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norman-fucking-reedus · 4 months

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BEGGING ON MY KNEES FOR CORRUPTION KINK WITH DARYL YOU WRITE SMUT SO HEAVENLY😫😫😫

SWEET LITTLE SINNER

THE YUMMY STUFF: Age gap, (Daryl is in his late 50s, Reader in her early 30s) Creampies, breeding kink, fingering, bit of cockwarming, just smutty stuff, ...petnames 😇, semi-public?? guys they fuck in the church, virgin fem!reader, religious!reader, dont cancel me for this, but religion kink

DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK YOU'LL FEEL OFFENDED BECAUSE HOW YOU FEEL IS NOT MY PROBLEM

OKAY ANON I KNOW IM ANSWERING THIS REQ MONTHS LATER BUT BEAR WITH ME ALRIGHT 🎀

Im playing around with a new posting format and I honestly really like it so far! Im just literal dogshit at summaries so I don't necessarily bother with them (I mean at least I try) but eeeerm guys let me know if its cutie AND PLEASE LOOK AT MY BLOG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I CHANGED THAT TOO

So after scrolling through the mounds of unanswered asks I have, I found this one and it reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister abt Daryl x a Christian girl who holds herself very high to her faith and has a deeper understanding of the bible

This takes place around the time they find gabriel, and somehow this ended up being a !greene reader, I also had to extend the church for... purposes :3

Believe it or not this is my first time ever writing corruption kink 😭 I got this request back when I was still fresh on tumblr and its been sitting ever since because I just didn’t know what to do (and I still dont)

southern gothic has me in a chokehold and I cant breathe

"Come on! Fight to the fence!" The sound of Rick's voice bellowed over the deafening clang of metal and ringing gunfire, rapidly taking down any walkers that shuffled within range as the men helped the women to climb over the fence first, Carl dropping down and catching all the weapons that were tossed onto the safe side.

Rosita crawled up the chain fence quickly, noticing that you were behind her when she was balanced right on top and extending a hand out to you. "Up and over" She lightly yet urgently joked, and you could only let out a small huff of air as you grasped her hand, and hauled yourself upwards, swinging a leg over to join her in scaling down the other side.

"Let's go! Move your asses!" Abraham shouted as he fired his gun, covering Rick as he made a break for the fence, the redhead man not far behind once the walkers had started to herd up. He threw the firearm over the fence and easily jumped onto half the fence, using a walker's head as a boost to fling himself over onto the other side.

As you and the others hastily gathered your belongings, no one dared to look back at the remnants of Terminus, trying to stay together as you all ran for a safe place behind Rick, expecting that he had some kind of miracle up his sleeve and would find a place to hunker down for a few hours, days even.

Despite the chaos and the destruction that surrounded you, you and the rest of the group hastily gathered your belongings, not daring to look back at the ruins of Terminus. Trying to stay as closely together as possible, you all followed Rick's lead as he dashed through the trees. He was the one who had kept the group alive for so long, and everyone was hoping that he could do it for just a little while longer.

After what felt like forever, you could feel the intense heat seeping into your skin and making your clothes stick to your body. Every step you took felt like a burden, with the fabric rubbing against your flesh. The air was thick with humidity, and you could feel the moisture clinging to your skin, making you feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced around at the other people around you, all of them appeared to be struggling in the heat, with their foreheads glistening with sweat and their breathing labored.

As you looked over at Daryl, you couldn't help but notice the solemn expression on his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It was clear that he had been struggling to come to terms with Carol's sudden disappearance, and had been much more withdrawn and reserved than usual. He seemed to be lost in thought, lost in his own world, and it was hard to know how to reach out to him.

"Right here," Rick spoke as he brought the group out to a small clearing that was surrounded by trees, briefly scanning the area before crouching down in the dirt and beginning to frantically dig.

Abraham scoffed, "Tha' hell are we still around here for?" taking a few steps forward as he analyzed and addressed Rick, watching the man pull out a blue duffel bag.

"Guns. Some supplies," He said bluntly, pulling the black zipper back and further exposing the bag's contents, multiple guns, and other hand-held weapons. "We go along the fences, use the rifles, and take out the rest of 'em."

"What?" Glenn gawked, staring at Rick in disbelief as he listened to the words spewing out his mouth, bouncing around uncomfortably in his head.

Rick started to pull out the variety of weapons one by one, not once turning to meet Glenn's gaze. "They don't get to live."

The latter pursed his lips and huffed, stepping closer to Rick as to get his attention. "Rick, we got out. It's over."

"It's not over till they're all dead." Rick growled, shaking his head.

"They are dead. That place is on fucking fire, crawling with walkers in every which way." Rosita spat, laughing in annoyance at Rick's stupidity.

You shake your head as Rick continued to pull items out of the bag, "We got lucky back there," you said, voice low and trembling. "It's not worth risking our lives by going back in" your eyes meeting Rick's in a plea for him to understand. "God doesn't always give us a second chance. Just play the hand you were dealt" The thought of going back into that walker-infested place made your skin crawl, and you couldn't understand why Rick was wasting his time.

"Does he think he could give me one?" A familiar voice spoke softly from behind your group, faces lighting up in surprise and joy as Carol lightly stepped through the forest, appearing from behind a tree with her signature smile tugging at her lips, stretching all the way up to her ears when all of Daryl's weight barreled into her frame, almost knocking her straight onto her ass with a shocked laugh.

Her unexpected appearance managed to lift the once extremely heavy atmosphere, now bright and bubbly as it was filled with smiles.

"Did you do that?" Rick questioned once it was his turn to hug Carol, not getting a verbal response but the cheeky smile painting her blood-covered face was more than telling. However, it didn't last long once she scanned over the entirety of the group. "You have to come with me."

Carol led the group through the forest and down the train tracks until reaching a small cabin hidden in the trees where Tyrese and sweet little Judith had been holed up waiting for her return, everyone watching as Sasha, Rick, and Carl sprinted towards them, each cradling their respective loved one. It was another emotional yet much-needed heartfelt reunion, especially considering that the last few weeks had been nothing but hell in a handbasket.

"We should get moving, the fire's still burning" The grey-haired woman suggested as she gave the tall, rising black smoke one last look over.

"Yeah. We need to go" Rick nodded as he took stared at the smoke, an unreadable expression on his face and in his eyes.

Daryl huffed slightly, "Yeah, but where?" glancing around the remote area.

"Doesn't matter. Somewhere far away from there."

It had been a long few days since the group had gotten somewhere far away from there, and a long few days since anyone had anything to eat. Stomachs were empty and energy seemed to only be decreasing, the hunger gnawing away at all of you.

As the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon, Daryl quietly made his way into the dense forest in search of something to eat. It was quiet, and peaceful as he gingerly and skillfully walked through the mess of vines and roots at his feet, blue eyes scanning the dirt floor for any sign of movement that might indicate the presence of an animal.

Oddly enough, it felt like he wasn't necessarily alone in these woods, glancing around and over his shoulder more than he typically would. Maybe it was just a nearby walker he could sense before he could see, but he knew way better than to believe something like that. His gut told him that there was someone else out here, and Daryl learned to always listen to his gut.

He instinctively raised his crossbow to be eye level, scanning the treeline as he took careful and quiet steps, moving from the west to the north and then east. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves, tousled dark hair in his face, and flowed a dirty white skirt from a few feet from him, a tiny but audible gasp heard.

It had come from behind a thick collection of bushes, Daryl carefully combing them out of the way with one hand and ducking to prevent anything from getting in his eye. He had a tight grip on his crossbow, ready for whatever potential danger could be on the other side.

Luckily for him though, there was no danger. It was just you, the weird and off-putting Greene who had somehow turned into a new interest for Daryl, not quite being able to put his finger on just what it was that drew him towards you.

You were a quiet, soft but strange Christian girl, much different than Maggie and Beth. Unlike them, you seemed to have some kind of spiritual connection to the bible, a deeper understanding of it that often made others feel oddly safe around you, as if you truly did have God protecting you.

Funny enough, it reminded Daryl of when his parents would drag him to the southern church, forcing him into the small confession box where he would sit and sob for hours, silently begging for God to come save him.

He could hear you softly murmuring something, but the full words didn't entirely reach his ears. You were kneeling in front of a large moss-covered log, hands clasped together with your head down, looking up every so often. He watched how every time you leaned back, your hair fluttered back and fell back into position.

Not wanting to be creepy, he decided to come out from where he had been hiding, a little taken aback when you seemed to not be bothered, as if you had already known he wasn't any sort of threat.

"Hell ya' doin' out here girl?" Daryl grumbled out, standing a few feet behind you. He watched as you repeated the motion with your head a few more times, eventually pushing yourself up off your knees.

You knocked the gathered leaves and a few bugs off your skirt, smiling at him softly. "Prayer. I come out here every mornin' for it"

He scoffed slightly, glancing down at the ground as he rolled a rock under his shoe. "Why bother? Not like s'gon get heard anyway"

“Yeah? We’ll see. I prayed we find a safe place today” You said as you brushed some hair our your mouth, wind starting to pick up in speed.

Daryl hummed, “Pray we also find some food?” flipping his own hair out his face.

“Of course,” You laughed slightly, airy and light. “But with you out here I think that’ll be answered”

The man scoffed again, this time ducking his head at your words. “Yeah right” He mumbled out.

“I mean it. Look, there’s a squirrel in that tree” You point to a nearby oak tree and Daryl follows your finger, pulling the trigger of his crossbow faster than you could even fathom.

The squirrel hit the ground, Daryl stepped over a few roots and bushes to pick it up, pulling the arrow out and tossing the carcass over his shoulder.

“Good eye girly. C’mon, guess yer God is gon help ya’ help feed us” He glanced at you from over his clear shoulder, motioning for you to follow him with a short nod of the head.

You followed as he walked through the thick mess of bushes, the green leaves staining your cowgirl boots as you stepped on them. The birds chirped loudly above head as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, the air starting to increase in temperature.

It was quite a nice walk through the forest regardless of the heat, Daryl making for much better company than you expected even though he didn't have much to say. You filled the silence by humming softly to yourself, staying a few feet behind and looking around the wooded terrain, keeping an eye out for animals and walkers.

Daryl paused for a moment, holding up a finger and then positioning his crossbow again. The weapon fired, and you watched as it struck another squirrel, this time pinning it against a tree.

He yanked the arrow out, sliding it back into the holder on the front of his bow and tossing the second squirrel over his shoulder.

"Need'ta get at least five," He said as he continued walking, glancing at you again from over his other shoulder just to make sure you were still there.

You scoffed slightly at his words. "Five?" You repeated, staring at the angel wings on the back of his vest.

Daryl nodded, peering up into the trees and looking around on the ground. "Yeah. Got a lotta people to feed"

"And you think five is the lucky number?" You joke lightly, a small smile tugging your lips as you stay hot on his heels.

He shrugged, squirrels bouncing with the motion. "Dunno. Depends on how many ya prayed for"

"Well, if you told me, I would've prayed for at least ten" You appeared at his side and bumped his arm with yours, his gaze meeting yours for only a split second before you were suddenly startled by Rick and Glenn's out-of-nowhere appearances.

They pointed their guns at both of you, and you put your hands up to show you weren't a threat. "Jus' catchin' some breakfast," Daryl said as he dropped his arms and nodded at Glenn in greetings.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Rick asked him as the four of you began to make your way out of the forest and back to the rest of the group, the day only getting hotter and hotter. "I think it's time."

Daryl hummed, a thin layer of sweat starting to form on his forehead. "That is sweet music to my ears, Officer."

"We take the next road we come to, try to get back to going north 'till we find a vehicle." Rick gestured slightly with his hand, gun still in his grip just in case.

You all stepped up the steep hill leading back to the road where the group had decided to set up a temporary camp for the night.

Rick meet Daryl's eyes, placing a hand on his squirrel-less shoulder. "Good?"

"Good"

"–And Father God, I once again call upon you to ask for a blessing, a miracle, an answer. You've got me so far, this group, I ask, will you continue to do so? Will you bestow us a safe place? A home?"

Back on the road once again. It was hot as the group ventured forward, worn down shoes and boots slapping against the burning pavement as you all conversed amount yourselves and entertained one another, Michonne and Carl in some form of competition while you lingered behind, Daryl nearby just in case a walker somehow nabbed you.

He silently listened to the soft whispering of your voice, the gentle lull you used as you spoke your prayers, walking with your head down and the palms of your hands facing towards the sky, almost reaching out in a sense.

There was a few questions lingering on his tongue, but growing up in the southern church Daryl had learned not to ask questions until after prayer. Hell, he had learned not to ask questions period.

Daryl only watched you out the corner of his eye, your plush lips moving slightly as you murmured. There was just something about you that was captivating, the fact that you were almost a mixture of Beth's sweet and softness, Maggie's stern and stubbornness, it made him curious to know what the third mysterious Greene had to offer.

"Amen" You mumbled a little louder than intended, clasping your hands together as you finished and concluded your prayer. You brushed some hair out your face when you lifted your head, catching a glimpse at Daryl's watchful eye.

He looked away when your gaze met his, furrowing your brow slightly with a small and playful smile. "What?" You appeared closer to his side and purposely bumped into him, watching how he staggered a little in his pace.

"Nothin'. Jus' hot as hell out here" Daryl shrugged slightly, sweat rolling down his face and back.

You hummed softly, "Hell is a lot hotter than this, but it is super hot. Just wish we could find a river or something" fanning your legs with the loose fabric of your skirt.

Daryl glanced at you, eyes dropping the flowing motion of the fabric. "Tryna' go swimmin'?" He questioned, because a dip in the cool river didn't sound that bad at all

"We weren't really allowed growing up, swimsuits were always super revealin' so we just stayed inside most summers" You shrugged, a tiny smile on your lips as you recalled past memories with your sisters, even if it was just sitting inside trashing the kitchen. "We weren't even allowed to wear shorts that didn't stop at the knees"

It made sense, ever since the farm you, Beth, and Maggie had always been more modestly dressed then the rest, never wearing something too short even if it was the only option.

But even then, as long as your skirt as, Daryl still couldn't help himself from picturing the entirety of your bare legs, a shiver coursing through him as he tried to wipe the image away as quickly as it had come. You were sweet, almost too sweet for him. He was damaged and tainted, you were pure and holy.

"My moms used'ta watch me 'nd m'brother when we went to the river behind our house 'cause I ain't know how'ta swim as a kid" Daryl forced himself to say, tearing his eyes away from the dingy fabric and looking anywhere that just wasn't where you were.

Of course, it wasn't it that easy, especially when you giggled at his sentence which almost caused him whiplash from how hard he snapped his neck at you.

"Sorry, sorry. Just– You didn't know how to swim? Even I can swim" You covered your mouth as you spoke through your laughter, cheeks starting to hurt a little from how hard you were smiling.

Daryl scoffed, the sound of your giggles being music to his ears. "Laugh it up girly. Won't be funny when I throw ya' in a river"

You did laugh even harder at that, maybe because you knew it might be true. "It'll be hilarious! Even more because you'll be the one finding me a new outfit"

"Jus' a little water. S'not like yer damn skirt s'gon wash away" Daryl rolled his eyes, watching as you fake a look of offense.

"How do you know that? It just might! Then you'd have to cover me up" You folded your arms over your chest, quirking a brow at the older man as he glanced you up and down.

"Maybe I don' want to" He mumbled with a short shrug of his mouth

"What do you want?" You asked with a small tilt of your head.

Daryl's lips moved way faster then his brain, and he found himself suddenly muttering out "Wanna see wha's under tha' pretty dress"

You stared at him for a little, and he wished he could just bury an arrow in his head now, but then you chuckled a bit, nudging his arm with yours. "That's a sin, Daryl"

The two of you fell silent, your words lingering in Daryl's mind as he focused his gaze down on the floor, his ears perking slightly when they caught the gentle sound of your humming, some kind of song that he had surely never heard before.

He didn't wanna admit that your voice was soothing and melodic, it almost reminded him of his mother when she would cradle his trembling body in her arms, bruised and bloodied as the soft vibrations of her humming buzzed through him, comforting him as he softly sniffled into her chest, clutching onto her shirt and wondering what it was that made him so undeserving of God's–

"Help!"

The scream of terror rang out from the forest to the woods, and you all looked around at each other as your movements halted, everyone turning in the direction they thought the cry had come from with their weapons drawn, you subconsciously inching closer to Daryl for safety.

"Help, anybody! Help!" The cries came again, this time audibly and undeniably from the left side of the trees.

Rick nodded his head, gun drawn and pointed as he dashed off the road and into the forest, the group all following closely behind as the screams and pleads for help didn't cease, getting louder and closer which drew the attention of nearby walkers, having to dodge and take out any that got too close.

"Anyone, help! Help!"

As you all sprinted deeper into the trees, the sound of snarling and clicking teeth began to mix and become more audible, eventually leading the group out into a green clearing where there was a... pastor cowering ontop of a large stone rock, slipping off and making a half-ass attempt at kicking the walkers.

There weren't that many walkers, but it was still enough to where Rick felt firing his gun was necessary. The gunshots rang out through the forest, and you covered your ears at the loud noise, wincing slightly as it bounced around uncomfortably in your head.

Daryl took out the last straggler with a hard stab of his knife, wiping the thick blood off his blade on his pants before he slid it back in his holster, appearing at your side as he analyzed the pained expression on your face.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He murmered softly, hands hovering over your face but not quiet touching it, almost as if he was restraining himself.

You nodded, uncovering your ears and glancing at the pastor on the top of the rock, Daryl and everyone else following your gaze.

He whimpered softly and quietly from where he sat, eyes frantically darting between the all of you as if you all were the threat.

"Come on down." Rick said in a loud, stern voice, taking a few steps forward in front as the group took a few steps back.

The man rolled on his stomach and awkwardly wormed his way down grunting slightly and crying out when he slipped the rest of the way and landed on his ass.

A few giggles erupted from you and Maggie, stifling your laughter in the same way you've both always done by simply turning your heads away from the source of humor.

Rick didn't seem too entertained though, glancing the man up and down when he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. "You okay?" He raised a brow, emotion unmoving and flat.

"Sorry. Yes, thank you. I-I'm Gabriel." He stammered out, his lips pulling themselves into a small an nervous smile.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick titled his head as he asked condescendingly, taking another step closer to 'Gabriel.'

The man in question chuckled slightly. "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

"We don't give a rats flying fucking ass what it looks like." Abraham barked out, and you could only nod your head in agreement.

Gabriel mumbled out some kind of understanding before he put on his best brave face. "I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need"

At that you scoffed, covering your mouth in a fake apology. "Oh sorry, just that, didn't really look like God was protecting you now was he?"

Gabriel smiled nervously and awkwardly at your words, his eyes taking in your attire and the sparkly cross around your neck. "Well, he led a woman of your nurture here, so that must mean something right?"

"Oh of course. It means that you have something we want" You spoke softly, yet your tone was oddly dark. It somehow flipped the aura surrounding the group, replacing it with a heavy presence that just couldn't be explained.

"I-I have nothing to offer. Whatever food I- I had left, it just hit the ground." He glanced down at the ruin pile of whatever it was he had.

Carl stepped forward, fishing something out his pocket and holding it out to the pastor. "We've got some pecans, sorry if you're allergic" He partially joked, taking a step back and behind his dad.

Gabriel thanked him, dumping a few into his mouth and chewing. Judith cooed sweetly from where she rested against Beth, the mans eyes softening as he spotted her. "That's a beautiful child," He said, glancing around at just how many of you there were. "D- Do you have a camp?"

"No. Do you?" Rick asked without hesitation.

"I have a church." Gabriel mumbled, and your ears perked up at the sound of that. Daryl also noted the way your face lit up, while his twisted in distain.

Rick stuck his gun in the waist band of his jeans, aggressively grabbing Gabriel. "Hold your hands above your head."

"How many walkers have you killed?" He questioned, roughly patting the man down in search for any weapons.

"Not any, actually." Gabriel answered nervously.

"Turn around." Rick commanded and he spun the man, continuing his thorough search. "How many people have you killed?"

"None." Gabriel said as Rick spun him back around, narrowing sharp, quizzical blue eyes at him.

"Why?" He almost hissed the words out, whispering them out through the skin of his teeth.

Gabriel was silent for a moment, glancing at all of you before back at Rick. "Because the Lord abhors violence."

"We've all done something, we were all born as sinners. Nobody's perfectly pure." You spoke up from where you stood behind Daryl, shaking your head slightly. Daryl could argue with your words that you were the most perfect damn thing he’s seen, but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut instead. You were pure and holy, he was damaged and tainted.

He looked at you, slightly taken aback. Rick finished his search by nodding in confirmation that he was clear, taking a step back from Gabriel but not too far.

"I sin almost every day," He murmured out after a moment, scanning you all once more before his lips shifted into another small nervous smile. "But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

"You said you had a church?"

You sat outside on the church step with all the other women, plus Gabriel, while all the guys stormed inside to do a thorough search of the building, in search of any weapons or any other people. Although Gabe claimed it was just him and himself, Rick didn't believe him and didn't want to take any risks.

It was quite peaceful, birds chirping above with a slight breeze that brought a little bit of cooling relief from the burning sun. Judith cooed softly in Beth's lap, shaded from the sun courtesy of Carl's hat, too big to properly fit her head but big enough to cover her body.

"I spent months here without stepping out the front door." Gabriel's voice cut through the blissful silence, and you tried not to shoot him an irritated glare. Rick came out first, followed by Daryl and then Glenn. "If you found someone inside, well, it would have been surprising."

"We found a short bus out back." Rick said, hands on his hips as he squinted from the harsh glare of the sun. “Nothing else besides that. I think we can settle down here for a minute”

“Shit ain’t settled ‘till we get Eugene’s ass to Washington” Abraham’s voice barked from behind the man, Eugene and Rosita following suit.

Daryl stood on the step above yours, and you turned to smile softly at him as his large frame blocked the scorching light of the sun from spilling down onto you.

He scowled in response, but only because he didn't wanna make his cheeks any more red than they already were. He turned his head away and decided to just blame the burning sensation on the Georgia heat.

Rick shrugged his shoulders as he dismissed Abraham. "Yeah, well, people are exhausted. This place has four walls and a roof. Safe. In other words, we're staying here."

"Sounds pretty good to me, I've slept inside a chapel before," You said as you twisted your head to look at Rick, glancing inside the church to get a glimpse at the size inside. "Plus we can all fit in there, so why not? We could even do our own version of 'The Last Supper' but with squirrel meat" You added, gesturing towards the string of squirrels Daryl had managed to catch on the journey here.

"That kinda does sound good" Beth smiled as she bounced Judith on her leg, the thought of eating meat making her really hungry. "And we can have a bonfire! It'll be even better 'cause we won't have to sleep outside after we put it out" She gasped slightly when the idea crossed her mind, sitting up a little straighter as she talked about it.

Maggie smiled softly at the two of you as you both made light of the situation, grateful that you had always been able to see the bright side of things and just simply brush things off, sometimes falling and scraping your knee but getting right back up to walk it off.

Out of the three of them, you had always had a much stronger connection to God even as a child, sometimes walking right out of Sunday school because you claimed the teacher "silenced" his voice. Growing up, you only continued to believe more and more, so much to the point that it almost worried Maggie, like you could always see something that she couldn't.

There were times when she found herself a bit envious of you, especially when you both had reached your teen years, Maggie starting to take a dive at rebellion and you still as perfectly holy as you had been at age five, wardrobe consisting of nothing but your pristine white clothes, and the same faded white cowgirl boots daddy had bought for you a decade ago on Christmas. He had gotten you all a pair to wear around the farm when dealing and riding with the horses, you and Beth wearing yours down to absolute hell.

By the time you were both in your early twenties, petty rivalry put aside years later replaced by constant gossip and the latest guy Maggie was going out with, she realized that there was no reason to envy you, because she didn't wanna be you. You were pure, holy, and kept yourself high within your faith, studying the Bible in a way that she sometimes couldn't even wrap her head around.

"We need supplies, no matter what we do next" Rick spoke up as he glanced around at everyone, watching Beth pass over Judith to you to sit in the shade Daryl provided.

Glenn nodded in agreement. "That's right. Food, water, ammunition, anything we can find"

You quirked a brow at Gabriel, glancing him up and down. "How'd you survive here for so long?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice and stuttered as all eyes landed on him. "W- Well, I had God protecting me"

"No, you didn't. God doesn't protect, he watches" You rolled your eyes at him, as if this wasn't common knowledge.

Gabriel was taken aback by your response, mouth slightly agape as he scrambled to find a different answer. "Our annual canned food drive, things fell apart right after we finished-"

"That's great 'nd all, but Rick, seriously, we're gon' get heatstroke s sittin' out here in the boilin' sun" Maggie cut the man off, fanning herself with both her hands even as she was pressed up against your side, trying to hog the shade that you were already sharing with Beth and Jude.

Carol nodded her head in agreement, also dripping in sweat. "Yeah. You said it was safe, so why aren't we inside yet?" She gestured to the church.

"Alright, alright. Everyone inside. Let's cool off and rest our feet. We can discuss what's next later." Rick nodded and propped the church door open so that the group could easily fit through with all their stuff and guns, loud clattering as these things were dropped on the floor.

You followed after Maggie as she helped Glenn haul a bag inside, holding Judith on your hip as she sucked on her tiny fist. The way you held her almost looked natural, as if she was your very own. Daryl tried to pry his eyes away, but he just couldn't. He was drawn to you in a way he couldn't understand.

It bothered him in a way, the world had ended and you treated every day as if it was just an average day, as if dead people walking around was nothing more but an inconvenience. You were a carefree and buoyant spirit, as if your mind was consistently clear and levelheaded.

But it also intrigued him, how somehow someway in a world plagued with darkness that forces people to be tough and hard, you still manage to be soft and dainty, as if the plague hadn't even touched you once.

There was a combination of walker blood and mud splattered all across your white dress, some of it on your sleeves and your face, yet it didn't make you look any less tender, especially now as you seemed to sit cozily in the nave of the church, bouncing Judith on your leg as you softly hummed her a song.

Inside the church was fairly big, the back of it containing a few large offices that Rick deemed the safest the camp out in for the night, explaining that the doors had locks and that if someone were to break in everyone would hear and have plenty of time to wake up, claiming that everyone could sneak out the back door or just fight if need.

"The food lasted a long time," Gabriel said once the large wooden door creaked shut, other members of the group finding a place to settle down. "And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby, except for one."

"What kept you from it?" Rick questioned.

Gabe shrugged. "It's overrun."

"How many?" Glenn pipped in from against a wall.

Gabriel slightly tilted his head in thought. "A dozen or so? Maybe more."

Rick scoffed, hands on his hips as he stared at the man. "We can handle a dozen."

"Bob and I will go with you," Michonne said calmly as she stepped forward. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

"That'll be okay?" Rick glanced over to the man in question, who nodded his head.

"You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here" Tyreese said with a small smile.

The corner of Rick's mouth slightly quipped upward in a tiny smirk. "I'm grateful for it."

"I'll draw you a map–" Gabriel spoke up but was quickly cut off, "–You don't need to, you're coming with us." by Rick who shot him down with a cold icy glare.

It caught Gabriel off-guard and made his anxiety go through the roof. "I– I'm not gonna be of any help, you saw me up on that rock, I'm no good around those things." He stammered, trying to plead his case nervously under Rick's burning gaze.

"You're coming with us."

The sun had set long ago, and the inside of the church was lit up with a warm candle ambiance that fueled that lighthearted mood, everyone in the group chattering and laughing with one another for the first time in what felt like years.

"I'd like to propose a toast." Abraham loudly announced over everyone and all conversations ceased as the ginger easily captured all eyes in the room, raising his glass of wine that Gabriel had pulled from his own office.

"When I look around this room... all I can see is survivors." He said, scanning his eyes over the nave and everyone inside. "Each and every damn one of you has earned that title."

Abraham was silent for a moment, giving the room one last glance over before tipping his glass. "To the survivors."

"Survivors! Cheers!" You all said in unison, raising your glasses and clinking it against the person beside you, the church erupting back into its previous laughter as everyone resumed drinking and enjoying the night.

You scooted your way over to Daryl who was sat in a corner, purposely getting in his space and holding out your glass to him. "Survivors." You mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, a faraway expression on his face as he raised his glass to yours, mumbling out a soft,"Survivors" that was only loud enough for the both of you to hear.

"Now," Abraham said out loud once again, all eyes falling on him. "We get Eugene to Washington, and he will make the dead die, and the living will have this world again." He took a swing of his drink, raising his pinky. "And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

From where Judith sat snuggly in Rick's lap, she cooed and fisted some of his shirts in her small hands.

"Eugene, what's in DC?" The ginger questioned, all eyes now falling on the scientist for the answer.

He took a moment, clearing his throat before he spoke in his usual flat and unwavering tone of voice. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude, that means food, fuel, refuge."

"Restart," Abraham concluded, Eugene giving a short and curt nod at the response. "However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started."

"Save the world for that little one, save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there, who don't got' nothin' left to do except survive." Abraham spoke, his words of encouragement ringing out through the church's walls.

Judith cooed loudly as she squirmed in Rick's lap, and he smiled at her as he readjusted his grip on her tiny torso. "I think she knows what I'm about to say," Rick joked, managing a few laughs from people. "If she's in, then I'm in too."

"We're all in" Carol interjected, smiles spreading across everyone's faces as conversations and laughter began to fill the room again, people started to celebrate by drinking, clapping, and cheering, the energy in the room upbeat and positive. "Let's do it!" Abraham exclaimed, clearly now tipsier than everyone else as he raised his almost empty glass in the air one more time.

The once warm and cozy atmosphere that the church had inside during the earlier activities had been snuffed out long ago, leaving a cold and empty feeling inside the nave.

It wasn't literally cold, or maybe it was just the cigarette that was keeping Daryl warm, taking long drags from the small stick every minute or so. He couldn't be bothered to go all the way outside, and the natural glow of the moon seeping into the room was more than enough.

Plus, it's not like he was alone, considering that you were sitting in the aisle over from him with your head down.

It had been just the two of you in pure silence for about thirty minutes, and Daryl had only been staring at you for twenty. He tried not to, he really did, but it was hard for his eyes to peel away from the way your dress reflected the light, hands neatly folded together in your lap as hair spilled down your shoulders.

Because of the wine from earlier, there was a slight buzz that ran through Daryl's nerves that somehow encouraged him to stop staring and stand, making his way over to where you were sitting.

"Smoking is a sin, and so is interrupting my prayer," You said once he was sat a few inches from you, not even glancing up at him once.

Daryl let out a tiny scoff, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah, well, s'gon fall on deaf ears anyway"

"Do you not believe in God?" You asked as you blinked your eyes, now turning your head to look at him with genuine curiosity etched on your features.

The man shook his head. "Ain't ever believed in no God," he said, pulling another hit and speaking around it. "Hell, ain't ever believed in nobody"

You sighed a little, leaning back against the bench. "God believes in you"

Daryl scoffed a lot louder at that. "Don' even believe in m'self"

"Well, I believe in you," You said with a shrug, scooting a bit closer to him to bump him with your elbow.

He grumbled as he bumped you back, more so pushing as he held his cigarette between his teeth. "Wha' else ya' believe in? Sandy Clause?"

You let out a small giggle at his butchered version of the fictional character. "Santa, and no, I don't. But I do believe that this is the next world though."

"Why? We ain't dead yet" Daryl analyzed you from the corner of his eyes.

You shook your head, "No, we're not. We never have been. Don't you see? This, this is the resurrection" waving your hands around for emphasis.

"I thought everyone was s'pposed ta' disappear or some shit?" He questioned and you rolled your eyes at him. "Oh come on, I thought you didn't believe in stuff like that. Did you also think that Jesus was gonna fly down from the sky and save us all?"

Daryl huffed as he took a long drag, getting more toward the last few puffs of his cigarette as he raised a brow at you. "Ain't that tha' whole point?"

"That's what people want you to think. They always talk about the resurrection and how Jesus will come back from the dead to save humanity from its wrongdoings, which is exactly what's happening now"

"Tha' hell ya' tryna' say, girl?"

"That God has a plan. He wants the world to be pure again, he wants us to be pure again"

At your words, Daryl scoffed, taking a long and final drag of his cigarette. "Well, m'not very pure unlike yerself" He said as he stomped out the butt of the remaining stick, crushing it under a muddy a boot.

"You're tainted, and its okay. No need to be envious of my non-sinning streak" You jokingly said, flipping your hair which got a tiny chuckle out the older man.

"Now I definitely don' believe ya' ain't ever committed no sin" He said, shaking his head.

You had a small smile playing at your lips, shrugging both shoulders as you looked at him. "I mean, technically walkers aren't people, so I don't really think I've killed anyone"

"Steal anythin'?"

"Thou shall not steal, Daryl. Plus, looting stores is only against the law"

"Well, everyone's told a lie"

"Oh, I'd never lie. The truth will set you free"

Daryl frowned at your words. "Yer startin' ta' piss me off, girl"

"I'm just not a sinner, Daryl. I was raised inside a church, so I spent all my time studying the bible and asking God questions." You said with a sigh, thinking back to when you were still a little girl.

"Wha' kinda questions?" Daryl asked, and you turned once again to meet his gaze.

"Well," You started, taking a moment to think before glancing back up at him. "I've always wondered if you commit a sin inside a church, if it still counts as a sin"

"How would ya' know?"

You shrugged. "I don't, I've never really had any sin to commit"

Daryl hummed, eyes flickering down to your plush lips, tracing the shape of them a few times before shifting his gaze back up to meet your eyes. "Lust is a sin"

"Now that's just unholy, Daryl" You scoffed at him, crossing your arms and turning your head away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks, because lust was indeed a sin. "It's extremely important to save yourself for the person you're gonna marry. Sex is an emotional gift"

The man furrowed his brows, "How do ya' know tha' if ya' ain't ever fucked?" suppressing the shiver that ran through him at his own words.

Something dark twisted and turned in his stomach just thinking about the idea that you were just as pure as the day that you were born, and he tried not to think about the wildly dirty things he wanted to do to you that he knew would potentially leave a stain. You had probably never even thought of doing something like that, let alone with someone of his nature.

But you had, and you were right now, nervously and subconsciously squeezing your thighs together the more self-aware you started to feel within the older man's presence, feeling his eyes traveling over the length of your body. "I told you, I studied the bible. Sex is the connection of two people who are bound to one another for life, aka being married of course"

"Sex could also just be sex," Daryl shrugged, his brows unmoving as your words confusingly rang out in his ears. "Ain't much of a difference is there?"

You sighed, shaking your head at him. "Of course there is silly. When you're married, sex is a form of art and beauty, as well as conception. God intends for us to use our bodies as a way to communicate with our partner. Any other time, sex is just a form of escape and pleasure, abusing the gift that God has given us in a sinful way, or as you know, lust"

Daryl hummed as you simplified the words for him in a way that he still didn't necessarily understand, but he just decided to pretend like he did. "Ya' ain't ever go through hormones growin' up?"

"Are you asking if I get horny?" You let out a tiny giggle at how his eyes snapped to yours at the blunt question, his cheeks starting to tint pink as he grumbled and looked away. You laughed and wrapped your hands around his forearm, pulling at the man and trying to get him to look at you. "Don't get embarrassed! Are you?"

Unknowingly, you had instead pulled yourself a lot closer to Daryl, and when he twisted his head back in your direction, you were both face to face, noses almost touching.

Daryl stopped breathing for a few seconds as your doe eyes stared up at him, flickering down to where your fingers gripped what you now realized was his very muscular forearm. Sitting this close to him under his burning blue gaze made you feel a bit small, and made a funny feeling form in your lower stomach.

His own eyes flickered back down to your lips, finding himself using his other hand to brush some hair out of your face, curling his fingers at the back of your hand and cupping your cheek in a big, calloused palm, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. "Maybe I am"

"This is God's house, Daryl." You muttered in a hushed whisper as you curled your fingers around his arm, trying not to downright melt into the warm touch of his hand.

"Think he's gon' watch us?" He whispered back, and your lower stomach tingled in a way that made your whole core heat up, feeling a mild throbbing sensation coming from your private area as you looked up at the older man, running his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

"I– I don't–" You stammered, shifting your eyes away from his as you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Said ya' always wanted ta' commit a sin inna church, righ'?" Daryl tilted your gaze back to his, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't even know he could muster. "Might as well do the one tha' feels best"

"But I've never done something like this... Will it– Will it hurt?" You said as you searched his eyes, the blue orbs going soft and tender.

"M'not gonna hurt ya' at all sweetheart," He said in a genuine voice, holding your face a little tighter. He couldn't even imagine hurting something as dainty as you, especially not with the way you were looking up at him with curious and innocent eyes. "If anythin' I do hurts, tell me, alrigh'?"

You nodded, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile as it felt like there was an entire butterfly exhibit in your stomach, Daryl learning down into your space and first giving your lips a small peck, before pulling you completely flush by the back of your nape, a shiver running up your spine that went all the way down to your clothed cunt, legs squeezing together as Daryl deepened the kiss, your first and hottest kiss ever.

It made your head light and dizzy, leaving you starstruck and dazed when he pulled away with only a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips, Daryl brushing the skin of your cheek once again as you slowly blinked, still feeling airy from the kiss you just experienced.

"Do that again please" You murmured in a tiny plea, feeling both sets of your lips tingle in excitement at all the new sensations Daryl was showing you.

He pulled you in for a chaste peck, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. "Ya' like tha', pretty girl?" He mumbled the words against you, pressing another kiss to your plush lips and swallowing the tiny moan you let out.

You moved to wrap your arms around the older man's neck, Daryl now taking both his hands and gripping you by your waist, pulling a shocked gasp from you at the way his touch made your cunt ache. He carefully moved you to lay on your back, slotting a thigh between your legs and pressing the denim material against your soaked panties, a noise mixed between embarrassment and need coming from your throat.

It felt so good, and you found yourself trying to rut against Daryl's thigh as he started to kiss and suck at your neck, making you giggle slightly as the skin there was more ticklish than anywhere else. His body was big and warm as it was pressed on top of yours, feeling a pulsating sensation traveling through your nerves as you continued to needily hump his leg, whining softly as you tried to further fuel the feel-good moment you were having.

"Let m'help ya' out doll, jus' leave it all ta' me, gon' make ya feel real good" Daryl spoke the words from the underside of your jaw, kissing his way up to your lips before he leaned back, pulling his thigh back and leaving a hand on your hip, courtesy of your fingers scrambling to curl around his for comfort.

"I'm a bit nervous," You said, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment as you spoke the words. "What if I mess something up?"

"Tha' ain't gon' happen, m'gon do all tha' work fer ya'" Daryl said as his hands moved down to your thighs, lifting and pulling your legs to circle his waist, a shrill shriek tearing out your throat as your dress started to slip down and pool at your waist.

It left your lower half completely exposed, and it was almost an instinct to drop your hands down to cover your panties, a hot blush painting over as Daryl gripped both your hands in one, moving them away and pinning them to your chest. "Nuh'uh, ya' ain't gonna hide from me, pretty girl"

You whined softly as he released your wrists, ducking his head down to kiss and lick your stomach, causing you to jerk from the wet muscle dragging across your skin. His fingers traveled down past the hem of your undies, pushing them midway down your thighs before sitting back up and lifting one of your thighs, yanking the flimsy blue fabric the rest of the way off and stuffing it in his back pocket, pulling you a bit closer as he licked his lips, eyeing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

You weren't exactly sure what to do with your hands, deciding instead to clench the cross around your neck in one and prop yourself up on the other, all this being so new and different, dirty and sinful, that you couldn't help but wanna watch.

Daryl placed a hand on your hip, the other moving to gather spit on his fingers. "Gotta get ya' stretched out so I don' hurt ya'"'

"Is this part gonna hurt? I've only masturbated once, but I was too scared to actually finger myself" You frowned a little, feeling your nerves spike as it started set really just how inexperienced you were.

Daryl leaned down and placed a soft peck to your lips, dipping his fingers into your cunt gently and rubbing the digits up and down your slit, pressing down against your clit and moving in a circular motion, his actions on the bundle of nerves sending shivers sparking up your spine, letting out a moan that was deep in your throat right against the older man's lips.

He let out a low chuckle, adding a second finger to his movement against your clit. "Doesn' hurt now, does it?"

You shook your head, body tingling in a foreign way that almost made you feel like you had been tased but in a good way, not that you've ever been tased before. The rough pads of his fingertips against your clit drove you absolutely crazy, the faster they moved the more you found your hips jerking down in a clumsy attempt to speed up whatever high it was you were riding right now, feeling better than you ever have in your whole life.

"There ya' go beautiful, c'mon, cum on m'fingers" Daryl murmured the words out, quickening his pace as he could feel your legs twitching around him, your whines and whimpers getting louder and louder. He spread your cunt lips apart more which revealed your raw clit more, a few harsh strokes to the small bud before you were biting down on your bottom lip and letting your head fall back, a shaky, pleased cry tearing out your chest as waves of electricity coursed through your entire nervous system.

Rather than pulling his fingers away, Daryl dragged them back down your now much more sensitive slit, this time slipping a single digit past your tight entrance, the feeling foreign and oddly unique. Daryl's finger was a bit bigger than average, so you could feel there was a slight stretch to your virgin hole.

Daryl could feel it too, as well as the way you experimentally clenched and convulsed around his stilled finger, giving you a few minutes to adjust to the new feeling.

When he began to slowly thrust the digit in and out, curling the tip of his finger each time in search of your sweet spot, carefully watching the way your face twisted and contorted.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He asked, starting to brush his thumb against the skin where he was gripping your hip.

