rising as Jimin's hips begin to slow and his whimpers die.

"What are we…" Jimin mutters softly, "I shouldn't be doing this."

With an exasperated huff, you pull away from Jimin, letting his cock slide out, then spin, resting your back against the tree once more. Jimin's eyes are wide and afraid as he takes you in, and he begins to glance around as if searching for a way out.

You reach the hand that remains covered in blood and drag it over one of your shoulders, scraping tiny pieces of tree bark against your skin as you tilt your head and say, "Have a taste."

Drawn by the scent of your blood, still under its spell, Jimin leans in close and drags his lips over your skin, chest lightly grazing over your hard nipples, and he hums as it fully takes over his senses once more. Jimin's fingers grip roughly at your hips, and you lift your leg, wrapping it around his hips and pulling him forward as you reach for his hard, slick cock and guide it back inside you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close while you adjust once more to the stretch – your pussy feeling used and sore. Jimin licks over your skin and begins to move his hips, and when he straightens out and fixes you with his dark gaze, he appears equal parts entranced with bliss, and afraid.

Jimin's eyes are somewhat absent of their full glaze when he thrusts forward, and you watch as slivers of doubt cast over his features. Although your magic is strong, the will of a man can be difficult to break, even on a holiday such as this, when the ritual is strongest.

But as you squeeze around him and let your scent of spiced clove and musky wildflowers fill the air, Jimin's pupils blow wide, and he leans forward, dragging his lips and teeth once more over your bloodstained skin.

As he sets a steady pace and chases his high, Jimin begins to suck and nip at your skin, huffing moans and groans while holding your ass firmly in two hands. Your body is tired and sore, back scratched, and hair matted from rough tree bark, but the pleasure overpowers, building like the clouds of an impending storm, thick and foreboding.

Cross his heart…

"Close," Jimin whimpers, and you tighten your leg around him, keeping him from pulling out as his hips thrust and quake unevenly.

"Come for me, Jimin," you command, sinking your fingernails into his shoulder while your other hand tugs at his soft, silvery hair and holds him close.

Hope to die…

Jimin mouths at your shoulder and neck, digging nails into your hips so hard you wonder if the skin might break. And then, with a desperate, almost pained groan, Jimin's hips still and then shake, and he fills you with his release.

Tendrils of fog wrap around each of Jimin's limbs, dancing over his throat, as the passage opens up and begins to swallow the two of you whole. Once he is on the other side, he can be prepared for sacrifice, and in the light of the morning sun, this land can drink of his blood.

Hang his entrails…

"Good boy," you mutter softly, as Jimin's teeth clamp down weakly, and he sobs through his orgasm, pressing his body into you as it convulses and quakes. "You've done so well."

"What—" Jimin mutters into your skin, then moans deeply as his cock continues to pulse and drain. "I can't s-s-stop."

"Shhh," you whisper softly, stroking blood-slicked silver-blond hair and pulling him close.

Jimin shivers as the smoke dissipates, skin sweat-sheened and shining in the bright moonlight, and you run your palms up and down his back. His body begins to give out, and he leans his weight into you, dropping slowly to the ground. Around you, the voices of the others – the inhabitants of this side – whisper, sing, and chant. As you assist Jimin to lay on the forest floor, exhausted from his journey to the other side, you kneel and then drape yourself over his chest, playing softly with his hair as you fall fast asleep.

Bleed him dry…

Dawn breaks as you stand tippy-toe, dangling dripping tissue and sinew from branch to low branch like a holiday garland.

"Pretty entrails, indeed," you beam as you take a step back, covered in dripping blood, to admire your work.

"Merry Beltane, Rí," Jimin's rich tenor greets you, just before two strong, warm arms wrap around your bare waist and pull you into a back-hug, skin against skin.

"Merry Beltane, pretty," you respond, turning your head to the side just enough to greet him with a soft, chaste kiss.

Upstairs, in the inn, a copy of the man sleeps soundly. Today is his last day on the island before his research is concluded, and you pull your nude, love-struck Jimin past the edge of the forest, where you will leave him with one last kiss before shifting the wood to appear normal and free of bloodied guts.