You nodded, involuntarily clenching around him. "Yeah, it just feels really funny, maybe I just had my expectations too high," You said as you furrowed your brows, a bit upset that 'fingering' wasn't all you chalked it up to be.

"First finger ain't much, second one might feel 'bit different" Daryl said as he pulled the digit back, this time pushing back into you with both fingers, the stretch and drag of the two digits feeling agreeably more different than just one.

This time Daryl just kept up his steady pace, continuing to thrust and curl his fingers into your cunt, starting to scissor you further open. Your eyes trailed down to follow the movement of his other hand as he released his grip on your hip, beginning to undo the zipper of his jeans and shoving them halfway down, the first and biggest cock you've ever laid eyes on.

Your jaw went a little slack, scrambling to find words as you felt panic boil in your stomach. "That– That's not gonna fit!"

"Calm down doll, I swear yer'gon be jus' fine" Daryl murmured softly, reaching down to reassuringly press his forehead against yours, so close that your eyelashes were almost touching. "Told ya', m'not gonna hurt ya'. S'probably not gon' feel tha' best at first but it gets better, righ'?"

Taking his words into consideration for a minute, you nodded your head against his and let your eyes flutter shut as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips, followed by another, and then the feeling of his fingers slipping out of you.

It left you feeling oddly empty, but there was excitement building up as you watched Daryl spit on his cock, using it as lube as he dragged it up your already slick slit, pressing the tip into your hole and easily pushing past, the stretch of his cock slowly slipping into you a lot more painful than expected, your hands finding his forearms where he gripped your waist and squeezing them tightly, wincing slightly as you dug your nails into his skin.

Daryl caressed the skin of your waist with his thumb, trying his best to ease the discomfort he could see and knew he was causing you. "I know, I know, s'gon be alrigh' gorgeous, yer' alrigh'" He muttered, pulling his hips back and pushing them forward again, repeating the motion in long, deep strokes.

Whatever his method was, it was definitely working, each drag of his cock against your walls feeling better and better, your cunt only getting wetter and wetter which made it so much easier for Daryl to increase his pace, trying his best to restrain himself from completely plowing into you like he had been craving to do for days, weeks now.

He didn't wanna hurt you or go too rough, this was your first time for crying out loud, a sweet christian girl who hadn't even dipped her own fingers inside herself, and here he was, a grumpy tainted man who had somehow managed to stuff himself balls deep into her pure little pussy, hugging his cock in a warm, velvety hold that he just wanted to absolutely ruin.

He watched the way your eyes fluttered, soft moans coming from you as your face seemed to be pleasantly relaxed, the tight and fearful grip you once had on his arms now reduced to a lazy and content hold, fingers squeezed every once in a while when Daryl's cock would bump a rather sensitive nerve. "That actually feels good" You mumbled as a small smile twitched on your lips.

But Daryl knew how he could make it feel even better, and his restraint to hold back from completely plowing into you had run down to nothing, a sharp grunt leaving his throat when he snapped his hips forward, shoving the entirety of his cock into you suddenly.

You let out a surprised squeak at the action, Daryl's hands planting themselves awkwardly but firmly on the church bench, your own moving to keep yourself steady as he ducked his head down to begin sucking your neck, setting a rough and unforgiving pace.

"Oh my fuuuck" You moaned out in a shaky, pleased breath, fingers curling into the wood and your toes curling in your boots. It's like you were dancing on cloud ten, each hard bump of his tip to your cervix making your mouth practically water, sending bolts of lightning licking up your spine.

Daryl groaned into the skin of your neck, sucking and kissing against your pulse as he got lost in the warmth of your cunt. "Got such a perfect fuckin' pussy, love tha' s'all fer me"

You whined and couldn't help but clench around him at his words, a shudder running through you when you felt him start to speed up, pulling tiny moans out of your chest at every thrust.

Daryl muttered in a husky voice right by your ear, "Feels so fuckin' amazin' doll, so damn tight 'nd wet, might fuck ya' fer hours" grabbing you by the hip and pulling you impossibly further in his lap, driving his cock faster and deeper into your body, nailing your tender sweet spot dead on which caused you to let out a high pitch cry, Daryl muffling your sounds with a slow but sloppy kiss.

He slammed his cock right into the sensitive bundle of nerves, each thrust making you feel dizzy and lightheaded, knocking the air out of your lungs but it felt so good you couldn't even care, eyes starting to roll back when Daryl slid a hand down to roughly finger at your clit, the way he was stimulating your whole cunt making the entire room spin, a shaky, needy sob spilling pat your lips as your whole body was drowning in pulsing and throbbing tingles, Daryl placing another kiss to your lips as he only went faster.

"Ya like tha' huh m'lil sinner? Goin' against everythin' ya' stand fer, feels real good don' it?" He groaned the words out against your lips, and you downright whimpered at his words, heart pounding in your ears as he worked your clit, still ramming in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You couldn't think, and the only word you could muster was a small, broken "D-Daryl"

Your hips jerked down to clumsily grind against his fingers and his cock, needily chasing the building high of your second orgasm as it became difficult to keep your volume at a low, moans starting to tear themselves right out your throat.

Daryl reached an arm underneath your back and flipped you into a sitting position, straddling his lap with his fat cock now one hundred percent of the way buried inside you, so deep that you were convinced for a second that he was in your stomach. You draped your arms over his shoulders and muffled a lewd moan into his neck, the first thrust sending him deeper than ever.

He held you flush against him and bunched your dress up with one hand, and squeezed your hip with the other, letting out breathy, heavy moans of his own as he bounced you in his lap, the tight and slick drag of your raw cunt against his throbbing cock straight up addictive.

"So goddamn wet baby, ya' was saving this wet ass lil' pussy fer me huh, lil' devil?" As the man spoke, he sounded extremely winded, with deep and passionate huffs, you couldn't help but convulse around him at his words, a tiny noise leaving your lips as you clung to him tighter, whining as his hand on your hip pulled you even closer against his pelvis. "Fuck, so fuckin' perfect doll"

Only choked-off moans and whimpers came from you, trying to muffle your sounds into Daryl's neck as his cock shifted angles inside, driving himself right into a soft and squishy spot that made you mewl, the man holding you down as he continued to slam into that spot head-on. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving, fucking your cunt almost as if he hated you, but his grip was tight and protective, holding your body against his like he loved you.

Which he did, but he just didn't know how to say it. His only hope being that you could feel it in the way he fucked into you, hips starting to falter slightly as your tight cunt milked his cock, practically sucking him in and making it impossible for him to ever want to pull out.

From the way you had started to tremble and spasm around him, Daryl could tell that your orgasm was getting closer and closer, encouraging him to quicken his pace. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He murmured as he moved down to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yes! Oh my goodness yes” You moaned as your entire body pulsated, each bump of his tip to your cervix sending you further into bliss. Your arms dropped down and you curled your fingers into his sturdy shoulders for purchase as he relentlessly pounded your twitching pussy, keeping your limp body closely pressed against his.

Daryl could feel the boiling heat of his own orgasm rising in his gut, the wet and warm slide of your cunt against the throbbing pulse of his aching cock pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He hitched your dress up further as he adjusted his grip on you, speeding up his pace even more as he started to chase after his own relief, the squeeze of your soft and squishy walls practically making him drunk.

He groaned as electricity licked and burned through his veins, thoughts flashing and racing through his head. “Let me cum in ya’ doll. Gonna get ya’ nice ‘nd plumped up with a lil’ baby, huh?”

That sent tingles shooting down your spine, clenching down around his thickness at the words each time they rang out in your head. Growing up, all you've ever wanted was to have a sweet little baby of your own, and after unlocking such a world like this you couldn't possibly picture life without Daryl at your side.

"Please, please give me that" You almost whimpered as you trembled against his chest, heart pounding in your chest as a heat burned and built up in your stomach. You jerked your hips and made a clumsy attempt to rut down against him, but he tightened the hold he had on your lower half to stop your movements. "I've got ya' gorgeous, m'gon take care of ya', told ya' m'gon make ya' feel good"

Daryl readjusted his position, moving you to sit up properly and gripping you at the waist, pinning up your dress there as well as he started to bounce you in his lap, downright using your body as a sex toy as he plowed right into your sensitive sweet spot, pulling strained and guttural moans from your chest as you tried your hardest to keep your volume down as to not echo off the church's wall, biting back sobs as your hands found their way to Daryl's chest, fingers curling into the strong flesh as all the digits had a hot buzz to them, lungs suddenly not being able to take in any air as your stomach burned, toes curling in your boots and teeth clenching as a wave of scorching hot pleasure washed over your whole entire body, this time not being able to hold back the loud cry that tore it's way out your throat, uncontrollably convulsing around his cock as he thoroughly fucked you through your orgasm, muffling your pleased moans with a messy kiss.

With the way your now overly sensitive cunt squeezed and roughly gripped his pulsating dick, Daryl wasn't far behind in his orgasm, grunting into your mouth as his hips stuttered inside you, cock twitching eagerly as he pumped his load deep into the warmth of your heat, Daryl slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressing it up against yours.

When he pulled away, you were nothing but a puddle of pure jelly, going limp in his grasp as he wrapped a secure arm around your middle, moving to kiss and suck your neck as he covered you back up by dropping your dress, deciding he wanted to stay wrapped inside you a little longer.

"Are you gonna give me my panties back?" You questioned from where you now rested against his shoulder, eyes following the older mans movement as he flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to a new cigarette.

The tip burned red as he took the first and long drag, blowing the smoke up in the air and holding the cigarette away from you by stretching his arms across the bench, humming softly as if taking a moment to think. "Nah"

You pulled back from his chest and gawked at him. "No? There'll be a sticky mess between my legs in the morning!"

He smirked at you, showing a sliver of his porcelain teeth as he did. "Tha's the point, lil' sinner, yer gonna be feelin' me fer days"

The nickname made you blush, turning your head away from the man as you also considered his words, a part of you wanted to feel and experience it all over again, almost arguably a divine slice of heaven itself, and you wanted to taste it once again.

"Well you should never commit a sin twice" You mumbled instead of your real thoughts, cheeks now starting to heat up from embarrassment and a bit of shame, Daryl's cock still buried inside you as a reminder of what you had just done, a reminder that the purity and sacrality you had been preserving for your future man had been completely stripped by another.

Unless, Daryl was your future man, clenching down around him as he took another drag of his cigarette, placing a hand back over your now-covered hip, traveling up to your waist, and squeezing the flesh there. He wasn't the God-fearing, clear-minded, faithful man you had dreamed about as a little girl. Still, he was the strong, protective, and leaderful man that you had dreamed about as a young woman, the man you dreamed of to provide for you and the home you built for another, to protect and preserve the family he's made.

His hand grazed your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek and tracing over the shape of your lips. With his gentle and soft touch, you could feel each blister and callous formed on his hands, the rough feeling of hard work against your skin causing goosebumps.

"Somethin' bad gon' happen ta' us?" He questioned, talking around an exhale of smoke as he did.

"We'll go to hell, Daryl!" You rolled your eyes at him.

He lazily shrugged a shoulder, staring at you with searching eyes. "We'll go together"

Your mouth gaped at his words, stammering as you struggled to find your own. "W– Well I'd much rather prefer we go to heaven together"

"They not gon' let me in" Daryl scoffed slightly as he spoke.

"Not when you commit sins like lust, Mr. Tainted" You flicked his forehead, and he grumbled swatting your hand away, rubbing the reddening skin.

"Ain't my fault, Mrs. Holy, yer' dress leaves little ta' tha' imagination" He muttered, and your eyes widened at his words.

"Are you– My dress goes to my flipping ankles!" You picked up some of the pooled dingy fabric, tugging on it for emphasis.

Daryl shrugged again at that, his eyes now traveling the length of your body where you sat still in his lap. "Don' matter, ever since I saw tha' pretty lil' face I've wanted ta' see the rest of ya', 'nd I ain't disappointed"

You scoffed in disbelief, turning your head in an attempt to hide the heat rising to your face, speaking in a hushed whisper. "My gosh, you speak such foul words in such a sacred place"

"We jus' fucked" Daryl said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigarette as he watched you snap your neck back to him, mouth slightly agape as you scrambled for words. "Y– Yes. But, that doesn't mean you have to talk like that in God's house"

At that, Daryl's cock twitched inside you, a smirk taking over his lips "Ya' said tha' same thing before m'tongue was down yer' throat"

"Daryl!" You hissed, the man chuckling as he gripped your hip and moved to kiss at your already marked-up neck, the weight of your faith starting to weigh heavy as you felt Daryl's cock hardening to life against your walls. "Fornication is straight up breaking the laws of God. We can't– I can't do this again"

The smell of cigarettes and sex painted the church air as you planted both hands on Daryl's chest, pushing yourself up and slowly off his dick with a restrained groan, turning into a sharp gasp when the elder pulled you back down, flush against him.

"Think fornica-whatever s'allot more than jus' sex, 'cause I don' have a problem makin' ya' mines" Daryl mumbled the words into your hair, holding you to his chest with one arm and stubbing out his cigarette in the wooden bench with the other. "God can't stop me from wantin' ya', can he?"

"He can, if you don't truly want me" You muttered into his shirt, and could feel the rumble of his short laughter through his stomach. "'S'good tha' I've wanted ya' fer a while then"

You sighed as you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze, eyes sharp and focused on yours as you moved. "It's more than just want, marriage is a life-long commitment, spiritual and eternal, it's about your faithfulness and loyalty to the person you love, the person you wanna become one body with, share your body with. That's why it's important to save yourself for marriage, to keep yourself pure and clean for the one you want to share it with"

"Aren't we one righ' now?"

"I– I mean– yes, but n– not in the way God intended for us to be–"

"–Why? 'Cause we ain't married? Pretty stupid if yer' askin' me"

He took your left hand in his, bring it up to his lips and placing soft kisses on your delicate fingers, lips lingering against your ring finger.

"Don' need no God ta' tell m'tha' I do or don' love ya', 'cause I know I do, dammit woman, loved ya' since I met ya' on yer' daddy's farm" Daryl scoffed as he finally spoke his feelings into the air, listening to himself and how ridiculous he sounded.

You listened intently, staring at him with glossy eyes as he spoke, your lips twitching and tugging into a tiny smile.

A provider, a protector, a man, a real man, was what Daryl Dixon was, the type of man that you thought could only ever exist in your head and bible, yet here he was, clinging to you and holding you close to him, pressed tightly against and in you, so tight that it felt like you'd just melt right into him at any second, his heart beating erratically in his chest, so much that you could feel it against the beat of your own heart.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You whispered, watching how Daryl's eyes shifted away from yours in the embarrassed way that they always did. "Tell me!"

The man grumbled as you grabbed his face and shook his head, forcing his gaze back on you as he pulled your hands away with his, dropping them down to his chest and holding them there. "I didn' think ya'd want someone like me"

"What? Someone unholy?" You tilted your head slightly at him.

He shook his head, fingers squeezing your wrists. "Someone damaged"

"Damaged? You aren't damaged, Daryl. You're just tainted" You furrowed your brows, frowning slightly at his words.

"Ya' always say tha'" He mumbled, and you sighed. "Because there's no other way for me to put it. You're just a corrupted soul, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person"

He stared at you, licking his lips as he looked at your own, his cock twitching back to life again. "Even if I wanna corrupt ya' too?"

"And how exactly would you do that?" You laughed, but couldn't ignore the heat starting to pool in your gut, feeling a familiar buzz in your fingertips as Daryl ran his hands up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress all the up past your tits, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the cold air hit them, the older man pulling you close and popping one of your tender nipples into his mouth, rocking his hips to full hardness. "M'gonna slut ya' out, pretty girl. Gonna turn ya' into my sweet lil' sinner, a little holy fuckdoll"

"I'm not a sex toy" You whined as he dragged his tongue across your boobs, involuntarily clenching around him as you tried to defend yourself, but Daryl laughed lowly as he trailed his lips up to the skin of your neck, kissing his way up to your ear and taking the lobe between his teeth. "Not yet, gorgeous, not yet"

GUYS. GUYS I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS I SWEAR.

I can't believe its done??? I've snipped so many snippets, cut so much out, stared at it for so long, and now its done (after a few decades) so I hope that everyone who I hyped up for this fic was satisfied and it was everything that I had made it out to be

Anyways this fic wouldn't have even existed without @tylermaxxine the local instigator and chronic coffee chugger

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crheativity · 1 year

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SUMMARY: Someone's picked a fight with Prefect! But he isn't going to let anyone hurt you anymore. Not on his watch. Part 1! Part 2 with Vil and Silver can be found here.

WARNINGS: Uhhh Prefect (you) gets hit in the face & your nose bleeds. also blackmail.

COMMENTS: I actually wanted to write this firstly for some of my moots! I was gonna write more of their favourites but it accidentally got too long to put in one post, so I'm planning on making a part 2 tomorrow. Anyway, @azulashengrottospiano and @i-like-forgs, enjoy!!

It must be raining.

You were just out in a storm. That’s all.

That would explain the crack of thunder that collided with your face and gave you a throbbing headache. The warm liquid blurring your vision and dripping out of your mouth and nose was just the rain, not some unholy mix of blood and tears. The chills that froze you where you stood was just humidity and the cold, not adrenaline and raw fear.

And yet, even with your desperate brain trying to come up with some reasonable explanation, the only thunderstorm you could see in front of you was a student you couldn’t recognise. Not with your head pounding like this. Not with the thunder in your ears.

There was something about the boy that scared you. That wasn’t uncommon - this school was full of terrifyingly promising mages. But the scariest thing wasn’t how he wielded his magical pen with deadly accuracy, or how strong he so evidently was.

It was just how much he seemed to be enjoying the mix of horror and pain, of blood and tears, that must have been so evidently and delicately splashed across your face.

His smile twisted as he raised his pen again, something in those cruel eyes of his setting off alarm signals in your aching head.

“This’ll teach you not to meddle where you don’t belong.”

The pen glowed, pure magic surrounding it as he prepared to shoot. His sadistic eyes were alight with entertainment. He knew what he was about to do. He didn’t care.

You squeeze your eyes shut and braced for the lightning.

A chuckle and an arm wrapping around your waist made your eyes snap back open.

“C’mon babe, gotta run!”

Pulling you by the waist, the boy broke into a run. You stumbled for a minute, but soon followed after. He released your waist but gently took your hand, tugging you along, urging you to be faster.

A stray spell flew between the two of you.

The boy looked back, an uncharacteristic flash of annoyance creasing his brow.

He caught your eye and winked.

“Split card!”

A second boy seemed to appear next to you. He was an exact copy of the first - the same stylishly ruffled orange hair, the same piercing emerald eyes, the same practiced, perfect smile.

The same red diamond under his right eye.

“Hey, keep ‘em busy for me!”

“You got it, king.” The second boy - the product of Cater Diamond’s unique magic - winked at you. He planted his feet, whirled around and started to cast spell after spell at your assailant.

The real Cater Diamond pulled you along, into the school building. Together you ran, through corridor after corridor, passing empty classroom after empty classroom.

Finally, he slowed to a stop in front of a classroom you’d never seen before. Glancing around and putting his finger in front of his mouth in a shushing motion, he grinned at you.

“In here.”

He held open the door for you, shutting it behind the both of you as you looked around. There were all different kinds of instruments and sheet music scattered around, along with an abandoned satchel. You saw at least one set of drums, along with two electric guitars and one acoustic, amps, even some microphones and music stands.

You supposed this was the Light Music Club’s room.

Cater winced, scratching his nape. “My bad, forgot it was so messy here. Whoever that was won’t find us here, though!” He grinned at you, his smile fading when he noticed the condition you were in.

He took both of your hands and, holding you as though you were made of glass, led you over to an amp. He gently pushed you onto it. It was not the most comfortable thing to sit on, but that was not what you were focusing on.

How could it be?

Cater Diamond was standing in front of you. He glowed like the sun wherever he went, commanding your attention and leaving you blinded.

If he ever called you, you would gladly follow.

The light faded a little as he let go of your hands and stepped away. He walked over to the discarded bag on the ground and started rummaging through it.

“There’s gotta be something… aha, #jackpot!” Pulling out a packet of tissues, he made his way back over to you. Pulling out a tissue, he smiled hesitantly. “Do you mind if I…?”

You blinked. You had forgotten about the pounding in your head, which started to come back with a vengeance. Putting one hand to the side of your head, you gestured for him to go ahead.

He stood just in front of you, one hand cupping your face, the other gently trying to clean as much of the blood off as possible. He didn’t say anything as he went about his work, but there was a look in his eyes as he worked. One filled with kindness and empathy, soft enough to make your heart skip a beat.

He stepped back and, crossing his arms as though to survey his handiwork, he nodded satisfactorily. “The blood on your shirt will be hard to wash off, but the bleeding from your nose has stopped.” He gave you a strained - albeit gentle - smile.

You nodded and placed your hands in your lap, studying them instead of meeting the gentle emerald eyes you could feel searching you.

“Prefect…” he started, the hesitancy in his voice evident. He cautiously sat next to you and you glanced up at him. “Is- are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and leaned into him. He startled a little at your touch, then wrapped his arm around you. “I am now.”

“My my, what have we here?”

“What… the hell?!”

That voice… wait, it couldn’t be-

Blinking rapidly to rid your eyes of the tears, you registered three things.

First, and most obvious, was that the thunderstorm was being contained.

Easily.

I mean, the new arrival held him as easily as a newborn kitten for goodness’ sake. He looked almost as twisted as your assailant, with pure glee in his yellow and olive-brown eyes, his wide grin revealing sharp, pointed teeth. He was evidently enjoying the student’s squirming.

“Got him! I wanna squeeze him ‘til he pops~”

The second thing you registered was the hand resting on your shoulder.

Looking up, you noticed another boy, practically a mirror image of the first. One hand was resting protectively on your shoulder, his other hiding his smile. He looked a lot calmer than the first, but his eyes - the exact opposite of his brother’s - betrayed him. The air around him was crackling with excited energy.

“Not yet, Floyd. I believe that Azul has something he wishes to say to him first.”

“Boo. Hurry up.” Wait.

Azul?

Looking around, you finally registered the third - and final - new arrival. Azul Ashengrotto, the head of the Mostro Lounge, was strolling towards the boy. There was something about him that was different. His curly hair caught the sun, making the silvery colour feel akin to pure, vivid white, as though it was glowing. From this angle, you couldn’t see the face you’d studied so many times - his enchanting grey eyes, or the beauty mark just below his mouth.

There was nothing physically different. So what was wrong?

Ah, that was it. He was angry.

“Do not fret, Floyd.” He stopped in front of the boy, directly in front of you. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

“Wh-… what the hell is wrong with you?!” The student shouted, twisting and scratching at Floyd’s arm in a desperate attempt to free himself.

“Wanna find out?” Floyd squeezed the boy tighter and he yelped.

“No! No thank you!”

“Well, at least you have some manners.” Azul drawled.

“What do you want from me?”

“This won’t take long.” Azul fished out some photos from his pocket and showed him. “Do you know who this is?”

“H-… how did you-?!”

“Unimportant.” He waved off the question as though it was simply one about the weather. “However, I believe that it would be in your best interests to leave the Prefect alone now.” “Hah… you’re trying to blackmail me?”

“Blackmail is such an ugly word. I am simply offering you a way out.”

“A way out?” The boy scoffed.

“Certainly. I believe if your mother saw these photos, you would be in a great deal of trouble, would you not? If I am correct, you promised her you’d be on your best behaviour this year. After all, one more incident could be enough for an expulsion, with a track record such as yours.”

“Hey-!”

“It’d be a shame for the school to lose such a promising mage. How about you meet with me in the VIP room tomorrow around 4 o’ clock tomorrow? We can discuss things in more… detail… then.”

The boy glowered but said nothing.

Azul sighed. “I’m a man of my word. As long as no harm will come to the prefect, no harm will come to you in the meantime.”

“Fine.” The boy spat.

“Very well, we have a deal then.” Azul took a step back. “Let him go, Floyd.”

“But he hurt Shrimpy! I don’t wanna~”

“Floyd. There will be plenty of opportunities in the future.”

Floyd complained loudly, but let the boy go. He smoothed his jacket, glaring daggers at you and Azul in turn. Then he whirled around and stormed off.

Three pairs of eyes now turned to you.

You blinked in return.

“Shrimpyyy~!” Floyd bounded over to you and squeezed you in a rib-cracking hug. “Did the bad man hurt you? Don’t worry, you’re with us now, Shrimpy!”

“Give them some air, Floyd.” Jade said and tugged Floyd’s shoulder, attempting to pull him away from you.

“Nooo-“

“Are you alright, Prefect?” Azul asked. He sounded worried.

Floyd and Jade exchanged conspiratorial smirks and Floyd let you go. There was blood on his jacket from where your head had rested against him.

The realness of what just happened began to set in. The pounding sensation in your head came back with a vengeance. “I-…” the world began to spin around you, and Azul grabbed you, panic in his eyes. You felt your legs buckle and he caught you smoothly. “Sorry- I just-“

“It’s quite alright. I will stay with you as long as you need.” Azul reassured you, although you didn’t - couldn’t - miss the quiver in his voice or the pink dusting his face. He pulled out a handkerchief and put it to your face. You took it and applied pressure to your nose, angling your head downwards in order to stop the bleeding, as Azul hesitantly rubbed patterns into your back to help you feel better. The sensation made you feel warm.

With a smile, you realised it wasn’t storming anymore. The sun had finally come out.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

#Rhea's twst fics~!#twisted wonderland #Azul Ashengrotto #twst #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #Cater Diamond #cater diamond x reader #cater x reader #twst fluff #Azul twst #Azul Ashengrotto twisted wonderland #Cater twst #Cater Diamond twisted wonderland

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carionto · 1 year

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Hardcore Space Parkour

Some Humans are worryingly agile. And stupidly driven to endanger themselves. For no reason we can understand.

________________________

Within the Coalition governing station of the segment of the Galaxy where the Sol system is are countless embassies for each member civilization. Each is designed to accommodate their respective species (or multiple in certain cases) to the fullest while also being able to host guests from any other member.

Then there are the communal areas, set for a galactic standard that is viable for the majority - gravity at 0.6 Earth, far less of that dangerous oxygen, and slightly more humid and cooler than what Humans are normally comfortable with. In fact, Humans technically fall outside the Galactic standards and are all equipped with a partial breathing assistance unit and pressurized clothing to stimulate their circulation. While they can function reasonably well despite what we assumed would be too draining without assistance, most Humans do make use of these gadgets.

Some, however, prefer to "stimulate" themselves a bit differently.

There is a small group of individual Humans many have dubbed "Leaping Cortix" after an infamous invasive fuzzy gelatinous centipede-like pest species that always manages to make a hive on any sufficiently large space station or vessel given enough time. Everybody swears they're some kind of magic, and it's hard to dissuade such a notion when there are fairly common reports of ships on deep isolation missions, without making contact with anyone or anything else for years at a time, still one day find themselves with a pack of Cortix skittering about near their nutrition supplies!

This group of Humans, found the title amusing and have embraced it. One of them even made a hooded sweater with the name and a stylized Cortix jumping off the letter x.

The reason for the name is simple - despite becoming integrated into the Coalition just around a year ago, Humans seem to appear everywhere within this segment of the Galaxy. Mostly in small groups for tourism reasons, but the point still stands. And these Humans in particular appear to make it a habit to appear out of the most unexpected places.

The leaping portion comes from how this group tends to move around the communal areas. Most Humans adapt to the lower gravity and eventually (rather quickly actually) change how they move around when outside their embassy - the movements seem more relaxed, fluid, some even appear to exert almost no effort at all in their steps. This group on the other hand utilizes the full force of their incredibly dense musculature.

First, they jump good. Real good. Then they bounce and pivot, real fast. After a few days they started a game - get to any place without touching the floor. Not even a day later they managed to always be in the air.

At first it was impressive and quite mesmerizing. Quite a sight to behold as they got better and quicker at chaining their jumps and bounds together into one smooth motion that took them from one part of the station to the other in mere moments.

Then they started getting bored. And one of them had an idea. An "awesome" idea.

Add flying robots and moving obstacles.

Chaos ensued. Naturally.

As the Humans leapt off of one of the maintenance machines they programmed to hover between several distant structures, it could not compensate for the sudden recoil from the movement and crashed down on the floor. Thankfully it was above a small garden and only some artificial plants were damaged, as well as itself, but that was enough to call in the peacekeeping units to put a halt to their antics.

We deliberately brought a Human peacekeeper along to make the reprimand stick. The Leaping Cortix, most of whom are junior staffers and one is a retired military veteran now serving as a consultant, looked ashamed, but also sad. At least they seemed to understand the gravity of the situation (though perhaps not as well as the physics of gravity) as the wreckage was cleared in clear sight of everyone.

After the offending member was issued a token fine (as it was their first offense), the group as a whole became less active. Initially, most people felt relieved, but as the incident grew more distant in memory, the sight of the flying Humans started to become missed by quite a few.

Some from the more physically able races were even inspired to try this "parkour" the Humans had demonstrated and found it quite thrilling. When done in a lower than their normal gravity that is. Trying it at their standard caused a few broken bones and cracked shells.

There is currently a petition by the permanent residents to dedicate a large open indoor field for such extreme physical sports as well as to commission the design of a variety of machines to facilitate, as written in the official documentation - "stimulating courses to improve the physical well being and readiness of all participants".

I.E. - Humans introduced a new sport to us and many are hooked.

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto

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vienssunshine · 1 year

Text

Come Over for a Swim, Darling

pairing: Nanami Kento x fem reader nsfw word count: 4.9k author's note: This was the winner from the poll! It was supposed to be bite-sized but the story got away from me. Parts are inspired by our queen lana del rey. description: You take your neighbor up on the offer of his pool on a hot summer day.

He’s such a gentleman, isn’t he?

It’s been an unforgivably hot July this year, so it was perfect when the man next door offered his pool for whenever you needed to escape the relentless heat.

“Anytime you need, even if I’m not home, you’re welcome to come over for a swim,” your neighbor Nanami had told you at the annual block party.

So as you’re packing a pool bag, fighting through the hot, humid air your busted AC does little to improve, the only emotion you feel is immense gratitude.

You cross the street to his house, noting that his car is still parked in the driveway. Maybe you should knock on the door? Let him know you’re here?

No, that would probably bother him. He could be busy with things around the house and, since he’s doing you such a huge favor, you want to be as little of a nuisance as possible.

You have his number—he gave it to you at the block party in case there’s ‘anything you might need’—so you pull out your phone and type out a text to him:

“Hey! Thanks again for letting me use your pool, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there this afternoon.”

After sending the message, you let yourself into his backyard through the gate in the white fencing.

Your neighbor never talked much about his work, but it’s clear that it pays well. The backyard is spacious and well taken care of with mowed, bright green grass covering the area, only broken up by the cement surrounding the large tropical blue pool just behind his house. Lawn chairs line the near side of the pool and there’s a garden with a large tree that droops over the water on the far side.

You place your bag down on one of the lawn chairs and stretch out, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin, though you’re quick to favor the coolness of the pool when you crouch down and swipe your fingers through the water.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a text from your neighbor:

“Of course. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

You smile, he’s so kind to you. A girl could get the wrong idea. It doesn’t help that he’s tall, built, and handsome. Somehow, he’s unclaimed; you’ve only ever seen one car in his driveway.

After pulling off your cover-up to reveal your white bikini, you wade into the pool. The cool water welcomes you, and you lower yourself down to sit on the steps, submerging your poor, overheated body up to your shoulders. It’s refreshing to a cellular level and exactly what you need after a long, scorching summer. You lean back, arms behind you on the stairs and sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose.

Your gaze floats around your surroundings, noting that you wouldn’t mind living like this, able to enjoy the luxurious backyard whenever you please, until you catch a small movement in the corner of your eye. You follow it to see your neighbor peering down at you through his upstairs window.

He must be checking up on you, how sweet of him. You push your sunglasses down, eyes locked on his, and bring your hand up to give him a little wave.

Nanami returns the gesture and softly smiles. You expect him to close the curtain and return to whatever he was doing, but he doesn’t, seemingly having a hard time pulling his eyes from the sight of you enjoying his pool.

How interesting.

You sit up, water dripping off your chest and leaving behind little droplets that make your skin glitter in the sunshine. His eyes flick down to your bikini top, only for one, shameful second, but you still notice. It sends a rush through your veins; you like his attention, and he doesn’t appear interested in taking it away. This could be fun.

His stern eyes follow your hand as you run it up from your stomach, to your collarbone, and finally to one of the white, thin straps of your top. You enjoy how Nanami, whom you’ve deemed a stoic man, appears impacted by your roaming touch, eyes slightly widening as your delicate fingers push the strap off your shoulder.

You move further into the pool, turning around in the water so your back faces the window, and watch Nanami’s face, determined to soak up any micro-expression the man was willing to concede as you drop the other strap from your shoulder.

His big hand comes up to the collar of his button-up, pulling the patterned tie around his neck loose. The man’s waning restraint makes you giggle, simply delighted by how your teases are affecting him.

You submerge further into the pool so the water is level with your collarbone, and the man’s gaze is unwavering as your hands come around your back to unclasp your bikini top. You turn and toss it onto the cement surrounding the pool, but when you look back to the window to see the spectator’s reaction, you find it empty.

The back door slides open. Nanami’s tall body consumes the doorway as he stands in the threshold, tempted but still hesitant, like he’s wavering between worlds and just a step away from fully giving in to you.

He greets you calmly as if the situation he’s in—having his topless neighbor in his pool—isn’t notable or unwelcome in any way. “Hello.”

You smile at him, coquettish and daring, “Hi.”

“How are you enjoying the pool?” He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with a smirk on his face you can only find if you look for.

“I like it a lot,” you respond, moving to the pool’s edge and leaning on it, the water the only thing keeping you modest. “I’d like it a lot more if you joined me.”

“I think I’d feel the same.”

“Okay, go put on your suit,” you giggle. He’s still wearing his work clothes, long pants and a button-up—attire that’s unacceptable for such a hot day.

“That will take too long,” he says, “I’m fine in this.”

He walks to the pool's edge and stops, looking down at you. Though you don't know it, with his line of work, it’s always best to approach unfamiliar situations with a level of caution, and something like this has never happened to him.

Only when you call to him, voice silken and sweet like a siren’s, his sorcerer mindset of constant suspicion is forgotten. “Come into the water, Kento,” you say, and it ensures there’s no way Nanami can refuse your request. Compelled, he removes his leather shoes and joins you in the pool, sitting down on the submerged steps and paying no mind to how the water soaks his expensive work clothes.

You glide over to him and settle down on a step below his so you can keep the veil of water over your chest. He brings a big hand to your cheek, drinking in every feature of your face as his thumb strokes your warm skin.

“So nice to me,” you hum, leaning into his rough palm, “letting me use your pool.” You rest your arm on his clothed thigh and smirk. “Did you expect this to happen?”

“I didn’t,” he confesses, “But I’m glad you took up my offer.”

“Me too,” you say, dipping your chin down and looking up at him with your pretty eyes, “Can I show you how grateful I am?”

He's breathless when he responds, "You may, dear."

Then you're climbing up his built body, water falling off of you, so you can lean forward and press your lips to his. When he processes what’s happening—that the neighbor he hasn’t been able to shake from his mind is kissing him—he melts into it, a big arm wrapping around your waist and the other coming up your bare back, his hand cradling your head and pushing you into him.

You smile against his mouth, elated by the win of seducing your hot next-door neighbor, and he notices, of course, but just feeling your soft body against him is enough to decide to be as sweet as you are being to him.

The hand on the back of your head gently tugs at your hair, pulling a gentle sigh from your lips which he uses as an opening to deepen the kiss. Though he’s pushing you into him, with his tongue rolling over yours, you can tell he’s tempering himself. There’s flashes of impatience and desperation, with the way he nips your lips or roughly squeezes the softness of your sides, but they’re actions he quickly suppresses. It makes you wonder if he’s holding back for a reason, if he wouldn’t be able to stop if he were to fully indulge in you.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers into your mouth in a momentary pause, and the low notes of his gruff voice send the thoughts out of your head and heat rushing to your cheeks.

Then he pulls you from his side into his lap, your wet body—and bare chest—now pressed against his as you straddle his soaked pants. His shoulders are underneath your palms, and you tighten your fingers around them, squeezing the thick, sturdy muscle the wet fabric sticks to; he feels stronger than he looks.

“I appreciate”—he kisses your jaw—“how you express”—then your ear—“your gratitude.” His last kiss is placed on your neck, and you gasp—you’re so sensitive there—and cant your hips into nothing.

“So needy,” he remarks with a low chuckle, hands traveling down to your sides, conducting electricity through your nerves as they move, “At first, I thought you just needed my pool, but now I think you need more.”

“Need you,” you tell him, almost whining, pulling at the tie loose around his neck, “Now.”

“You need to be taken care of,” he agrees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hips. He places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Let me make you dinner, sweet thing. Why don’t you come inside?”

His suggestion, one you’d normally appreciate, seems unreasonable with the painful ache pulsing through you. You lean forward, pressing a wet kiss on his neck that pulls a groan from him. “Kento, that sounds nice, but I want you, not dinner.”

His hands land on your shoulders, rendering you still. “I know, darling, but I can’t take care of you how I want in the pool. Please, let me dry you off and feed you first.”

You huff, which he finds amusing, but give in to his request, allowing him to help you out of the pool, wrap a warm, fuzzy towel around you, and lead you inside.

Your body is frustrated with you, wanting release so badly, but he’s right, a pool isn’t the most pleasant setting for sex, and you should eat something as you haven’t eaten since this morning, too distracted with trying to fix your AC.

Nanami steps away for a moment and it gives you some time to check out his living room. The interior of his house is as impressive as the exterior: spacious, clean, and decorated in a way that invites you in. Interestingly, there aren’t any picture frames around the house, rather, the shelves are filled with books, all academic-looking and on niche topics regarding the supernatural.

Nanami returns dressed in dry slacks and a short-sleeve button-up. He has a change of clothes for you, a big t-shirt and sweatpants, presumably his own.

It’s still hot–and you feel like testing him–so you tell Nanami that: “Just the shirt is fine.” You put it on, though it’s more of a dress with the way it covers the first few inches of your thighs, and then pull your bathing suit bottom down and step out of it, leaving nothing underneath the shirt-dress. Nanami stares at you, eyes wide.

“Can’t stay in my wet bikini,” you say, unsticking the long shirt from your wet thighs.

“Right,” he says, regaining his composure and taking the bottoms from you, “I’ll hang it up with your top.”

For dinner, he makes you a pasta dish, and it’s delicious, but what you enjoy more is teasing him as he cooks, never letting him forget what you really want from him. You make multiple attempts at convincing him to forgo the dinner plans and head to his room, just so distracted by how his hands move and forearms flex as he prepares the food, but make little headway.

After the meal and patiently dealing with your quips that were only exacerbated by your glass of red wine, he leads you up a tall staircase to his bedroom. The lighting from the lamps on either side of his bed is soft and warm, and a glance at the dark window tells you that the night has been much longer than you realized.

He shuts the door behind you.

“Finally,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him, but his rough hand on your shoulder stops you, bringing a confused frown to your face.

He takes his hand from your shoulder and uses it to tilt your chin up, his eyes darker than before. “You’ve been teasing me all night and expect me to reward that behavior?”

“You’re saying that like you didn’t enjoy it,” you respond, because if this is the game he wants to play, you’ll play it.

“However I felt does not change the fact that you were trying to work me up.”

You smirk up at him, guilty as charged.

Nanami puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the foot of the bed. Then he waits, staring at you expectantly, so you sit down on the edge of the mattress, making sure the hem of his big t-shirt just barely covers the glistening mess between your legs. His eyes flick down to the tease and his jaw clenches.

“So you’re going to punish me then?” you wonder, thrilled by how riled up you’ve gotten your poor neighbor.

“I’ll see if it’s possible for a brat like you to behave first,” he says, parting your thighs. The breath he lets out at the sight of you is shaky. “Look at that,” he says, thumbing your wet folds.

You’ve been left wanting for his touch for too long, so your head falls back at the sensation of his hands against your plump lips, “I like feeling you there,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He hums, pleased, and continues to stroke you, fingers dipping in and out of your wetness, before he removes them and sinks down to his knees so his face is level with your cunt.

You allow your legs to fall open further, and he places his rough palms on the insides of your thighs to ensure they’ll stay that way. His hot breath fans against your folds, making you quiver with anticipation. When he leans forward and starts to eat you out, the only coherent thought you can think is: he knows what he’s doing.

It’s embarrassing, how you were talking so much talk, trying to woo your handsome neighbor with your honeyed words, and now the only thing coming out of your mouth is a series of whines and gasps as he glides his tongue along your folds. You bring your hand down, knotting it into Nanami’s golden hair, but he’s quick to remove it.

He tsks, “None of that. You’re going to be quiet and sit still like a good girl.”

Be quiet and sit still? When he’s making you feel so good? Does he know he’s asking the impossible?

You begin to whine before he interrupts you, “Do you want me to keep going?”

Wanting him so badly for the entire night and getting only a taste of the pleasure he can give you, it’s making the space between your legs hurt. Truthfully, you’ve been aching for him this whole time, and you just want to feel better.

He’s watching you, sharp eyes evaluating what you’ll say next, even though he knows the truthful answer to his question.

Defeated, you nod. He smiles. “Good girl. Now, stay still for me.”

He returns to his spot nestled between your thighs and pushes his tongue through your folds once more. The action would have earned a delighted sigh from you if you weren’t trying so hard to keep it in. Your teases must have really gotten to him if his retaliation is this cruel.