You bow your head to the land and thank it for the bountiful summer you will undoubtedly receive, then turn your head to the rising sun, and beg it with eyes closed to allow you to be greedy and keep a pet, just this once. At least until the long days shift to long nights, and, on the precipice of Lughnasadh or Samhain, a new eager stranger comes along.

comments & reblogs are the lifeblood of this site! and likes are nice, too! thank you so much for reading!!!

tags: no tag list for dead dove oneshots.

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #jimin horror #jimin angst #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #a spring offering collab #fic: an ghealach

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lvoryingrid · 7 months

Text

Healing Flames Chapter 15

Dabi x fem!Reader

Notes: I'm finally back !!

Synopsis: Unable to sleep, Dabi finds solace in the night air, eventually making his way to (Y/n)'s room. He is captivated by her peaceful sleeping form, and despite his initial hesitation, he lays down beside her. As morning comes, (Y/n) awakens to find Dabi sleeping beside her, and they share a tender moment of connection as they greet the new day together.

Turquoise blue eyes, wide open stare at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep so he slowly got up from the couch and went outside for a bit. The night air enveloped Dabi like a comforting shroud as he stepped outside, the soft glow of his cigarette casting a faint orange hue in the darkness. The abandoned house seemed to sigh in relief as he exited, its silent halls momentarily relinquishing the weight of their shared secrets.

Leaning against the building's weathered exterior, Dabi's gaze drifted toward the sprawling cityscape that lay beyond. The bright lights of the city seemed to pulse with a rhythmic energy, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the abandoned house.

The distant hum of traffic and the occasional sirens punctuated the stillness of the night, reminding Dabi of the relentless pulse of life that continued to beat even in the darkest hours. Smoke billowed from his cigarette, swirling and dissipating into the cool night air as if carrying his thoughts away with it.

Memories, both bitter and sweet, tugged at the edges of his consciousness — a reminder of the winding path that had led him to this moment. The weight of his choices and the consequences they bore hung heavy in the air, a burden he carried with stoic resolve.

With a final drag of his cigarette, Dabi extinguished the glowing ember against the worn sole of his boot. The smoke dissipated into the night, carrying with it the remnants of his contemplation.

His footsteps echoed softly through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned house as he made his way to (Y/n)'s room. Moonlight spilled through the windows, casting ethereal patterns upon the worn floorboards, guiding his path like a beacon in the darkness.

Dabi stood at the threshold of (Y/n)'s room, his gaze fixated on her peaceful sleeping form. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow upon her features, illuminating the delicate curve of her cheek and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

With cautious steps, Dabi approached the bed, the floorboards protesting softly beneath his weight. He paused at her bedside, his gaze tracing the delicate curve of her features with a tenderness he had long denied himself.

The rise and fall of her chest was a steady rhythm that anchored him in the present, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their world, moments of peace could still be found. In the quiet intimacy of her room, Dabi felt a sense of belonging he had never known before.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Dabi lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed against her cheek, the warmth of her skin sending a jolt of electricity through him.

In the stillness of the night, Dabi found himself drawn to (Y/n) in a way he could not explain — a primal instinct that defied reason and logic. With each passing moment, the walls he had erected around his heart began to crumble, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath.

a faint blush tinged his cheeks, though he was grateful that the darkness of the room concealed his embarrassment. The warmth that suffused his face was a stark contrast to the cool exterior he so often projected to the world.

His heart beat erratically in his chest, a testament to the turmoil that churned within him. The vulnerability he felt in this moment was both unsettling and exhilarating, a reminder of the depths of emotion he had long suppressed.

Though he knew she couldn't see him, Dabi couldn't shake the feeling of being exposed — as if (Y/n)'s presence had the power to unravel the carefully constructed facade he had spent years perfecting. In her slumber, she held a power over him that he couldn't quite comprehend.