It becomes harder to pretend you’re unaffected by his touch when his tongue begins to close in on your clit, all swollen and sensitive. He’s been circling around the area, never making direct contact until now, when he gently flicks his tongue against it. Your body seizes and your mouth opens wide in a silent gasp.

He waits a moment, seeing if you’ll crack, but you don’t.

“So good,” he purrs, and warmth flows into your lower stomach.

His hands squeeze the flesh of your thighs as he encourages the tornado of heat twisting in your stomach with the gentle licks of his tongue on your clit. You should be given an award for how well you’re holding up, fighting to keep still and letting the man pleasure you how he wants all without allowing the noises your body needs to make escape your lips, which are now swollen from biting into them.

“Alright, I think you’ve proven you can be good when asked to be,” he says, kissing your clit, “So you don’t have to restrain yourself anymore.”

You should have learned your lesson by now, it wasn’t easy to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan Nanami’s name, but, even so, you're eager to push your neighbor’s buttons a little more. So you lie, saying that it “wasn’t even that hard to sit still.”

He pauses, which strikes both fear and excitement into your thundering heart, as he assesses your statement, disapproval etched into his sharp features.

“I didn’t want it to be too much for you the first time,” he says, “But if you want to continue to act like a brat, I’ll just have to deal with you like one.”

Then, with ruthless candor, he locks your legs in place by circling his big arms underneath them and clasping his hands together just above your lower stomach. His strong forearms are pressing down on your hips, rendering you pinned to the mattress beneath you.

“Kento, uh-wait–ah”

His mouth is on your heated core again, nuzzling the flesh before taking his clit into your mouth and sucking, hard. You buck your hips up, instinctively trying to escape the intense sensation, but his iron grip makes your effort all for naught.

Then his tongue rolls over your clit in his mouth, whiting out your vision. Your lips gasp his name, and then repeat it in a far more strained and strangled manner. He’s being so rough, tugging at you like a loose string in a sweater and unraveling you faster than you can take.

“I thought it wasn’t hard to keep quiet?” Nanami mocks, “I think I’ve heard my name two times just now.” It’s less than a second after he speaks for his mouth to resume the merciless stimulation to your clit.

“No, not–ah–not hard at all,” you say, pretending like you don’t have to rack your brain to be able to respond to him.

“Is that so? Tell me more.”

He’s asking too much and he knows it; you can’t focus with him touching you like this, each lap of his tongue washing away the start of every coherent thought. You moan as a response, hoping he will let you get away with it.

He doesn’t. “Darling,” he states. He wants the truth.

It all comes out like a waterfall, with your resolve eroded away by the waves of pleasure hitting your body. “Okay–okay–it–was–hard–to–be–quiet–and–I–I–just–need–you–to–keep–going–please–Kento–I–need–it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your clit as a reward. “That’s a good girl.” Then, he continues to tend to the growing want splitting apart your body with calculated licks and sucks along your ridges.

Much to Nanami’s satisfaction, you allow the whimpers and whines your body wants to make flow out of you, finally finished with being so difficult. He likes how needy and pliant you've become, especially since he’s been waiting to have you like this for a while. Dirty thoughts have been plaguing his mind since the block party when you were wearing a sundress that hugged every delectable curve and dip of your body. He remembers the exact color and pattern of the dress, because he's the type to be observant, which also means he's the type to know when he's getting you close.

“Fuck, Kento,” you gasp.

The way you're squeezing your legs together and quickening your breath tells him to keep his movements consistent, and in doing so, his tongue takes you to your climax in an embarrassingly quick amount of time. A final lap of his tongue unleashes a white-hot river of pleasure that twists around your core, making you gasp Nanami’s name as if he could do anything about it. Your body locks up: hands squeezing his forearms with your fingernails digging into his skin and your head falling back onto the mattress as you endure the sensation.

He crawls up next to you on the bed, talking you through it as you writhe. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he croons, watching your eyes flutter and listening to the sweet sounds of your pleasure-drunk babbling. “You’re doing so good.”

When your endless moans settle back down to panting, he cradles your cheek, asking you, “Are you alright, sweet thing? Was it too much?” His other hand is stroking your thigh in soothing patterns, delivering gentle pushes of pleasure as the disorienting buzz vibrating through your body fades away.

Catching your breath, you lean into his rough palm, “M’okay.” He smiles softly as he swipes his thumb along your cheekbone in gentle caresses, a stark contrast to the hard erection pressed to your thigh. It’s funny, how he’s pretending it isn’t even there, but you feel it, warm and throbbing against your leg.

He’s gotten his way, so it’s only fair that you get a turn, too.

Your eyes flick up to his face and your fingers play with the collar of his shirt when you say, “Now I wanna take care of you.” Your hand, still a little shaky from the impact of your orgasm, travels down his warm chest to the bulge in his pants. When you begin to stroke him over the fabric, he hisses and you smile up at him. “Seems like you need some attention, Kento.”

God, you’re such a tease, even after making you cum so hard you couldn’t see. If anything, it spurred you on.

He tries to say something, but you squeeze his erection and he’s unable to get his thoughts straight. Taking advantage of his weakness, you push his shoulder back, laying him down on the space on the mattress beside you. Then, you settle on top of him, sitting on his big legs with your hands near the notable outline pressing through his pants.

“It’s been such a long night,” you coo, unbuttoning his shirt so you can run your palms up and down the planes of his abs, careful to not get too close to his waistband. He watches your fingers as they skim his hot skin, a gentle and unconscious thrust of his hips pressing the clothed aching into nothing.

“Let me help you,” you offer, eyes lidded. He can’t take much more of this anymore, not after being teased all night and then seeing the face you made when you came on his tongue.

“Alright,” he concedes, breath uneven as your fingers approach his waistband, a pleased smile spread across your face.

You unzip his pants and pull down his briefs, freeing his throbbing erection and quickly taking it in your hands, running your fingers up and down his length in a loose fist. It twitches underneath your palm.

“Poor Kento,” you say as you stroke him, “So pent-up and needing to be taken care of.”

“You did this to me,” he responds through his teeth.

“Then I’ll make it up to you.” You lean forward, your lack of underwear allowing you to align your dripping hole and his cock with ease. And when you sink down on him, taking him deep inside of your warmth and bearing the delightfully painful stretch the movement comes with, Nanami sees heaven itself.

His hands clamp down on your hips as you begin to ride him, stabilizing yourself with his shoulders. The tight hug of your walls squeezes around him as you bounce up and down and make such sweet noises that compound the pleasure tearing through him.

“Fuck, darling,” Nanami says, eyebrows pressed together, “You feel so good.”

You smirk, leaning further forward, and capturing him in a messy kiss. The new angle has your clit brushing against the base of his dick as you grind, reinvigorating flames that lick the insides of your stomach. You’re moaning again, now into Nanami’s open mouth as he bucks his hips into you, chasing the release your warm walls are teasing him with. He’s been so disciplined this whole time, waiting to make sure he’s taken care of you before he got to fuck you, and now that he has, he isn’t holding back.

His thrusts are messy, quite unlike the thoughtful flicks of his tongue when he pleasured you. He can’t think straight when you feel this good.

“Seems that you like this,” you laugh, voice breathy and coated with arousal.

“Of course I do, dear,” he says, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your hips, “You’re—fuck—worth the wait.”

Your grin is victorious as you watch how he falls apart beneath you, chest heaving and a light pink glow spread across his nose and cheekbones. Nanami, who’s been watching your face—it’s his favorite place to look when being intimate—notices your delight.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, but it’s not accusatory, rather, amused.

If ‘this’ is referencing you having your hot next-door neighbor beneath you eagerly meeting your grinding hips and filling you up with his cock like it’s his life purpose, then yes, this is exactly what you wanted.

“It–ah”—his thrusts have gotten harder—“it is.”

“Is that so?” he asks, and then his hands wrap around your wrists, taking them from his shoulders and holding them by your sides, pulling you down so he can thrust harder and deeper into your cunt. “Let’s see if you can take it then.”

The wetness and cum from your orgasm have slicked your insides copiously, so it’s the pressure of having him so deep, kissing your cervix, that you’re having trouble adjusting to. Your mouth is gaping in silent gasps, the words fucked out of you, and your eyes are rolled back as he pistons himself in and out, his pace unforgiving. And there’s nothing you can do about it, with your arms pinned to your sides, you’re at his complete mercy as he slams his hips into your wet cunt.

“So f-fast, Kento,” you manage to say, “fuck.”

“I said I would treat you like the brat you are,” he responds.

Maybe this will teach you to not push him so far.

Or maybe it won’t, because having him so rough with you, pushing you to your limit, fucking you like he’s punishing you, it’s what’s stirring up a second orgasm deep in your stomach.

“K-Kento, feels s’good, my god–”

“That’s what I thought, dear,” he groans, “Figured you liked it rough. Can feel you clenching around me.”

He doesn’t sound like the gentleman you thought he was when he talks like this, but you love it.

You throw your head back, forcefully nearing your breaking point as he pulls you into him. His grip crushing your wrists, but the sensation is unfelt when you finally cum all over him.

An unbridled whine rips through your throat as your fingers curl into fists, your body shaking but unable to move due to Nanami’s hold. So all you’re able to do is stay upright as Nanami pulls you down into his dick once more, the contraction and spasms of your walls throwing him over the edge, and empties his load deep in you. His face is contorted in pleasure and he groans as your canal grants him the release you’ve teased him with all night.

The moment his grip on your wrist relaxes, you double over, falling down into the safety of his warm, broad chest. His dick is still inside you, but the sensation is not unwelcome; it feels nice to be connected to him as you cuddle.

You trace the lines of definition on his chest, his slowing heartbeat calming you. Nanami’s hand snakes underneath the oversized shirt to rub slow circles on your back. “How are you doing?” he asks, soft and sincere.

You nuzzle your head into his chest. “I’m good, a little tired though.”

“You’re welcome to spend the night.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling buzzes around your heart.

“But first, please, allow me to run you a bath. I can’t have you sleeping uncared for.”

You suppose you’ll have to get used to this kind of treatment.

“Okay,” you smile.

#kento nanami #jjk smut #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x you

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leclerc-hs · 11 months

Text

after hours - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: based upon ‘After Hours’ by the Weeknd….kinda? Warnings: angst? bad writing lmao, some smut Word Count: 1,955 Author's Note: Feel free to send in requests. I know I'm not the best writer but I have fun doing it anyways lmao kk love u all!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN'T ALWAYS like this. This mess of a situation that had caused utter chaos and pain that now lays awake inside the both of you. You used to be happy.

“Without you I can’t sleep,”

In the midst of a restless night, you couldn’t help but toss and turn. You were thrashing around and the sheets were at complete disarray from your constant kicking and rolling around. The oppressive summer heat was merciless as it couldn’t help but creep in through your windows and into your apartment. You had stripped down into a mere spaghetti strapped tank top with the most diminutive semblance piece of underwear. One would question the classification of such a minuscule garment. Sleep, in these circumstances, appeared to be pointless.

You spent, what felt like hours, relentlessly scrolling on your phone in hopes you would eventually grow tiresome. And it was working at first. That is, until you saw the Instagram story of him. Him at the club with friends. While you lie here completely alone and restless.

The initial reaction to seeing this story was to roll your eyes. By the time 5 minutes had passed and you were still staring at it, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. It just doesn’t make sense. How is it that he can be out partying while you’re in bed incapable of sleep. Did he not care? Did he ever even love you?

You began to laugh at yourself. Of course, he didn’t love you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl. He would’ve fought for you more.

“Girl, I felt so alone inside of this crowded room,”

The swarm of heat surrounded him. But not from the humid summer air like you. No, his form of insufferable heat was from the crowd of drunken bodies that filled the club. His friends had dragged him out. Told him he needed to ‘stop moping around’. Told him that he ‘needs time with his boys’ to cheer up.

The irony of this all weighed heavily upon him. A relentless reminder of the gaping void you have left behind. It was as if you had woven yourself into the very fabric of his consciousness. A presence that refused to be ignored.

It had only been a few weeks since he saw you last. But still, you would never leave his mind.

But who is he to complain? Who is he to even care about how he feels when its him who had destroyed one of the only good things in his life. It was all a mistake. One he would absolutely take back and delete its existence if he had that kind of power.

“I know I made you fall,”

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me,” Your voice trembled with each shout of a word that you let out. The very walls that surrounded you felt as if they were caving in. It was unbearable. The act of betrayal was too blatant to ignore.

Your boyfriend in tabloids kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Publicly.

The words repeated in your head like a broken record.

“Mon amour,” he started. You cut him off almost instantly. You could not be silenced.

It was too quick. So quick, you couldn’t even process the rage that was igniting within you. One second, you held his phone in your hand. The next second, it was shattered all over the floor beside him. Smashed from impact of hitting the wall. A mirror of what your trust for him looked like.

“Don’t call me that,” you seethed. You ached. “I’m not your anything.”

His mouth opened ready to fight back. Ready to do anything for your forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t handle it. He needed you.

“Not anymore,” you continued before grabbing your purse. “Don’t contact me. I can’t look at you.” You couldn’t even cry. Your eyes were red, puffy, and completely dry. Your body couldn’t even handle making more tears.

The worst part about this entire fight? Did you really want no contact, or did you just yearn for him to fight for you? The question loomed over you.

Honestly, it’s a fine line. Deciding if the no contact really is the best option or if all you wanted was for him to show more effort for you. To try harder. Would you forgive him? Would you move on?

“It was simply a blessing waking beside you,”

He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mornings you spent together. Even at the club. He was shameless.

The morning sun slowly began peeking through the cream-colored curtains of your bedroom. It was one of your favorite times. The time where you’re on the cusp of being lucid but not completely there yet. This time full of raw love and passion.

His fingers slowly trailed up your ribcage and to your nipples before giving them a slight pinch. Goosebumps arose wherever his fingers trailed.

“Mon amour,” his hips started rolling slowly into you. Your nipple still pinched in between the rolling of his two fingers. “Give it to me” he said.

You were a moaning mess. “Please,” you were begging. Begging to reach that peak you oh so needed.

“Tell me what you need,” The pace of his hips increased. The sound of skin to skin slapping mixed with the sounds of both of your moans filled the room and only pushed you towards the edge more.

“Is it me, amour?” He started. “You always take me so well. So, fucking tight mon amour,” Charles was relentless now. His hips picked up pace urgently. He was feverishly reaching for that peak as well. He fucked himself into you so hard it was as if he was trying to burn the memory of you here with him for forever.

“What a fucking salope,” He edged you further. “My fucking salope.”

“Come on, mon amour. Make a fucking mess of me,” It was right then. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. Your own thighs squeezed tighter together as you pulsed around him. His orgasm following soon after.

Charles breathed heavily behind you and placed gentle kisses along the backside of your shoulder blade.

“You did so well, mon amour,” He pecked more kisses. “I never want to wake up without you.”

“Sorry that I broke your heart,”

It was well late into the night. In the dimly lit room, you found yourself wrapped in an emotional embrace. Hard knocks were heard on the front door of your apartment causing you to jump up in surprise.

“Mon amour,” you heard him speak first on the other side of the door. You immediately stopped in your tracks. Your throat felt constricted. Those two words burned in your memory. It was as if mon amour had become your name. You couldn’t even remember the last time Charles used your real name.

The tumultuous mixture of anger, betrayal, and love clawed at you. Making it difficult to discern your true feelings.

You hesitated. Whether you should open the door or not. His knocking became insistent. Loud. Each moment that passed his fist against the door went harder.

Out of respect for your neighbors, you let him in. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

Charles was leaned against the door frame for support. He looked tired. A look of anger was in his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He knew he had no right to be mad at you. But he was. He was being completely irrational as he marched his way over here.

“You are going to sit. You are going to listen to me,” He demanded as he pushed into your apartment. He gripped your wrist as he pulled you into the apartment and to the couch. You accept it anyways. Not because he deserved it, but because you need closure.

“The picture looks wrong,” he began. “I just need to explain this to you. Even if it doesn’t change anything.” He kneeled before you, in between your legs as he explained himself. His green eyes, a tad darker with a reddish tint lined around them, were staring solely into yours.

With a slight nod of your head, you let him continue.

“It’s all wrong. It’s not an excuse, but I did not kiss her back.” His words were sharp. As if he wanted to burn those words into your brain.

“Pictures say otherwise, Cha,” you felt like you were going to throw up. This conversation burned tears into your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back.

“She was a fan. She came up to me and grabbed me,” his hands slipped onto your knees and squeezed them tightly. “She grabbed me and kissed me.” His voice was cracking slightly as he let his head drop and rest on your legs.

You knew this information wouldn’t change much. It was still a kiss. One that shouldn’t have happened.

“Whether she kissed you or you kissed her. It doesn’t change. Don’t you see?” You moved your knee so he would lift his head up. “It’s not going to change anything.” You said. You weren't even positive if it wouldn't change anything. But it was all that could come to mind. “It shouldn’t have even happened.”

“Mon,”

You cut him off by standing up. “Would you stop calling me that!” You were shouting now. Walking from the confines of his presence. It was too much. He was too close. You couldn’t think properly.

“I can’t,” He arose from his knees and stood beside the coffee table. “I will do anything.” It was then. His voice finally cracked, and you could sense that tears have started falling from his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them as he sat down on the couch. Exactly where you were last seated.

In a moment that could only be described as naïve or perhaps even foolish, the depth of your love for him exceeded all rationality. You couldn’t even stand to see him crying, even if he was the one who ignited these issues into your relationship. You still wanted to comfort him regardless. He didn’t deserve it and you knew that. But in this moment, you couldn’t even care if it made you weak. Because you wanted to feel his embrace too.

You trailed back across the room to sit beside him to wrap your arms around him. The two of you entangled on the couch seeking some form of comfort. He didn’t deserve it – the comfort. Most importantly, didn’t deserve you.

“I need you to leave,” you began. His arms wrapped tighter around you. He didn’t want to let go. It was as if his grip onto you as if he was physically holding onto what remained of your tattering connection. “Please.” You were begging as your head rested in the crook of his neck.

You only felt him shake more. Undoubtedly, crying. But he understood.

“I just need space,” your voice was a fragile whisper. “I still love you. I miss you. I wish this never happened to us.” His lips pressed to any inch of skin that was within proximity. You felt his hot tears slip onto your skin with each kiss he pressed.

The plea for space, while still expressing love and longing, demonstrates the need for personal boundaries and self-care.

“I will keep fighting for you,” He pulled away before standing up from the couch. “I will do anything. I promise you that. You are the love of my life.”

It wasn’t until then, that you felt your tears spill out of your eyes. With a small nod of your head, he walked out of the apartment with his heart still latched onto you. Yours with his. It was a tapestry of emotions left in wake.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fic

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myosotisa · 10 months

Text

Chasm - e.m.

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

‖ summary: You're a researcher working at one of the fault lines throughout Hawkins, studying the closed and dormant gates to an alternate dimension. While you're alone on site, one of the gates wakes up again.

‖ tags: horror. i cannot stress this enough. this is unsettling and creepy and angsty with slight sexual tension. in line with the content in the show. post season 4, canon compliant. emetophobia warning. dubcon kissing. forced consumption (writing it made me gag just warning you. but im also kind of a baby so). no y/n, she/her pronouns used. flayed!eddie infects you. open ended ending. also steve is there sometimes. there's a ton of background lore that is only vaguely explained lol

‖ word count: 8.3k ‖ read on AO3 ‖ the song ‖

None of the rifts have shown any activity in over a year. Months and months of dead readings and no signals. Just waiting.

So what's a girl supposed to do when your EMF meter spikes alone on site? Sit around and wait for a crew to suit up and march their way over to the fault you were at? No fucking way. No chance.

You report in about the sudden spike in gamma radiation and tell them you're going to find the source. The project lead tells you to stay put and wait for assistance, as expected.

Your radiation gear was already halfway on. Oops, sorry boss, didn't hear you.

Handheld voltage meter in one hand, audio recorder in the other, and a pocket full of glow sticks, you push out past the plastic tarps and into the humid night air of Indiana summer.

The readings bring you west, toward the condemned trailer park and the "start" of your fault line. You crack a glow stick and drop it every few feet, marking your path. When the reading jumps up, you make a '+' sign with two at the spot before continuing forward. It was hard to say without exact measurements, but it seemed to be increasing at equal intervals. Like frozen waves on the surface of water.

"I'm approaching the Forest Hills sign," you say into the receiver, your own voice the only sound in the night air. "Current readings are…" You bring the meter up, using the light hanging from your neck to read the display. "Approaching 70 mv/m of high frequency radiation, roughly 31016 Hz. The next… 'Layer', for lack of a better term, will most likely breach Safe EMF levels, not considering the potential protection of the suit."

Lowering the meter again when it gives a beep of warning, you tuck it under your arm and crack another glow stick, leaving a '+' at the boundary to the trailer park. "I'll probably need treatment when I get back to base – as long as I grab a reading from the source and get out quickly, there won't be lasting damage. You hear that, Dr. Pierce?" You say through an over-confident huff, readjusting your arms to keep moving forward. "I'm well aware of the risks and take responsibility for my own actions."

The park itself looks like a bad dream at night – trailers abandoned hastily with doors still hung open and belongings scattered along the ground. Between the sudden fault opening and the bureau rushing in, the existing residents had been given very little time and grace to move into temporary housing across town. And it looked every bit like an entire community of people had just up and disappeared.

The suit you were in didn’t exactly help coordination, so you moved slowly and carefully over and around discarded objects along the dirt. Clothing, kitchen utensils, a quilt, a stack of newspapers, a child's toy. All left untouched for over a year.

Clearing the corner of one of the empty trailers, you catch sight of something strange.

“The fault itself has looked normal up to this point, no activity. But I can see the source now. It’s… It appears to be glowing red, fading in and out in a constant cycle.” Approaching even slower than before, you watch intently as the glow grows and then retreats again. Like waves on the shore.

The meter gives another shrill alarm – making you jump nearly out of your skin as you swat at it with the recorder. “Jesus Christ!” It quiets with a sinking pitch in your hand.

Before checking the reading, you quickly make another ‘+’ with glow sticks, digging them into the dirt a bit in an attempt to keep them from moving. Still down on one knee, you bring the meter up to your flashlight again.

“The meter is now reading 110 mv/m, same frequency. I’m roughly… 12 feet out from the source now. There’s a, uh, humming sound. Not sure if the recording is picking it up. And feeling pressure on my eardrums,” you explain into the device, eyes locked on the glow ahead. “I’ll continue to approach – see if I can get a closer reading. If it jumps above 150, I’ll fall back.”

Pushing to your feet again with a huff, you readjust your full load and press forward slowly. The closer you get to the source, you can see that the fault rapidly grows in size. The space between the edges looks large enough to fit a car as it rounds out at the end – a red pond in the ground.

“I can see the source clearer now. The glow is coming from within – there’s a…" You take a few steps closer, squinting to get a better look. "It appears to be an opaque membrane covering the space between. The glow is coming from behind it. Still cycling at an even rate, no change.”

The meter in your hand gives its shrillest warning yet, scaring you badly enough that it goes flying out of your hand; it hits the ground and flips closer to the edge. “Shit, fuck!”

You shuffle forward and drop down onto your shaky knees, grabbing for the meter as it continues to let out that grating alarm into the night air. Smacking it once more, the sound cuts off abruptly, giving you a chance to breathe.

Bringing it up to your flashlight, your eyes go wide as you lift the recorder again with your other trembling hand. “I’m nearly at the edge now, only a foot or so away – EMF reading 187 mv/m. Rapid increase from the last point.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, your head snapping toward it.

“There’s… What the fuck?" You pause, tempted to rub your eyes to make sure you're really seeing what you're seeing.

"There’s movement below the membrane. It… It’s just a shadow, I can’t tell what it is, but the movement is rapid and the… The humming is getting louder.” Your heart is pounding now, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin beneath the suit.

“Going to retreat back to base,” you say, mostly attempting to reassure yourself as you slowly back away from the edge. “Final reading was 189 mv/m at 31016 Hz.”

There’s a crackle of static right before a thumb presses the pause button roughly, silencing the recorder in the center of the table.

“Is that all?” General Richard Highland asks, sounding impatient as he leans back in his conference chair. “That doesn’t tell us anything about what happened to her.”

“No, sir, there’s more.” Private Steve Harrington insists, inclining his head toward the dirty recorder he had delivered. He’s standing by the edge of the table at attention, hands clasped in front of him. “The recording keeps going.”

Dr. Pierce leans forward from his seat, giving the General a stiff look as he presses the play button again.

There’s a few more moments of static before the woman’s voice fades back in, layered beneath the hum of attempted interference.

“I’m definitely gonna need that rad treatment, Dr. Pierce. My badge is that warning color, even beneath the suit,” she continues with a shaky laugh, the sound of plastic shuffling behind it. “Hopefully I don’t lose my hair or something, but that’s… What?”

The table of scientists and military personnel sits in tense silence as her voice cuts out again. Half of them are on the edge of their seats, the others showing off a measured calm or disinterest. The general looks particularly annoyed and impatient, while Dr. Pierce looks almost like he wants to throw up.

“There’s… Something’s happening – I don’t–”

An abrasive crackle echoes out into the room, loud enough to send nearly everyone into a wince, before the recording cuts back in with the sound of screaming.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?! SHIT – I’ve gotta get–" A burst of interference sounds, followed by a metallic grating, like a ship groaning beneath the weight of the ocean.

Her panicked voice comes through, sounding further away than before. "FUCK! It – It’s got my ankle. Let go, you fucking piece of –! SHI–”

The recording cuts out to a buzzing hum.

No one moves for a few moments. Not until Private Harrington steps up to silence the recorder. “We found this recording, a lab issue EMF meter, and a broken flashlight at the edge of the fault." He explains, producing the other two items from the pack resting at his feet. "It was dormant when we got there – solid again.”

“So it just…” One of the other scientists starts, looking at Dr. Pierce uneasily.

“Dragged her through and went back to sleep.” Dr. Pierce confirms solemnly, his gaze locked on the dirty recorder.

“It’s never done this before?” A 2nd scientist, new to the project, asks. The others shake their heads. “So what do we do?”

All eyes turn to Dr. Pierce, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“We wait for it to wake up again.”

Wake up.

Come on, little lamb.

Wake up now.

Looks so peaceful.

But you’ve got to wake up.

…

WAKE UP.

There’s something wet on your face.

Feeling is slowly returning to your body, your eyes closed and too heavy to open. But there’s something dripping on your cheek – droplets running down toward your mouth. Sticking to your dry lips for a moment or two before falling off. You’re on the ground on your stomach, your cheek squished against something that feels like mud.

Your brain has yet to kick on fully as it tries to regain consciousness through a pounding ache, resonating with the throb of your left leg. It feels like you’re still wearing the rad suit, but the head piece is gone and it might be ripped in places – mud seeping in to touch your skin.

It’s almost like you’re sinking.

Eyelids fluttering open and you’re faced with a desaturated swamp. Like someone came through and sucked half the color out of it.

Lifting one arm is difficult, suctioned into the mud you’re laying in. Once you’ve freed it enough, you’re able to push off the sticky, wet sludge beneath you enough to roll over onto your back.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

You sit up with a start, your abdomen screaming in protest as your brain swims. Blinking through the blur in your eyes, you struggle to see anything at all in the dark – only momentarily granted sight by the flashes of red lightning overhead.

“Who’s there?” You call out into the dark, an attempt to sound brave, but your voice trembles as your eyes rapidly flit back and forth.

“Over here.”

The lightning flashes once more as you whip your head toward the voice – showing the silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. From what little you see, he’s tall and slender, head tilted to the side like he’s curious. There’s no chance you can see his face or anything else about him.

Until he’s in your face, crouched down right beside you – crossing the space and appearing in the span of a blink. It gives you a start, attempting to back up but getting caught up in the mud still suctioned to your lower half.

Your fear seems to bring a small smile to his face, plump lips tilting up at the corner. He looks so familiar… Long curly hair draped wetly over his shoulders, the sparse bangs across his forehead, and the soft turn of his nose. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lean in again slightly, squinting your eyes a bit more in the dark to see him better.

“I know you…” You insist softly, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “How do I know you?”

“No clue, because I’ve never met you in my life.” He replies, lips parting in a grin. “And I’m good with faces – ‘specially pretty ones.”

His response catches you off guard as your brain continues reeling and struggling to intake information, which is normally your forte. There’s a million questions on the tip of your tongue and you have no idea where to start.

“You’ll probably need to lose the suit if you want to get out of that shit,” he continues when you don’t respond, motioning to your stationary legs with a wave of his hand. And he’s probably right, with the way the mud beneath you is stuck tight to the shiny plastic. Your best hope is to try to use the suit as a stepping off point to get to stable ground.

“Where should I step once I pull out?” You ask, hoping he’ll understand your goal.

A blink and he’s gone again – another flash of red light placing his silhouette off to your left. “Think you can make it to here?” He responds, voice raised slightly and sounding like he’s teasing you or challenging you. It makes your competitive side flare up on instinct – a frustrated huff leaving your nose as you plan your escape.

Opening the front of the suit, you slip both arms out and let the upper half fall flat behind you. Pulling out both of your legs next, your butt sinks deeper into the ground, nearly sending you off balance as you quickly shift your weight forward onto your knees, using the suit as a stepping stone. It starts to sink, mud coming up over the edge and inching toward your knees, so you have to move fast.

Pushing to your feet makes it sink faster, wet sludge touching the side of your ankle just as you push off in a jump toward where the man was standing.

You land on the ankle that had been grasped by the tentacle, not realizing the throbbing meant it’d been twisted. It makes you cry out in pain and fall forward, directly into the man’s chest.

“Woah there!” He says in surprise, grasping onto your elbows to keep you sort of upright. Between the aching pain and the tears pressing at your eyes, you just barely manage to notice how cold and clammy he is – especially where his hands grip your bare biceps.

Rocketing back, you press your weight onto your good leg and put some distance between the two of you again, your dirty arms crossing over your tank top and smearing it with mud. “Sorry, my, uh, ankle…” You offer awkwardly, still not even sure who you’re talking to.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. You good?”

He actually sounds like he cares. Like he’s concerned for you. Who is he?

“I’ll be fine,” you insist stubbornly, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat. Free from your precarious situation, at least partially, you struggle to figure out what to address first. “How are you doing that? Like… Teleporting? Or are you just moving really fast?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What–,” he disappears in a blink and then you feel a burst of air on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end, “this?”

You lurch forward before turning around to level him a glare. “Yes, that – don’t do that.”

His hands tuck into the front pockets of the leather jacket he’s wearing as he shrugs, looking quite pleased with himself. “Sorry, angel, didn’t mean to spook you.”

Then silence falls, both of you eyeing each other – you suspiciously and him curiously. The extended pause makes you think you aren’t going to be told how anytime soon.

A breeze kicks up, rustling the branches of the trees in the surrounding swampland and sending a shiver down your spine. Suit lost, you’re down to a tank top, jeans, and a pair of no slip shoes (which were required for people working in the field for some reason). You were dressed for the humid interior of the field site tent in summer and it appears that you have landed yourself in a place where that is not enough.

Taking advantage of the silence, you try to remember everything you can about your studies into the ‘gates’ from when they were open. Very little was known beside second hand accounts and old data – some of which may not even be accurate anymore given the nature of the fault lines. If there was anywhere to start, it would be trying to find the gate you’d been dragged through.

With any luck, you could go right back to your dimension.

But that didn’t account for him. The pale, wet, unsettling-yet-somehow-charming guy that was still staring right at you.

“How long have you been here? Do you know?” You question cautiously, not wanting to upset him in any way.

“That depends, what year is it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, completely at odds with the continued grin on his face. It looks almost manic now – like every time he sets you off balance brings him great joy. Deciding you’d actually rather not know how long he’s been in here, you move on.

“Have you been alone this whole time? Or are there other people here?”

His grin spreads, like he’s in on a joke you’re not aware of. “I haven’t been alone, no.”

This piques your curiosity again, adjusting your weight on your good leg. “Do you have a community here? How many of you are there?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He suggests, taking a step or two away from you, his hands still tucked into his pockets.

The idea is tempting, if only to learn more about what is going on here, but there’s something nagging at the back of your mind. Something you should be remembering. Something you’re missing. Plus, for all you know, this man does not have your best interests at heart.

“I should probably try to find the gate that brought me here,” you say, slightly regretfully. “See if I can cross back over.”

“Oh, right,” he responds, tapping his forehead with his palm like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah, I can show you the way.”

This surprises you again, slight concern causing you to stand up straighter. “You can?”

“Sure thing, the closest one isn’t far,” he motions behind him with a tilt of his chin, taking another step back. “Come on.”

So you follow the strange man into the dark, limping after him on your twisted ankle. The mud starts to dry on your skin, hair, and clothing – crusting over and hardening in places. You pick at pieces as you walk, letting the chunks and flakes fall to the ground behind you. From what little you can see, there are vines everywhere along the ground, weaving between tree trunks and layering over each other in place. The man seems to step over them – and you can’t tell if it’s on purpose or a coincidence – but you make a habit of not touching the vines just in case.

It’s unsettlingly quiet here. Every once in a while you’ll hear what sounds like an animal – a howl, a chittering, the thump of feet on the earth. But they are few and far between, leaving mostly just the rush of wind through the trees and a sort of muffled silence, pressure on your ears.

Your paranoia kicks up as the quiet continues, suspiciously eyeing the back of your escort as he leads you forward. For all you knew, he wasn’t leading you anywhere near the gate. You have no reason to trust him beyond the fact that he helped you get out of the sludge you woke up in. He was in this dimension after all, clearly familiar with it. That had to be a red flag if anything, given what little you actually knew about it.

So much was classified beyond your reach – the bureau was very specific with what you were allowed to read and know and what you weren’t. Given the dormant nature of the fault lines, it hadn’t been necessary for you to learn too much about the dimension on the other side. Most of what you studied and knew was about the gates themselves.

Even with the bureau being as paranoid and obsessive as it was – a lowly field researcher getting dragged to the other side and needing to survive hadn’t seemed to be on their radar.

The pessimistic part of you not-so-helpfully supplies that was probably just because they weren't very interested in your survival at all. They’d probably prefer it if you died here. If anything, your exposure to the other side made you more of a liability.

Maybe one they could experiment on, if you got lucky and survived.

This train of thinking isn’t helping anything. You could worry about what your life would become if you made it out.

Walking up to the lifeless and solid gate turns that into a very tentative if.

“Looks like the door’s shut tight,” Eddie offers vaguely, rocking back and forth on his heels as you circle the hole in the ground, like seeing a new angle will change something about it.

The opening looks largely the same as the other side, in the center of the abandoned trailer park with the forest surrounding. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as the breeze hits harder in the open field, no longer buffered by trees on all sides. On the bright side, it is slightly better lit here and you can see your companion a bit clearer now.

“Do you know how these things work? Like how and why it opens and shuts?” You ask desperately, looking at him from the other side of the crevice.

The corner of his mouth tilts up minutely, his shoulders shrugging. “Yes and no.”

The scowl returns to your face, frustration mounting as another shiver of cold racks your body. “Are you intentionally being unhelpful? Or are you just an idiot?”

His lips part in a surprised ‘o’, his eyebrows raising like he’s impressed. “That hurts, angel. I’m no idiot, and I think I’ve been plenty helpful. After all… I could’ve just left you to drown out there. Or maybe led you into a trap. Or left you for the dogs.” He taunts, returning to a toothy grin. The question of if he has your well being in mind gets more and more clear with a resounding no.

A fearful jolt runs down your spine as you stare him down, trying not to let your fear show. Grappling tightly to your anger, you taunt back, “Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you?”

A blink and he’s gone.

Your entire body goes on alert, tensing for attack as your heart starts to pound against your ribs. Eyes searching the immediate area in front of you come up empty. He’s either behind you or far enough you can’t see him in the low light. You never got an answer as to whether he’s moving quickly or teleporting or exactly how far he can get in the time you blinked.

He’s either long gone or… Trying to surprise you.

As soon as you have the thought, the hair on the back of your neck stands up – like some kind of unconscious sense of danger.

You turn in a quick 180 and he’s right there. Only a foot away from you with a sadistic sort of smile on his face. Your breath catches in your chest as it feels like a fist grabs tightly to your heart, suddenly much more terrified of the man in front of you.

That appears to be the way he prefers it.

“I think we can help each other.”

You blink at him, muscles pulled taut and ready to bolt as you try to figure out what the fuck he’s doing and what the fuck he wants. “What?” You question, your voice coming out a bit breathy and scared.

“I said, I think we can help each other,” he repeats calmly. “You help me, and I can help you get back home.”

“Why– What– H–how could I possibly help you?” You sputter, trying not to sound as terrified and confused as you feel.

His grin turns cheeky again, slightly less unsettling than it was a moment ago. “It won’t take much, angel, scout’s honor.” He says as he lays a hand over his chest. “You help me, then you’re free to crawl right back over to the other side and continue your life.”

Disbelief and uncertainty nags at you as you fidget in your spot, wanting desperately to put some more distance between the two of you but nervous to offend him. “So you can open the gate? You just want something in return?”

He shakes his head emphatically, appearing to be genuine in his denial. “I can’t but I know who can. They opened it before you were brought over.”

“And they would open it again? Just because you asked?” You question suspiciously, studying his facial expression for a sign that he’s pulling your leg again.

“Let’s just say that me and them have similar goals and leave it at that.”

There are 100 more questions on the tip of your tongue, but with the potential of getting back to your own dimension on the table, you’re reluctant to press too hard. He seems to recognize the battle you’re fighting with yourself as he laughs to himself. “You know what they say about curiosity, angel.”

An annoyed exhale punches out of your nose. “And I assume in this case that I’m the cat.”

“Bingo!” He says happily, tapping the end of his nose with his index finger. “So what do you say?”

There is so much you want to say. So many questions you want to ask. So much more info you need. But beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose.

“What would I need to do?”

His smile goes sharp again. “So glad you asked. I’d just need a kiss.”

A beat of silence. Then your expression drops in disbelief and disappointment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he insists, laying his hand on his chest again as he regards you intently. “And it’s gotta be real – gotta kiss me like you mean it. None of those little pecks you give on the cheek.”

A strange swirl of intrigue and revulsion mixes together in your gut as you continue waiting for the punchline. The ‘just kidding, your face was priceless’. But it doesn’t come.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Been so lonely out here that you have to twist the arm of a desperate girl just to get some–”

“Hey.” He interrupts, his tone intense and cold. It shuts you up immediately, though you can’t say why. “Don’t be mean, angel. This isn’t just me trying to take advantage of you. It has a real purpose.”

The dubious look you give him makes him crack another small smile. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m telling you the truth.”

“And am I allowed to know what this purpose is?”

He shakes his head again, displacing the curls draped over his shoulders that still appear to have not dried at all. “I’ll tell you when it’s done, how about that?” He offers, using your curiosity against you to try to sweeten the deal.

Really, it’s a no brainer. Sure, he’s a strange person that lives in an alternate dimension that has some strange abilities. Sure, you know next to nothing about him despite that itch in the back of your head telling you that you know him somehow. And sure, this could be a huge mistake. But having to kiss this admittedly-attractive dude just to get out of this nightmare dimension and get back home? The choice is simple.

Which only makes you more certain there’s a catch you aren’t seeing.

“Fine. If you swear I’ll be able to go home, then I’ll do it.”

His expression brightens excitedly, a sort of childlike joy appearing on his face. It’s different from any of the expressions you’ve seen on him so far – like genuine surprise. “You will?”

“Yeah, sure.” You reply, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Not like I have a lot of other options here.”

His excitement fades slightly, though he still looks pleased with the outcome. “Glad you made the right decision.”

An unsettling silence falls as the two of you study each other once more, now much closer than the last time. Fear and anticipation builds steadily as you find yourself glancing down at his lips – realizing you’re about to know what they feel like on your own.

“Do we, uh,” you pause to clear your throat as you awkwardly break the silence. “Do we do it now? Or… What?”

He takes a step closer, entering your personal space. His voice is lower, stickier, and richer when he responds. “Do you wanna do it now, angel?”

You suddenly feel like a fly stuck in a honey trap – eyes widening as you struggle between wanting to further close the distance and to run away from him. “Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose?” Though you meant it to be nonchalant, it comes out as a nervous question.

The uncertainty in your voice only seems to make the man crack another amused smile. “I suppose so,” he replies softly, gently teasing you as he gets even just a little bit closer. You can feel your heart pounding in your neck, constantly flipping back and forth between fear, interest, nerves, and embarrassment. Looking at you through slightly lowered eyelids, he leans in toward you. Close enough you can feel the exhale of his breath on your face.

“Kiss me like you mean it, angel.” He reminds you quietly, the tip of his nose nudging against yours as your eyelids flutter closed instinctively. “Don’t forget.”

Then his lips are pressing to yours. You make a small noise of surprise, both in that you weren’t sure if he was actually going to do it and because he’s so cold. But his lips are plush and soft as he places your lower lip between his own. As promised, you kiss him back, trying not to think about how strange it feels that he’s cold and the situation you’re in – focusing on the gentle pressure of him as he steps even closer and brings his hand up to cradle your jaw.

It’s gentle and sweet as you find yourself starting to forget the reality of it all. Your hands find the edges of his leather jacket, tugging him closer as he hums happily. His other hand finds your waist – cold through the thin fabric of your tank top.

Teeth nip lightly at your lower lip and you make another small noise of surprise, a flash of heat through your chest at the pleasant feeling. It distracts you further – not even questioning the adventurous flick of his tongue against your mouth. You part your lips on instinct; his hand flexing happily against your jaw as he tests the waters to run his tongue along yours.