With a silent sigh, Dabi allowed himself to bask in the fleeting moment of vulnerability. The blush upon his cheeks served as a silent testament to the depth of his emotions, a confession he was not yet ready to voice aloud.

As exhaustion finally began to claim him, Dabi laid carefully next to her and closed his eyes, allowing himself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. Amidst the soft rhythm of her breathing, he found a semblance of peace that eluded him in the waking world.

And as he drifted into dreams, the blush upon his cheeks faded into the darkness, a silent reminder of the quiet intimacy he shared with the sleeping figure beside him.

(Y/n) stirred from her slumber, the warmth of the morning embracing her as she slowly opened her eyes. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, her gaze fell upon the figure beside her, bathed in the soft light of dawn.

A gentle smile tugged at her lips as she watched Dabi, his features relaxed in the embrace of sleep. The tension that often lingered in his countenance seemed to melt away in the morning light, leaving behind a sense of peace that warmed her heart.

With a quiet sigh, (Y/n) shifted closer, her movements careful not to disturb his rest. She reached out, brushing a strand of black hair away from his face with a tender touch, her fingertips tracing the contours of his cheek with a gentleness born of affection.

The intimacy of the moment filled the room, the quiet stillness broken only by the soft sounds of their breathing. In this fleeting interlude between sleep and wakefulness, (Y/n) allowed herself to savor the simple joy of being in his presence.

As Dabi stirred, his eyelids fluttering open to meet her gaze, (Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest — a sense of belonging that surpassed words. Their eyes locked in a silent exchange, a shared understanding that transcended the complexities of their world.

"Good morning," she whispered, her voice a soft melody that hung in the air between them. Dabi's lips curved into a sleepy smile, his turquoise gaze lingering on her with an intensity that sent a flutter of warmth through her veins.

"Morning," he murmured in response, his voice husky with sleep. The vulnerability in his gaze spoke volumes, a silent confession of the emotions he dared not voice aloud.

Masterlist

#dabi #dabi x reader #my hero academia #fanfic #dabi x fem!reader #touya todoroki #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #mha #mha dabi #mha touya #mha todoroki #touya x y/n #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

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im-657-mv · 1 year

Text

100 ways

yandere spirit emperor nakamoto yuta

[inspired by 100 ways - jackson wang]

word count: 1578

They say there was a battle. Nearly all have heard of it, spoken it, and understood it.

Approximately a hundred years ago, there was an emperor. Someone of great power, someone of magic and sorcery. Some tried to deny his power, hoping to water down the fear that he still truly invokes inside us all. Because even in death, he still haunts the minds of the people, his reign never truly ending.

They say he drove kings to madness, women into widows, and children into orphans. They say he turned his enemies into trees. The Warriors of the Forest are what he called them. As an act of revenge, he tortured and commanded the spirits to serve him even after their death, showing no peace nor mercy. A slave to his name, his Forest of the Damned.

But the people rose up. Tired of his dynasty, tired of his legacy. So they came together and overcame the emperor, slitting his throat in the very forest he created. His reign was over. The pain, the loss, and the bloodshed were finally over. But the people never recovered.

Rumors spread among others hearing his name being spoken through the leaves of his trees in the Forest of the Damned. Or his deceitful laugh being heard amongst the gust of the wind as it picked up. Some believed these "ghost stories", others did not. You couldn't wrap your head around something as peculiar as the supernatural. It seemed impossible for a spirit to haunt a forest.

Yes, the stories are true, and it as real as the scars it left behind, but rumors are simply just rumors. There's no such thing as ghosts or spirits, and that's what you were going to prove.

The sun was setting, creating a hue of warm colors as night braced itself for return. Orange, red, and yellow painted the sky as you headed in the direction of the sacred forest. You wanted to prove these sightings wrong, that there was no such thing as spirits.

The forest was dead silent as the whispers of the leaves swayed in the seemingly peaceful atmosphere. You felt calm, almost. As if there was nothing to truly fear.

Everything seemed so normal.