You return the gesture, encouraging the touch as you breathe heavily through your nose. You’re running low on air and will need to part to breathe soon. You’re surprised to find that you aren’t really sure that you want to stop to do so.

He seems to recognize the impending need too; his lips pressing against yours more insistently, like he’s getting what he can before it ends. His tongue ventures past your lips one more time, pressing further than he had before. Is… Is his tongue longer than normal?

In the same moment that he pulls away from you, the hand on your jaw claps over your mouth to keep it shut. And there’s something in your mouth.

There’s something moving in your mouth.

You make a high pitched noise of panic as your eyes double in size, looking at him in terror while he holds you tightly to his front and keeps his hand firmly over your mouth. “Ah, ah, angel. You gotta swallow it.” He coos, his palm clammy and cold against your slick lips.

You shake your head as well as you can with his grip, making noises of protest as you struggle to keep the smooth, wiggling object from sliding down your throat. Your hands grab at his wrist and forearm, trying to pull him off, but his grip is too strong. Begging him with your eyes, sharp and stuttered breaths coming out of your nose as you hyperventilate, he just gives you a sad smile. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Just gotta swallow and it’ll be over – don’t make me plug your nose.”

Painful tears poke out of your eyes and start to descend down your cheeks, nails digging into his skin to try and get him off. It seems not to affect him at all, his other hand giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay. This is it – you won’t have to do anything else. Come on, angel. You can do it. Just swallow for me.”

His words of encouragement make your head spin in confusion, panic mounting as the outcome seems inevitable. More tears pour down your cheeks as you choke on a sob, inadvertently allowing the object to slide down your throat.

“There we go,” he sighs in relief, grip on your face loosening, “Good girl.”

Somehow he knew that you’d swallowed it because he releases you right as you start to cough roughly, stumbling away from him and bending forward. You can still feel the strange coating from the creature on your tongue and down your esophagus – thick and wrong as you cough and gag.

Get it out, get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!!

“What was– How do I– I’ve gotta–” You stammer, stumbling over your words as you tremble wildly and gag, your body responding to your panic by wanting to reject the new contents of your stomach.

He appears right beside you again, gripping both of your wrists with his hands as he forces you upright. “Don’t throw it up.” His voice is a command, his expression intense. “If you throw it up, I’ll have to force feed you another one. And trust me, it’s way less fun the 2nd time.”

Tears continue to pour from your eyes as you rapidly shake your head. “What was– What is– Why are you doing this? What was that thing?”

“Calm down, angel, please calm down,” he begs, starting to look distressed himself. “It’s gonna be okay, I swear, it’s gonna be fine. You’re a part of something bigger now. It’s all going to be okay.”

You try to pull out of his grip on your wrists, alternating between yanking back and rushing forward to push him away. “What the fuck does that mean?! What have you done to me?!” You shout through your tears, white hot panic spreading through your body. “It’s not too late – I can still, I can still throw it up, I can…”

He drags you in, wrapping you up in a tight bear hug with your arms trapped between the two of you. He shushes you, standing steady against your weakening struggling against him. “Shhh, shh, it’s alright, angel. It’s okay. You’re gonna get to go home, okay? We’re gonna get to go home.”

“Sir, we’ve got activity.”

Dr. Pierce pushes out of his desk chair fast enough to make his head spin – lack of sleep and too much coffee weakening him beyond measure. He’s barely left the main building since you went missing.

Since you were dragged through.

There have been constant patrols of the fault line you disappeared into, hoping for any sign of it waking up again. It was on his order and against the wishes of General Highland. She’s a level 1 researcher. She knew the risks. It’s not worth the cost.

But you didn’t know the risks, not really. Pierce knows he didn’t do enough to prepare you, to warn you. He didn’t do enough to protect you.

This is his fault.

He’s not the only one buzzing with anticipation as he exits his darkened office; several other scientists and field agents are reacting to the news of activity with a rush. Not everyone will be allowed to go to the site, as it would be a madhouse, but several live cameras and other surveillance equipment have been set up in the area. At least a quarter of the bureau across the country will be intently watching whatever happens next.

Pierce says nothing as he makes his way for the garage and the people he passes know better than to approach him now. He can still feel their eyes – judgemental, curious, concerned. He’s felt their eyes for days.

There are several SUVs already prepared by the time he arrives, most already full of people who were approved to be on site in the case of reactivation. He recognizes the soldier standing by waiting for him as Private Steve Harrington, the same man who brought in the recorder originally. He’s one of the few people at the bureau with prior knowledge of the other dimension despite his low rank.

“Sir,” he greets with a respectful head dip, opening the backdoor of the SUV for Pierce as he approaches. Pierce returns the gesture before climbing into the backseat, sliding across the bench to the opposite side. Steve gets in after him, his bulky gear forcing him to sit far forward on the bucket seat as he slams the door closed behind him.

It only takes another minute or so before the caravan lurches and begins to move, following after the identical black SUV in front of it.

The walkie-talkie on Steve’s shoulder kicks to life quietly, a short and concise signal coming through that Pierce doesn’t understand. The exhausted scientist looks over curiously as Steve murmurs an, “Affirmative,” into the device before clicking it off.

“Any news from the fault?”

Steve glances over, surprised to be addressed, before he turns back to look out the front windshield. “Nothing yet, sir.”

Pierce keeps an eye on the soldier as they travel – watching with intrigue as the man continuously searches the vehicle’s surroundings, like he’s expecting an attack.

“You seem on edge, Steve.” He straightens in response, looking even more uncomfortable at being referred to by his first name. “Is it because the gate is active?”

A muscle in his jaw rolling with tension, Steve keeps his gaze firmly forward as he responds. “It doesn’t supply a good feeling, that’s for sure.”

“And yet you still volunteered for the theoretical strike team to go through?” Pierce wonders aloud, phrasing it like a question.

There’s a tense moment of silence before the private answers. “At least I already know what to expect on the other side.”

The two don’t interact again for the reminder of the drive.

The SUVs all pull into the vacant field beside the field tent in a line, the leader of the patrol team coming out to meet the first vehicle. Pierce watches General Highland step out of it and start to converse with the uniformed woman. By the time he makes it way over, he seems to be catching the tail end of the conversation.

“We have each unit spread out in even intervals along the fault; so far there has been no change since it first activated.”

“And they all have their protective equipment on, I presume?” Dr. Pierce cuts in, surprising the patrol leader and earning an annoyed look from General Highland.

“Yes sir,” she responds with a head nod. “I was just telling the general that they’re all outfitted with gear to protect them from the worst of the radiation, but it would still do good to regularly swap out the unit in the center, where the worst of it is.”

Pierce agrees with a stiff nod, not waiting to hear the general disagree before he turns to look back. As he expected, Private Harrington trailed him over, waiting a respectful distance away as to not eavesdrop. “Harrington.”

Steve turns at the call, jogging over to Pierce. “Sir.”

“Suit up. You’re coming with me to the source.”

“Yes sir.”

The pair of them push into the field tent, currently staffed with 15 more people than usual. There are researchers and scientists bent over displays and documenting readings, soldiers standing by with weapons, field agents watching over the researchers shoulders. Pierce walks past all of them, parting the way as he does, and starts to strip off his lab coat while pulling a radiation suit off the rack. Steve follows suit, removing a majority of his gear to reequip on top of the plastic suit.

The buzz of excited chatter is nearly grating on Pierce’s ears as he goes through the annoying process of putting on the PPE. But he misses it when it suddenly cuts off, directly after one of the researchers announces, “We’ve got a spike in activity!”

Pierce looks over at Steve, who is still clipping things to his belt again. “We’ve gotta move.”

“Yes sir,” Steve repeats once more, gathering the bare necessities in his arms to try to equip as they move. The pair of them push out the other side of the tent and set into a jog towards what used to be Forest Hills Trailer Park.

They pass a few pairs of outfitted people as they move – soldiers patrolling and scientists maintaining the monitoring equipment placed along the fault. None of them interact as the pair jogs past, heading for the end of the fault line. They can see a small group ahead – presumably gathered closer to where the spike in activity happened.

“Make some room!” Steve barks out as they approach, the gathered group moving further away from the fault line in response. Some look back to see who is coming while others keep their eyes locked on the glowing source beyond.

“Keep at least 10 feet back from the fault at all times,” Pierce orders the group as they pass. “Stay in pairs, don’t go off on your own. We have very little idea what we’re dealing with here, but we have reason to believe there are things that will try to drag you through the gate. If something comes out, fall back and call out. Don’t let your partner get grabbed.”

There is some murmuring in response, but no one openly disregards the order, starting to pair off as a few people move further back along the fault line. Pierce approaches a pair hunched over a meter near the source, keeping his eyes on the glowing red below. “What are we looking at?”

“It’s fluctuating slightly; was 116 mv/m at 31016 Hz at peak.” The researcher responds, keeping a close eye on the EMF before them. “Nothing close to the reported 189 mv/m. We might not be looking at full activation. Or maybe it’s building up, it’s hard to say.”

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, holding a hand out for the researcher to pause. “Do you hear that?”

They all fall silent, listening closely.

Then Pierce hears it – the hum from the recording. The one you were talking about hearing.

The scientist gives him a nod of agreement before looking back to the researcher. “Any sign of movement from the other side?”

“Not that we can tell from here,” the field agent answers for them. “We’ve been following the guidelines to stay back so it’s hard to catch anything from here.”

“Radio? Portable EMF?” Dr. Pierce asks, and the field agent presents both. He takes them and then looks back at Steve. “We’re moving up.”

Even behind the protection of the face shield, Pierce can see the tension in his expression. Regardless, the private still answers with a confident, “Yes sir.”

Keeping the meter within eyesight, the two push ahead, closer to the large opening at the source. Pierce watches it tick up with each step closer, crossing the 150 mark as they get within 5 feet of the edge. Looking out across the opening, the glowing membrane pulses and hums with energy, louder and louder as they approach.

There’s very little movement on the other side, but every once in a while Pierce catches a glimpse of a dark shadow moving beyond.

“Never gets any less unsettling to look at,” Steve murmurs beside him, shifting his weight between his feet as he keeps his eyes locked on the unbroken membrane.

“Dr. Pierce, we’ve got another spike!” The researcher calls from behind, voice sounding a bit concerned. “We’re edging 170 now.”

The humming increases steadily along with a slight vibration in the ground beneath their feet. Steve steps up beside Pierce, a hand out like he’s ready to drag him back from the edge, as Pierce stares into the membrane intensely.

Come on. Come on. Come back through. Just be alive. Come on. Please be alive.

A more defined shadow moves along the edge closest to the trailer and doesn’t pull back. “We’ve got movement!” Steve calls back, alerting the nearby units as Pierce’s hand flies out to hush him. They both watch with a certain level of horrified fascination as the shadow grows defined enough to make that section of the membrane appear black before it begins to tear.

A bare hand extends out of the membrane, blindly grasping for the nearby edge. Steve twitches forward, like he wants to go and help them, but Pierce holds him back wordlessly, leaving them both standing perfectly still as another hand appears and grabs onto the edge.

The person uses the grip on the edge to pull themselves through – a woman in a filthy tank top and jeans struggling to pull herself onto the flat ground. As soon as she is through, she quickly turns around on her knees and reaches back through the membrane.

You’re… You’re actually alive.

Several soldiers approach slowly with their rifles out, aiming at you as you take hold of someone else’s hand and start to pull them through. A pale man with long, messy hair appears from the other side, holding on tightly to you as you help him reorient to the change in perspective. “No way…” Steve whispers, standing frozen as he watches them start to sit up and look around.

“Dr. Pierce!” You call happily once you spot him, waving at him like you’re excited to see him. There’s a huge smile on your face, a stark contrast to your utterly disheveled appearance. “I made it! I’m back!”

The soldiers continue to keep their weapons trained on the newcomers, watching for some sign of aggression. You slowly get to your feet, offering your hand to your companion and helping him up too. Steve takes a few mindless steps towards them, Dr. Pierce no longer stopping him. “Eddie?” He calls uncertainly, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Eddie, is that you?”

The man’s head perks up, looking in Steve’s direction. “Harrington?” He replies, sounding just as uncertain and confused. “Is that you in there?”

“Eddie, as in Eddie Munson?” Dr. Pierce asks Steve, still unmoving as he stares at you, seemingly unharmed.

“Yeah…” Steve breathes out, still looking stunned. “And he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day.”

You and Eddie start to walk over when a soldier barks at you to stay back, both of you nervously putting your hands up as you look between the armed soldiers, Steve, and Pierce.

“It’s me, Dr. Pierce. It’s really me.” You insist, looking at him pleadingly. “And this is Eddie, he helped me find my way back. He saved me.” You add, motioning to the man beside you. The two of you are close together; you stand slightly in front of Eddie, like you’re protecting him. Eddie just offers a sheepish smile and a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“Sir? What do we do?” One of the soldiers asks, glancing in Dr. Pierce’s direction.

The two of you look exhausted, dirty, hungry, but… Harmless. No worse for wear despite the time spent on the other side.

“Bring them in.” Pierce orders. “No excessive force. They’ve been through a lot.”

The soldiers nod, lowering their weapons and urging you both to come forward. You look particularly relieved, while Eddie appears mostly unphased by all of it.

“Thank god, I need a shower so badly.” You announce with a happy laugh, walking toward them as you shake your head and make a disgusted face. “No one smell me, I’m begging you.”

If anyone finds your behavior unsettling or strange, they don’t say so. Everyone mostly looks relieved it didn’t turn into some kind of fight. While there is something off about how you’re acting, Dr. Pierce can’t find it in himself to feel anything besides relief at your return.

Steve stands motionless and tense as Eddie approaches, looking every bit like he’s seen a ghost. There is no excitement, no relief, no… Trust. Like this is all a bad dream and he just wants to wake up.

Just before you and Eddie pass the two of them, you flash another excited smile. “And not a moment too soon – I’m so thirsty.” You look over at Eddie, who nods in agreement, before you continue walking toward the field tent in the distance, flanked on either side by armed soldiers.

Eddie stops by Steve, giving him a tilted smile. “Hey Harrington, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Steve replies, his tone apprehensive and flat. If Eddie catches on, he doesn’t show it, just continuing to show that same smile – like he knows something you don’t.

“What can I say?” He offers with a shrug and a wink before he continues to trail after you and toward the growing crowd beyond. “It’s good to be back.”

thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked it!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #flayed!eddie munson #kas!eddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #posting a oneshot that barely explains an entire fic universe you've never told anyone about :)#myos ideas #myo4munson

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milfhunter6698 · 30 days

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acquainted pt.2

Warnings: 18+ Smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, nakedness, fluff, angst, teasing, head cannons, imagines, slow living, hurt and comfort..kind of?Victoria’s right-hand, switch!reader & Victoria, just constantly fighting for dominance.

pairing: Victoria neuman, x female reader

notes: Hello again, guess what..? yes more Victoria head cannons bc why not :) since you guys liked the first one here’s another, this is kind of a longer version sooo. Honestly I find writing for Vic is quite niche like I’m lowkey enjoying myself wayy too much here but anyway woowhoo enjoy! and oh my gosh I love reading yalls comments they make my day feel free to ask questions or request any ideas like always i’m opened for any suggestions and thanks for the support.

kisses and hugs

You stepped into the elevator, just about When you were about to press the button to close the doors suddenly, Victoria dashed in, only milliseconds before the doors would have closed on her.

You couldn't help but grin as your gaze met hers, “Hi,” You spoke softly as the elevator began to descend, Victoria greets back her tone casual.

As the elevator came to a gentle halt, and the doors slid open, you stepped out, feeling the cool metal beneath your shoes. Victoria followed close behind, as you exited the building together.

Stepping into the night, The low rumble of car engines, the soft chatter of passersby, and the warm, humid air brushing against your skin was a soothing contrast to the tension within. It calmed your nerves.

“Hey, Victoria wait up," You called out, rushing to match her steps. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a testament to the exhilaration that suddenly crawled under your skin.

Victoria glanced back at you, her expression neutral. "What is it?"

You moved closer, voice casual as you suggested, "Fancy grabbing dinner? I know a really nice place just around the corner. perfect for unwinding after a long day." You slipped your hands into your pockets, offering a friendly smile.

Victoria studied you for a moment, her gaze as enigmatic as ever. After a pause, she smiled and shrugged, "You know what? What the hell, why not?" Her response filled you with excitement feeling a flutter in your stomach. "Lead the way then."

You walked through the city, the night air wrapping around you like a whispered secret. You led her to the place You had in mind, a quaint little diner hidden in the corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets.

“After you,” With a smile, you held the door open wide for Victoria, the cozy warmth of the diner seeping out, inviting you in.

The hum of conversation and soft music drifted out, enveloping you as you stepped inside. Making your way to a table, You gestured for her to take the seat, then followed suit, settling down, allowing the comfortable ambiance to wash over you.

As you entered, you shared a meal, and to your surprise, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You discussed your lives outside of work, laughed, and reveled in each other's company.

Leaving the diner, the cool night enveloped you once more. The warmth from within faded, replaced by the familiar hum of the city. A deep breath escaped you, a sense of calm settling in.

An awkward silence stretched between you, but then she spoke up, her voice beckoning you back. "Umm, y'know, if you're good to go back home, I'd be more than glad to walk with you on the way there."

Your heart raced, a smile curving your lips. "Yeah, sure. That would be great."

The city is quieter now, with fewer cars on the streets and only a handful of people scattered on the sidewalks. The lights from skyscrapers and street lamps cast a soft glow, giving the bustling city an almost serene vibe.

After a few blocks, You broke the silence. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of work. Do you even have a life beyond the office?”

Victoria laughs softly. “I could ask you the same thing. But yeah, I do. It’s just…busy.”

”Busy, huh?” You tease. “What do you do to unwind? Go to those exclusive rooftop bars? Attend art gallery openings?”

She chuckles. “Sometimes, yeah. But honestly, I’m more of a Central Park kind of gal. I like to jog there early in the mornings when it’s still quiet. It clears my head.”

”Really?” You genuinely look surprised. “You don’t strike me as the jogging type.”

”There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Victoria replies with a smirk. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not keeping me in line?”

You chuckle. “I’m a bit more low-key, I guess. I like to catch indie films in the Village, try new coffee shops around the city, and I’m kind of a podcast junkie. Oh, and I bake when I’m stressed.”

”Baking?” Victoria glances at you, intrigued. “That’s unexpected. What’s your specialty?”

”Cookies, mostly,�� You say with a shrug. “But I’ve been known to whip up a mean apple pie. It’s therapeutic, you know?”

Victoria smiles. “Maybe I should start stressing you out more if it means we’ll get some cookies in the office.”

You laugh, a blush crept up your cheeks nudging her playfully. “You’d have to earn those cookies, neuman.”

You continue walking, the conversation flowing easily now, with laughter punctuating your words.

“Do you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t running a company?” You ask after a while, your tone more contemplative.

Victoria thinks for a moment. “It’s hard to imagine anything else, but maybe something still tied to the city. Like urban planning or something in real estate development. I’ve always been fascinated by how this city evolves.”

”Urban planning?” You muse. “I could see that. You’ve got a vision, even if it’s usually about profit margins.”

Victoria smiles at that, appreciating the compliment. “And you? What would you be doing?”

”Honestly? I’ve thought about opening a bakery someday. Just a little place in Brooklyn, nothing fancy. It’s a pipe dream, but who knows?”

”Sounds like a great idea,” Victoria says sincerely. “I’d be your first customer.”

You smile, touched by her support. “Thanks. Maybe one day I’ll take you up on that.”

As you finally near your apartment building, there’s a comfortable silence, both of you enjoying the shared moment of stepping away from your usual roles. When you reach the door, You turn to Victoria, expression soft.

”Thanks for walking me home. I had a good time tonight…outside of work, I mean.”

“Me too,” Victoria replies, a genuine warmth in her voice. “We should do this more often.”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah, we should.”

Without a word, you wrap your arms around Victoria, pulling her into a quick but tight embrace. For a moment, she holds you there, slightly surprised, she hesitates before returning the embrace, her arms wrapping around your waist.

The city noise fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, shared moment.

When you pull back, your faces are inches apart. You meet her gaze, and in that instant, something shifts. There’s no more need for words. As you moved back, your noses bump lightly, drawing a soft laugh from both of you.

But then, as if by some unspoken agreement, you lean in together, and your lips meet in a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s brief, almost testing the waters, but it’s enough to send a rush of warmth through you both.

When you pulled back, Victoria’s eyes search yours, gauging your reaction. She sees the same surprise and curiosity mirrored in your gaze.

She breaks the silence first, her voice low and a bit husky. “That was… unexpected.”

You smile, a touch of shyness creeping in, but you shrug lightly, trying to play it cool. “I figured it was about time we stopped talking.”

Victoria chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Fair point.” There’s a moment of lingering tension, not uncomfortable but charged with possibilities. You finally step back fully, giving her a last smile. “Goodnight, Victoria. See you tomorrow.”

”Goodnight,” She replies, her voice warmer than before.

Tonight, You were in the bureau finishing up, you celebrated your victory. The scent of sweat and alcohol fills the air as they toast to their success, raising their glasses to one of the most dangerous Supes taken down. You’ve danced, laughed, and loosened up, your bodies still humming with the energy that's fueled you through the endless days of work.

”I still can’t believe that we actually did it,” You were perched against a desk, a glint in your eye as you spoke watching Victoria, a cup in hand, the room a symphony of chatter and energy around you.

Victoria, smiled back at you, the haze of celebration and triumph illuminating her features. "Neither can I, But here we are.” She raised her cup in a silent salute.

Smirking, you drained the last drops of your drink, feeling the warmth spread through your veins. Pushing off the desk, you made your way through the sea of agents, raising a hand in farewells and goodbyes. "Excuse me, gotta use the ladies room." Your voice rose above the din, as you made your way through the crowd, eager to find some respite from the intoxicating atmosphere.

As you stood before the mirror, you flicked on the faucet, allowing the water to cascade over your hands, the cooling sensation serving as a momentary reprieve from the chaotic celebration.

The sound of the door opening startled you, bringing you back to reality. Your gaze shifted to the mirror, meeting Victoria's reflection as she stepped inside the dimly lit bathroom.

“You scared the shit out of me.” You let out a small laugh.

“Sorry about that," Victoria said with a playful grin, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror. "I needed a breather as well. This place is starting to spin."

As You dry your hands, glancing at the mirror, you see Victoria leaning on the sink's edge. A moment of tranquility hangs between you, during which she ponders softly.

”You know," her voice a low hum, "the job's been intense. At times it felt like it's been trying to beat me down, but maybe it's not all that dreadful working with you. Can't deny, we make quite a team.”

"Damn right, we do." You grinned, leaning back against the sink.

As your pinkies slightly touched your gaze slid over your shoulder to meet Victoria's, trailing down to her lips before darting back to her eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, adrenaline practically buzzing off Victoria like pheromones. and you could see the tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her eyes dilating, the pulsing blood beneath her skin, and the way her heart thumped against her chest, its rhythm drumming loudly in your ears.

With your honed deduction abilities, your senses were heightened to perceive the microcosm of her vital signs.

It was this uncanny ability that gave you an edge, allowing you to read her like an open book. Your senses drank in every detail, Victoria’s hand moved instinctively to cup your cheek, her fingers brushing against your soft skin. Your eyes, fixated on her lips, slowly drifted shut, basking in the warmth beneath her touch.

Close enough for your breaths to intertwine, she felt your heart thumping rapidly, the sound echoing between you. Your lips hovered tantalizingly close, the tension a heavy weight you shared.

”Vic…” You whispered, your hand finding its place on Victoria’s chest. Her own heart pounded in sync with yours. She then didn’t waste another second as she closed the gap, crashing her lips into yours.

The kiss was like a tender whisper at first. Soft, cautious, and fraught with uncertainty. But like two floes melting into each other, the hesitance soon dissolved into a warmth that enveloped you. Your lips parted and tangled, bodies pressing closer together, as if drawn by an invisible force.

Your hands found their way around Vic's neck, she pulled you in closer, your lips parting for a moment. The sensation of her soft groan against your mouth sent a warm, pulsating feeling racing up your neck, and spreading through your chest.

Tongue traced the sensitive line of her neck, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin. you left a trail of sucking kisses, marking her with small, tender bites along the length of her throat.

Shortly after that the moment was shattered by the abrupt swing of the bathroom door, revealing an unsuspecting bystander.

You Immediately pulled away but your gaze lingered on Victoria, the flush of desire still evident on her cheeks. And the intoxicating allure of the moment.

You cursed under your breath, your heart hammering against your chest at the abrupt interruption. Your eyes, still heavy from the kiss, reluctantly lifted to meet the gaze of the coworker who had just busted in the bathroom. A deep sigh left your lips, the air escaping in a frustrated puff.

You weakly managed a smile, your cheeks still flushed from the stolen kiss, before leaning back against the sink with a sigh. Your gaze met Victoria's, her eyes pleading, and she excused herself with a hasty retreat, the bathroom door swinging shut behind her.

Your mind raced, trying to process the unexpected audience, and the adrenaline from the unexpected exposure fizzling out the euphoria of your kiss.

Hair washing

In the warmth of the steam-filled bathroom, the sound of the shower enveloped you. The sun's last rays bathed the room in a golden glow, casting a soft hue on Your naked form.

Your fingers combed through Victoria’s hair, A soft smile pulled at your lips as the warm lighting washed over her. The water beads that clung to her nose, cheeks, and eyelashes were hypnotic. Her thick, beautiful eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and your heart swelled with affection.

Her head leaned back, and you continued gently massaging her scalp, as the shampoo suds cascaded down her back, "You know, I really don't know why I let him do that." Her complaints about work merging into the background hum of the water.

As you combed through her hair, her soft skin and the way the droplets clung to her features captivated you.

You hummed softly, nodding along while you secured Victoria's hair in a messy bun. The rich scent of shampoo filled the air as you massaged it into her scalp, fighting back a smile at her grumbles. Her words continued as she ran the soap bar over her neck, breasts, and shoulders.

“Are you even listening?" Victoria demanded, snapping you from your musings. "Yes, yeah, continue," You casually lied, fingers running through her wet hair.

"Okay so like I was saying..." She continued while you trailed your gaze down her form, admiring her. Your thumb gently grazed her jawline, tilting her head back under the water stream. A soft chuckle escaped you, amused by the situation despite Victoria's frustration. Her gaze dropped, meeting yours, and she stated, "I knew you weren't listening."

She playfully nudged your shoulder, and you playfully acted hurt, lifting an arm to where she hit you. "Ow!"

Rolling her eyes, Victoria smirked, dipping her head back into the water.

First time

The weight of Victoria's body in your arms feels natural, as if you were always meant to be this close. As you finally reach your bedroom, You kick the door open, your kiss never breaking. The room was soon filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets as you laid Victoria down on the bed. Your hands roam over her body, exploring every inch of her skin.

She let out a soft, breathless cry as she was laid on the mattress, she reached out to touch you, her fingers trailing over the bare skin of your stomach and up to your chest, desperate to feel more. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," she whispered, her voice hoarse with want.

”Me too," You breathed out, your voice as ragged as hers. Your lips met once more, the kiss deep and hungry.

You slowly rocked your hips against Victoria's, your bodies melding together. As your lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of tender kisses, before claiming hers in a deep, passionate embrace.

Breaking away, you instinctively pulled her up, sitting her on the edge of the bed. Your fingers found the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. letting it fall to the floor, discarding it carelessly, as your jeans followed.

Victoria's breath caught in her throat as you drag the sharpness of your teeth, down the swell of Victoria's breast. Your fingers deftly unhooking the bra, letting the unlined cups fall beneath the curve of her lush mounds.

Her fingers clutch at the sheets as the bra fell away, her body arching towards your mouth, desperate for more.

Your mouth descends, hot and eager, tongue tracing teasing licks, while your teeth gently nip at her sensitive flesh. Your hands cradle her, holding her close, your gaze flickering up to meet her eyes, hungry for more.

She moans, her eyes locking on yours. Her hands reach up to grip your hair, her body trembling beneath your touch. The hunger in your eyes is mirrored in her own, a primal need that only her can fulfill.

You lift your face from Victoria's breasts, panting heavily. Crawling up the bed, shifting your positions so you lay in the middle. She kisses you once more, not pulling away as she reaches down and tugs her own pants. With a swift motion, she slides them down her ankles, tossing them aside and flipping you over.

She climbs back on top of You, turning you on the mattress so that your head rests comfortably on the pillows. Sitting back on her knees, She takes a moment to admire your half-naked form, her hands itching to explore every inch of your skin.

She runs her hands over your thighs, feeling the softness of your flesh, the warmth of your body. Her fingers trail up, caressing your stomach and ribs, mapping out the curves of your body. With desperation pounding through your veins, she finally reached down and hooked her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. She pulls them down, tossing them aside, leaving you completely bare before her.

You looked up at her, eyes darkened with desire "Touch me," You spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

She leans down, her lips finding yours once more, kisses deep and filled with longing.

Her hands continue to explore your body, her touch gentle yet urgent. Her lips fall open in a breathy sigh when she looks down at where you flushed and slick for her, and her hands slide down to hold your legs apart as she takes you in.

Victoria’s fingers trace slow, soft circles on your clit. Your lips meet and part, your kisses slow and tender. A whimper escapes her as your mouths press together, and you moan softly as her fingers tease your burning skin, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Your body responds reflexively, arching into her hand, seeking more pressure and friction.

Your hands come to rest on Victoria’s shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh as your need grew deeper.

She eagerly explored your mouth with her tongue, savoring the taste of you. Humming softly, You tilted your head, seeking a deeper access. Her hand trailed down, her fingers teasing the heat between your legs. Just brushing against her entrance.

The gentle touch made you gasp, hips bucking forward involuntarily, seeking more contact. You moan her name, voice raw and filled with pleading.

"Please," you whisper between kisses, fingernails continued digging into her shoulders, desperate for more of her touch.

She slid into you, two fingers at once, as deep as she could go. A choked moan escaped your lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she basked in the relief you felt. Your body welcomed her, your walls clenching around her fingers as she pushed herself down onto her.

She flexed her fingers upward, the curve of her knuckles pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your body trembled moans growing louder with each thrust. The sensation of her being inside you, the heat and the tightness, sent shivers down your spine.

It was overwhelming and intense. You could feel your climax building, tension coiling in your lower abdomen, like a taut bowstring ready to snap.

You looked up at Vic, eyes half-lidded and filled with desire. Your hands reached up, tugging at her shoulders, trying to pull her closer. "Don't stop,"

Victoria desperately ground her hips against yours, gasping at the friction of her underwear, her own pleasure building with each movement. Your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling, your gazes locked as she pulled you to sit on her lap.

Her fingers moved faster, her thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. She could feel Your body tensing, your climax approaching.

“Fuck, Victoria.” You cried.

Victoria’s hips, seeking more friction, more contact. She looked up into your eyes, her own gaze pleading , her body taut with need.

“Don't stop," You gasped again, your voice ragged with desperation.

“Oh god, I can’t-“

With a final, powerful thrust, she pushed you into the abyss of ecstasy. Your body trembled, and your cries of pleasure echoed in the room. Your orgasm washed over, Her fingers still buried deep within you.

Tears of relief stung your eyes as you blinked them away and moaned into Victoria's neck, eyes tightly shut, lips reddened, and eyebrows furrowed in pure bliss.

As you slowly returned to yourself, your breathing ragged, heart hammering in your chest, you looked up at Vic. Eyes were half-lidded, expression a mix of ecstasy and exhaustion. She reached out, gently brushing away a tear that had rolled down your cheek. "Don't cry," she whispered.

You dropped your head against her shoulder, lips trembling as you struggled to catch your breath. You refused to look at her, the emotions swirling within were too intense to face her gaze. Your heart raced, as you tried to steady yourself.

Victoria reached up, gently cupping your face in her hands and coaxing you to look at her. She brushed her fingers across her tear-stained cheeks, her touch soft and soothing.

“Hey," she murmured, her voice gentle and full of compassion. "Look at me. It's alright."

You lifted your head back up, suppressing your own tears, and let out a shaky laugh. "Fuck, I uh-“ You stammered a hand coming up to rest on top of Victoria’s on your own cheek. “I’ve never felt this good in my life," You admitted licking your lips, your voice thick with emotion, the brink of overflowing.

Victoria smiled gently, her thumb caressing your cheek as a tender look filled her eyes. She lifted herself slightly to press a soft kiss to your forehead, then moved lower to brush her lips against your nose, chin, and jaw.

“I know what you mean," she murmured, her voice soft and filled with understanding. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

You weakly chuckled, your head dropping back onto Victoria, forehead pressing tightly against her shoulder as you let out a deep sigh. In that moment, surrounded by her warmth and affection, you felt safe, and for the first time in a long time, truly cared for.

#lgbtq #victoria neuman #the boys #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman x you #fluff #smut #head cannons

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bigtedbear · 2 months

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“ 𝐦𝐫. 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 “

𝐩𝐫𝗼𝗺𝐩𝐭: 𝐰𝗼𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐭𝗺! 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝗼𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬?

content warning: 18+ NSFW, 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, trans male character, amab reader, male reader, oral sex (scar receiving), vaginal penetration, gentle vanilla sex, first times, misunderstood feelings, semi-drunk sex/drunk sex, a lot of confused flirting and banter, lots of kisses, lots of reassurance, unsafe sex (keep it in your pocket if you can't wrap up your rocket), this is pure fluffy vanilla sex and a little bit self-indulgent, as mentioned this is amab reader there is specific mentions of cock

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak! "

" new contact noted! caller scar has been added to your phonebook - love, 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑡-19 “

"I mean, I understand why you would, with the inn prices being so high, but really?"

His fingers drummed on the market stand in front of him. Eyes wandering, he gave a slight shrug. "It's not as if I have any other options, do I? I can't exactly make a house appear out of thin air." Despite what should've been desolate words, the smirk written all over his face added a playful lilt to his speech.

Your face was tinted a cute pink, but it wasn't because of him. It was a sun-kissed hue tanned into the flesh of your cheek from the humidity. Still, he felt proud of himself when a polite laugh ripped through the heatwaves beating down on the both of you. "Well, still, camping might be fun for some people but you look like you're going to sweat your hide off. Are you sure you don't want some money to stay at a room with some kind of air conditioning or something?"

He looked down at his clothes, "Do I really look that bad? I'll have you know I'm quite comfortable." He did a playful twirl. You took note of the dreamy and far off nature buried in the depths of his pupils.

Another chirp of laughter passing your lips, "Yeah, sure you are. Your forehead is caked in sweat." You turned around, heading to the back of your small shaded booth before plucking a small beige satchel of coins out. You turned around again, just to find his fingers drumming on the table while his eyes darted just about everywhere but your humble shop's offerings. "Take it, tonight's on me."

Just as quickly as you slid it across the table, the bag was pushed back into your retreating palm. "No need, I'm not exactly what anyone would call... delicate."

Your own smile tugged at your lips as you shoved the bag of shells back across the table. There was a devious glint in your eyes as you quipped back to him, "No need to play coy, I'm not after anything." Your fingers brushed up against the back of his hand. "That is, unless you want me to be."

This time, it was his turn to chuckle. He only seemed further motivated by the challenge, smirk opening up his cheeks. The scarred tissue on his face uncomfortably hindered one side of his face, causing a more lopsided grin. Even if it was one caused by pain, the smile was endearing. It was imperfectly beautiful, uneven but genuine.

"I'm not strapped for cash," His eyes flashed a dangerous mischief, "-but I wouldn't be surprised if you were. You seem all too eager to hand off your money to any pretty traveler passing through town."

To this, your lips opened, closed, and then opened again. "I don't remember calling you pretty, but I can't say I disagree with that either." You still insistently held the bag firmly against his palm, gently wrapping his hand around the drawstrings of the bag with your fingers, "That being said, consider it some... local hospitality. Nobody in the village wants anyone to go to sleep cold or hot or uncomfortable. We're all just trying to make a living, even if we don't agree with each other all the time."

His own eyes widened slightly, but he didn't stutter or seem taken aback by the sudden sincerity in your tone. "I don't see why you'd help me, I can see you're barely keeping food on your own table."

You averted your eyes sheepishly, "That may be true, but I don't have trouble keeping a roof over my head." Your former smile transformed into a sort of grimace, "I know I really shouldn't be telling visitors this if we want to keep having any travelers stop in, but..." You took in a deep breath, "There's this Tacet Field that opened up nearby, and I- I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if you--or really anyone--got ambushed because you couldn't afford a room."

You shook your head and urgently pressed the bag into his hands, "So, just for my peace of mind, go ahead and just take this and get yourself a comfy bed to sleep in." You offered him a sincere smile, withdrawing your own hands, "I swear on it, Miss Chunhua makes the best breakfast if you have enough time for it."

He hummed, pretending to consider it for a moment.

Of course, he was already intrigued you knew of a Tacet Field popping up before any of the Midnight Rangers could make the time to come and investigate it themselves. But, he was more concerned with your show of completely selfless kindness. The amount of shells in the bag would be more than enough for a room at the inn, enough for a couple at the very least. If anything, he wondered why you had this amount just casually set aside in a bag.

"As touched as I am by your kindness, I don't need it." He dropped the bag down onto the counter with one hand. The other grabbed at the food he'd bought from you. "I'm more than strong enough to handle a few tacet discords. You don't need to worry your little head off about anyone like me."

You immediately protested, "If it's about the money, it really isn't that-"

You were cut off with another of his sweet laughs. "No, it isn't about the money. As touched as I am that you want me to sleep safely, I'm here to investigate the Tacet Field myself up close." He held a finger to his lips, "Don't tell anyone though, alright?"

Your eyes widened in protest, "What do you mean you're investigating it? That's-" You promptly shut your mouth. "With your confidence, I know you probably have some kind of Tacet Mark, but it's really not safe. Those things- they're-"

He shook his head again, lopsided grin only getting bigger. He held his pinky out, "Would a promise make you feel any better?"

Your frown only deepened, "Look, I know you think your Tacet Mark will keep you safe but I have a Tacet Mark. They're more than dangerous, they're larger and more aggressive than they usually are. They look like they're just about to rip anyone that gets close enough to shreds."

He shrugged, "I've seen worse."

"Somehow, I believe you," You remarked dismally, "But you should trust me on this. My farm is right on the outskirts of town and I've gotten front row seats trying to subdue those things. They're practically in my backyard all day." Your face contorted into one of mild discomfort, "Just take the money, if you want to be able to look at the Tacet Field up close, I'll let you use my farm. Does that work?"

He put a weighty finger on his chin, crossing his other arm across his chest. He snapped his finger, as if he came to a realization. "What if I camp out on your farm? That way, you can see that I'm still in one piece."

Your jaw tensed for a moment, seeming to think it over. It didn't help your conscious that he seemed to naively sure of himself. You didn't know if the nasty full-length scar on the side of his face was any indicator of his skill or any fights he'd actually been in. Perhaps it'd been some freak accident during childhood? You took in a deep breath. "How about you pay a fraction of the price you would for the inn and just rent a room in my house? I have one facing the back, it's got the perfect view of the Tacet Field."

He tapped his chin a couple of times before finally seeming to agree that would be the best outcome. He finally nodded. "It's the best of both worlds, I don't see why not."

You breathed a quick sigh of relief, finally letting the tension in your shoulders relax. "Oh thank god."

Your face flushed an embarrassed crimson when the sound of his boisterous laughter met your ears, dying out just as quickly as it emerged. He offered you his hand, one you took in your own.

"Scar, pleasure doing business with you."

"You're back!"

Scar couldn't deny the sweet squeeze your tone of affection had on his heart. Of course, he couldn't exactly let it be known either. The quaint grin that always seemed to be there was all that greeted you. "I'm surprised you remember me."

You tilted your head at him curiously, your own warm grin still on your face. "Well, it isn't every day we get tourists. It also isn't every day that those tourists show up wearing bright red."

He was pleasantly surprised that you didn't mention the brutal injury that marred a majority of his face. Usually, when people brought up his rather... distinctive appearance, that was their go-to. "It's been a while though, hasn't it? Your village probably had more than enough foot traffic to forget about me."

You hummed, putting together the same thing he bought from your humble little stand last time. "Maybe, but they haven't been anywhere near as memorable." You turned around with the little satchel of treats. "You've got this way about you, y'know? It's hard to find in anyone else."

"Hard to find in anyone else... you say that like you've already found it again. Don't tell me you've managed to replace me already?" It was obvious that he took joy in the momentary conundrum that flashed across your expression.

"You're twisting my words!" You countered, pointing a jokingly accusatory finger at him. "You're hard to forget, especially cause you're one of the only people that's actually made the effort to strike up talk past polite conversation." Still, you gave an exaggerated sigh as you approached the front counter again, lamenting, "It'd help if you managed to say more than a few words without squeezing a few jabs in."

His smile widened to showcase his teeth, the small twinge of pain as the scar tissue strained against his joyful motion brought a small pool of pity into your own irises. It wasn't one that Scar missed either. Instead of bringing it up, he shrugged, "Life's too short to not cause some mischief, right? I'd be way too bored if I didn't at least poke some buttons."

You hummed, crossing your arms thoughtfully. You shrugged before sticking your tongue out at him, "Still, I won't forget anytime soon." You laid the little beige box on the table. "I'll have to get back at you somehow, I just have to wait for the right chance to do it."

Scar clicked his tongue in response, "Well, it seems you'll have to wait some time before that can happen."

You raised an eyebrow, "Well, I mean, you're here now, aren't you?" Your eyes softened, "If you need a place to stay tonight, you can set up camp in my house again--free of charge this time."

He shook his head, "No need, I'm just making a quick stop in." Precisely why he was confused he was even at your shop in the first place.

You nodded, "Well, just remember you're free to crash at mine anytime."

He chortled quietly before quipping, "What, are you that lonely?"

Your face flushed a familiar pink, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. You finally settled on snatching your box back into your arms. "You're awful!"

He laughed, louder, unabashedly.

You shook your head, "You're just a good roommate is all." You sauntered off towards the back of the booth again, locking up your safe. "You didn't stay out too late, you didn't make much noise at night, and you put up with my god-awful cooking."

He shrugged, "You're being pretty harsh on yourself, I remember it being pretty good."

You looked at him suspiciously, "Just because you're a worse cook doesn't mean I'm some kind of chef."

"Hey!"

It was your turn to laugh at him this time, swinging your keys around your finger. "You know what, you're right. Picking at you is pretty fun, I'll have to remember to do it more often."

He shook his head, though, it was clear there was no real disappointment behind it. "I'm a terrible influence."

You hummed, pushing open the small turn-style door to your booth. "I wouldn't say that. I just think you're a... unique influence. I don't really have many people my age to talk to."

He put his hands on his hips, "That's basically just another way to call me a bad influence. Plus, the fact that you don't have any other influences doesn't make me a good one."

You handed him the small, cutely wrapped box with one hand, "Yeah, but it does mean you don't have much competition." You pointed towards the small home at the end of the road, a building Scar remembered to be the inn with your other hand. "Say, let's go eat at Aunty Chunhua's."

He held the package close to his chest with a curious tilt of the head. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Instead of freezing up in embarrassment this time, you put your hands on your hips. "Only if you want it to be." You pushed him away from your stall excitedly, "To be honest, Chunhua made a batch of some of the best soup ever this morning and I've been catching a whiff of it for the past hour or so. It's making me really hungry."

His face caught a surge of heat, transitioning from a light pink caused by the weather to a deeper magenta. "So if I wanted it to be a date, it could be?"

You nodded, playing along with his joke. "Totally, I'll even give you some freebies if you agree to split the bill with me."

He snickered, "So you're only asking me cause you couldn't afford to get a bowl on your own?"

Your head bobbed up and down shamelessly, "Precisely," You threw a casual arm over his shoulders, "As much as I love her, Aunt Chunhua's prices are way too high for a humble farmer for me." Beginning to tug him along, "But with a handsome, rich stranger by my side I can have all the soup I want! So hurry up, I'm only getting hungrier!"

He breathed in slowly, "Handsome?"

"Yes, very handsome." Your eyes didn't divert from the source of the delicious smell wafting through the air as your mouth opened, "Your eyes are pretty, and your smile is easy on the eyes. Your face is really symmetrical even with the scar on half of it." You paused for a moment, "Speaking of which, I don't get why the other people in the village say you look scary, a scar is just another type of skin, right?"

He seemed to trail off into thought for a moment, "Hm, I guess it is."

The life of a Fractcidus overseer was not an easy one.

That fact should've been obvious to just about anyone that thought about it for a few minutes. It became even more obvious when you lived the life yourself.

It was all the more reason an overseer kept the people close to them at arms length. When you were constantly in danger, it meant anyone you associated with would also be in danger. There was no telling what kinds of hostile entities could get the bright idea to use a loved one as some kind of bargaining chip. Would Scar be willing to sacrifice that chip for the goals of the organization?

When it came to you, he didn't know.

You were this pure, unadulterated light. Sweet, untouched by the filth of the world. As a humble rice farmer in a rural village, he doubted you even knew the Fractcidus existed. Of course, you still knew what Tacet Fields were, you knew what Tacet Discords were, hell you had a Tacet Mark. You were strong and proud, never arrogant or unnecessary with your strengths.

But unlike Scar, you were completely selfless in your use of your abilities. Would you still look at him the same if you knew the depths of his soul? Would you peel back his burnt, horrid flesh, look at the demons in his heart and still accept him? Would you ever end of agreeing with his vision of the world?

He didn't know, nor did he care to find out.

For your sake and his, the question was better left unanswered.

He would keep his distance, he decided. He wouldn't ask the question, he wouldn't hear the answer. He felt a little unfair, plucking the decision from you entirely, but what choice did he have? If you decided to give the Fractcidus the time of day, your little life tucked away in your fields would grind to a strict halt.

There was no guarantee you would have a roof over your head in the night, no guarantee you would come home safe. Your booth at the town market would be left unattended every Sunday morning, you wouldn't be there to fend off the stray Tacet Discords that came in close enough to the village to actually threaten civilian life.

Even if he would be selfish in just about every other aspect of his life, something about your inherent lack of an ability to put yourself first inspired him to finally step up to the plate and put you first instead.

After his last visit, he knew he couldn't deny the brewing butterflies fluttering across the recesses of his ribcage. He couldn't stop the flush from spreading all over his face when he talked to you. He couldn't even really hold a real conversation without hinting at his feelings in one way or another, but besides his own feelings there were yours.

Even if you could get past his criminal pass times, would you be able to get past the fact that he didn't have the same parts as any other man?

He couldn't describe it, the way your own desires and proverbial thoughts intermingled with his own.

Alongside his own inner monologue, there was suddenly, a second voice. "The voice of reason", he called it. It argued for your needs and wants. You needed shelter, you needed safety. You might've wanted to be in a relationship with him, you might've wanted to see him more often, but giving you those would completely override your needs. Besides, he couldn't even guarantee that was what you wanted. Maybe, you wanted to be in a relationship with someone who could settle down with you. You might want someone who was born a man. So, since he couldn't be what you wanted or what you needed, so he removed himself from the equation entirely.

Or at least, he tried to.

Deep down, he was still selfish. He felt awful when he realized he couldn't completely put your safety first. The guilt churning in his gut only got worse when he realized you wouldn't have been able to bring yourself to blame him; not when he showed up to your door looking as pitiful as he did.

Caked in mud, soaking wet and frowning like a poor stray left out in the rain. Storm raging outside from every angle, thunder, lightning, torrential rain that made it difficult to hear your own thoughts. Blinded by the dark, at risk of running into any manner of Tacet Discords with the nearby Tacet Field.

"What the actual hell are you doing outside?" You demanded to know, ushering him inside. One second, you disappeared into the depths of your home, skittering down the stairs with a warm, dry towel being unceremoniously dropped on his head.

He didn't answer, letting you towel the muck and wetness out of his usually unruly white hair.

"Have you eaten yet?" You questioned him, throwing a stack of your own sleeping clothes at him. You ran around like a headless chicken, trying to get him comfortable.

More guilt dripped and dropped onto his shoulders like a leaking faucet as he stared at your dumbfounded face when he choked out his answer in the negative.

He couldn't help the sweet mix of fondness in his stomach the longer you fussed over him. Scolding him for not taking proper care of himself, poking him in the chest and telling him he was far too careless of his own health.

He couldn't stop the lopsided smile that snuck up on him when you pushed him into the same bedroom you'd provided him the last time he stayed in your home. Nor could he help himself when you yelled through the door that you were still making dinner so you had enough time to throw in some extra ingredients to accommodate a few extra portions.

'Just one more time,' He conceded, one more time he would let you take care of him.

'This will be the last time', he promised. Who he promised it to? He couldn't make up his mind. He didn't know if it was to you, the unknowing victim, or to himself.

"What's all this?"

You noticed pretty quickly, Scar had a habit of nervous fidgeting. Scratch that, not exactly nervous fidgeting but more bored fidgeting. When he wasn't doing anything, he would be bouncing his leg or drumming his fingers on whatever surface was available.

You set down the rather large bottle on the table, cracking open the top of it without a second thought. "It's some cider I've been aging. I wasn't really sure when I'd have the opportunity to share it with someone."

You didn't notice his smile falter as you turned around to go retrieve your wine glasses from a cabinet. When you returned to the table, his expression was the same as it always was. You settled yourself at the seat across from him at your little round table. "I don't really see what's all that special about me being here, I'll be gone in the morning when the storm's passed."

You nodded, "I mean, it makes sense that you're confused since you live a life of intrigue." You flicked the cork of the bottle off. "I'm alone a lot of the time here. Sometimes I'll stop into Miss Chunhua's to cough up what little money I can scrounge together, maybe sometimes I'll get courted by some lady from another village, but I don't have many meaningful friendships."

His brow twitched, but you didn't catch much of a shift in his face otherwise. "I catch your drift."

You chuckled, hand coming to rest on the sweet-smelling bottle of liquor, "Lighten up! I'm breaking out the alcohol as a part of a celebration that you're back!" You poured yourself about half a glass, pushing the bottle towards him afterwards, "I might live a lonely life, but it only makes every time you stop by more special."

He wondered, would you still look at him so fondly if you knew he would lead you to your pitiful end?

Even then, he couldn't bring himself to rain even harder on your parade. He took the large green jug in his hand before pouring himself a similar portion. He did his best to smile, to act joyful so that you would smile too.

But, you noticed the difference immediately. The fake versus the real. When he smiled genuinely, one side of his face would lift more than the other, a result of the drastic scarring. But, when he was pretending, it seemed like he ignored his own pain in favor of trying to look as natural as possible. Both sides of his face remained even.

"...Are you alright?"

The question caused the grin to vanish off his cheeks entirely, eyes raising to meet your own. He hated the fact that they were downturned, the clear worry scribbled all over your face. He made a crude attempt at reassuring you, the same practiced smile carving it's way onto his expression yet again. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

You didn't even try to hide the fact you were still worried. "Scar..."

A jolt of panic elevated his heart rate, tilting his head to the side. "Aw, are you worried about me? I'm totally fine," As a little last ditch effort, he quickly tacked on, "...maybe a little frazzled from the rain, but I'm okay."

Your eyes narrowed, creases inlaying themselves on your forehead. "You know you can tell me just about anything right? I-" You paused, "I might not be the smartest, I don't have some fancy education and I've never been to the capital, but I can do my best to try to understand."

His eyes widened, expression falling flat. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to write it off. "Hey, don't write yourself off, you're a lot smarter than half my coworkers." He attempted to crack a joke, but it was obvious it fell short when you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms.

"That still doesn't answer my question." Even when you were trying to be stern with him, you still didn't seem to have a strong enough spine to truly be mean. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm not some little porcelain doll that'll break if you say the wrong thing. I'm a grown man."

"Well, of course I know that." He paused, thinking over his words carefully, "It's just that I can't tell you."

You perked up in your chair, tilting your head to the side. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He let out a breathy laugh, "It's nothing against you, it's just... work-related?" Technically, it was the truth. He reasoned that it would be alright to say that much as long as he didn't really let much else slip. "I know you probably think it'd be alright for me to talk about it since you wouldn't know anything about the organization besides what I tell you, but it's confidential."

There was a pause while he waited for your response.

He let the tension fall from his shoulders when you reached for your wine glass, "I get it, rather be safe than sorry kind of situation, right?"

His head shook up and down a little bit too quickly for your liking, "Exactly like that actually."

You motioned with your glass to his own. "Wanna toast? Just to getting away from your problems for a little bit. I'm assuming your employer can't really reach you during a storm as bad as this on a little farm out in the middle of nowhere."

This time, his smile was as lopsided as you remembered. He scooped up his own glass and brought it to meet your own with a little 'Clink!'

He relaxed a little bit as he watched the concern melt off of your face. You took a swig of the cider, watching him take a sip as well. It was sweet, with a little tang underneath it. It was a standard fruit-infused cider. Still, to make some polite conversation he found himself asking, "What'd you make this with?"

You set your glass down. You instead brought the bottle to your face, swishing around the liquid to see if you could find any identifiers. "I can't remember if this was the tropfruit batch or the gemberry batch..."

Scar took another taste, "I'd make a bet on it being tropfruit."

You hummed, "Yeah, that sounds right."

"Do you want to take this any further?"

Scar took a moment to respond, still catching his breath from a kiss that was just a little bit to passionate to really be dismissed as anything but an invitation. He cursed himself internally for letting the alcohol cloud his judgement enough to let things go this far.

Even though everything in his mind screamed for him to stop things where they were, his grip on your shoulders was just as tight as before. His chest was still pressed against yours, his back was still leaned against the counter.

His glass of liquor remained on the tabletop just a few short feet away from where the two of you had semi-melted together into a tangle of limbs.

It'd started out innocent at first, he was teasing you like he always did. He couldn't remember when it'd gotten physical, the only real memory having been wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

It'd only really taken off from there, soon enough, you were hovering over him and his lower back was getting sore from the sharp countertop bleeding a line into it.

"I-" he paused. "It wouldn't be smart for me to let this go on for any longer." It was the continuation of that thought that would've really broken you heart. '-lest you find out he wasn't the man you thought he was.'

Even though he was the one to say no, he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut when you nodded at him. There was a deep regret coursing through his veins as you pulled away, going back to washing the dishes. He only felt worse when the selfish little part of his brain got frustrated when you tried to just pick up the conversation where it'd left off.

"You're heading out tomorrow morning, right? Where are you headed to?"

"You're drunk and you've already told me no tonight, 'm not going to take advantage of you."

Even in your insistence, Scar could feel your resolve melting when confronted with the alcohol running through your own system. The longer he pressed, the sloppier your words got. Every passing minute, it seemed a little bit more of your willpower seemed to slip past your fingertips like sand.

Like the sweet tendrils of temptation, he connected his lips to your jaw again, like a sweet promise. Even as he pulled away, he could smell the sickeningly sweet odor of the liquor left behind like a tattoo on your unblemished skin.

"What? Haven't gotten this close to anyone before?" He teased, shifting against you on the loveseat in your living room. He'd been sitting next to you previously, taking your drinks to the den so you two could properly relax before bed. Now, he writhed on your lap, straddling your hips.

Your eyes were bleary with intoxication, still trained on him as your eyelids drooped like a weeping willow. Your teeth were grit together, your hands on his waist as you tried to gently coax him off of you. "That's besides the point-" You were cut off by your own voice, grunting when he took the chance to bite down on the sensitive skin of your collar.

He snickered, grinding himself down onto your thigh, "No wonder you're so nervous."

This time, you truly made the effort to get him off of you, a sense of urgency in the way you called his name. "You need to stop and let yourself sleep this off." Your hands moved to be against his chest, trying your best not to hurt him when you moved to push him off of you. "I like you too much for you to sleep with me, regret it, and never come back again."

He cocked his head to the side, eyes finally meeting yours as he asked. "What if I don't regret it? Did you consider that?"

You blinked a few times, still sort-of out of it and under the influence. "I would've considered it if you didn't tell me you were uncomfortable earlier." You pushed against him gently. It wasn't strong enough to be classified a shove, just consistent pressure to keep his inebriated body from leaning up against yours. "Sso, go to bed. If you really want to do anything like this, you'll wait until you're sober to talk t'me about this."

He huffed, both understanding and impatient. His hands rested on your shoulders, moving from exploring the expanses of your torso. "Did you consider why I told you to stop?"

Your eyes shut in an attempt to make the room stop spinning for a moment. "No, 'course I didn't." While your sense of chivalry kept him from resting on you, your head rolled to the side to let your cheek rest on one of his hands on your shoulder. "You told me no, I did what anyone worth their salt was 'sposed to do. You didn't need a reason to say no."

He sighed, just barely twisting his wrist around to cradle your face. He brushed his thumb against your skin, his own eyelids starting to feel like they were solidifying into lead. "You're really dense, y'know."

Your eyebrows came down your forehead, furrowing to a point, "Who're you calling dense? You're the dense one, You- You-"

He cut off any and all trains of coherent thought when he pressed a seemingly innocent kiss to your lips. In your drunken mess, you chased after him when he pulled away. "You didn't think I had a thing for you, too?"

Your eyes blinked open at him, expression still a little tense. "Hm?"

He laid his forehead against yours, voice lowered to that of a whisper, "I stay away cause I like you. I don't want you to be in trouble cause you hang around me."

Immediately you were up in arms about his assertion, "That doesn't make any sense."

He hummed, "It might not make sense to you, but if you knew what I did, I feel like you would do the same thing."

He could feel the heavy breath that passed your lips. He could also feel your hands moving back down to his waist. You wrapped around him gingerly, tentatively. Even when you were too drunk to think straight, you cared so much about his comfort. "I'm not weak, 'm really strong. If someone came after me, I could handle it."

He chuckled, resting his head on your now free shoulder. "Yeah, but would you still like me if you knew I was the one that put you in trouble?" You nodded with a vigor against his own forehead. He combed his fingers through your hair, gently.

He let out a noise of contentment before drawing in another breath and holding it. "Even if I was trans?"

He could feel the way your eyes blinked in confusion, lashes tickling his forehead. "mm' so?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, forgetting how to breathe for a second.

Your hold on his hips got tighter as you pulled him in closer. "Why would that matter, at all?"

He pulled back from you, "You'd still have the hots for me? Even if I didn't have a dick?"

Your immaturity shone through as you chuckled at his crude language. You leaned back further into the plush of the sofa. "Yeah, why wouldn't I? I haven't really seen you naked before. I don't see why you'd think I'm only attracted to you for your body."

He could feel the revelation start to sober him up. His heart felt like it was beating a million miles a minute. He tripped over his words while he looked for the correct way to articulate his thoughts to a very drunk man, "W-Well, I mean yeah, but it's a deal breaker to some people. Not everyone is into that, y'know?"

Your eyes met his, the difference in your cognizance becoming obvious. While he was fully alert and at full attention, your eyes remained half-lidded and glazed with alcohol. "In all honesty, I don't know what I'm into. I don't have enough time to think about it." You gave his love handles an affectionate squeeze, "But when I do think about it, I think about you and how you make my heart feel all mushy."

He could feel his head start to spin as he tentatively asked again, "So you still feel the same way about me? You don't care that I don't have the same parts as a guy?"

You frowned, "What do you mean? You're still a guy, aren't you?" You put your head on his shoulder. "Your name is still Scar, I call you he and him and that's what you prefer, right? I don't really know all that much about it, but if you want me to call you a guy, then you'll always be the prettiest guy on the planet to me."

"..."

"...Scar?"

"Help me take my shirt off."

"You're sure you won't regret giving me your first time in the morning?"

Even if it sounded like he was teasing you, you could tell from the tremble in his legs that he meant it. You glided your fingers towards his waistband, tentatively waiting for the go-ahead. "Will you regret sleeping with me in the morning?"

He shook his head again, lifting his hips every so slightly so you could hook your finger under his pants and start the process of tugging them off. "Well, there's your answer." You pulled them down his thighs, getting them to his ankles before he helped kick them off the side of the bed. You gripped his thighs with one hand, the other motioning towards his boxers. "May I?"

There was the lopsided grin you loved so much. He gave a quick affirmation, nodding his head with a playful, "So polite." Despite his eased assurance, you could tell he was still nervous. You knew this would be your first time, but you wondered if this might be his.

Your hand came up to intertwine with his, sliding his boxers off with one hand as you dipped your face down to plant a saccharine kiss to his forehead. There was a pleasant shiver up his spine when he was fully exposed, completely naked and bare for you to see him in his entirety.

Still, even when confronted with the countless scars on his body, you dipped down to his torso to worship every bit of skin you could get your greedy lips on. He shook with an added fervor when you kissed at his top scars.

The tremors got even worse when you were finally situated between his legs. He bashfully averted eye contact when he could feel you looking at the parts of his body he was easily the most embarrassed of. It only got worse when he could feel the mattress shift when you laid all your weight on it.

He let out a shaky moan when you delicately planted a kiss on his folds. Sensitive, he was far too sensitive. Generally, you had an okay idea of what you were doing in theory. The real advantage here was your impossibly quick ability to learn exactly what made him tick.

Your touch was ticklish against his skin when you pushed his legs over your shoulders. He felt beyond vulnerable when he really was completely on display for your eyes to see and your featherlight touch to roam.

You licked between the lips tentatively and slowly, waiting to see which part your tongue ran over would make him squirm the most. You drank in the noises he made and the trembling of his thighs around your head when you parted him open with your fingers. You closed your eyes when you placed a kiss where you could only guess the clit was.

When you earned a quiet whine in return, you turned a majority of your attention to the spot. First, it was a lick, and then it turned into experimental sucking until the nub hardened under your attentive care. His fingers wrapped themselves in the tresses of your hair, pulling on your scalp with each and every sensation that coursed through his body.

Eventually, you set your sights just below the spot you'd been taking care of before. With a hesitant sense of uncertainty, you pressed your tongue flat against the opening. You were rewarded with a harsh yank and a breathless call of your name.

You withdrew your tongue to savor his taste before you delved back in again. You drew little circles around his slit before further pinning his lips open so you could truly go to town on him. You pushed your tongue inside of him slowly, a rush of pride rolling down your back with the sigh that emitted from his lips.

Subconsciously, he pushed his hips closer to your face. Your nose rested against his clit for a moment before you started to explore his insides. His walls twitched around your tongue in tandem with the twitching of his thighs flexing and unflexing around your head. Your movements were slow, noting and taking in each and every little reaction to each and every one of your delicate touches.

He got impatient, a needy whimper pulled from his throat when he ground his pelvis against your face. To accommodate him, you sped up quickly, trying to remember which spots to hit inside while you did so. The building heat only seemed to worsen when your fingers came up to his clit, brushing against it so gently with both your nose and pads of your fingertips.

You drew lazy little tight circles on the nub, savoring his taste on your tongue while he all but did his best to ride your face. Soon enough, your other hand was at his entrance just barely warming the skin on the inside of his thighs before they joined your tongue inside of him.

One finger to start with, slowly going in and out at the same pace as your tongue. Then a second joined. At this point, it was getting hard to keep his noises quiet. A louder moan broke the soft atmosphere when you started to scissor your fingers apart to stretch him open. You started to speed up your movement at the insistence of his own rocking hips against your face.

You let out a muffled groan when his legs clamped around your head. The vibrations sent him careening over the edge as his back arched up into a beautiful curve. He spasmed around your tongue, mouth open in a beautiful mewl as you did your best to nurse him through it.

You pulled away from him, lips stained with slick and a different drunken haze in your eyes. You smiled as you watched him catch his breath. You wiped his release off your hand on the comforter of your bed, moving up again to hold his hands. Both of you were panting, one from a lack of oxygen, the other to catch their breath while they were coming down from the clouds above.

You smiled wide at him, obviously very proud of your work. "How was it? I didn't disappoint, did I?"

He closed his eyes as an embarrassed flush washed over his face. Chest still heaving as he did his best to breathe, he muttered out a quick, "Virgin my ass."

You chuckled against his skin, kissing his cheek. "Do you want to keep going? We can call it a night from here."

He shook his head, "No, I'm still good to go as long as you are."

You nodded, "Would you want to keep going in this position or is there another one you have in mind that might be more comfortable for you?"

He seemed to think for a minute, finally settling on one of the thoughts flying around his head. "I guess I've got something in mind."

"Oh fuck- Right, Right there-"

You stroked his sides lovingly, angling yourself to hit the same spot over and over again. Though, it wasn't as though you had much say in it.

You gave a particularly loud grunt when Scar let himself sink the entire way down, his thighs all but giving out on him as he tried to keep on going. There was sweat dripping down his entire body as he tried to pick himself back up, but he realized pretty shortly after that there really was no hope for him.

From his position on top, he leaned down to get a sweet taste of your lips and the remnants of liquor from your tongue. Pleasant sensations racked his body as you picked up his hips with your hands and brought him back down. He moaned into the kiss, his hands scrunching up into fists against your own sweat stained chest. He pulled away shortly after, chest rising and falling rather quickly. Sweetly, he requested, "A little help?"

You nodded, just barely out of it. You hooked your arms underneath his knees, pushing him softly onto his back. He molded into a curve, all but drooling at the tingles that exploded all over from the sudden shift in position. If that wasn't enough, it seemed you pressed even harder into his cervix and his stomach when you hiked his legs up over your shoulders. You ground your pelvis into his for a short second, but if felt like ages with the aftershocks wreaking havoc on Scar's poor brain.

You pulled out just halfway before easing your way back in, basking in the warmth that was the soft groan passing from Scar's lips. You repeated the same motion again, leaning down just like your partner did to paint his shoulders in your little marks. With the mix of shy ecstasy coursing through his body and a taste of your mouth on his skin, it felt like Scar was high on some kind of newly invented drug.

You shifted a little before moving your hips again, pulling out just enough to leave only the tip of your dick inside before slamming in to the hilt. "Right there?"

His jaw dropped in a silent scream, clamping down on you extremely lewdly. His eyes fluttered shut as the noise trapped in his throat escaped in a shaky call of your name again. He nodded his head quickly upon finally registering your question. "Just like that- Ah fuck! That was absolutely perfect."

He waited in anticipation as the slow drag of your erection in his walls sent another wave of pleasure careening through his nervous system, all but toppled by the sudden crash of your pelvis against his ass again. He let out a groan, only complimented by the sounds of your lips suctioning to his collarbone.

You started to set your pace, just a little faster than he'd been while he'd been riding. It wasn't much, but it seemed to be just enough to edge him closer to the finish line. His intestines tied themselves into a knot all while it felt like you were boring a hole into his uterus.

Despite all his act for being a big bad overseer while he was on the job, while he was in your bed, in your arms with his knees pushed up to his shoulders, he turned into a soft-hearted crybaby. He could feel your pace pick up as you twitched inside of him. The caress of your dick inside of him only made the knot in his intestines get tighter as he struggled to breath properly.

Usually, he was quick with his retorts and quips. He could only listen as they were reduced to nothing but throaty whines of you name and begging for more, sweet noises that melded with the creaking and slamming of your headboard against the wall.

He held onto your shoulders in a death grip, palms pressed flat against your boiling hot skin right next to his own legs. His nails curled into your shoulder blades, leaving delectable little red lines in a sweet mark of ownership.

"Shit, shit-" He clamped down around you again, chest pressing further against yours when your fingers came to draw messy circles on his clit. Hiding his face under your chin, he couldn't help the string of curses that dripped past his lips like honey. "Ohouh Fuck~ Shit~ Ahahn~"

Tears that'd been brewing for the past half hour the two of you had tumbled around in the sheets started to flow down his cheeks. The onslaught of euphoria all over his body sent his mouth flying open as he finally spasmed around your cock, walls fluttering like a vice.

This time, it was your turn to swear as you did your best to fight against the suction of his slit. You pulled out just barely in time to cum on his stomach.

The two of you did your best to catch your breath as you unhooked his legs from your shoulders, basically collapsing next to him on the bed like a boulder. He couldn't help the urge to nuzzle himself up to your side, only further encouraged when you wrapped a lazy arm around him and pulled him in closer.

He hid his face against the sweaty skin of your stomach. He curled into a little ball, suddenly very aware of the air that the two of you had previously been warming up. Luckily, it seemed you had a built in radar for his needs. Quickly and silently coming to the rescue, you dropped one of your fluffier blankets on top of him.

He pulled it around his shoulders gratefully before going back to basking in the warmth of the skin on your tummy. You sleepily tousled his hair before finally sitting up with a grunt.

He perked up immediately, automatically a little upset that you were already going to leave. "Where are you going?"

You yawned, "I'm going to go fill up the bathtub. " You snickered at him before playfully flicking his forehead, "Did you think I was going to bed feeling like a sweat monster?"

"No welcome home?"

Automatically, your head shot up from where you were bent over checking in some of your droopier crops.

In front of you stood your boyfriend of a year in all of his bright-red glory. Just as quickly as you registered that he'd actually come home after being gone for a few weeks, your face brightened up.

No later than that, you were scrambling to your feet and breaking out into a sprint towards him. The dirt crunching under your feet and the crops you were running through be damned, the moment you reached him, your mud-caked arms were around his red uniform to lift him up into the air.

His usual boisterous laugh ripped through the air as the clouds behind his head swirled into some amalgam of white you couldn't be bothered with. "I didn't expect you home for another week!"

He nodded, planting a wet kiss on your cheek just to hear the same laughter rattle from your own chest. "I just couldn't wait to see you again." The same lovestruck puppy eyes were all he could see before suddenly he was attacked with a flurry of lips attached to every square inch of his face.

He let you lavish him in all your pent up love graciously, a satisfied purr rumbling in his throat. Soon enough, you planted a long, lingering kiss on his lips, wrapping him up snug in your arms. You rested your chin on top of his head, secretly amused with the way he leaned forward to accommodate you.

Life wasn't always easy for the two of you, especially since the two of you had a rather unconventional relationship, but life was sweet.

He usually left for long periods of time on missions, he also did his best to stay away right after missions for fear of accidentally leading someone with less than pure intentions to your home. But every moment he had some time off to spend with you, he made the most of it.

By now, he'd also already told you of his mission with the Fractcidus. While you certainly didn't approve, you also conceded you didn't know enough about the political state of the Huanglong or Jinzhou to really judge him. Not only that, you really didn't have all the relevant information you believed would be needed to draw an informed conclusion on what exactly prompted his realization.

So, instead of breaking up with him for being a "monster", you just told him to be safe and you yourself kept out of his work related matters.

Perfect, right?

Well... almost.

Sometimes, staying away from home didn't exactly stop any weirdos from trying to sneak up on him in your house in the dead of night. Only to find a very cranky, very protective farmer with a Tacet Mark and enough pent up anger to fuel the capital.

If Scar just so happened to come home to see you dragging a body to the town medic, he couldn't exactly help the little rush of pride that washed over him. But most importantly, it brought him comfort to know that you were more than capable of protecting yourself when he was away from home.

The thing he had been most scared of when he first thought over his feelings was losing you. He didn't want to lose you to a dangerous life as one of the many Fractcidus Overseers working to achieve their end goal, he didn't want to lose you to your own differing moral values, and most of all, he didn't want to lose you because of his own risky life decisions that frankly didn't have anything to do with you.

The peace of mind that came with watching you, in your pajamas, lug an unconscious intruder to Old Man Runchu's shack in the morning after you'd woken and found them still knocked out in the kitchen was more than he could ask for. It also showcased your especially kind heart, being unwilling to truly injure someone who was intent on either killing or kidnapping you.

Especially cause if Scar was there, little more than their Skeleton would be left.

But that was a different matter all together.

He laced his fingers with yours, swinging both of your arms at your side. "What do you say we go to Miss Chunhua's stall for some Milky Fish Soup that you love so much?"

Immediately you picked up your chin from the crown of his head to plant a big wet sloppy kiss on his forehead, "You see honey, this is why I love you."

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

"rest is peace Scar's pussy zipper I miss you every day"

THIS IS A REPOSTED WORK FROM MY ORIGINAL ACCOUNT BEFORE IT CRAPPED AND DIED ON ME

I USED TO BE FOUND AT @steadybear

I FEAR YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH SEEING @bigtedbear INSTEAD FROM NOW ON

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cardierreh15 · 2 months

Text

Variants

This is just part one of two! Enjoy ⚡️🐺

***I do not give anyone consent to copy, translate or repost my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Angst , Mild Violence .

Pairings: Logan Howlett (Cavillrine) x Ororo Munroe also known as Storm ⚡️

Description: Ororo wakes up in another universe, she meets someone familiar…

Word Count: 4.8K

Song: Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen (but whatever your favorite version is)

Earth-811, Days of Future Present (my own twist) to Earth-199999

Side Note: Please keep in mind, this is not at all accurate and I am only writing something I thought up. Anything from how she got to this Earth from to her meeting Logan is not canon events.

Side, Side Note: Lyrics are in regular italics. Ororo's thoughts are in Italics Bold and OG Logan's voice is in orange italics.

Part One

Now I've heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the Lord

But you don't really care for music, do ya?

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing "Hallelujah”

It was a beautiful day on Earth 199999. Not a cloud to be spotted. The birds chirped and there was even a cool breeze to combat the humid air that the season had brought in on its back. But all of that was about to change.

With the bat of an eye, dark heavy clouds rolled into the view of the sun. Blocking out any rays that were toasting up some skins and feeding flowers. Violent lightning bolts filled the sky and loud thunder shook the ground beneath the feet of man. Rain beat down like rocks and the wind blew so strong, it toppled cars and pulled trees from their roots.

In the middle of that chaos, was a woman who would change the entire timeline of this world. Though, she had no idea where she was or whether she was even alive. But she was what this world needed.

Falling unconscious from the thunderous clouds, she collapsed into the pacific. Engulfed and swallowed up by the merciless deep blue. One would think that was the end of this Storm Goddess. But fate and destiny were willing to bend the rules when it came to fulfilling their name.

Upon her contact, the impact of her landing had not only caused hurricanes but water spouts that could tear up an entire island and record breaking tsunamis. Countless lives had been lost upon her ascend.

Months had passed on by and the world was slowly healing from the detrimental damage that came with Ororo’s hard landing. Reporters and storm researchers tried to get to the bottom of what could’ve caused something like this to happen so simultaneously and without warning. The UN (United Nations) had already started on their own journey trying to get to the bottom of it; if it was mutant related and purposeful. As if they give a damn about that really. On her Earth, the United States were the reason why she was here in the first place.

Ororo was found caught in a fishing net in Vancouver. She was well preserved and oddly enough, still warm to the touch. Yet, still knocked into a deep coma that not even inhaling water could wake her from.

A man, not from this plain, had noticed that she wasn’t exactly human. And if the other fisherman had suspected her of being a mutant, they’d have her shipped off to a lab somewhere in the US after they collected their reward. So, he took her back to his home in Alberta, Canada. Far away from society and where he could be himself.

The stranger would come check on the brown sleeping beauty every once in a while. Everyday in the morning before he went to chop wood to aid her fireplace and then once before sunset. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t exactly pin it. She was enigmatic! And the feeling of limerence grew the longer she stayed. The way her white finely twisted dreads lay splayed out beneath her head, her thick white brows and lashes. How the shade appeared to enhance her skin and feminine features. Even in her time of nadir, she took his breath away.

Almost like a forbidden kind of beauty. The one that came with a dark past.

Those days had turned into weeks and finally a month had passed since her arrival at the stranger’s residence.

Ororo’s eyes had flashed open, white as her hair as she inhaled so much air that instantly burned her lungs and choked her out.

Sitting up, she placed her hand over her chest before gripping the linens that she wore. She wheezed as salty tears streamed down her face as she fought to breathe. Her vision blurred, her head felt so heavy and it throbbed with an achy vengeance. The words of her lover repeated in her ears.

I love you, Ororo. You don’t have to come back for me. If you find a perfect world, stay there.

She coached herself to steady her breathing as her snowy eyes had faded into something more human. Brown as the Earth’s soil. Ororo hiccuped as her awareness finally hit her like a ton of bricks. She scanned the bedroom for anything to tell her where she was. Or at least, which part of the Multiverse she had landed in.

Pulling herself from the warmth of the heavy comforters, she felt as if she’d been only asleep for a day. Her limbs and balance worked as they did when she was fleeing from the Sentinels. Though, it came with only a little bit of soreness. That was from the battering of the waves.

She whimpered as she rotated her arm to aid the soreness there. ‘Aah. Where the hell am I?’ The bedroom was a piece of paragonal work. Lots of natural light that was let in by 3 large arched windows and a large skylight window that made stargazing comfortable when night came.

The furniture was vintage; carved out of mahogany and donned with gold handles and knobs. All of the furniture was dusted clean, the mirror at the vanity didn’t see a speck or smudge. A telltale sign that someone had been in here to visit her quite frequently.

With the bedroom’s cleanliness, came no clues of where she was. Ororo began to rummage and search through the dresser drawers and the nightstand.

Breathing heavily as she felt herself growing anxious with tears filling her eyes, she felt herself falling apart.

Don’t come back for me.

Logan please.

I mean it, thundercloud. If you find a perfect world, stay there.

‘Ooh! Fuck you, Logan!’ She exclaimed through gritted teeth as tears fell from her eyes. ‘Fuck you! Fuck you!’ She exclaimed as she slammed her fists into the mahogany wood that cracked beneath her strength.

A loud thunder crack echoed outside, with a bolt hitting right outside her bedroom window.

Tiny bolts of lightning danced around her fists as she brought them up before opening her palms. The tiny bolts flickered before vanishing completely and a tear fell in their place.

Wiping her snotty nose with her sleeve, she took a deep breath and wiped her tears with her free wrist. How was she going to make it without him?

The sound of 80’s rock and roll brought her out of her misery. The same kind of music they’d listen to together on his motorcycle when times were much simpler. She used to peel the clouds out of the sky or simply push them over the next city so they could go riding.

The smell of his cigar smoke mended into his brown leather jacket. The way his thick dark hair used to fluff about in the wind and how he used to risk their lives by rubbing her arm when she held him tight.

Good times.

Ororo rushed towards the large wooden door and tugged it open with its golden knob. She was met with fresh air when she rushed outside. The sound of the music was no longer muffled by the thickness of those wooden walls. Yet it did echo and bounce off of trees in the surrounding area.

Quickly making her way down the wooden steps, she founded the calls and howls of the infamous Axel Rose. It didn't take her long to find the host; just a cut around the cabin and she was standing in front of it. Catacorner from it was a makeshift garage. Old broken down cars, motorcycles, and tires lie scattered about.

This looked just like Logan’s garage. A mess and unkept.

She felt as if this was all some kind of fever dream.

Inclined to meet the person who saved her, Ororo began to journey forward until she came across a mature and very large Fir tree that sported claw marks. She walked towards it as the fast music became a blur in her ears. She ran her finger tips over the marks.

9 claw marks but in threes. She knew only one person who could pull this off.

‘Oh my god— JAMES!’ Her heart fluttered like crazy as she sped walked to the garage and pushed the doors open. ‘JAMES!’

There he stood, back turned as he worked on his bike. He wore his classic white wife beater, denim jeans and brown boots. His skin was covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he squeezed the clutch of his bike. She was sure that he couldn’t hear her over the shouting of Guns N Roses and the purr of his motorcycle, so she reached her hand up towards one of the hanging lamps and shot a lightning bolt at it.

A gleaming smile curled up on her lips with a twinkle in her eye.

That caught his attention, causing him to stand up straight.

There was a long pause before the individual reached over and turned down the old school radio that sat on the toolbox.

‘You know it’s been a long time since someone called me that.’

His voice… He didn’t sound like the Logan she knew and loved. Though from this angle, he was the spitting image. Her smile remained. ‘Wh-what do you mean we—‘

The male finally turned around to face her. But the cloud of smoke from the cigar that he puffed on, made him impossible to make out.

She used to hate the smell, now she lived for it. Craved it.

‘You still smoke those-‘

Stepping through the cloud, the individual revealed himself.

His hair was curly thick, styled up to resemble ears as if he were a puppy. The same way her James used to style his hair. He even sported that very same beard cut with the center of his chin shaved and his jaws furry.

His eyes were bright blue unlike the original Logan’s, comforting brown.

Her smile faltered as she placed a hand on her stomach and took a step back.

‘Hmm.’ The man grumbled as he reached behind him and scooped up a white dirty hand towel to wipe his hands. He held his lit cigar in his jaw before taking it out with his clean fingers.

Ororo stood there, her eyes wide in shock and confusion. Her mouth opened to ask a question but the words just wouldn’t come out!

‘I didn’t think you’d ever wake up. You seem to be walking well.’

He was the one that saved her.

‘H-‘ she swallowed, ‘How long was I out?’

Tossing the dirty cloth on the toolbox, he placed the cigar back between his lips and inhaled greatly. And when he exhaled, another large cloud of smoke shrouded the garage.

‘Well,’ he grumbled, ‘You’ve been here for about a month. I uh— suspect you have no idea what’s going on… do you?’

A month? There’s no way I have been here for a month! I stepped in that portal yesterday!

Ororo placed her hand on her neck as she felt her blood pressure begin to spike. Her body began to gently rock side to side as her stomach twisted and turned.

‘Wh-where did you find me a-and where am I?’

‘You’re in Alberta…’

Her eyes grew, ‘CANADA?!’

‘Some fishermen in Vancouver found you sleeping in a net with some salmon.’

She brought her fingers up to her temples and began to rub that spot when her head began to throb.

And right on cue, thunder roared outside.

Logan looked up at the roof as rain drizzled and created a song atop the metal. Then he looked back at her. She appeared to be fighting a migraine. And the more she fought, the heavier the drizzle became.

Then it clicked.

‘You alright over there? Need some pain meds?’ He mumbled with his cigar in his mouth.

‘Mmph! It’s okay just—.’

‘Uh-huh. Y’know, there’s been some dangerous storms going on. Tsunamis, Hurricanes, typhoons, the whole nine.’

‘Mmm.’ Ororo grimaced at the pain, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she clenched her jaw together. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘I don’t know. But, the storms started about 4 months ago.’

I’ve been here for four months?! Oh my god.

‘I think I’m gonna be sick.’ Ororo whimpered as her vision blurred once again from tears. Her chest began to heave and her heart thudded hard in her chest.

‘Oh, whatever you do just—‘

Barf. Clear bubbly flim mixed with yellow bile splattered on the smooth concrete.

‘Take that… outside. Aw shit.’

The woman collapsed to her hands and knees as he rushed over to her aid. She choked as her insides forced and fought to be on the outside. The taste of the raw acid burned at her esophagus and mouth. The rancid taste only made her gag more.

‘Hey, it’s okay.’

It’s okay, Storm. If we’re meant to be… we’ll be.

Her eyes turned white with tiny bolts dancing around them, heaving harder as she stared at the disgusting vomit.

‘You have to look away! Look at me!’

As soon as Logan snatched up her hands, lightning zapped him to hell.