But the deeper you traveled the darker things seemed to get. The once bright sky was replaced with the haunting moon's shadow. The trees that were once peaceful and full of life now seemed to diminish in numbers. Now they've turned rotten, dead, and eerie. With the addition of fog, everything became sinister. Everything seemed... alive.

The trees groaned as if begging for the light to return. And the crows cawed, warning you not to travel any further. But most importantly the wind picked up, bringing goosebumps all along your arms. You shivered at the feeling of the cold picking at your skin and cursed yourself for deciding to prove these rumors false.

A little time went by of the occasional fright and by the time you knew it the scenery had all changed.

Instead of the dead gruesome type of branches, there were now beautiful orange leaves that graced them. No longer did they feel sinister they felt peaceful at last. This forest had changed, and it had left you feeling safe among the bright colors.

"Wow..." You had whispered and the same gust of wind picked up echoing something unexpected. A laugh. An empty vile chuckle that left you stopping dead in your tracks.

Frozen in place you scanned the area, looking for something, anyone that could have made that sound. But all you saw were trees. Endless in sight, no one was there.

Carefully you started to lightly step, but there it was again. That laugh. It was breathy and full of something that seemed to unwillingly call to you. The leaves began to shake violently in sight as the wind increased, pushing you forward in its chosen path.

But you could see something, in the distance shrouded in light, was a figure. It seemed like it was waiting for you.

"Come to me..." The wind called as his hand reached out the leaves above fluttering around his aura. This time you didn't fight it. willing you walked faster, curious as to who he was. Everything about him, it, was a mystery. The halo that surrounded him, the leaves that whirled in a circle growing wider as you came nearer, and him... He seemed godly.

You shouldn't have, but your curiosity overcame your logic.

"Who are you?" You murmured as you stepped into his rushing circle of leaves, watching as his body of light took form. Face to face he seemed to watch your confused expression in satisfied glee.

"An emperor..." He sang drawing you closer as his hands rose from his sides forming a sequence of movements that you seemed controlled to copy at his will, your will.

"A god..." He whispered against your face as he became clearer and clearer. His movements stopped and so did yours as he became what he once was... alive. Full of flesh and bones, no longer just a shadow or a form of light put together by dead leaves, but a man capable of doing what he set out to do.

Your eyes widened as his appearance struck a chord in your heart and mind. The stories, the legends, the history...

"Y-your,"

"Call me Yuta." He spoke as his voice was no longer a rasp but something that oozed life. His eyes sparkled, gleamingly at your shaking appearance. He knew his effect on you, and he certainly enjoyed it.

"How could I ever repay you?" His mouth slithered into a knowing smirk, his tone condescending.

"Oh Y/N..." His warm hand danced across your face, painting it with his fingertips.

"Thank you..." His hands traveled down to your neck...

"You saved me from this eternal prison."

"Please... Don't hurt my people." You managed to say against his scrutinizing gaze.

"Oh baby..." His smile turned downward.

"I have spent years trapped, caged to a place of my making. Year after year, day after day I lay waiting for a mere soul like yours to come to aid me. And here you are, asking for me to spare your friends." A mischievous grin shined across his features.

"Maybe if you beg... I'll consider it. So beg. Beg for me, Y/N. Beg for your friend's lives."

"Pl-"

"On your knees." With fearful eyes, you watched as his grin doubled in size, his shining teeth appearing before you. Slowly you assumed the position, landing on your knees before him. The devil from the stories countless have told you, enjoying the sight of a pretty soul like yours kneeling at his very command.

"Please, Yuta," You said as your gaze traveled downward, tears sliding down your face. "I-"

"Look at me, Y/N." Slim fingers gripped your downcasted face, moving it harshly towards him. The same breathy laugh escaped his lips.

"Look at me when you beg."

"I beg of you, Yuta..." His finger whipped your tear, taking the essence into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

"Don't kill my friends..." Eyes of lust looked down upon you, admiring your fearful face.

"It's almost as of you're purposefully tempting me," His hand crawled onto the back of your scalp grasping your hair tightly.