Fortunately nothing that’ll kill him, but it stung like shit. ‘Aah!’ He hissed as he snatched his hands away, fanning them painfully. ‘Fuck!’

You’re my strong girl.

Ororo shut her eyes tightly as the heaving turned into a sob. ‘I can’t do this without you…’

The drizzle had turned into a heavy pitter patter. Thunder roared outside, causing the tin can of a garage to rattle.

Logan’s brows tugged into one as the burning tingling began to fade into his hand. He watched as the woman crumbled into herself.

This wasn’t tears of fear or confusion. But of mourning and grief. He could practically smell the pain exuding off of her. Logan knew what it felt like to lose someone. To be completely lost in a world that didn’t accept who he was. To be alone.

Reaching out to her, tiny lightning bolts reached out to embrace his fingertips as if they were familiarized with his energy or aura.

They didn’t burn him this time, just tiny manageable pinches. He placed his palm on her back and sighed softly.

If we’re meant to be…

His mouth parted to say something, afraid to say the wrong thing.

Ororo blinked her eyes open before looking over at him.

He was almost the exact same replica of her James. That same mean scowl that she adored greatly.

‘You’ve got blue eyes.’ She said in a hushed tone as she stared into his eyes.

‘You’re very observant.’ Logan said sarcastically with a small chuckle leaving his lips. ‘What is it that they call you?’

My Stormsy. Hey there, my lil’ thundercloud. Hang on lightning bolt! Stormy.

‘Oro—‘ she sniffed, ‘Forgive me but, I don’t think you’d be able to say my name, white boy.’ She scoffed.

Logan raised his brow, ‘Oh yeah? Try me.’

She tried to muffle her giggle but it fell through, ‘Ororo.’

His brows rose and he blinked hard once.

‘Oro—OK, do you have a nickname?!’

Ororo’s small smile from her giggle had turned into a charming grin as laughter escaped her, ‘Yeah,’ she sighed softly. He was just like him. From his facial expressions to how effortlessly hilarious he was. She was comfortable near him.

‘Storm. Just call me Storm.’

‘Now that sounds… do-able.’ His smirk curled up into a small smile before he felt a raindrop fall upon his shoulder. They both looked up at the ceiling. Another fell on his forehead.

‘Well, that would explain the weather.’ Then wiped his head free of the water and looked back over at her, then it clicked. He was a terrible host.

Her white eyes began to fade into her brown ones.

Glancing down at the barf, he then glanced back at her, ‘You must be starving.’

‘No, no. It’s OK, I’ve been too much trouble already just—‘

‘No, I insist. You haven’t ate—‘

Wrrrrr. Ororo slapped her hand against her stomach as it sang its hunger song, as if she could shut it up like a finger to a set of lips. She snatched her eyes away from his gaze and shut them in defeat.

‘Mmm. I thought so. Alright, up, up, up.’ He took his large hands and helped her to her feet. ’

Rolling her eyes at his condescending tone, she pushed herself up to her feet with his help.

‘Ya alright?’ He asked as he slowly pulled his hands away.

‘Yeah,’ The electricity vanished once again within her, ‘Thank you.’

‘Mmm,’ his head fell to the side, ‘Don’t mention it. Look, I’m gonna get this cleaned up—‘

‘James, please—‘ she paused.

He looked down at her for a long moment. ‘You’re the only one who can get away with calling me that.’ Turning away from her he walked towards the far corner of the garage.

Ororo let out a sigh and placed her hands on her hips. Were they all the same in every universe? Hardheaded and guileless. Arguments were always challenging with him.

‘You don’t have to clean up after me, I'm not some kind of damsel in distress.’

‘Well,’ he scoffed as he picked up a bucket and a mop, ‘You were just kind of sleeping beauty for ‘bouta month. I’d say you’re pretty damn close enough. Oh, and— Aurora… mind easing up on the rain until we get the food here?’

Her mouth fell before she stammered over her words. ‘We—I—‘

Wait a minute did he just call me beautiful? Damn, they are just alike.

And he left her inside of the garage to retrieve water for the bucket.

***

Ororo did not in fact keep the rain in check. Instead, when she went back into the cabin she found herself missing James more and more. But, how could she miss him when he was right outside?

Oh, she was so confused. Stuck in a whirlwind of emotions. But she had to count her blessings. Who knows what would’ve happened if he didn’t find her. She could’ve been poked and pried at beneath wandering eyes. Chopped up in itsy bitsy pieces and thrown in a particle accelerator to be sold to the highest bidder.

At least that was more humane than the chaos that ensued on her world.

A knock echoed in her bedroom and the sound of the knob twisting followed.

Ororo was bent over the vanity, checking for any oddities that the portal could’ve left her with. So far, so good. The door creaked open and she turned torso to the side.

‘Hey—whoa—‘

With her voluptuous rump in view, she rested her chin on her fist, ‘Your mama ever taught you to knock? What if I was naked?!’

‘Well for one, I did knock. And my mama, didn’t exactly raise a gentleman if you want me to be honest. Come, I’ve got Chinese.’

***

The pair sat in silence as they indulged on their take out. Ororo did her best not to inhale all of it so she ate slowly.

Logan chuckled, ‘That’s cute!’

Shit, he was on to her.

‘Mmm? What?’ She grumbled as she placed her hand over her lips so that she wasn’t spitting out food.

‘Oh nothing. It’s just you’re trying so hard not to kill all of your food. Eat! Trust me, you definitely need it more than I do.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She said as she stifled her giggle and took another bite out of her food.

‘Right.’ He snickered and took a sip of his beer.

The dining room grew quiet once again, soft thunder filled the silent void between them. Not necessarily on purpose but she was studying him. They were eating sweet n sour pork.

James hated pork. He hated the smell, the salty-ness, the texture and the tummy ache and headache that it gave him after it all. She remembers having to cave in to buying turkey bacon.

The things you do for love. The sacrifices you make.

James was also right handed. Everything he did started with his right side and eventually the left would aid it. Not that the left was as strong as the right, but when it came to swinging his claws, it always got the job done.

This Logan was an ambidextrous individual. Using both of his hands to work into his food without looking funny. It was so natural.

‘I can feel you burning a hole in my face.’ He murmured as his bright blue hues remained glued to his plate.

It was then when she finally blinked, ‘sorry you just— you just remind me of someone I—‘ she paused as her head fell into her lap.

Logan’s eyes flickered up at her for a second, reading her like a book. ‘Boyfriend?’

She remained quiet.

‘Yeah, I know that look. Sported it a few times myself. Would you like to talk about it?’

Oh she wouldn’t even know where to begin. Should she start with Mystique mercilessly murdering Senator Robert Kelly? Or how her blood contributed to the industrial process of the Sentinels that killed mutants or threw them into concentration camps? How this Logan sitting in front of her could be one of hundreds and maybe thousands of variants of her dead lover?

That was a lot to take in. He wouldn’t even believe her.

‘I—Honestly, I wouldn't even know where to start.’

‘I’ve got nothing but time.’

You take up all my time, Lightning Bolt. A punishment when I have to leave but a reward when I come back home to you.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she let out a gentle breath. ‘I’m —‘ Ororo tried to process it herself. If she hadn’t lived it, it wouldn’t have even made sense to her either.

‘This is going to sound crazy.’

‘Trust me, I’ve seen and heard crazy. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already heard.’

He mustn’t be so sure.

Even that little comment was something James would’ve said. Verbatim.

‘Alright.’ She sat up straight and let out another breath of air, ‘I’m not from… here.’

Logan sat quietly. She had his full and undivided attention.

‘I’m not from… here.’ She repeated.

‘Oookaaaay, I think I got that the first time.’ He sighed and folded his arms together. ‘What do you mean?’

Damn it was a lot harder to say than she thought. Perhaps she try a different approach. She would talk about… him.

‘My boyfriend… he uh— he was one of a kind. Smart, goofy, sweet… he was everything I dreamed of. He uh— and his brother had it rough. His family was well off… and in most cases the mother and father weren’t around much thus, was raised by their nanny. One night, some man comes into their home and kills their father. It was then when he discovered his powers. He grew—‘

Ororo glanced down at Logan’s fist as his fingers tapped against the table cloth.

‘Claws.’ Her gaze rose to his once again. ‘He stabbed the man in hopes of getting to avenge his father… but it was then revealed to him that the stranger was in fact he and his brother’s biological father.’

Logan stared at her in complete horror. But he remained calm.

Your faith was strong, but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya

She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.

‘What then?’ He asked before picking up his beer once again.

‘He and his big brother ran away. Fought in World War II. Years later he met me at Xavier’s School of Gifted—‘

‘Youngsters.’

‘Youngsters.’ She repeated slowly.

He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head, ‘How do you— How do you know all of that?!’

Swallowing her spit, Ororo pressed her lips together, ‘I know — so much more, Logan.’

‘So what, do you read minds like Charles?!’ His voice was a little bit more stern than before.

‘Ja-Logan, it’s not like that! I—I come from a different timeline!’

His eyes grew in disbelief and he raised his hands, ‘Alright. That’s enough sweet n sour pork for you. Now you’re just talking out of your ass.’ He reached over to grab her container but she grabbed his wrist tightly. It was heavy. Just as she thought.

‘Has it ever occurred to you why or how a complete stranger would know your name?!’

‘Maybe you’ve been looking at my mail?!’

‘Your name is James Howlett! You had a brother named Liev, also named as Sabertooth—‘

‘What?!’ He chuckled.

‘You were born 1882! Here in Alberta, Canada.’

‘These are all things you can look up on google sweetheart.’ He said as he gently pulled his fist away.

‘That would make sense if I could use google in my sleep!’ She bit back. She watched as he pulled her styrofoam container away. ‘And I don’t think you added your Adamantium skeleton to the census.’

I did my best, it wasn't much

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool ya

And even though it all went wrong

I'll stand before the lord of song

With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

He stared at her for a moment before swallowing hard.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about? That metal doesn’t even exist.’ He added as he carried off their take out to the kitchen.

Now, she was annoyed. She folded her arms across her chest and slouched back against the wooden chair with her full lips in a slight pout. That was until she realized what he said.

‘Wait—‘ she quickly stood to her feet and walked into the kitchen, ‘I never said anything about Adamantium being metal!’

Logan opened the refrigerator to place the containers inside, ‘You didn’t? Well, it sounds like it would be metal. The “Tium” at the end of it adds the razzle dazzle.’

Ororo was growing irritated with his banter. So she snatched the refrigerator door handle and slammed it, not caring much if the food was in there properly. Her backside was pressed firmly against the cool stainless steel.

‘Hey!’ He glared at her.

‘You asked me if I wanted to talk about it and I AM—‘

‘I didn’t ask you for a damn biography on my life!’

Her head fell to the side before looking down at his fists.

‘Show me.’

Logan stepped back, his thick brows tugging into one. ‘Show you what? There’s nothing to show you!’

‘I want to see them! Show me!’

‘Lady, you’re really losing it right now.’

‘I WANT TO SEE THEM— NOW!’ She exclaimed as her eyes glowed white with lightning and she raised her hand to cast a lightning bolt at his chest.

The white electricity sent him flying back against the wall, leaving a large cave in, in its place. He fell to his hands and knees as he groaned and howled in pain. White lightning bolts danced and trickled around his torso, arms and neck. ‘GUH—AAUURGH!’

She hadn’t realized what she’d done until it was too late. ‘Oh my god! James!’ Ororo rushed over to him but stopped in her tracks when she heard the unsheathing of his blades.

She blinked away her glowing eyes as he painfully pulled himself up to his feet. Bubbles of saliva dripped from between his teeth. At his sides were those infamous Adamantium claws. They were beautiful.

She glanced up at him in caution as she began to slowly approach him.

Logan growled, taking a step back as he breathed heavily through the pain.

‘James please, I’m sorry! I know all of this sounds crazy ok? You have to believe me.’

‘B-believe y-you?! Hell, I d-don’t even know you!’ He sputtered through the pain.

The words pained her, ‘I-I deserve that. But I know you.’ She finally walked to him and reached out to wrap her small hand around his fist. Logan turned his head away from her.

Maybe there's a God above,

but all I've ever learned from love,

was how to shoot at someone who out drew you.

And its not the cry you hear tonight,

its not somebody who's seen the light.

‘In a different time— you loved me. And looking at you now…’ she placed her hand against his jaw and turned his gaze back towards her, ‘Means that I have a second chance. Think about it, you went all the way to Vancouver … you had no idea I was there but you came there for me.’

Logan stared down at her, his heaving panting began to slowly return to normal.

‘I know that you hate New Age music, I know that your hobbies include choking down cigars and chopping wood. I know that you love riding your bike on sunny days in the mountains! I know that you dreamed of living in a small cabin like this one.’ Her voice cracked as she did her best to fight back her heartbreak. He never got to see the life he deserved.

It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

‘I know that you’ve moved far away to keep from hurting others. I was there, Logan.’

Ororo’s words were almost inaudible; being choked up with tears, she stared up into his eyes as she fought hard not to cry again.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.

Sheathing his blades back into the safety of his knuckles, he reached up to grab her fist gently into his large hand.

‘How much did you love me—him?’

‘Oh James…’ her eyes fluttered as a thick warm tear fell down her cheek. ‘With all of my being…’

Those words ached him a little as if he knew that she did, as if he witnessed her love for him. He’d fallen in love many times. But they never amounted to anything in the end. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

Maybe—

If we’re meant to be— we’ll be.

Ororo burst into a gut wrenching sob before Logan brought her into his strong, heavy arms. He rested his cheek atop her head as she soaked his filthy wife beater.

Hallelujah.

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calmcoldevening · 8 months

Note

• Thomas hewitt (dating)- So Reader knows Thomas like we were born in the same town or were neighbors something of the sorts. And we hear rumors about how the Hewitt family are murders,/cannibals. But we remind our business cause we're like, nah cause they didn't hurt me or I haven't seen anything, They're just a little quirky, We defend their family. But for some reason Luda tells us not to go in the basement, We're like okay, whatever it's not my business. Reader is like a, 'idc not my business type.' Until one day reader hears noises or something, so we get curiousand go down there. But this is where we enter the angst, Cause Thomas or someone hears movement in the basement and thinks a victim is trying to escape. So they do something to us which makes us scared of them (torture or something) and it can end with like fluff or something, Because im pretty sure reader would forgive them.

Thomas Hewitt x reader, who knew out he's a cannibal and murderer

Tw: cannibalism, murdering, blood, violence (well, it's the TCM)

Texas was your home, you loved everything about it, from the picturesque meadows filled with yellow buttercups to the dusty city road. These beautiful orange and scarlet sunsets and golden sunrises reflected in a small lake fifteen minutes walk from your house looked like the most real picturesque paintings. It was hot and humid during the day, and cool enough at night. The air was filled with dust and dry grass. Birds were rustling in the distance.

You liked everything here, because you grew up in this place. Your parents moved to Texas before you were born, so this was the only place you'd ever seen in your life. But it was heaven for you. The city you lived in was relatively small, so everyone knew each other.

You've always been sweet and kind, perhaps even a naive child with a soul too pure for this world. Maybe that's why all the neighbors in the neighborhood loved you. The children played with you, and the kind grandmothers often treated you to sweets or pies. Your face has always been decorated with a satisfied smile and cookie crumbs.

Everyone was surprised when they found out about your friendship with the "strange boy". His name was Thomas, he was one of your neighbors down the road. You called him Tommy. His face was covered with a decent layer of bandages, which he kept awkwardly adjusting with his small hands. You always giggled with that cute gesture, but not out of malice, but in a kind way. After that, you went up to him and gently helped him cope with his little problem. You combed his hair and put his hands in order. The boy always had short-cropped nails with dirt under them and dry palms, probably from housework. But apart from his oddities and inability to talk, and he was quite an ordinary child.

Almost.

Sometimes you'd find him somewhere in the backyard or in the field. He stood there, deep in thought. Next to him, you noticed a small fluffy body and a crimson puddle. Sometimes you were scared of his violence against animals, but Thomas was always in a hurry to calm you down. He caressed your cheek and explained with gestures that he had only found the animal just like that. And you always believed him out of your stupid childish naivety. Time passed, and you got closer. The Hewitt family has always been kind to you. Sometimes, they were even more attentive and caring towards you than your own parents. Even grumpy Charlie. Sometimes a man intervened in disputes if you were molested by local hooligans. He could even punch them in their pretty faces, as long as they didn't touch you, the little girl of this family. Luda has always wanted a daughter, and now you have appeared. The woman was more than happy when she found out how close you are with her son. That's why it was no secret that you and Tommy were dating. On the contrary, Luda helped Thomas in every possible way to impress you, she helped him make gifts for you and told him how to take care of the girls. Charlie just turned on his adult film cassettes, that's all his support.

You really loved each other. You were the only one who really understood and cared about Tommy, despite his appearance. You loved his long dark hair, which you often so gently washed and combed. You loved those frosty blue eyes, like two big deep lakes full of love for you. You loved his masks, and tenderly kissed every scar on Thomas's face and hands. You were perfect. Tommy's heart belonged entirely to you.

And now you're 24. Thomas was a little older, but it was never a problem. The man was still very attentive and caring.

But gradually the city emptied with the closure of the slaughterhouse. It was a big blow for most of the residents of the city, because there were no other ways to earn money here. You turned out to be one of the few who stayed. Maybe you just didn't want to leave your home. Or maybe you didn't want to leave Thomas and his family. Anyway, it wasn't easy for all of you, at least because basically there wasn't a lot of food and all that.

But after a while, surprisingly, everything got better. Not really, of course, but old Charlie started getting meat from somewhere. It wasn't as tender as some beef used to be, but it's better than nothing. Although you weren't a big fan of meat before, so you almost didn't care about it. You helped Luda in her shop at the gas station, and at home in your free time you even grew some vegetables, which also helped the Hewitt family a lot. In general, everything was more than good, and yet, the atmosphere in the house was different now.

There have always been some strange rumors around the Hewitt family, sometimes even terrible ones. And yet, you loved Tommy no matter what. The whole family was kind to you, so you had no reason to doubt them, right? Thomas has always been nice to you. You often walked on cool evenings, just holding hands. You were talking about your day, and he just listened with a smile on his lips. You were the only person he trusted and loved. The guy liked your voice, your way of talking and your laugh. Undoubtedly, in his eyes you were damn beautiful, but it seemed that he was forever looking through your appearance, into your very soul. It was so sweet. You couldn't help but fall in love with him even more.

You were in the kitchen at the Hewitt house making a pumpkin pie. Luda has always been surprised by your wonderful cooking skills, so she wasn't afraid to leave you alone. He needed to go back to the store for a while, where Hoyt had taken her. So you're left alone. Humming to yourself, you swayed your hips to the beat of your made-up song. It's good that no one was watching you now and you could do anything. Finally, you put the pie in the oven and wiped your hands on the fabric of your apron with a victorious smile. After removing all the ingredients and washing the dishes, you sat down on a chair and just began to wait. Hundreds of different thoughts flashed through your head, from this very pie to the little ring you noticed in Tommy's room. You were filled with excitement, which made you happily bite your lip. Could it be...?

Your thoughts were interrupted by some kind of thud from somewhere below. Your body instantly tensed up. It was scary to hear something like that when you were alone at home.

You slowly got up from your chair. The sound seemed to come from the basement. But you clearly remembered that Luda, and the rest of the Hewitt family, told you not to go into the basement under any circumstances. It's strange, isn't it? Of course, you always followed this strange rule, but now that you were alone at home, you were scared of what might be there. You didn't find any better options than just going down to the basement and taking a peek. You're fast, no one will notice. What can happen?

The floorboards creaked unpleasantly under your careful steps. The unpleasantly cold water has touched your ankles.

Your eyes widened in horror, and you covered your mouth in fear. There was a man sitting at the other end of the basement, although he could hardly be called such anymore. His face was disfigured, and his arm and part of his leg were missing. His whole body was covered in scarlet blood. The victim's mouth was gagged and his eyes were painfully closed. There was an old bucket lying nearby. So that's what it was... The man was chained to the wall, and there was a massive hole from a meat hook on his shoulder.

"God.." the only thing that came out of your mouth was when you slowly backed away. My mouth was dry, and an unpleasant feeling of nausea was slowly rising in my stomach. Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes.

You took one hesitant step, then another. Finally, your back hit something massive. In the blink of an eye, a huge hand was placed on your mouth, and then darkness.

Thomas's mind was racing. You've seen their secret. Are you afraid now? Of course you're afraid. The moment he found you in the basement, your body was shaking in fear and your eyes were full of horror. But it's all for the family, you have to understand. Sure, Hoyt said to kill anyone who found out about their family secret, but Thomas couldn't kill you. You were his happiness, his light in life, his beloved. Therefore, he gently picked up your unconscious body in his arms, protectively hugging it to himself. It's just a misunderstanding, isn't it? Thomas left the basement, closing the metal door behind him, and headed for his bedroom. He put you on the bed, trying to make sure that you would be comfortable. You should get some sleep, then you can understand him. It's all for the family, for you. He wanted so much to see you as his little wife, to protect you and your possible children, he wanted it so much. But now his dreams were more fragile than ever.

You woke up in a dark room. It must have been Tommy's bedroom, judging by the big bed. You slowly sat up in bed, feeling a dull ache in your head. After a couple of moments, these horrible images of a corpse in the basement popped up in your head. You instantly wanted to empty your stomach. You put your hand over your mouth, feeling hot tears on your cheeks. Your head was throbbing painfully, and nothing came out of your chest except a long-drawn-out cheekbone. You slid down the bed to the floor, pressing your back against the wall in the corner of the room. Your body was shaking in terror, and your mind was full of vile, terrifying thoughts. I wanted to scream, but it felt like your tongue had been ripped out. You covered your head with your hands, tucking your knees in. You need to get out of here, run. Away from this house, away from this city, away from these people.

Your mental reverie was interrupted by the sudden creak of the door. The dark room was slightly illuminated by warm light from the corridor, the doorway was soon blocked by a tall bulky figure. You instinctively cringed, afraid of the consequences.

Thomas's heart ached as he watched you crawl away from him in fear. As his victims. He carefully closed the door and slowly approached you. You looked like a cornered animal. Thomas didn't like that feeling. He gently grabbed your hand, pulling you onto his lap. You resisted and tried to break free, your mind was racing wildly. But he didn't stop. He took you on his lap, holding you gently against his strong chest. You struggled and cried, afraid that you would be hurt. Thomas felt like his whole world was collapsing seeing you like this. You pounded his chest with your hands, muttering some words, but he wouldn't let go, Thomas just held you closer to him, stroking your back and trying to calm you down. You were afraid of him. It was like that.. wrong.

Finally, you were exhausted, hanging limply in his arms. Your head is on his chest, and only long sobs come out of your mouth. Thomas kisses you briefly on the forehead.

"No harm.." He mutters in a rough voice. He rarely talked, but it seemed like the best option right now, "..love Y/N."

You didn't answer. Your head ached, and your mind was empty, the animal fear in your body gradually subsided, replaced by fatigue. You fell asleep in his arms. Thomas sat there with you all night, afraid that something might happen to you.

In the days that followed, he took care of you and tried in every possible way to show that he would not harm you in any way. He'd rather kill himself if he hurt you. Thomas came into the room and fed you with a spoon. At first you refused and resisted in every possible way, but gradually, because of hunger, you simply did not have the strength left. Thomas brought you something that didn't have meat in it, he knew that meat could upset you. Stewed vegetables, your pumpkin pie, some snacks. Thomas wouldn't let anyone into this room, not even his mom. He had to make sure you were going to be okay. You are his sun, his reason to live.

Over time, it seemed that you had thawed out. It wasn't like you were completely resigned to the fact that the Hewitts were murderers and cannibals. But you realized they wouldn't hurt you, Tommy wouldn't let you. He explained to you that it's for survival. In a way, you realized that this was just the only way out, and yet it was still disgusting and disgusting for you. But Thomas didn't do it because he likes it. He did it for the sake of the family, protected it and fed it. It's necessary.

After a while, you even left the room, although you no longer looked towards the basement. Gradually, everything returned to normal. You even started living at the Hewitt house, Monty made sure to bring all your stuff here. You became the second mistress of Hewitt, Tommy's wife. He finally put the ring on your finger, and you realized all his warm love for you. Luda was glad that her boy had really found his happiness. Now you were sleeping together, giving each other love. You even went down to the basement if Thomas forgot to eat. Ignoring the screams of another victim, you placed the food tray on Thomas's workbench and gently touched his shoulder. The man turned around and wrapped you in a hot kiss. You had a strange feeling when you kissed so strangely to the screams of desperate victims. But it didn't matter. At that moment, it was just you and him, your husband Tommy.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #the leatherface #leatherface x you #leatherface x reader

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baronessvonglitter · 2 months

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 16 🍒 "The Mother Wound"

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 3,882

Summary: When your mom comes to town for a surprise visit, she reveals everything she know about your romance with Joel, and discloses some secrets of her own.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), set in summer 2003, reader wears a dress, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, fluff, slut shaming (wrongful, obviously), physical abuse (a slap), language!, accusations of grooming, protective!Joel, your awful mom being awful and telling a horrendous lie, angst, breakup as in "I need time to think", no use of y/n, if I've l left any out please let me know!

Author's Note: the whole "daddy" thing from Chapter 14 is finally put to rest. I wouldn't do that to y'all, this is not Literotica. If I can think of any other notes I'll add them later as it's 1 a.m. and I need to get some sleep.

Series Masterlist

Can't see you tonight, babygirl. Working late over on Sage Street

You look over the text Joel sent you just an hour ago, and make sure the street is the correct one as the signs are hard to read in the darkness of the late night. But there are only a couple houses being constructed among the empty lots, golden beams of wood forging the bones of the unfinished brand new homes. Joel's truck is parked right outside the first one you see.

He's hunched over a table beneath a portable LED light, overlooking layout plans, a small radio nearby playing a song with a guitar riff that's familiar to you.. Sunshine of Your Love..

There's a surge of feminine power within you as you approach him in your flowered sundress. Joel's double take is priceless. He doesn't ask what you're doing there. To be quite honest he doesn't care about anything except getting that dress off you.

It's like a scene from a movie the way he scoops you in his arms, whispering things like "shouldn't be out this late by yourself" and lays you down on a pallet of bricks covered in a plastic sheet. He removes his white shirt, scented of his sweat and natural odor, and lays it under you for cushioning before getting to his knees and spreading your thighs apart.

"Been thinkin' about this pretty lil' pussy all day," he grumbles. You take his hard hat off and put it on yourself, lifting yourself on your elbows so you can watch him.

He tears the thin fabric of your panties, watching your puffy pussy lips appear, slick with want. Your scent reaches him and he can't hold back, diving in to taste you.

"Joel!" you gasp, your hips jolting as his mouth makes contact with your drenched cunt, ever sensitive to his touch. You let yourself get lost in the sweet sensations, sighing, calling out his name.

"God, you taste so good, babygirl," he moans against you, his thumbs spreading you open as his tongue delves into your heat, flicks over your clit. "Sweet like candy.."

Over and over his tongue laps at you, devouring you, his hands pulling down the front of your dress and cupping the sweet mounds of your breasts. He makes coming so easy, as if your body was made for the kind of attention he lavishes upon it.

You come quickly and he lifts you up, clasping your thighs around him, your sticky wetness rubbing against his belly, his own jeans unbuttoned, and moves you to a more discreet place, where you're hidden by the wall sheathing. He hastily removes himself from his boxers and aligns himself to your slit, carefully placing you over him, watching the way your eyes flutter closed as he slides into you.

He fucks you standing, legs hooked over his arms as you kiss him, swallowing up each other's moans and sighs. The summer night humidity and the laboring of your bodies soon have you both sweaty, slippery against one another. He drives into you relentlessly, slowing down only when he worries he'll come too fast, wanting your pleasure before his.

Impaling yourself on him, not a single coherent thought crosses your brain except pursuing your release, the stickiness of your combined sweat, the way his balls smack against your ass, how drenched you are for him, feeling like you can barely withstand to take all of him as he takes control, pressing you down on his dick like it's the last fuck you'll ever have.

You come undone as his tip just brushes your cervix, little bit of pain in the pleasure he's wrenching from you, feeling him spill inside, so much of it that you're already leaking before he withdraws, laying you down on a makeshift blanket of your clothes and his.

"I never wanna stop explorin' you," Joel says, lips brushing your neck, traveling down the slope of your shoulder as you relax in his arms. "I could spend the rest of my life explorin' you and I would still have so much to discover about you, baby."

You've never really been comfortable in your own skin, but watching him adore you gives you a different perspective. "Which parts do you like best?" you ask him.

"Your curves, your face, your eyes. I'm not sure if I can put into words how beautiful you actually are.."

You run your hands along his smooth, large muscles, giving them a gentle squeeze. "There's nothing on you I don't like either."

"So what do you like the most?" he asks with a lustful grin, enjoying your touch.

You grin back. "These of course." your fingertips graze his biceps. "And these." you kiss his lips. "But if I'm being very greedy, I think I like this the most." You reach down and gently stroke his already-hard length.

"I like you bein' greedy," he mutters, eyes closed as he savors your touch.

You feel him come alive in your hand and you feel powerful.

He slides into you, still wet, still sensitive from before, and he takes his time. Slow, but far from delicate. His beard scratches roughly at your skin as he gently grazes his teeth on your tender throat, moving deeply, intoxicated by the scent and taste of you.

When you come it's sweet, lingering, like the prolonged vibration of a note softly played upon a violin.

Joel comes softly and you revel in the warmth of his release, feel him fill you, empty his soul into yours.

"You're good, baby. My god.."

You run your hands across his chest. "I want to be good to you and good for you."

"You're mine and I'm yours," he kisses you again. "I don't ever wanna be without you." Kiss. "And I don't ever wanna stop makin' love to you." Kiss. "And I don't ever want this to end." He gently lays his head on your chest.

"Promise me it's always gonna be this good for us," you whisper.

He smiles warmly. "I promise you, it'll always be this good."

"Morning, hottie," you mumble, smiling. "How'd you sleep?"

Somehow last night you both managed to untangle yourselves long enough to get back to your place, falling asleep in each other's arms immediately.

"Really good, actually," he says, stretching, hair mussed and eyes barely open. "What time is it?" He checks his watch, eyes wide as he realizes he's running late for work. "I gotta go, already late." He scoots out of bed and starts to get dressed. "I'll text you later, all right?" He gives you one last kiss. "Sorry for cuttin' our mornin' short."

"I understand," you murmur, missing the press of his lips and the heat of his body next to yours. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Love you," he says, smiling as he gets his shirt over his head.

"I love you more.."

"Impossible," he gives you a grumpy look.

"Joel Miller, my heart melts with love for you. I crave you with each breath I take, you rock my fucking world, et cetera, et cetera," you say theatrically, giggling as he comes to you again, his broad, strong body covering yours in the bed.

"Save some of those sweet words for tonight, okay?" He kisses the tip of your nose. "Now I gotta get going."

"Miss you already," you chuckle. Wearing only a sheet, you follow him to your front door, give him another quick kiss, watch him get in his truck and leave.

You're so busy watching him drive away and turn at the end of the street, that you see too late your mother's car pulling up to the driveway, followed closely by Sofia.

"Put some clothes on!" your mother scolds before she's even fully out of the car. "Who was that leaving the house?"

You freeze. Nothing had prepared you for your mother's visit. She would have hounded you about it for days beforehand, but now she's here, like a storm cloud on a beautiful day.

"Answer me," Anita says. "Was that Joel Miller leaving here so early?"

All speech has left you. In a flash of anger you glare at your cousin, who shakes her head, hand on her chest. Not me, she's mouthing.

Your mom has already put two and two together. She's no fool, she played this game when she was your age. She had this man when she was your age.

"My daughter's a slut!" she wails.

"Get inside!" Sofia hisses to both of you as she sees the neighbors start to come out and see the hullaballoo.

"Get dressed. Don't shower. I'm taking you to the hospital for a rape kit," Anita says.

"Mom, are you fucking kidding me? I wasn't raped!"

Sofia insists, "Go shower," softly as she tries to appease both of you. "You shouldn't be talking to your mom like this," she whispers. At first you think she's referring to your tone of voice, but then you realize you're naked save a bedsheet, likely still smelling of sex.

"You're taking a pregnancy test," Anita announces.

"I'm not pregnant! What is wrong with you? Why are you here??"

Anita turns to your cousin. "Please leave us to talk."

Sofia stands her ground. "This is my house, auntie. I'm staying."

Your mom grumbles, giving your cousin a hard look. "You let this happen under your roof? What would your parents say if they knew? They'd be disappointed in your lack of morals."

"I don't agree with what they're doing," Sofia says. "But they're both adults, and-"

"You can't keep seeing him," your mother ignores her, turning to you. "You know that, right? It's inappropriate. He's twice your age. He should have more sense."

You never thought you'd have to prepare for this conversation. You never imagined you'd be in this spot, caught red-handed, being sinful with the first ounce of freedom you've been given.

"You don't understand, Mom.." you tell her. "I love him."

The slap registers only after it's happened, your cheek red hot, head on a swivel. Sofia gasps, steps forward to get Anita away from you as you press your own hand to your cheek, feel it already burning.

Joel thinks it's odd when you don't answer his texts, but he pays it little mind. You weren't upset when he left that morning. Then he starts to think you might be hurt. Maybe you fell and hit your head. What if you're unconscious and there's no one there to call 911?

Just when he's about to go stir crazy, his phone dings with a message from you:

don't come to the house tonight. my mom is in town. think someone told her about us. talk later, ok? love you

"Damn!" Joel nearly throws his phone into the street, the need to throttle something or someone is getting stronger. He never expected to have to see Anita again, hasn't seen her in almost twenty years and likes it that way.

You wait for a response to your text, but your phone remains silent. Frowning, you sigh deeply and start on your shower. You think on the many nights Joel has had you in here, pinned to the wall, or on your knees as you went down on him.. there were tender moments too, when he washed and scrubbed your hair for you, assuring you that he loved you the way you are, that there's nothing about you he could ever dislike.

Freshly showered, you change into your typical shirt and jeans, black Converse sneakers on, ready to leave at a moment's notice. But not with her. Not with your mom.

Unfortunately you take too much time preparing for the worst that only too late do you look out the window, realizing Joel's home. You rush out to meet him but your mom has already beat you to it. Sofia holds you back.

"Leave it be," she pleads. "If he loves you he'll come here, and he'll fight for you."

"I hope not literally," you mumble, watching the interaction between your mom and Joel from the safety of the living room window.

It's as if Anita has a radar for Joel. As soon as he's parked in his driveway she marches up. "How dare you? How dare you?" she screams.

He takes a deep breath in and out, taking a moment to calm himself before exiting the vehicle. "How've you been, Anita?" he asks calmly in an attempt to deescalate the situation.

She takes a good look at him as he gets out of the car. Joel Miller all grown up. "I've been better. You haven't changed in twenty years."

"Neither have you, still cornerin' me the minute I'm leavin' my truck. What brings you by?" His words are friendly, his tone is not.

"You screwing my innocent daughter is what 'brings me by'!"

"Jesus, Anita, you really don't mince words do ya? I'm not 'screwing' her."

"That's not what I heard." She puts her hands on her hips, her stance hostile.

"Well what did you hear? And who'd you hear it from? Hmm?"

"I don't need to tell you that. But you are to stay away from my daughter, do you hear me?"

Joel sighs. "I understand you're upset with me for.. for bein' with her. But you're not gonna keep her away from me. I know that she's young, but she's old enough to-"

"No, no, no," Anita shakes her head. "Don't you dare use that excuse. My daughter may be of legal age, but she's too young to know the kind of mess you've got her in."

"She's older than you were when you started messin' around."

"You son of a bitch! Don't you ever-"

"Can we talk somewhere other than the street? Or do you just like makin' a scene and lettin' the whole neighborhood know my business?" He starts to march towards your cousin's house.

"You were best friends with her father," Anita says, following behind. "Don't you think maybe she's confused? Maybe she's looking to you to be her father figure, not her lover?"

"She's with me because she loves me!" he shouts. "And I love her. What the hell do you plan on doin' about that?"

"She doesn't know what love is!" she scrambles to catch up with him on the porch. "Then you come along and you groom her to be this woman you want her to be. But she's too young to understand! You ought to know better!"

"Groom her? I would NEVER do that to her!" His fists are clenched at his sides, blood boiling at how she could defile the love you share.

"Imagine it was your daughter Sarah," Anita says softly. "Imagine she's eighteen, away from home for the first time, and a man twice her age does everything you've been doing with mine. What would you do?"

Joel closes his eyes, knowing he's caught between a rock and a hard place. One the one hand, he sees you as more than some eighteen-year-old. On the other hand, he'd knock the teeth out of any man who dared to try something on Sarah, at any age. "Damn you, Anita. You have no idea. If Sarah was in that situation, I'd make sure whoever that person was.. that they wouldn't see the light of day again."

She looks satisfied. "Then you understand. And the next time you think of coming near my daughter, I want you to think about that instead."

You jump when you see him come through the front door. Without an ounce of shame you hurry to him, enveloping him in a hug. "I don't know what happened," you murmur as you embrace each other tightly. "God, this is such a mess.."

"What happened to your cheek?" He looks at you with concern and turns to Anita. "Did you fuckin' hit her??"

"She doesn't know the worst of it, does she?" Anita asks, ignoring him. "I'm willing to stake everything on it, that you never told her."

You glance from her to Joel. "Told me what?"

His hesitation makes your heart thud, a shiver of unease tingles your spine. Sofia excuses herself to the patio.

Anita looks pleased with herself when she says, "Honey, he's your daddy."

You pull away from him, your natural reaction to uncertainty, your brain going at warp speed to try to process everything from the past couple of hours. "What?" you ask quietly in disbelief.

"God damn it, Anita! Don't go tellin' her shit like that!" Joel roars, and for a moment you worry that he'll hurt your mom, but all that takes a backseat when you take in what she just said.

Anita cuts in, giving you the story of her history with Joel, their brief relationship before she fell for the man you know as your father. How she struggled to maintain the lie, how hard it was to have a baby while still in high school.. all this you've heard before minus the part about Joel. She goes on, in excruciating detail, as Joel leaves. You barely register his absence, your head unable to wrap itself around the new facts.

Joel returns with a manila envelope. "Fuck you, I'm not her father. I never was." He shows a paternity test, old and crinkled around the edges, yellowed with time. "Chris had a paternity test done when he was tryin' to get out of bein' married to you," he glares at Anita. "I had one done through the mail as well, just to be sure." He practically shoves the paper in her face. "Had it done right after Sarah was born."

You take the paper yourself, wanting to see with your own eyes, and there it is: a 99.99% probability of Chris being your father. The results for Joel: 0%.

You give him back the paper and take a seat on the sofa. Every movement feels like you're underwater, body heavy against the tide.

Joel sits next to you, his arm around you in a gesture of comfort, without getting too close. "I wouldn't have done any of that if I'd been your dad, babygirl.. you know that." He kisses the top of your head. "I'd have taken you away from them, and Sarah could have a sister."

Feeling sick, you shake your head and remove his arm from you.

"I know," he says resignedly.

"Was what she told me true?" you whisper. "Did you really love her back then? And slept with her? Even when she was pregnant with me?" Your voice pleads for him to lie. It's the one time you'll accept a fabrication instead of the truth.

Joel looks worn down, older than his years. He can't even look you in the eyes, he just nods.

It feels like an eternity passes. "Was this what you wanted?" you ask your mother. "I could have gone my whole life without knowing any of this! And you told me this for what? For what?"

It's sickening the way your mom looks smug about stirring the pot. She's always like this. She's the can't leave well enough alone type.

Anita simply responds, "I'm not going to punish you for being naive. But I am bringing you back with me to Houston tonight. You can finish college there. You're never to be around Joel again."

Joel rises from his seat, looking ready for a fight again. "You can't do that, you can't just take her away from me like that!"

"Jesus, Joel. If Chris was here he'd beat the living hell out of you. Be glad I'm here and not him."

You stand up as well. "Fuck you both." With long strides you reach your room, packing a few things. When you return they're both quiet, looking to you for the next move, both have expectation written on their faces.

Anita seems deep in thought, older than her 35 years. "You're coming with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. But I'm not staying here either."

Joel looks like he's about to break down and cry, and you realize this is the first time you've seen him truly vulnerable. Your own heart is too bruised and sore to worry about his.

"I just need to think about some things," you say in a small voice.

Anita goes to her car, speaking with Sofia, likely admonishing her for letting the love affair happen in the first place.

Joel stops you on the porch. "Are you sure this is somethin' you wanna do?"

You can't look up at him. If you do you'll cry, and if you cry you'll just let him pull you into his arms again.

"I need to figure some things out."

"I love you," he says softly. His voice cracks a little.

You swallow the tears that threaten to come, focusing on a small ladybug crawling on the floorboards of the white wooden porch. "When you were with me did you ever think about her? Did you ever think I'd be a good substitute for a woman who didn't want you anymore?"

"Is that what you think I was doin'?"

You shrug.

"Babygirl, you look so much like your mom that it hurts. So sometimes, yeah, I do see her in you. But you're a better person than she is.. you're smart, you're kind, you're clever.. I can't see myself wantin' anyone else."

It's not really the answer you hoped for, but then again this is not the kind of day you hoped for either.

"That's not enough for me to stay.." you whisper. Your mother ruined it, just like she ruined everything else, just like she ran your father off.

"I think we were looking for other people in each other," you tell him. "You were looking for my mom and I was looking for my dad."

"No, no, sweetheart, it ain't like that," Joel puts his hand on your shoulder, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. Your heart beats madly seeing the pain and anguish there. "What I felt for your mother was nothin' compared to what I feel for you. Please, baby.. stay." He clutches your hands in his.

It was just a summer thing, you think to yourself as you drive down the street, following your mom, away from the home you've known for just a couple of months, before you force yourself to not think about anything else but the drive, the long stretch of Interstate 10 that takes you to Houston.

Sarah's there at the end of the block, stopped on her bike as she watches you leave. You realize you hadn't said bye to her, but when you catch her eye she doesn't smile back, averting her eyes. She gives a small wave, uncomfortable even with the friendly gesture, and your stomach is in knots as you realize it had to have been her..

The one who slammed the door on you and Joel at the party. The one who reached out to your mom, describing what she walked in on. Why else would she take your leaving so well?

You watch her start riding towards her house, wind blowing through her locks. You watch her through your rearview mirror until she's a speck on the horizon, and then completely out of sight.

(I'm sorry. I love y'all. I'm sorry.)

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dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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ongaku-ato-kakikomi · 2 years

Note

I have an imagie idea for Joe Goldberg. So imagine the reader likes Joe and works with him at Mooney's and he developes a soft spot for her and teaches her how to repair the old books down there. And it isn't uncommon for her to go down there on her own to do that herself.

You give out a long sigh as you walk toward Ethan standing behind the cash register, and you drop your arms and head on the counter as soon as you arrive. Ethan gives out a chuckle as he observes your melodramatic act.

“Let me guess. One of too many customers asked you one of too many dumb questions?”

“No, there’s barely anyone in here.” You give out another sigh and look up at him with desperation. “I’m just so bored.”

“Well, you can always re-stack the shelves.” Your friend and coworker speaks as he counts the money in the cash register, his eyes sometimes looking up so he can send a smile when a new customer walks in. “We got a few new boxes in this morning.”

“But my arms are so sore.”

Ethan gives out a small smile. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. They hurt so bad. Actually, I think I might need to ampute them.” Your comment only manages to bring a chuckle out of Ethan, then you notice something from the corner of your eyes, and a spark of curiosity appears in your eyes. “Hey, what’s that?”

You point at a small pile of wrapped books on the far edge of the counter.

“Oh, a client dropped these earlier. They’re old books that need some restoration.” Ethan continues to count the cash, humming a familiar song in-between his words. “I’ve been planning to tell Joe as soon as he comes back from his errands.”

“What? No, forget Joe.” You rapidly grab the pile of books, a wide smile taking over your lips. “I’m gonna go downstairs and take care of these myself.”

“Um...” Ethan gives you a look of hesitance. “I’m not sure you should do that.”

“Aw, come on, Ethan.” You give him a pout, batting your eyes. “You know Joe trusts me to do these. He even said I’m doing a better job than he is.”

He bites his bottom lip, still unsure. “Yeah, I’m not saying you aren’t good, but he’s given us straight orders not to go down there for a week now.”

You point at the half empty store with your head, your voice lowering to a whisper. “Whatever’s down there isn’t worth this deadly boredom up here.”

“(Y/N).” Ethan calls out your name as you walk away, his voice coming out a bit more panicky when you ignore him. “(Y/N)!”

“Relax! Joe won’t mind, I’m sure.” You unlock the door to the basement, then send your friend a wink. “Call me if there’s an emergency.”

You open the door and close it behind you before Ethan can say anything else, your feet already making you walk down the stairs as you hum a song. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the main area of the basement where the rare books are, your mind settled on getting to the restoration table. Although, a putrid smell brings your pace to an abrupt stop, and you frown in both disgust and confusion. Curious of the origin of the smell, you turn your head toward the glass cage on your left, internally wondering if you should adjust its humidity levels.

You drop the books on the floor the moment your eyes settle on the body decaying in there.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hey, Ethan.” Joe smiles as he walks into the shop; although, his smile slightly falters when he notices his friend jumping up at the sound of his voice. “Whoa. You’re okay? You seem nervous.”

“Ah...” Ethan’s fingers fidget with the cash register for a moment, trying his best to focus on finishing his counting task. “No... No, I’m good! Great even!”

Joe quirks an eyebrow at that, thinking that this kind of behavior could only mean one thing, and he crosses his arms over the counter with a grin.

“So, what did (Y/N) do?” He stares intently at his friend, his head slightly tilting. “Tell me the truth.”

Ethan’s eyes quickly shift toward the basement door, but Joe immediately catches onto it.

“No...” His heart sink with fear as he realizes what you’ve done, and Ethan doesn’t have time to reply anything that Joe’s already running to get downstairs. “No, no, no!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Bitter vomit pours out of your mouth to splash in the trash can you barely managed to grab, violent trembles taking over your body soon enough. The image of the body’s glazed white eyes staring back into your soul sticks into your mind, and it only worsens your sickness. You breathe sharply the moment you stop throwing up, using your sleeve to wipe off your mouth as you take another look at the cage. Whoever this body used to be, you can tell he’s been trapped in there for a while, his decaying skin looking like a gooey moldy paste. You can see some dry white foam around what used to be his mouth, and it doesn’t take you more than a few neurons to realize that he was poisoned.

And that Joe killed him.

“Oh my God...” You cry out those words as you stand up, your legs shaking as you try to run back to the stairs. “Oh my God, Ethan! Ethan, we have to call the police...!”

The door opens before you reach the top of the stairs, and your heart drops when you realize that it’s not Ethan who’s standing up there.

It’s Joe.

“... (Y/N).” Joe whispers that name as soon as he sees you standing down there with a look of terror on your face, his hands already closing and locking the door behind him. “(Y/N), please, let me explain. I... I can explain-(Y/N)!”

You don’t waste a second to run back down, your mind now focused on finding the basement exit to reach the alleyway. Tears fall out of your eyes when you hear Joe run down behind you, screaming your name out of desperation.

“(Y/N), wait! Wait!”

He manages to grab the back of your shirt and pulls you back.

“No!” You scream as loud as you can the moment you feel his arms wrap around your body, hoping Ethan would be able to hear you as you try to kick yourself out of Joe’s grip. “No, no, no, let me go!”

“I’m sorry...” Joe whispers those words into your ears, struggling to wrap one of his arms around your neck. “You weren’t supposed to see that...”

You gasp for air when you feel his arm squeezing your neck, your hands desperately scratching at his skin to stop him. “Let... me go...!”

“I can’t do that.” He puts more pressure on your neck, making you moan in pain as you give out raspy shot breaths. “I’m so sorry.”

I’m gonna die. You think, your movements slowing down as your vision blacken. He’s going to kill me.

Joe frees your neck the moment your arms fall victim to gravity, and he gently lays you on the floor. His eyes fill up with tears when he sees your unconscious face and the red marks around your neck.

“I’ll fix this.” He presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, his mind already racing to find a solution that would save you from himself. “I promise you I’ll fix this.”

In the meantime, he’ll have to keep you down here.

And hopefully Ethan won’t question his excuses.

#you #joe goldberg #joe goldberg imagine #joe goldberg imagines #joe goldberg x reader #you imagine #you imagines #you x reader #request #requests #imagine #imagines #x reader #reader insert

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answer2jeff · 8 months

Text

fixer-upper. // lip gallagher

lip x biker-girl!OC

warnings : public sex, oral (m!receiving), praise kink, light to rough hair-pulling, unestablished relationship, intense and obvious flirting, porn with plot and detail, mentions of smoking (tobacco), cursing, OC is just as full of herself as Lip, knows she's a bitch, kinda has a weird sense of possessiveness over him?? clunky and overly detailed writing with a journaling/diary style.

authors note : trying something a little different! using the first person POV with an original character. first time writing this way—still getting the hang of it <3 this is REALLY long...sorry.

song : beauty school.

disclaimer : you can picture the OC however you like! her name is really just used for aesthetic purposes. there isn't much description on her appearance other than the fact that her hair is long enough to put it in a ponytail. enjoy!

Great. Fucking great.

One of my tires is punctured. The visor in my helmet is cracked. My elbows are etched with surface level scratches and dried blood. And the engine cover of my bike has finally snapped off. I had it coming. It was an old piece of rusty junk from my cousins garage sale from 2012, anyway. But it had charm. I knew I was gonna miss that bike for the good couple of hours, possibly days, I would reluctantly end up leaving it in a repair shop down the street from my apartment.

I can hear the squelch of skin, the seal between my hot breath and sweaty skin breaking as lift my helmet from my head. I hope to feel a rush of cool air, but the humidity tells me to go fuck myself. I'm pulled over onto the curb. I can't totally remember how I got there; being in the middle of the street on a scorching summer day wearing denim shorts that chafe up my inner thighs and rub my skin until it is raw and red and unbearably itchy, was not my vision for today. My handlebars are loose. That would explain it.

If I just take it to Born Free Cycles, leave it overnight, and come back in the morning, I can act like this whole thing never happened, and I'm not horribly irresponsible.

40th West View Ave.

Oh. I'm close actually. Barely a block away. I should go there now. I can call Mikey and have him drop me and the bike off at the garage. I'll see that kid with the grown out buzz-cut and black motor grease on his knuckles that somehow always transfers and blots on his face. Specifically on his strong jaw and right before the peak of his hairline. I wonder if he notices. Maybe he doesn't clean it off because it gives him edge that he doesn't need. Like the nickname on his name tag on a black uniform hadn't given his thirst for trouble away already. And the circles under his eyes are almost the same shade of smudged charcoal grey.

I wonder if he notices.

—

"So the engine cover popped? Just—" he shrugs, looking up at me as if I can't understand him "clean off?"

The sunlight bleeds in through the open garage door. It shines behind Lip, casting a shadow that makes his face hard to see perfectly. But I know the look he's conveying. His eyebrows are raised but drawn slightly closer together, his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek so he can stifle a smile and the laugh that will follow soon after, and his blinks remain slow. I try not to smile too. But I fail.

I've only been here about 3 times, really. The first time was to get handlebar grips from Eddie. That was when I saw Lip. I chose not to make any kind of move, but it ate at my insides until the second time. That time was with Mikey. I was preoccupied with the blue-eyed kid, propped up on a workbench and throwing mindless flirty implications at him while he took long drags from a cigarette, to remember why Mikey was even doing there and why he dragged me along with him. His laugh, the playful eye-roll after I complimented his sweat-laden blonde curls weighed down by heat humidity, told me he was on board.

But I wasn't done.

I knew this time I'd pounce for what was mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out, crossing my arms and peering down at him, "And I mighta' been redlining the RPM a little too much. Probably fried the fucking thing."

Lip nods, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. He beckons his hand toward himself, telling me to kneel down beside him to inspect the bike. "This things kinda old, huh?" He teases, turning his head to me and finally letting a real smile break. It warms something in me. I shrug. He glances at my white tank-top, covered in black stains of dirt and oil.

"It's not great, no. It's a piece of shit. But it's cute!" I play along with him, taking the hairband on my wrist and twisting my hair into a high ponytail. Lip huffs though his nose, shaking his head and laughing again.

The next couple of minutes are filled with him telling me things I already know. Things I was too exhausted to manage on my own, defeating the whole purpose of why I was here. Fuck the bike. I know what's wrong with the bike. I know it's an old piece of junk and it's barely salvageable. You should know why I'm here. And maybe you do. But you should do something about it.

Lip has this way of speaking to me that feels ridiculously sweet and overly 'cool.' I know it's just his cadence and his cockiness, but I like it. I like that he thinks it makes me swoon. Partially because he's right, but mostly because I've mastered hiding it. He doesn't see my heart pound or the rising heat in my abdomen when he cracks his knuckles or puts a hand on my shoulder and let's it travel down to the small of my back when I crouch down beside him to look at another motorcycle he's trying to save. I'm almost certain he convinces himself that my gestures are nothing more than a meaningless flirt. I simply find him attractive, as does everyone. Nothing more.

But he's got it all wrong.

He knows my intentions somewhat well enough to the point where he can't not flirt back, though. He knows I haven't stopped him from letting his eyes travel from mine to my lips whenever I speak. He likes that I let him light my cigarettes for me. But he doesn't know this isn't just for fun. I'm so hyper-aware that it isn't out of the kindness of his heart. And neither are his compliments and lame jokes he makes to impress me. He treats my attraction to him as fact, but my genuine interest as a possibility.

Again, he's wrong.

I can't wrap my head around how he could reciprocate my efforts without ever pushing the envelope and asking to exchange numbers, or if I had a boyfriend, or maybe he had one of his own. No, no. He'd tell me if he had a girlfriend. He is, above all else, loyal.

Lip's what I want. I meant when I said his hair looked nice. I meant when I gave him a 20-dollar gratuity and a peck on his cheek just for giving me a repair cost estimate on my shattered headlight. I smile any time he says my name: Maeve.

Hey Maeve, back so soon, huh?

Hand me that box, Maeve.

Y'alright, Maeve?

Yo, Maeve, wanna bum one?

Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.

—

"Think you'll be back tomorrow to pick it up? No rush, though. I can keep it 'till you're ready," Lip asks me, leaning against the wooden workbench littered with microfiber towels and tools. His swell arms are crossed to his chest. I nod, coating my fingertips with a thin film of spin while I fish out some cash from my beat up faux leather wallet.

"A-huh. Thanks," I hand him 6 twenties before glancing at the opening of his button-down uniform.

The corner of my mouth lifts itself into a knowing smirk, my hand on my hip as I shift my weight to it, making my chest stick out and my spine bend correspondingly. My lips hang open a measly centimeter apart before I draw the bottom one between my teeth. I watch him sort through the cash, biting down harder on the flesh of my lip when he freezes.

"Looks like you're a good 15 short," he barely mumbles, looking up at me through his eyelashes. His brows narrow down to me again. I click my tongue coyly. I step closer to him, my hand, with fingernails painted black, pushing the cash in his palms down and his arms down with it.

"About that..." I pause, tilting my head with a look of naivety and not bothering to push away the strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail and over my eye. Instead, I wait and let Lip set the pile of cash down and draw the curtain of my hair open to reveal my face. My stomach twists on itself, and I can practically feel his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath in my own lungs.

I beg to whatever higher power lies above us in this garage that a kiss will work. Not that it usually doesn't, but my form isn't as confident as it typically would be. The guys I wrap around my finger aren't as driven as Lip is. And God, none of them are part of my tantalizing daydreams nearly as often as he is. I picture his rough hands exploring me, squeezing and rubbing over the valleys of my skin. I imagine his breath is hot with the taste of mint and cigarettes. Every part of me wants to know if my predictions are accurate. If he's the type to sink his teeth into my neck and shoulder blades just to apologize to the reddening skin with open-mouthed kisses. The anticipation kills me. It's enough to swallow me whole.

"...Maybe I can pay you back a different way?"

I barely whisper and Lip scoffs, glancing away from my gaze, scanning the area just for it to be completely empty. He comes back to me. His eyes go a little wider than before. Almost to say, 'oh shit, you're serious?' I stick my tongue between my teeth and tug on his uniform, feeling the fabric rub between my sweaty fingertips. My eyes watch Lip's adam's apple bob as he swallows a breath.

"Yeah?" He thumbs my bottom lip and pulls it down, his free hand traveling down to my hip and pulling me closer to him, "what were y'thinking, Maeve?"

"Mmmm," I hum while pressing my hand against his chest while the other cups his cheek, and I let the pad of my thumb graze over the grove of his defined cheekbones. "Dunno yet."

My teasing is much to Lip's dismay, but he handles it quite well. It's sobering to see a guy as seemingly self-involved and easily impressed play into my mind games. It only pushes me further, and he knows it. I crash my lips into his, my hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders for support. He sighs into me, a hand reaching down to hook a finger through the belt loop of my shorts and drag me closer to him. His hand cups my cheek and pulls me into his mouth to let his tongue slip past my own. And he tastes just as I expected. Minty, smoky, and mine. I practically grind my self onto him in complete desperation, feeling him harden under me. Every roll of his hips threatens to send me over the edge. And fuck, his muffled groans of pleasure against my mouth that ring in my ears are hypnotic. But even with his sturdy, growing buldge forcing the fabric of my shorts to press roughly on my clit, I need this to last.

Blissfully and ever so slowly.

I finally pull away to catch my breath, the buck of our waists slowing down. My head feels fuzzy and heat rises in my cheeks when I open my eyes to see how flushed Lip's face is. Even the tips of his ears have turned a little red. I smile, giggling like a teenager who just kissed her crush in a closet at a house party as a dare. He laughs back in a way that asks 'what are we even doing?'

"Thought you had a boyfriend."

I pause, my eyebrows knitted. I try to think of who he could possibly be referring to.

Ah.

"Who? Mikey?" I try not to laugh, looking around to the imaginary audience to check if they're really hearing this nonsense too, "ew, no. He's like my brother."

Lip lets out a breath of relief he almost didn't realize he'd been holding. It surprises me. Probably a lot more than it should. But hey, for the other 3 times I've been here, I kept asking myself why his flirting was just as intense as mine, but he never asked for my number or made a true move on me. To think that my friend had been unintentionally cockblocking me with his ridiculous height and horrid American traditional tattoos all over his arms, and it wasn't because the guy had a girlfriend...it's almost funny.

"Oh," he replies, his eyebrows raising. Now both of his hands rest at my hips.

"What? Is that why you left me hangin' when I did this?" I press a kiss against his cheek, my palm rubbing over his shoulder to pull a chuckle out of him.

"I guess so, yeah. Just didn't want him to kill me for getting to close t'you," he kisses my cheek, smiling again.

"Geez. Mikey wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. He just...looks scary. Plus, nobody tells me what to do."

"Noted. Glad to hear that, actually."

"Mikey is—" I pause, biting the inside of my cheek "a sweet guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Too sweet. And I hate the aftershave he uses. He's—he's entirely too much."

"Mm."

"Whatever. Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," he shrugs, trying and failing to act clueless.

Fuck. He's fucking glad. He's glad I don't have a stupid-waste-of-my-time-cockblocking-boyfriend on my hip who's constantly watching my every move and stopping me from giving all of myself to Lip. Hell, I'm glad too. Very glad. With one swift movement, I take matters into my own hands again. I undo every last plastic button on his uniform, snaking down his chest and abdomen. I latch onto his neck, biting the skin and sucking a bruising hickey. He shivers beneath me and wraps his hand around my ponytail, huffing breathless chuckles and slowly getting more and more frustrated with my agonizingly slow, torturing pace for foreplay.

I bend my knees to begin my descend to the ground, kissing down his torso. My hands travel down his sides. Lip gently lets go of my hair to lean back into the workbench, never letting his head reel back so he can carefully watch me tenderly adhere to his needs while anchoring his hands behind him for support. I giggle to myself, relishing in the affect I have on him.

Shit. This is risky. Screw it. Pretty girl without a boyfriend who tips in 20 dollar bills and blowjobs? How could I say no? No part of me wants to back out, Lip's mind races, his grip tightening on the wooden slab as he clenches his jaw.

I wonder if he's nervous. Or maybe he's done this time and time again: fucking a girl right in this garage. Possibly bent over this very work bench. Those girls must've been so easy. I can bet on my life that they were never as fun, never as wet, never as needy as me. This would be different. I wouldn't give him everything he wanted and more that quickly. A girl deserves to have her fun. She deserves to watch the overly confident guy she's fancied for weeks, who continues to play hard to get, squirm and writhe with every slight of hand she gives him.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

"Y'having fun down there?" Lip chastises me, chuckling lightly to himself as he tilts his head down to get a better look at my face.

My kisses stop right above the waistband of his jogger pants. I look up at him pleadingly through my lashes, my eyes big with lust and cunning seduction. I pull the middle of the waistband down just so I can drag my tongue across the exposed skin just centimeters away from his cock. The curls of his happy trail tickle my chin, but the full body shiver and the shaky exhale of "fuck," as he tries to keep his composure, makes it so worth it. He finally shuts his eyes, head reeling back. I lick my lips and smile, cupping his groin before he can even think about looking back down and feeling the blood rush to his cock again. His twitching dick underneath my palm sends me sitting on my heel, ready to slowly rock my hips down into it to fill my desperate need for friction. My cotton panties are definitely soaked.

I can't waste any more time.

I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull his pants and his boxers down with them. They pool at his ankles, and his cock strains hard and leaking sticky, crystal clear pre-cum from the thick and aching tip. My mouth nearly drops. I admire every vein, letting my hand wrap around the base of his cock once I've spit into it as makeshift lubricant. I'm so lost that I don't even register Lip peering down at me, swallowing impatiently.

"My, you're so worked up, Lip. And I haven't even started." I don't bother to look up at him as I rub my hand up and down his shaft, worried his pretty face will distract me. But I can picture him perfectly.

"Fuck you," he huffs through a struggled laugh, covering his mouth as he groans in pleasure at the feeling of my hand squeezing his cock every once and a while as I slowly pump him up and down.

"Later," I retort. I bite down on my bottom lip, looking up at him again for permission. He nods, almost as if he's able to read my mind. My eyes shut and my stomach flutters. Soft lips cover the head, swirling my tongue over the slit. His tip leaves my mouth with a loud pop, and I lick a bold stripe along the thickets vein I can find.

"Jesus, fuck, Maeve!" He writhes, his breath hitched in his throat by me hollowing out my cheeks and taking nearly 3/4 of his total length into my mouth. Moans of pure bliss at the feeling of his cock enveloped by the wet warmth of my mouth echo through the garage. I fear he's too loud, but I decide not to care. Not now.

My hand pumps the rest of his cock that I don't fit into my mouth at the moment, while my free hand reaches for his. My eyes remain closed and my sucking maintains a steady pace as I bob my head up and down his cock. I grab his hand and set it on the top of my head, but he hesitates.

"W—you sure, Maeve? I don't wanna hurt you," he swallows, accidentally bucking his hips into my mouth and running his unoccupied hand through his sweaty curls. I detach myself from him, wiping the mixture of pre and spit from the corner of my mouth and finally looking up at him.

"You won't," I take a deep breath, "I won't let you. I'll tell you if 's too much, kay?"

"Okay. Maybe just—" he clears his throat "tap my leg 3 times? And I'll...uh—I'll let go? Yeah?" He looks beautiful. Flushed, bare, and oh so needy for my touch. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He's so compliant, so understanding. But part of me knows that once I let him do this, it'll show me the side of him I've really been praying to see.

I nod, smiling contently and feeling myself blush when he twirls his fingers around my ponytail again. He bends over just the smallest bit to cup my chin and smile back. The pad of his thumb grazes over my skin before he lets go. I take it as my sign to go back, pressing my hands against either of his thighs and feeling clit jump with excitement when Lip tugs at my hair the moment I take his cock into my mouth again. I bob my head up and down, my eyes rolling back when his tip hits the back of my throat. Tears prick at my waterline as I struggle not to cough.

I grow even more desperate. My hand dives into my shorts and I slide two of my fingers inside of me, unfortunately never living up to the potential size and feeling of Lip's. The continuous ram into my gummy and tender spot causes me to fall apart, whining with his dick occupying the space in my mouth.

"Oh my God," Lip nearly whines, his grip tightening as he guides my head up and down his dick, but it's so gentle it never startles me, "so fuckin' good, baby. Jesus, fu—ah..keep doin' that. Yes, fuck.."

My tongue swishes over and under his cock in mind-numbing patterns, and I can't help but let little muffled moans escape my throat and vibrate against him. He almost can't contain himself: bucking his hips and practically fucking my throat. I do my best to cancel out the occasional gag so quickly he won't feel guilty and possibly stop.

Use me, I think.

Usually, I'd take the lead, never letting a head pusher take the role. But not this time. Lip's so pent up, so stressed with the complexities of his life. This is a kind gesture. One that involves tears of struggle spilling out of my eyes and streaming down ky cheeks. But fuck, I love it. It's filthy. It's nasty the way I nearly suck him dry. I can't remember the last time a blowjob was this fun.

"Such a good girl. Y'know that?" He looks down at me, biting his lip as his eyebrows knit in pleasure and desperate need to cum down my pretty little throat, "how'd you get so fuckin...so fuckin' good at this, baby? Shit—feels so good."

He babbles over and over again, and I'm taking strategic breaths through my nose and speeding the pace of my fingers as they thrust in and out of me so I don't stop him from releasing the way he absolutely deserves. Finally, he pulls my ponytail tighter than he ever has, warning me that he's about to cum, but by the time he tells me, it sends down my throat. He groans out, releasing my hair and going limp. I swallow the salty substance, blinking out the last few tears in my eyes and sliding my fingers out of me.

—

Lip: 1 message.

Hey. 11:47pm

Hey. Miss me already? 11:52pm

Something like that, yeah. 11:56pm

What's up 11:58pm

I get off early tomorrow. Just wondering if you wanted to come by the shop and hang out for a bit? 11:59pm

Sure. See you then. xoxo 12:03am.

—

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

#lip gallagher x oc #lip gallagher #lip gallagher smut #shameless x OC #lip gallagher x reader smut #lip gallagher x oc smut #shameless #shameless x reader #jeremy allen white #i hope you guys like this!!!#tried really hard with this new style

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crimsonstonetranslations · 4 months

Text

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo Another Files - The Lamenting Doll - file 01

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Another Files - The Lamenting Doll file 01 - cries of the dead

- 1

- Scratch.

Scratch— Such noises could be heard.

They were strange noises, akin to sharp nails clawing against a wooden board. Shizuko couldn’t tell whether those sounds were merely a dream or reality.

Yet soon enough, Shizuko slowly opened her eyes as she remained lying in bed. Cold, bluish moonlight shone through the window and into the dark room.

Scratch. The noise continued.

So it wasn’t a dream after all. What was that noise?

Shizuko held her breath as she listened carefully. Scratch scratch.

It sounded like it came from below the veranda, but it also seemed like it could be from the ceiling. Perhaps some kind of rat or pest eating through the boards.

Let’s just check it tomorrow. She rolled over to lie against her back. At that moment, something touched the tip of her nose.

What? Shizuko opened her eyes in reflex.

A black shadow appeared to have hovered over her. The shadow resembled a human figure wearing a kimono, its obi hanging loose.

Then— Two eyes gazed intently towards Shizuko from above.

Widely opened, they were the colour of blood. Shizuko wanted to scream, but her voice refused to come out.

Her body froze and she couldn’t get up. She could feel the weight of the shadow across her entire body. Shizuko’s forehead flooded with sweat.

Her hairs stood on end, back shivering. Those eyes—they remained locked on Shizuko.

Except for its eyes, its body appeared entirely black, as if painted over, making it impossible to tell whether the entity was young or old, male or female. “O…er…ere…” said the black shadow.

Shizuko couldn’t understand what it had said. Even so, the words sounded terrifying against her ears. What on earth—?!

Shizuko concentrated on her throat, desperate to let out her voice. Yet somehow, her voice refused to leave.

Her body was stiff, entirely unable to move a muscle as if she was being crushed by something. The black shadow stared at Shizuko for some time before disappearing moments later.

That instant, Shizuko’s body relaxed, as if the stiffness she had just felt had never happened in the first place. At last, Shizuko could finally sit up. She turned to the direction the shadow had disappeared to.

The shadow went into the parchment scroll hanging on the wall and vanished without so much of a sound. The eyes of the person depicted in that parchment appeared to overlap with the eyes that had been looking at Shizuko earlier.

Shizuko could only remain dumbfounded. -

2 -

The gently blowing wind felt humid. Having finished her afternoon class, Ozawa Haruka walked past the back of Building B with light-footed steps.

She was going to see Saitou Yakumo. Not that she had any business in particular. Tomorrow marked the start of their long university break, so Haruka thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to show her face beforehand.

Come to think of it, this was an amazing progress. Just not too long ago, Haruka had only ever come to see Yakumo if it had something to do with a case.

Because of that, Yakumo had labelled her as a troublemaker. It was only recently that she was able to visit the man with no hesitation despite lacking any reason to do so. Well, Haruka was probably the only one who didn’t mind, while Yakumo would feel annoyed. Even so, nothing would change if she kept worrying over such things.

Moments later, a two-storey prefabricated building came into sight. Each floor of the building had a row of ten or so rooms the university lended out as circle clubrooms.

Yakumo practically lived in the room situated at the very end of the first floor, a clubroom labelled the <Movie Research Circle>. To begin with, the Movie Research Circle didn’t actually exist. No, to be more precise, Yakumo and Haruka were the only actual members of the circle.

The other members were merely names Yakumo had borrowed to fulfil the requirements when submitting paperwork to the student affairs office. Yakumo had cunningly tricked the university to get the room all to himself.

“Hey—” greeted Haruka as she opened the door to the Movie Research Circle clubroom. “Oh, it’s you,” replied Yakumo. He sat on his usual chair as he acted all troubled.

He had a fair complexion and a good-looking face, yet his eyes always looked sleepy, his hair unkempt as if he had just woken up, making him appear disorganised. Haruka had first known Yakumo due to a spiritual case.

Though he usually hid it with a black contact lens, Yakumo’s left eye was actually a vibrant red colour. It wasn’t just red, the eye also had the ability to see spirits of the dead—in other words, ghosts.

With that ability of his, Yakumo hadn’t only resolved the spiritual case Haruka had brought, he had even brought a previously undiscovered murder case to light. Ever since then, they had been involved in a number of spiritual cases together.

Unfortunately, a significant number of said cases had been brought by Haruka. Thanks to that, Yakumo kept calling Haruka a troublemaker and constantly voiced his complaints whenever he had the chance to. “What kind of reaction was that? Even though I came all the way here,” said Haruka with a displeased tone on purpose. But Yakumo wasn’t the type to be perplexed by Haruka’s actions and make an attempt to lighten her mood.

“I never asked you to,” said Yakumo unabashedly, staring at Haruka through half-lidded eyes. Even without putting it into words, Haruka knew those eyes were questioning her, ‘what sort of trouble are you bringing this time?’

“Just so you know, I’m not bringing you any trouble today,” said Haruka as she sat on a chair across from Yakumo. “If not for trouble, why did you come here?”

“No reason. I’m just curious what you’re up to.” “It’s really unpleasant having to be watched by you.”

A harsh thing to say, but Yakumo had always been acting this way. Haruka had used to be unhappy about it in the beginning, but she had gotten used to it now. She wouldn’t be able to respond to Yakumo’s banter if she were to be offended easily.

“Well, sorry about that.” “If you knew that much, why don’t you hurry up and leave?”

“What even?” “I said, I don’t have time to entertain the likes of someone who has nothing to do,” grumbled Yakumo before glaring at the chessboard on the table.

“What are you doing?” asked Haruka. Yakumo raised his left eyebrow and pointed at the chessboard. “What do you think this is?”

“A chessboard.” “So you do know?”

“Anyone would’ve known that much.” “Then I ask you this: what idiot would use a chessboard for something other than to play chess?”

He could’ve just said that he was playing chess, yet he had to twist his words in that manner. Furthermore, that wasn’t what Haruka had intended to ask.

Could chess even be played with one player? That was what she had meant. Haruka wanted to emphasise the fact, but she was interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

She turned to find a face she recognised. “Isshin-san!”

“Haruka-chan. It’s been a while.” Standing there with a compassionate, Buddha[1]-like smile was Yakumo’s uncle, Isshin.

He was the person who had chosen Yakumo’s name as well as raised him. Clad in monk robes, his dignified appearance and wise manner of speech gave him the impression of someone much older, despite only being in his thirties.

Since Yakumo’s mother had disappeared, Isshin had had to become the one to raise Yakumo. He had been in his twenties at the time, so he had to have struggled to do so in place of Yakumo’s parents, yet he hadn’t let it show. Furthermore, Isshin’s left eye was also red, just like Yakumo.

Even so, the colour wasn’t genuine. The opposite of Yakumo, he wore a red contact lens on purpose. It was concrete proof of the depth of Isshin’s love. He had purposely made himself be seen strangely in an attempt to understand Yakumo’s feelings, even if just a fraction of it, by experiencing the same suffering as Yakumo.

“You two get along well as usual,” said Isshin as he nodded repeatedly. Haruka felt flustered over being described so warmly, vaguely responding, “No, that...”

On the other hand, Yakumo began to complain, “Never have I ever thought that I would be mistaken to get along well with the likes of her,” Haruka felt like crying over the difference between her reaction and Yakumo’s.

“So, what did Uncle come here for?” asked Yakumo lazily. While she felt Yakumo’s words were unbecoming towards the uncle who had raised him, Haruka had more or less the same thought. It was in fact unusual for Isshin to come visit Yakumo in his room like this.

“Hm,” Isshin nodded, taking a seat next to Haruka before opening his mouth. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you—” How rare for Isshin to have something to discuss with Yakumo.

Unlike Haruka, tilting her head over what subject the man could possibly have wanted to discuss, Yakumo had a sour look on his face as if he knew what was up. “Someone from the families supporting the temple probably experienced a spiritual phenomenon, so Uncle wants me to settle it—something along those lines, right?”

Resting his chin on one arm, Yakumo made an annoyed expression. That mannerism somehow looked adorable.

“You certainly are well aware,” said Isshin in surprise, while he maintained his composure. “Uncle isn’t great at hiding things, after all. It all shows on Uncle’s face.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Isshin scratched his head with a troubled gesture as he laughed bitterly.

“Just what sort of spiritual phenomenon was it?” asked Haruka. Yakumo immediately interrupted, “Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

“Why?” There shouldn’t be any harm in hearing him out first.

“After listening to it, I’ll definitely have no choice but to help.” —Right.

Yakumo didn’t actually like getting involved in supernatural affairs and would make all kinds of excuses not to do so, yet he had a trait of being unable to ignore those who were troubled. Such was the reason, despite numerous complaints each time, in the end he would reluctantly move and accept the request.

Not to mention that it was Isshin’s request, he certainly wouldn’t refuse after hearing the story. “Isshin-san, what happened?”

Yakumo let out an audible sigh and held his head. He didn’t try to stop Haruka, so Yakumo had probably intended to accept Isshin’s request from the start.

“So the truth is—” Isshin calmly opened his story, “along the Fuji River in Yamanashi Prefecture, there’s a sake brewery that has been passed down for generations since the Edo period.” “Yamanashi Prefecture?” asked Yakumo, his expression filled with suspicion.

“Yes. One of the families supporting my temple has an acquaintance from that sake brewery and they asked for my assistance,” Isshin replied calmly. “What happened there?” asked Haruka.

“Hm,” Isshin nodded once before continuing. “Apparently, as of late the woman called Shizuko-san who inherited that sake brewery is being disturbed by strange noises every night.” “Noises—”

“Yes. She said that at night as she slept, she would hear some sort of scratching noises.” “Couldn’t it just be a rat or something?” said Yakumo lazily.

“If it was nothing more than a noise, she might have the same idea. Shizuko-san did think it came from a rat at first, but—” said Isshin, briefly pausing his sentence. He probably meant nothing by it, yet Isshin’s tone of speech, light, slow, and overcomplicated, sent shivers down Haruka’s spine just by listening.

It felt more terrifying than the ghost stories she had watched on television. “She said that suddenly there was a shadow of a person standing beside her bed, whispering something to her.”

“If no one’s getting hurt, just leave it be,” said Yakumo as he held back a yawn. If a shadow were to stand beside her bed every day, Haruka wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully out of fear.

Yet to Yakumo, who could see ghosts all the time, ghosts that came and went were nothing more than a routine he had to go through. “Even so, something is definitely strange,” Isshin said with a troubled frown.

“Strange?” replied Yakumo with a question. Isshin nodded before continuing. “According to Shizuko-san, after the shadow whispered something to her, it always disappeared into a parchment scroll hanging on the wall.”

“Parchment scroll…?” “That’s right. In Shizuko-san’s room, there’s a parchment scroll hanging on the wall and there is a painting on that scroll.”

“In other words, the ghost came from that painting?” asked Haruka enthusiastically. “It’s yet to be confirmed. But from Shizuko-san’s story, I think it’s likely…” said Isshin before turning to Yakumo.

Lifting the left side of his lips, Yakumo grinned. “There’s nothing I can say just from the story…Besides, what was the strange thing that Uncle referred to earlier?” asked Yakumo. Isshin nodded in understanding. “Yesterday, I asked Shizuko to send a photo of the painting. Something felt off about the painting.”

“There’s something peculiar about the painting?” asked Yakumo, seemingly uninterested. “It’s an ancient Japanese painting, perhaps painted during the Edo period, but…well, rather than explaining it in words, it’ll be easier to understand if you see it for yourself,” said Isshin as he took out his phone and displayed the photo on the screen.

Yakumo stared at the screen. Hesitantly, Haruka also took a peek at the photo. “Eh?” blurted Haruka unintentionally as soon as the painting came into her field of vision.

Even the usually composed Yakumo was stunned, frowning his forehead, mouth half agape. The painting was of a man wearing a white kimono.

Despite the painting’s creation being estimated to date back in the Edo period, his hair appeared to be in disarray instead of tied into a bun. Standing still, the man could be mistaken for a ghost. Carrying a kongozue[2] over his shoulder, he gazed sharply forwards.

The mysterious painting emanated a powerful and daunting atmosphere, yet simultaneously a somewhat melancholic feel. What stood out in particular were the eyes of the man in the painting.

His eyes were dyed a bright red colour, almost like blood. “This...” Haruka muttered, yet she couldn’t find the words to continue.

“Either way, something is indeed strange about the person depicted in this painting. Hence I came to discuss it with you,” said Isshin, ending his explanation. Yakumo gave no reply, merely continuing to stare at the ancient looking painting.

Perhaps his thoughts were all over the place. If the ghost had really come out of the painting as Isshin had said, then it might have been the ghost of the figure in this painting.

Yakumo possessed a red left eye capable of seeing spirits of the dead. He had inherited this trait from his father. Even so, surely Yakumo’s father’s eyes hadn’t just turned red out of nowhere at some point.

To discover the identity of the person depicted in this painting might just be the same as unravelling Yakumo’s own origins. “So? Do you think you could look into the matter Shizuko-san is going through?” questioned Isshin as he threw a curious look towards Yakumo.

After a long silence, Yakumo exhaled a deep sigh. “I don’t mind looking into it, but I couldn’t tell anything without going directly to the scene.” “Can’t you tell anything just from this?” asked Haruka, and Yakumo grimaced.

“I can’t even tell whether a ghost is genuinely present just by looking at a photo of the painting.” “Well, that’s true…”

As Yakumo had said, he couldn’t tell anything without seeing things in person. “In that case, why don’t we go there to have a look? I’ll contact them,” said Isshin with a smile.

“I’m curious too, so I want to go,” said Haruka. Luckily, the university break starts tomorrow. Besides, she didn’t have anything planned. Her schedule was completely blank.

Travelling like this every now and then wouldn’t hurt. “Don’t tell me you’re coming too?” asked Yakumo to Haruka with a sour expression.

“It’s fine, right, Isshin-san?” Instead of Yakumo, Haruka turned to Isshin for approval.

As expected, Isshin responded lightly, “Of course.” Yakumo appeared displeased, yet he didn’t protest any further. “It’s fine if we go, but how are we going to get there?” said Yakumo, folding his arms.

They merely heard that the place was situated in Yamanashi Prefecture and had no idea of its exact location, but it had to take a long time to reach there. “That is certainly a problem. My car is currently under repairs since it broke...We could get there by train, but afterwards we would have to walk forty minutes from the nearest train station to the sake brewery.”

When living in the metropolitan area, travelling with trains would be a regular and convenient method. However, that wasn’t the case in the countryside. Many areas were hard to reach by public transport. Even merely going shopping became troublesome in the absence of a personal vehicle. Haruka’s hometown was no different.

“Perhaps we could rent a car?” suggested Haruka. “And you’re going to drive?” asked Yakumo, narrowing his eyes.

“Impossible...my driving licence is just for show...Ah, why don’t you drive, Yakumo-kun?” “I’ll have to pass.”

“Why?” “Ever since someone caused trouble along a mountain road, I refuse to drive.”

Fine, the someone Yakumo had mentioned was none other than Haruka. They had a bit of a dispute over a ghost that had appeared inside a tunnel along a mountain road. Come to think of it, Haruka had in fact never seen Yakumo drive since then.

“Well, it couldn’t be helped. I’ll drive instead,” said Isshin, but Yakumo stopped him. “Seems like that isn’t necessary.” “Hm?”

“Our driver is here.” Just what did Yakumo mean by that?

Haruka and Isshin tilted their heads when the door opened with a thud. “Pardon the intrusion.” A voice could be heard arriving with the sight of Gotou entering the room—

- 3

- “Dammit. Why do I have to send off and pick you guys up?” Gotou grumbled as he manipulated the steering wheel in the driver’s seat.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? Aren’t you free anyway?” Yakumo shrugged, sitting in the back seat acting as if he was the owner of the car. It was true that Gotou had a lot of free time.

Gotou was part of the Unsolved Cases Special Investigations Division, which fell under the Criminal Division. They were responsible for handling unsolved cases, often referred to as cold cases. It might sound promising, but Gotou’s true responsibility was to sort through documents of old cases. He would get called as backup if a high profile case was underway, but such chances were incredibly rare.

In other words, he was a member of the outcast. His partner, Ishii, must be diligently carrying out their duties at this moment, but to Gotou, their work was extremely boring.

Getting fed up over days of sorting documents on end, he came to visit Yakumo for a change of pace. The man hadn’t imagined that it would result in being asked to drive around like this. Since they haven’t gotten any proper cases lately, he didn’t mind so long as he didn’t get bored. Regardless, Gotou didn’t like to admit it out loud.

“Despite what it looks like, I have things on my plate too.” “Doesn’t look like it.”