", with your innocent gaze, the tears that feed my years of hunger, and of course..." His other hand moved toward your lips, shoving two fingers unwilling into your mouth, "... who could resist a pretty (boy/girl) like you."

More tears cascaded down as his laugh echoed throughout the forest, removing his hands from both your hair and mouth.

"Here's what," He kneeled down at eye level with you, "how about we make a trade?" You nodded scared to say no.

"What would you give to save those you love?"

"Anything." You gasped desperately.

"Give me your life." He whispered erotically in your face, daring you to say no to him. Looking into his eyes you searched for a way around this. For the sake of your village, for your people, you knew this was the only way...

"Okay..." You whispered as more and more tears poured from your eyes. You were frightened. The only feeling was pure unfiltered fear as you thought of what this meant for you. If he was even going to keep his end of the deal. It was too late... you were his...

"Oh my poor pretty soul, don't cry." He uttered taking you into his arms of iron.

"I promise," He declared into your ear, "they will have quick death, a painless one thanks to you."

"No no no no-" You blubbered on and on into his shoulder as your pathetic wails fell upon his deaf ears.

And there again goes his laugh louder and bolder as you keened and begged for him to save them.

"Please, please, please, Yuta, please-"

"Shhh- My conquest has only just begun."

Yuta rose up taking you in his arms as he made his way deeper into the ever growing forest as the trees formed into the land that was once at his command.

But the only thing you could think of was the lives you had just taken with your foolish choice. This is because of you. If not for your curiosity he would still be trapped.

You were wrong. The supernatural exist. And now you have to pay the consequences of your foolish ambition.

#yandere yuta #yandere nct #yandere kpop #yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta #kpop x reader #yandere yuta x reader

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ophidianoccultist · 1 year

Text

Desecration

Tom Riddle x F!Reader

18+ MDNI

HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING

Tags: p in v, loss of virginity, creampie, non-con, use of Imperio, necrophilia, murder of reader, bloodlust, dead dove do not eat

just a note before reading, please please please dont read this if youre squeamish at all, its pretty violent so yeah. but if youre into this kinda thing, please enjoy(?) and let me know if i should write more unhinged shit like this. it was a whim i got at 4am like "what if tom fucked a corpse" dont hate me im just a slave to inspiration

Word Count: 2.1k

The fresh, warm tea slid down your throat, warming your very soul on such a cold winter day. It tasted of ginger and cloves, and the heat and spice of it seemed to radiate throughout your body to fuel your evening of reading. Ever since Hogwarts, your interest in the dark arts has only grown, leading you to purchase several tomes and textbooks on the subject. The old parchment of the page made a crackling sound as you turned it, as did the fire that burned brightly in the hearth nearby.

You were combing through the ancient spells and their effects, sipping your hot, spiced tea as you read, when your mind strangely started drifting elsewhere. The image of your room and the book in front of you seemed to grow cloudy and twisted into a very different image. The cozy, warmly lit room contorted into one much bigger, and darker as well. It was a bedroom, well decorated and lavish, clearly belonging to someone decently wealthy. Black floorboards and wall paneling, and rich emerald drapes and wallpaper to match it, not very unlike the Slytherin dormitories back at Hogwarts. The hearth stood out starkly, a green flame within to shroud the room in a certain cold hue that left you feeling slightly uneasy. A floo flame, but for what purpose?

Your eyes fell towards the bed, where two figures appeared to be engaging in something…intimate. Still mostly clothed, their lips were locked tightly, hands roaming wherever they pleased, and it seemed that they were the source of the only heat in the cold, eerie room. Upon closer inspection of the couple, you recognized yourself, a perfect mirror copy. And as your eyes darted to the man whose hand was currently gripping your waist, you quickly recognized who it was.

It was Tom Riddle, whom you fancied for quite a time during your school years together. The curly black hair, the pale skin, the handsome features; there was no mistaking it was him. But why was he suddenly in your fantasies again after years, and why did this feel so real? The two of you continued your throes of passion before Tom turned his head away from your lips (or rather, your copy's lips) to look straight into your eyes with his piercing gaze. Your copy did not seem to notice as he spoke firmly:

"The Riddle Manor, in Little Hangleton. Take the floo, and don't tarry. I do not like being kept waiting."

Right after he said that, the vision began to swirl as it did when it came about, and after a time, your room came back into view. The warm hearth, the spiced tea, the dark arts book. Home. But all of it was also accompanied by a dull headache and slight nauseous feeling. You slugged back the rest of the tea, which settled the sick feeling, before setting the book down on the table beside your chair. Something strange was happening, yet you felt compelled to comply with imaginary Tom's orders all the same. You strode over to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and tossed it into the fire, watching the bright orange flame turn a sickly green hue. As you stepped in, you wondered if this was all a big mistake, that maybe you would intrude on some poor family's evening. But all the same, the words came out of your mouth:

"Riddle Manor."

Instantly, you were transported to the bedroom from your daydream, feeling much better now that you didn't see any strangers or hear any shrieking at your appearance in the fireplace. However, that relief was quickly diminished as your eyes landed on Tom Riddle, standing by the bed, in the same place where he had been entangling with you in your dream. No, his presence here proved that that was no mere daydream. It was a vision. It finally clicked: Tom had planted that in your head by means of legilimency. But why?

He strode towards you, his gaze and demeanor making you feel cornered even though you were in the open middle of the room. But before you could fully process what was happening and mull over your questions, his hand firmly gripped your shoulder, his long bony fingers digging into the flesh. He was different than he had been at Hogwarts. Sure, he still carried himself well and was still handsome, but his eyes and cheeks were sunken further into his face, and he was a little more twitchy now, looking as though he had been in a room full of dementors for weeks. The eyes that once held a perpetual air of cool composure now burned with something far more sinister. Tom seemed more raw now, a little more unhinged.

"Don't ask me why I brought you here, and don't ask me how I've been over the years. I am not interested in catching up. Just get on the bed." He commanded, his voice wavering slightly.

Your face twisted up into one of confusion, wanting some answers first. Not even a letter in years, no interaction or correspondence whatsoever, and now he brings you here simply to have sex with you? Absolutely not. Sure, you had fancied him, but you still had self-respect enough to stand your ground.

"Tom, wait, why did-"

A frustrated groan emanated from his throat, promptly cutting you off. He sounded and looked manic; clearly something had happened just before he summoned you here. But before you could inquire about anything, Tom pulled out his wand and pointed it at you, and muttered out an incantation that neither you nor anyone else ever wanted to hear.

"Imperio."

Suddenly, your mind was cleared of all inhibitions and inquiries, and you felt as if you were floating. His wand remained pointing toward you, but you could not care less in that instant. In your world, there were no cares at all. Tom's voice reverberated throughout the silent room as he commanded once more:

"Get on the bed."

And so you did, laying down on the plush emerald blankets, hands at your sides and obediently awaiting his next command. Tom took no time in hovering over you, pinning you in place and hiking up your skirt, not even bothering to fully strip you. Curiously, he noticed that you were wet between your thighs. Not overly so, but enough for him to know that you were somewhat enjoying this. He contemplated a moment before deciding to lift the curse, putting his wand down on the nightstand close by. Yes…it would be much more fun to break you himself.

Just as you were coming back into consciousness, you felt your underwear being harshly ripped away from your body and something hard being aligned with your core. Tom spit in his hand and stroked himself a couple of times before pushing the head in.

"Tom, wait-!"

Tom placed that same hand tightly over your mouth, feeling your lips moisten with the remaining saliva coating his palm.

"Quiet. If you resist, it will end badly for you. Just do as I say."

You nodded, and Tom started roughly pounding into you, painfully stretching you out and making it sting from the lack of proper lubrication. A tear fell down the side of your face from the unbearable pain, but also from the shame of knowing that you also secretly took pleasure in him using you like this. You wished he had taken more time with preparing you first, but that was simply a silly fantasy. Of course, you knew that Tom was never one to really consider the comfort of anyone but himself.

Soon enough though, the pain started to become pleasure as you fully took in what was happening. Tom hovered above you, relentlessly ramming his cock in and out of you, sweat forming on his face. Or had it always been there? Compared to the vision of heated passion he had shown you before, he was completely different in reality. There was no warmth, no desire, no savoring of stimulation, none of what she truly wanted. The only thing in Tom right now was a dull lust, and even then, it was brought about by stress, and not out of any longing for her personally. He was clearly strained and rather wired, but why?

Tom was nearing closer and closer to his release, urged on even more so by the way your body slowly began opening up and accepting him into you. But it really wasn't you that had gotten him this riled up and raring to go. You were only an afterthought, someone he remembered from Hogwarts, and likely the most willing to come. No, Tom had been spurred on by the scene in the dining room just below the room they were in.

His father's side of the family, dead in their seats, their dinner and their bodies probably still a little warm.

The way their faces contorted with fear, the empty look in their eyes, permanently in the state of terror a mere moment before their deaths; all of it had been exhilarating to execute, quite literally. Tom's bony fingers dug into your hip as his left hand held you steady, while his right remained over your mouth, muffling the moans that simply begged to be released from your lips into the frigid air of the room. However, instead of relishing in the sounds of your pleasure, he only became annoyed. He didn't care to perceive your shameful and sickening display of lust, and as you both grew closer to your releases, you grew louder, and he only grew more aggravated until he finally snapped.

"Quiet, I said!"

He released his hand from your mouth, only to wrap it around the handle of his wand, and he pointed it at you once more. You were so cock-drunk at this point, that you didn't even hear the incantation fall from his lips before seeing a flash of green light blind your vision.

And then, nothing.

Your body was completely limp now, and your face carried the same expression as the occupants of the dining table downstairs. The sheer terror, the microsecond where you realize you're going to die, the horror of it all. Tom, however, just soaked this in, not even wanting to pull out. In actuality, his pace only increased, the gruesome nature of the act only fueling the fire within him further. Only now, after you were completely unable to perceive anything anymore, did he indulge in what you had really wanted. His hands ripped open your shirt so he could take a look at you completely exposed, for only him to see. The hand that was previously pressed over your mouth now kneaded at the mounds of flesh, relishing in the softness of them. His teeth sunk harshly into the flesh of your throat, feeling the skin break and the taste of copper flowing over his tongue. With one more incantation, Tom pointed his wand at your chest to truly complete his work of art.

"Diffindo."

The flesh of your chest was cut deeply in three strokes, as if you had been ravaged by a rabid animal. And, in a way, you had been. Tom licked his lips before dragging his tongue over the bleeding cuts, savoring the thick, metallic tasting fluid in his mouth before letting it go down his throat.

Tom had never felt more powerful than in this moment. And upon realizing that, his cock twitched and the dam within him broke, spilling his seed within your slack cunt, furthering the humiliation and desecration of your lifeless body. He liked you better this way, without thoughts or wants or autonomy. Simply a tool, a doll he could use for his own satisfaction whenever he wanted. But sadly, you would decompose, and all his fun would end once you got too cold. But for now, he pulled out and fixed himself back up, as if nothing had just happened.

~~*~~

Your dead body remained on the bed for a couple of days, cold and pale from the lack of circulating blood. Tom knew that this would be his last time with you before it became unsafe for him to keep you around. He tucked himself back into his trousers, watching the last couple of days worth of his seed leak out of your cold, dead cunt. The scene was sick and disgusting, truly, but Tom found a bizarre beauty in it. The juxtaposition of the seed of life being planted into something cold and dead that could never grow it filled him with a sense of disturbing satisfaction that he just loved the rush from.

However, the body would start breaking down soon, and he needed to get rid of it. After a few moments of contemplation, he had decided to transfigure your body into something small and simple: a teacup. A teacup which, when drinking from it, would remind him of most likely the best day he had ever had. He had taken revenge on his filthy muggle relatives, and had his first go with a woman all in one night.

What's not to love?

#harry potter #hp #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #smut #violence #dead dove do not eat

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