“What did you say?” “Besides, it’s impossible for a bear whose only strength is to wander around like Gotou-san to be assigned work significant enough to keep one busy.”

Whenever Gotou opened his mouth, this always happened. After taking advantage of him as a substitute for a taxi, forget apologising, Yakumo was mocking him instead.

“If you don’t like it, you can get off here.” “Fine by me,” Yakumo calmly replied.

“What?” “But I won’t accept any more requests from Gotou-san. Just so you know.”

He always poked at other people’s weaknesses. So far, Gotou had borrowed Yakumo’s assistance for solving cases countless times.

All because Yakumo’s red left eye that could see spirits of the dead—ghosts—had come in handy amidst investigations. Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for Gotou to drag Yakumo to get involved in cases, but there was no point in debating that here.

“Fine, I understand. We’ll go, alright?” “Good to know that you understand,” Yakumo calmly nodded.

Haruka, who sat next to Yakumo, suppressed a laugh as she watched them banter. Gotou wanted to ask what was so funny, but decided not to. “So, where are we going?” asked Gotou towards Isshin, who sat on the front passenger seat.

Despite being asked to drive them to their destination, he hadn’t been informed of its location. “Make a turn just ahead, and proceed into highway 20.

Gotou turned at the crossroad Isshin had pointed to, and entered highway 20. “And then?”

“Ahead there will be the Chofu interchange, from there go towards Chuo—” “What?”

Gotou spontaneously raised his voice. “The Chuo expressway. Please take the descending path. Afterwards, go down at the Kofu Showa interchange...”

“Wait wait wait. Where on earth are you guys actually going?” They were roughly a hundred kilometres away from the Kofu Showa interchange.

“Where to? If we’re going down the Kofu Showa interchange, obviously we’re going to Yamanashi Prefecture,” said Isshin with a friendly smile. “I wasn’t aware that we’re travelling that far,” Gotou immediately protested.

Yet Isshin’s expression remained unchanged. “Is that so? I thought you already knew...” What nonsense.

Isshin and Yakumo were probably conspiring with each other, purposely keeping silent about their destination until Gotou agreed to drive for them with his car. His appearance may be all smiling and friendly, yet this man was actually cunning.

“So? Should we stop?” said Yakumo as he stretched his body. “What?”

“If Gotou-san refuses, we could simply take the train there. That said, I wouldn’t forget the treatment I got.” His words were borderline threatening.

Yakumo was practically declaring that he wouldn’t stop mocking Gotou if the detective refused now. “Fine, let’s go. Happy?” Gotou swore as they passed through the Chofu Interchange.

Pressing deeper on the gas pedal to accelerate the car, Gotou asked Isshin next to him, “What about your daughter?” Isshin had a seven-year-old daughter. Was it alright for him to travel so far, leaving her behind?

“Yes. Among my mentors, there’s a monk called Eishin who likes to care for people. I asked him to help.” “Does this happen often?”

“Because of my work, I often had to be away from home. Nao is used to it, too.” Contrary to his words, there was a hint of melancholy across Isshin’s face.

Unexpectedly, monk duties often demanded one to be away from home, such as carrying out funerals and memorial services. While it couldn't be helped, there had to be a part of him that felt dissatisfied. Not to mention Isshin’s daughter—Nao—aside from having hearing impairment, also had a complicated background.

Deep down, Isshin must have wanted to be by her side as much as possible. “In that case, let’s quickly settle things and come home,” said Gotou right as his phone rang.

He picked up the call with a hands-free device. “Who?”

<Ah, it’s me, Ishii Yuutarou.> Ishii’s hesitant voice could be heard.

Gotou came this far out of persuasion, but he had only just remembered that he hadn’t said anything to Ishii. “I know.”

<Uh...Detective Gotou. Where are you right now?> “I’ve just left Chofu, now going into Chuo.”

<Eh?> “Didn’t you hear me? I said I’ve just entered Chuo expressway from the Chofu interchange.”

<Eeeh? Why are you there? It’s still working hours, isn’t it?!> “You go and work instead. Goodbye.”

Ishii sounded like he still had more to say, but Gotou ignored him and ended the call. Despite this sudden development, perhaps Gotou could take advantage of it to kill his boredom rather than having to sort documents with Ishii. With a change of heart, Gotou stepped on the gas pedal even further.

- 4

- They reached their destination after an hour and a half drive.

It was closer than expected, but come to think of it, Yamanashi Prefecture was indeed close. The prefecture was located next to Tokyo. Compared to Haruka’s hometown in Nagano, this was much closer. Gotou parked his car at the sake brewery carpark.

Haruka was about to exit the car when she saw Yakumo, next to her, still asleep with his hands folded over his stomach. These chances are rare, thought Haruka.

Haruka poked Yakumo’s side with a finger. Startled, Yakumo was shot awake. Right at that moment, his head bumped against the car window.

Haruka thought it was funny and couldn’t help but laugh. However, Yakumo didn’t appear pleased, glaring sharply at Haruka.

“What are you doing?” “What is it? I don’t know anything.”

Haruka pretended to be clueless. Not that she thought she could fool Yakumo, but if she were to admit the truth, one could only imagine what insults Yakumo would throw at her.

“Your fault for snoring carefreely despite asking someone else to drive,” complained Gotou, already outside the car. Yakumo looked like he wanted to retaliate, but perhaps his head wasn’t working properly yet after having just woken, so he merely sighed and exited the car.

Haruka followed suit. They were greeted by the sight of lush greenery surrounded by tall mountains. Not too different from Haruka’s hometown in Nagano.

If the weather was decent, they might even get to see Mount Fuji. Unfortunately, they couldn’t as of now as it was covered by thick clouds. “Aren’t there any onsen around here?” said Gotou, lighting his cigarette.

“Would be nice if there were. A secret spring hidden by Takeda Shingen, or something. Ah, since we came all the way to Yamanashi, I want to eat some hoto,” said Haruka excitedly. She had often heard of hoto as a popular dish from Yamanashi, but she had never tried it before. Since the opportunity presented itself, Haruka ended up wanting to give it a try.

“Apparently torimotsu is good, too,” said Gotou with a gleeful smile. “That doesn’t sound bad either,” Haruka replied in agreement.

Witnessing Haruka and Gotou’s enthusiasm, Yakumo threw a cold gaze at them. “You two came here to play around?” That singular line brought them into realisation.

They hadn’t come all the way to Yamanashi for onsen, hoto, nor torimotsu. Their objective was to solve a spiritual case. Now wasn’t the time to be excited.

“Once all is said and done, I’ll treat you all as thanks. Before that, let’s go here first. I’ve informed them of our visit,” said Isshin, encouraging them. “Right,” said Haruka, walking alongside Yakumo. Gotou quickly went after them as well.

Their destination, the sake brewery, was an old-fashioned architecture that evoked the atmosphere of the Edo period, with an indescribable charm to it. “The view isn’t so bad,” commented Gotou in awe.

“Mhm. This sake brewery is famous among locals and has been in operation since the Kansei era.” “Amazing,” blurted Haruka upon hearing Isshin’s explanation.

“Excuse me,” Isshin called out, having stood before the entrance. However, his voice was cut off by sounds of a man and a woman arguing from within the house. “You killed him, didn’t you!”

“Stop accusing me! On what basis are you even saying such things to me?” “Nonsense! I know about everything!”

“Please, just leave already!” “Shut up! I’m going even without you telling me!”

With that line, the door opened with a thud and a man who appeared to be in his forties exited the house. From his flustered face, they were able to tell that this was the man who had been arguing just now.

“Who are you people?” said the man after scanning and evaluating the faces of everyone standing before the door. “We are here as we have some business with Shizuko-san who lives here. My name is Isshin,” Isshin replied politely.

“Ahh,” the man responded with an irritated tone. “She’s inside. Maybe.” “I see.”

“I don’t know who you people are, but you better be careful with that vixen.” said the man, turning to the door with a sharp gaze. “What do you mean?” asked Isshin.

The man smiled cynically. “Since that woman is a murderer.” Having said that, the man left in a rush.

“What was that about just now?” With a serious expression, Gotou observed that man until he went out of sight. Haruka had the same thought as Gotou. She had no idea what was up, but she felt it was inappropriate to act arrogantly towards people you had only just met.

On top of that, the man’s attitude of calling another a murderer wasn’t very pleasant. “I deeply apologise for all the commotion—” a voice spoke as Haruka stood there half agape. She turned to find a woman standing behind the door. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties.

The woman didn’t appear to have any makeup on, yet she had sharp eyes and a well-defined face. A beautiful woman befitting her dark blue kimono.

“Could you perhaps be Isshin-san?” asked the woman politely. “Yes,” replied Isshin.

“I’m Shizuko. Apologies for troubling you. Please come in—” Shizuko bowed respectfully. She had a dignified presence, with a warm smile on her face.

However, Haruka sensed something was amiss. Judging from the situation, the person who had been arguing with the man from earlier had to be Shizuko. Yet she could smile like this now. The drastic transformation felt unnatural.

Although Haruka didn’t immediately believe what the man had said, the word ‘murderer’ echoed within her mind still. Haruka had tagged along out of curiosity, yet now she couldn’t help but think she might have gotten herself involved with a dire circumstance.

Haruka’s body shivered at the thought— -

5 -

Gotou and the rest were led by Shizuko to a Japanese-style room that appeared to be the living room. Just like the exterior, the interior too felt aged, yet it gave the appearance of having been thoroughly cleaned regularly. Shizuko seemed to be surprisingly meticulous.

They were served tea and as the situation had calmed, Shizuko kneeled and bowed once more. “Thank you for coming all the way here.” “Not at all. Even if not by much, I thought I could be of some help,” replied Isshin with a friendly tone.

“Um...” said Shizuko hesitantly upon seeing the faces of everyone in the room. She likely hadn’t expected this many people to come. “Ahh, apologies for the late introduction. This is my nephew, and his friends.”

“I see, your nephew—” said Shizuko, peering at Yakumo. Whilst left unsaid, she was clearly questioning why his nephew had to come along as well.

“Truthfully, when it comes to spiritual phenomena, they’re more knowledgeable than me,” said Isshin, as he glanced at Yakumo. “Is that so...”

Shizuko continued to observe the faces of those present in the room. One couldn’t tell whether she actually believed Isshin’s explanation. “Either way, this sake factory sure is big,” Isshin said while nodding.

“No. This factory’s sole advantage lies in its old age...Since we couldn’t compete against major companies with mass-scale production, it hasn’t been doing well.” Shizuko shook her head listlessly.

“Even so, quantity can’t replace quality.” “I’d like to do that too, but we are facing a number of problems, so business isn’t running the way I wanted it to…” Shizuko began to ramble.

The sight from earlier reappeared in Gotou’s mind. He didn’t know the details, but there seemed to be no mistaking that this woman was dealing with some trouble. “Does that problem have anything to do with the man we encountered at the entrance?” asked Gotou, curious out of habit due to his line of work.

“Right. Since we fought that loudly, obviously we could be heard from outside. How embarrassing…” Shizuko smiled sadly before turning away. “Who was that man?”

Shizuko inhaled deeply before facing her guests, “He’s the son of the previous generation’s owner.” “The previous generation owner’s son? So he’s your sibling?” asked Gotou again.

Shizuko frowned with a troubled expression. “No, that’s not it. He and I are step-siblings.” “Step-siblings?”

“I…was adopted.” “Adopted?”

“I’m the illegitimate child of the previous generation owner—” said Shizuko, her head hung. Gotou finally understood why Shizuko had been talking in circles just now.

In other words, Shizuko was the child born to the mistress of the previous generation owner— “Is that so…”

“I used to live with my mother, just the two of us. Sometimes Father would come home, but even as a child, I understood that our family was different from your average family.” “You must have gone through a lot,” Isshin looked at Shizuko empathically.

Yet Shizuko merely displayed a glimpse of sorrow before she regained her dignified demeanour and continued her story. “When I was ten years old, my mother passed away from a heart attack. My grandparents also had already passed and since Mother had no relatives, I was going to be sent to an orphanage. However, the previous owner felt sympathy and decided to adopt me.”

“It must’ve caused a huge disagreement,” said Gotou spontaneously. “Yes. His legal wife was completely against it, but the previous owner was insistent and eventually I was brought here.”

So that was how it was. The situation was more complicated than what Gotou had originally thought.

While Shizuko had talked about it casually, she had to have had suffered as a child. When a parent passed away, relatives often fought over matters such as inheritance and the like. All the more so when the situation was complicated.

“That man—Kenzou-san—after graduating high school, he left home upon declaring that he refused to continue the family business.” “How irresponsible,” commented Gotou.

Shizuko shook her head. “My step-mother had just passed away at that time, so Kenzou-san must have had a lot in his mind as well.” “Sounds like a tough situation,” Isshin nodded.

That was all Isshin did, yet the gesture felt warm enough to melt away a frozen heart. “No. I didn’t do anything. I simply tried to make sake together with the previous owner.”

“Then, what business did that Kenzou, who was supposed to have left the family come here for?” asked Gotou. “When the previous owner died three months ago, Kenzou suddenly returned and stated that he was going to inherit this sake factory.”

“So that was why you two were arguing,” understood Gotou. Inheritance disputes that often occurred tend to end badly. Add in their complicated circumstances into the mix, and their situation was certainly even worse.

In times like this, everything could be resolved legally with the existence of a will. However, if one didn’t exist, things could escalate to the point of crime. “I truly apologise that all of you had to listen to such an unpleasant family story right upon your arrival,”

“No, no problem at all. Thank you for telling us,” said Isshin, bowing politely. Shizuko shook her head. “No, that’s...”

Gotou turned towards the window and noticed the large droplets of rain beginning to fall. “I think it’s about time we get into the main topic?” Yakumo began to speak after the previous topic had ended. He rubbed his eyes as if saying that the previous conversation was boring.

“Right…” said Shizuko with a serious expression. “Supposedly, the ghost came out of a painting…?” Yakumo peered at Shizuko.

“I didn’t see it come out of it. Only that I saw it seemingly disappear into the painting on the hanging parchment scroll,” answered Shizuko, slowly moving her vision as if visualising the event. “I see. May we take a look at the painting?” asked Yakumo.

Shizuko nodded. “Of course.” The conversation progressed just like that, leaving Gotou unable to follow. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t been informed about what sort of spiritual phenomenon was happening in this house.

“What do you mean by painting?” with a small voice, Gotou asked Yakumo. Yakumo threw a mocking look. “So you don’t know anything.”

“You guys were the ones who dragged me with no explanation.” “Please tone it down. You’ll see eventually,” said Yakumo with a shrug.

The man seemed to have no intention in explaining things properly to Gotou. Well, perhaps like Yakumo had said, he would know once he saw it. “Let’s go. This way—”

Shizuko stood from where she had been sitting and ushered them to follow her out of the living room and walk along the corridor. The rain had progressed into a full-on downpour now. For those driving, this was troublesome weather.

They were led by Shizuko to enter a space two rooms ahead. A Japanese-style room the size of roughly six tatami, normally used as Shizuko’s bedroom. It was a simple room with nothing but a dresser. A few droplets could be seen on the tatami.

“That one—” said Shizuko, pointing towards the tokonoma[3]. There was a painting on the parchment scroll hanging over the wall.

“Wha—?!” Gotou exclaimed reflexively upon seeing the terrifying painting pointed by Shizuko. An ancient Japanese painting depicting a man in a white kimono, carrying a kongozue on his shoulder.

And— Both of the man’s eyes were bright red.

- 6

- Yakumo walked straight towards the painting hanging at the tokonoma.

Somehow, Haruka was the one who grew tense. Without saying a word, Yakumo bowed in front of the painting, observing it with a serious expression.

What could Yakumo be thinking about right now? Haruka tried to picture it, but she wouldn’t be able to arrive at the answer.

Both eyes of the model this painting was based on were red in colour. Perhaps the person depicted here had some kind of connection to Yakumo.

“I see—” mumbled Yakumo after staring at the painting for some time. “Did you find something?” asked Gotou enthusiastically.

However, Yakumo threw a cold gaze at Gotou. “No. Nothing at all—” “What’s with that? Getting people to expect something for no reason,” Gotou clicked his tongue.

“Gotou-san is the one who was expecting something all by yourself. Besides, you have no idea what’s happening here, don’t you?” “You were the one who didn’t explain anything!” said Gotou in anger.

Yet Yakumo appeared unfazed, instead further baiting Gotou’s temper. “Explaining to someone barbaric like Gotou-san is merely going to be a waste of time.” “What did you say?!”

Gotou grabbed Yakumo’s shirt by the collar. He seemed like he would hit Yakumo right then and there. “There, there,” said Haruka, mediating the two.

Gotou seemed like he still had more to say, but Haruka reminded him, “There’s no use taking Yakumo-kun’s words to heart,” to calm down his anger. “So, how was it?” Isshin asked Yakumo after the situation had calmed.

“How was what?” asked Yakumo back, acting clueless. “Is there a ghost here?”

Yakumo peered at Isshin, opening his mouth to say something. Right that instant—

A flash of bluish white light, followed by rumbling thunder moments later. After the lightning, the rain seemed to have gotten heavier.

Haruka turned towards the window, where large droplets of rainwater were hitting against the glass. “The rain sure is heavy. Hopefully there won’t be any landslides...” grumbled Gotou.

Yakumo laughed with a seemingly mocking tone. “You’re concerned over the wrong thing.” “What?”

“This sake factory is located next to a river. It’s not landslides that are a cause for concern, but the river overflowing.” Yakumo was right. Though annoyed, Gotou could only stay quiet.

“Are floods common around here?” asked Isshin. Shizuko shook her head. “This place is Takeda Shingen’s hometown, so it’s well prepared for flood damage.”

Hearing Shizuko’s answer made Haruka recall and said, “If I recall correctly, Takeda Shingen also put a lot of effort into flood prevention, right?” “So you knew about it too,” said Shizuko happily.

“Whatever, but the conversation’s getting sidetracked,” said Yakumo, yawning out of boredom. Right. They were supposed to be discussing the ghost and the hanging painting with red eyes, yet the topic somehow became flood prevention and Takeda Shingen.

“Anyway, to sort the information, how about we return to the room from earlier?” suggested Yakumo. Isshin and Gotou then decided to return to the living room, led by Shizuko.

They left the room in succession. However, when Haruka was about to follow the four of them, something cold slithered across her back. The sensation felt like a block of ice sliding down along her spine.

She stopped and turned around. Nobody was there.

Only the painting that they had been discussing earlier. Now wasn’t the time to space out here. She had to promptly go after the rest.

Haruka wanted to move her legs to leave that place and follow everyone else, yet for some reason she was unable to move. Even though she was able to draw in a breath, she couldn’t exhale it back out.

Why? As Haruka thought that, lightning struck once again.

Alongside the sound of thunder that arrived later, the room lights went out. Amidst the dark room, Haruka could see a portion of shadow thicker than the rest. Upon further observation, the figure appeared humanlike.

Its face wasn’t visible, as if painted over by black ink. And yet, its eyes stared at Haruka whilst emanating a fiery light. -

7 -

“So, was there a ghost?” asked Gotou to Yakumo as they walked along the corridor after leaving the room where the painting was hung. Yakumo stopped walking, but he didn’t utter a single word.

As he listened to the pouring rain, Gotou anticipated the words from Yakumo. It wasn’t just Gotou. Isshin, along with the sake factory manager as well as the client for this case, a woman named Shizuko, also stood without a word.

The painting that Gotou had just seen returned to his mind. The painting of a man clad in white kimono, shouldering a kongozue.

Gotou wasn’t one to appraise the arts. Despite that, he had sensed a strange aura from it. The main factor that had made him feel that way were the eyes of the man depicted in that painting.

His gaze might be sharp, yet his eyes were incredibly sad. Most importantly, both his eyes were red like a blazing flame. Gotou couldn’t help but relate it to Yakumo’s red left eye.

Had the person in that painting really existed, he might have had some kind of connection to Yakumo. Perhaps that connection could give them some information about the origins of Yakumo’s unique trait. Despite his indifferent act, Yakumo had to be curious about that fact as well.

“Oi, did you hear me?” said Gotou in frustration as Yakumo had yet to give a reply. “What an impatient bear,” Yakumo sighed with a fed up attitude.

“Who are you calling an impatient bear?” “Is there anyone else besides Gotou-san?”

“This brat...” “I still don’t know the details. It’s too early to draw a conclusion...” said Yakumo, laughing bitterly.

His manner of speech. Gotou recognised it all too well from years of knowing him. He was merely avoiding having to answer. “What are you saying? You can see ghosts. You should be able to tell whether a ghost was present or not there without having to think about it,” emphasised Gotou.

Yakumo snorted into a laugh. “Wow. Must be nice to be a simple-minded bear,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Judging by the attitude of the young man next to him, Gotou could tell that he already had some speculation. Even so, Yakumo wouldn’t open his mouth even when pressed further than this.

Gotou gave up and intended to walk ahead, but he stopped. “Huh? Where’s Haruka-chan?”

Haruka, who had been around earlier, was nowhere to be seen. Isshin too looked at his surroundings and said, “Now that you say that...”

“She’s slow, after all. Incredibly so,” said Yakumo partly in disbelief, turning his gaze back towards the sliding door. Perhaps she was still looking at the painting and didn’t realise everyone else had left. As Yakumo thought so, a bluish light flashed.

With the boom of a thunder, the light that had been illuminating the corridor went out. “Maybe the lightning struck an electrical pole,” said Isshin, looking at the lightbulb hanging over the corridor.

They could easily restore the power if it merely had been a blown fuse, but it would be much more troublesome if the lightning had struck an electrical pole as Isshin had said. It would take some time before the power could be restored.

Right now, they were still able to see although dim, but night time was soon approaching. Hopefully the power would be back before it got dark— “Aaaah!”

A deafening scream could be heard. They immediately recognised the owner of that voice.

Haruka— Partly in reflex, Gotou turned his heel and returned to the room where the hanging painting was located.

“Wha-?!” shouted Gotou spontaneously at the sight before him. Haruka had collapsed face down around the centre of the room.

Yakumo’s expression changed, and by the next second he was already running towards Haruka. “Oi! Hang in there!”

Now was not the time to stand bewildered. Gotou followed suit and ran to where Haruka had collapsed. From a brief glance, her breath and pulse appeared to be present.

Haruka seemed to have merely lost consciousness. At that moment, Gotou felt like he was being watched by someone and turned in the direction of the gaze.

Therein hung the problematic painting. The man in the white kimono stared intently at Gotou with his pair of red eyes.

Could a ghost have left the painting and attacked Haruka? — No, that’s impossible. Gotou discarded the wild thought that had emerged in his mind.

- 8

- Haruka gradually opened her eyelids—

Across her field of vision were boards of ceiling unfamiliar to her. Her head felt heavy and incapable of holding a thought.

“You’re awake?” a gentle voice asked. Haruka recognised that voice.

It was Isshin’s. Isshin observed Haruka’s face and smiled in relief.

“I...” Haruka slowly lifted her body to sit up. She felt a little dizzy.

Haruka rubbed her eyes and looked at her surroundings. A mattress was laid in the middle of a Japanese-style room the size of around six tatami. And she was on that mattress.

Aside from Isshin, Yakumo and Gotou were also present in the room. “Haruka-chan, are you alright?” asked Gotou, crouching next to her.

After Haruka responded with a nod, she turned towards Yakumo, who stood leaning against the wall. “Good grief. Not only are you a troublemaker, but you’re also making people panic.” Hands crossed, Yakumo frowned angrily.

Despite that, Haruka could tell from his eyes that he wasn’t genuinely angry. It turned out that Yakumo was worried about her. “Why am I here?“ asked Haruka.

“You don’t remember?” asked Yakumo back. While her vision had gotten clearer, her mind was still foggy that she couldn’t recall what had happened.

“After leaving the room, we realised that you weren’t with us when we were walking along the corridor. As we were just wondering what was up, we suddenly heard your scream and hurried back. We found you collapsed inside the room with the painting,” Isshin helped explain to a dumbfounded Haruka. However, his story came from the perspective of Isshin and the rest so Haruka still didn’t understand what had happened to her.

“Scream…collapsed…” mumbled Haruka. “Yes. You were passed out. Although only for a short while, about ten minutes or so,” said Isshin with a smile, as a light flashed from outside the window.

Thunder then followed and shook the window pane. As if responding to the fact, a piece of memory surfaced in Haruka’s mind.

“The ghost from the painting…” said Haruka, uttering the sight that came to her mind. “What?” said Gotou, eyes widened.

“I saw it. Before leaving the room, I sensed something and turned around. Then, I saw a black figure standing there...” “And then?” asked Isshin.

“I was so terrified I couldn’t move…” said Haruka, touching her forehead. Even though she hadn’t been able to recall anything earlier, her memories were now quickly returning.

“That was a ghost?” asked Gotou, demanding answers. “Maybe, I think so. The ghost was silent for a while, but the moment I tried to run, it suddenly attacked me...”

The harrowing moment returned so vividly into Haruka’s mind it made her shiver. “What happened afterwards?” Yakumo lowered his chin and stared at Haruka.

“I’m not sure how, but I was knocked away…and then...” said Haruka, starting to doubt. That was as far as her memories went. Before she knew it, she was already in this room.

“So a ghost really came out of the painting after all…?” said Gotou in a bitter tone whilst turning towards Yakumo. However, Yakumo appeared to be thinking about something. He placed his hand on his pointed chin and gave no answer.

“Yakumo-kun, this—” said Haruka when the sliding door opened. Shizuko entered the room. The woman brought a tray containing a wet towel for compress and a glass of water.

Upon seeing Haruka, already in a sitting position, she said “Thank goodness you’re now awake.” “Ah, yes.”

“Does it still hurt?” “A little, but it’s alright. Sorry for all the panic,” replied Haruka.

With an elegant gesture, Shizuko sat down whilst shaking her head. “Not at all. Rather, it seems you’re the one who got into danger because I requested your help...” she said, closing her eyes, looking as if she felt guilty. I wonder why?

Haruka felt something was odd with the woman’s face. Shizuko’s expression didn’t seem to be solely out of concern for Haruka. To her, Shizuko seemed to be living life whilst repressing a much bigger sadness.

“Sorry, may I ask you about one thing?” Isshin began to speak. “About what?” Shizuko lifted her head.

“Could you tell us the story behind the painting in that room?” asked Isshin. “Story? What do you mean?” Shizuko asked in return.

“I thought you might have a reason to deliberately hang that painting in your bedroom.” Isshin’s question made sense.

It was typical to display artworks such as flowers, butterflies or birds in one’s bedroom. Yet that painting was vastly different from the sort of artworks commonly used to decorate bedrooms. After thinking quietly for some time, Shizuko slowly began her story.

“According to the previous owner, his grandfather owed his life to the man in that painting—” “Owed his life...” Isshin responded before mumbling in awe.

“Yes. Apparently the previous owner’s grandfather had been disturbed by a strange spiritual phenomenon. Because of that, the business couldn’t operate well.” “Spiritual phenomenon—” said Haruka without realising.

Yakumo and Gotou exchanged glances as well. “Yes. I don’t know what happened exactly, but it was said his life had even been in danger.”

“Is that so,” responded Isshin. “At that time, he happened to meet a young painter and the man in that painting. Supposedly the person in that painting was a purification expert.”

“Purification expert?” asked Haruka. “Simply put, he’s some kind of spiritual medium.”

“The purification expert in the painting apparently managed to properly resolve the spiritual trouble. His business ran smoothly again ever since. The previous owner’s grandfather then put up that painting as a form of guardian spirit—” “Is that so,” Isshin nodded in understanding.

Shizuko stared intently at Isshin. Isshin’s left eye was red. That was because Isshin was wearing a red contact lens, but Shizuko, who didn’t know that, assumed he was born with that red eye and might be thinking that Isshin and the man in the painting had some kind of connection.

Haruka had the same feeling. From Shizuko’s story, the person in that painting had resolved a spiritual case. Perhaps he had been capable of doing it because his red eyes had been able to see spirits of the dead—ghosts—just like Yakumo.

Following that thought, the person in that painting might have been Yakumo’s ancestor. Haruka glanced at Yakumo and saw him forming a smile on his face.

What meaning could be behind that smile? Haruka wanted to ask, yet Yakumo had gone back to being serious and turned towards Shizuko again. “Could I also ask something?” requested Yakumo.

Shizuko replied, “Yes.” “I heard you are currently the one running this sake factory, but was that what the previous owner wanted?”

Hearing Yakumo’s question, Shizuko’s face instantly hardened and lost its colour. Haruka didn’t know why Yakumo asked that question.

After their conversation in the entrance, Shizuko had explained how there was an ongoing inheritance dispute between Kenzou, the legitimate son, and Shizuko, the adopted daughter. They hadn’t known whether that had anything to do with this spiritual phenomenon, and Kenzou’s words that had claimed, ‘That woman is a murderer’ couldn’t be ignored either.

Shizuko was frozen stiff with a tense expression for some time, before giving in and letting out a long sigh. “The previous owner said he was going to entrust this factory to me when he was alive.” Shizuko’s eyes were slightly tearful; perhaps she was reminiscing about that time.

“Did he leave a will or the like?” asked Yakumo. With her fingers, Shizuko pressed on the corner of her eye, inhaling back her snot before saying, “He didn’t leave a will or anything. I merely heard him say it.”

“Was Kenzou-san able to accept that fact?” interrupted Isshin. “No. Once the forty-nine days of mourning was over, Kenzou-san came and demanded that this place be handed over to him.”

“Is that so...” Isshin gave a look full of sympathy towards Shizuko. “Excuse me, but Kenzou-san said that you’re a murderer...” said Yakumo, staring at Shizuko with a challenging look.

Shizuko’s eyes widened in surprise, before sighing deeply again. “I’m no murderer. But Kenzou-san spread rumours that I killed the previous owner because I wanted this sake factory.”

So that was how it was. After Shizuko’s explanation, Haruka finally understood the meaning of the conversation with Kenzou.

“I’m the child of a mistress. If Kenzou-san wishes to inherit this factory, I could hand it over to him anytime, but...” said Shizuko who then covered her face. “But…why?” asked Isshin, urging her.

“Seems like Kenzou-san intends to close down the sake factory and sell this place. That’s why I can’t hand it over.” Haruka’s chest ached upon hearing Shizuko’s words.

Shizuko’s feelings about her origins were complicated. Perhaps somewhere within her heart, she was denying her own existence. As a result, she wasn’t able to find worth in her existence apart from protecting this sake factory. That was what Haruka felt.

However, Haruka didn’t think Shizuko should bear that responsibility. Even so, Haruka didn’t say that out loud.

She didn’t know how to convey it, and she felt that anything said by a youngster like her wouldn’t be able to touch Shizuko’s heart. “Is it really true that Kenzou-san wants to sell this place?” asked Yakumo.

Shizuko’s face hardened momentarily. “Kenzou-san said he wanted to inherit this place, but I don’t trust him. He hasn’t returned to this house for so many years...” Shizuko’s words were filled with thorns.

Yet Haruka understood why she became that way. She may not know the details, but running a sake factory mustn’t be so easy that it was possible to take over overnight. If Kenzou, who had never come home until now, said he wanted to inherit the factory, one wouldn’t be able to trust him at all.

“May I ask one more thing?” said Yakumo, staring straight at Shizuko. “Yes.”

“If this sake factory were to be sold, what would the price be?” Shizuko scowled at Yakumo’s rude question, but she answered, “I don’t know. But I don’t think it’ll be much. To be honest, I can’t say business is going well. Especially ever since the previous owner passed away...”

Shizuko grew hesitant to continue. Come to think of it, Shizuko had already mentioned that business was bad as they hadn’t been able to keep up against larger companies.

Perhaps that was precisely why Kenzou wanted to quickly sell this place to obtain some money, even if not much. On the other hand, Shizuko wanted to protect this sake factory. Their line of thinking were polar opposites.

“I’ve understood the situation,” said Yakumo as he stood up, and exchanged glances with Isshin. Isshin responded and left the room with Yakumo. The two seemed to be discussing something.

“What are those two up to?” mumbled Gotou, voicing out what Haruka was thinking. Unfortunately, Haruka could only shake her head, saying, “No idea.”

Moments later, Yakumo and Isshin returned to the room. Haruka wanted to ask what they were up to, but Yakumo had begun speaking, “Gotou-san. Could you follow me for a while?” “Fine by me, but what for?”

“Come along and you’ll know,” said Yakumo before leaving the room again. Gotou sighed in dissatisfaction, but he eventually followed Yakumo out of the room.

“What were you guys talking about just now?” Haruka tried asking Isshin about it. “I wonder?” Isshin said with a smile as if he had nothing to do with it.

- 9

- Large droplets of rain bounced against the ground.

Despite using an umbrella, his legs were drenched in an instant. His shoulders were also soaking wet out of water that dripped from the umbrella. The rain really is heavy—

“Oi. Yakumo. What are we going to do?” Gotou called loudly—as to not get his voice drowned by the rain—towards Yakumo’s back. “Don’t you feel strange about it?” said Yakumo as he walked towards the back of the building.

“About what?” “Her testimony.”

By ‘her’, he was referring to Haruka. From his way of speaking, Yakumo seemed to be sensing something off from Haruka’s story.

However— “I don’t think Haruka-chan was lying.”

“I know that. She’s bad at lying, after all.” Well, Yakumo was right.

Haruka wasn’t the type to lie smoothly. “In that case, what was strange about it?”

“This is why I’ve been saying Gotou-san doesn’t cut it as a detective.” “What are you—!”

Gotou reached for Yakumo’s shoulders. “Do you really not know?”

“I’m asking because I don’t.” “What an incompetent bear.”

Yakumo made an exaggerated sigh. Truly an annoying bastard. Gotou wanted to raise his fist at him, but held himself back.

“Whatever you say. Rather than that, what’s strange about it?” “If her testimony was correct, then the incident had gone against my theory.”

That one sentence made Gotou realise what Yakumo was suspicious of. Based on his personal experience of seeing ghosts through his red left eye, Yakumo defined ghosts as clusters of emotions of the departed, incapable of physical influence.

Having been involved in a number of cases with Yakumo, Gotou too believed in his theory. And yet—

This time, Haruka claimed she had been attacked by a ghost and had gotten knocked over. “But if Haruka wasn’t lying, then her story wouldn’t add up.”

“That’s where the problem is—” Yakumo stopped his steps and turned around.

“You have a suspicion in mind?” “Gotou-san, you really didn’t notice anything?”

“Huh?” “I’m asking, did you not realise anything after looking at the scene?” said Yakumo impatiently.

Gotou tried to jog his memory of the scene, yet he didn’t understand what Yakumo was trying to say. “Was there something strange about it?”

As soon as Gotou said that, Yakumo shook his head in disbelief. “Do you have holes for eyes?” “What did you say?!”

“Judging from the situation, there is only one possibility.” Yakumo’s way of speaking—it was as if he had known everything about this case.

“If you already knew, then tell me.” “I refuse,” said Yakumo, turning his face away.

“You little—” Gotou approached closer in anger, but Yakumo ignored him and walked away.

How irritating. Knowing Yakumo, he’d close his mouth shut like a clamshell and give no answer no matter how much Gotou made a fuss. Gotou gave up and followed after him.

As they reached the vicinity of a wall facing the room where Haruka had collapsed, Yakumo crouched and began observing something. “What are you looking at?”

“I thought there would be some evidence left behind, but this rain has proven it difficult��” Yakumo replied with a sour face. “Evidence? Evidence of what?”

“After everything that I’ve explained, do you still not know?” “I—told—you...I’m asking because I don’t.”

“Please don’t be proud of your own incompetence.” Yakumo stood up and threw a condescending look in Gotou’s direction.

He’s making a fool out of me! “Cut it out and tell me already!” Gotou retorted, clicking his tongue from annoyance.

Yakumo faintly smiled. “Then, here’s the hint.” Hint? What is this, a quiz?

Gotou felt irritated as Yakumo tried to test him, but tried to hold back. “Think about it with my ghost theory as a basis. If she really was attacked by a ghost, then there was something very unnatural in that room.”

“Ah!” Gotou exclaimed spontaneously. So that was how it was—Gotou had only realised now. It was pathetic of him, having not realised such a thing. No wonder he had gotten mocked for having holes for eyes.

“That means, at the scene…” Gotou swallowed his sentence midway. He felt the eyes of someone staring at them.

Gotou quickly scanned his surroundings. There!

He saw someone standing around ten metres away from their location. That person was hiding behind a building, gazing intently at them. Had it not for the umbrella, perhaps Gotou wouldn’t have noticed.

“Gotou-san,” said Yakumo, signalling through his eyes. Even without Yakumo asking, Gotou walked straight in that man’s direction.

In response to Gotou approaching him, the man began stepping backwards. Eventually, he turned his back against Gotou and hurriedly ran away. “Oi!” called Gotou.

The man jolted and stopped. “What are you doing at a place like this?” asked Gotou, when the man discarded his umbrella and ran as fast as he could.

Dammit! “Wait!”

Gotou discarded his umbrella as well, kicked against the ground, and ran in pursuit. Droplets of rain hit his face until his eyesight turned into a blur.

Despite that, Gotou didn’t lose speed one bit. He ran with all his strength after that man’s back. Luckily, the man’s legs weren’t too swift. If this continued, he would soon catch up with him.

Even so, Gotou couldn’t let his guard down. He wasn’t familiar with the area. If the man were to run into an alley, there was a high chance he’d lose him. He had to catch him soon.

Gotou roared as he picked up his pace and lunged at the man’s waist. They fell down whilst entangled together.

“P-please stop! What did I even do?” the man yelled whilst struggling. When Gotou reached for his arms and pinned him, the man relaxed as resistance became futile.

Seeing the man’s face, Gotou exclaimed, “Eh? Who are you?” pouting his lips without realising. He only just saw the man’s face for the first time. He had thought that this man was Kenzou, so he felt disappointed.

The man had a slim face with silver framed glasses. His timid expression was similar to that of Ishii, Gotou’s partner. “What on earth is this about…?” said the man with a trembling voice.

When asked that way, Gotou had trouble answering. Gotou himself had chased after him without a clear reasoning. “Because you ran,” urged Gotou, knowing full well he was simply making excuses.

“Even if you say that, I was suddenly chased after all,” the man said, looking at Gotou in fear. Putting it that way made Gotou appear to be the one to blame.

“Didn’t you run away out of guilt?” “N-no.”

“What do you mean no?” “Fair enough. Anyone would have run away if they were suddenly chased by this bearlike man,” Yakumo said nonchalantly as he walked over.

Gotou felt incredibly annoyed at the sight of Yakumo casually walking over, seemingly arrogant with an umbrella, whilst Gotou himself was drenched. “What kind of comment was that?”

“Nevermind that, please let go of that man right away,” said Yakumo as he ran a hand across his messy hair. “You sure?”

Though unspoken, Yakumo had signalled with his eyes for Gotou to chase after this man, right? “Yes. No problem at all.” replied Yakumo, shrugging.

Gotou wasn’t satisfied with his explanation, but he eventually let go of the man. “Are you alright?” said Yakumo, extending a hand towards him.

Despite his dumbfounded look, the man reached out for Yakumo’s hand and stood up. He was even more drenched than Gotou as he had fallen onto the ground. “Apologies for the suddenness, but may we ask you a few questions?” asked Yakumo politely.

The man closed his eyes as if in defeat. -

10 -

“How about we go and take a look at the painting in that room once again?” suggested Isshin. Scary.

Haruka genuinely felt so. Having gone through what had happened to her, she didn’t want to go see that painting again.

But this case wouldn’t get resolved by staying put, and she felt bad if she were to do nothing until Yakumo and Gotou return. Perhaps they might discover something by making use of this time to reexamine the painting.

“Right. Let’s go,” replied Haruka, holding back her fear. Shizuko too replied, “Understood,” and the three decided to visit the room with the painting once again.

The power hadn’t returned, so the interior of the room felt like it was swallowed by darkness. The problematic painting hung eerily amidst the dark room.

Imprinted on the old parchment, the pair of red eyes were wide open as if conveying a message that transcends time. “Now—let us begin,” said Isshin, rubbing his hands together.

“Begin—there’s something you want to do here?” asked Haruka. Isshin smiled. “Yes.”

“Do what?” “Following Yakumo’s style, you could say it’s time to solve a mystery.”

“Solve a mystery?” Hearing the unexpected words coming from Isshin’s mouth, Haruka was left agape.

To solve a mystery meant Isshin had already known the truth behind this case. “Well, the mystery I meant isn’t a big deal to solve,” said Isshin, scratching the back of his neck shyly.

Someone mature like Isshin suddenly appeared childlike. This gap was perhaps part of his charm. Even so, whether Isshin could actually solve the mystery was another story.

“Is it really alright?” said Haruka spontaneously. “Well, I feel like I could handle a mystery of this level,” said Isshin casually.

“I-is that so?” “Firstly, there are a few things that need to be clarified,” said Isshin, facing Shizuko.

Haruka felt that movement of his was similar to that of Yakumo’s. “About what?”

“Shizuko-san. Since when was this painting in this room?” asked Isshin as he pointed at the painting. “Before the previous owner passed away, this painting had been in his room. After he had passed, the painting was relocated to my room.”

“I see. Did you hear anything about a ghost coming out of the painting from the previous owner?” “Never.”

Satisfied with Shizuko’s reply, Isshin nodded, “Hm.” “There’s something I’d like to ask Haruka-chan as well,” continued Isshin, now turning towards Haruka.

“About what?” “Did the ghost you saw have red eyes?”

Upon Isshin’s question, Haruka began searching through her memories. The black shadow vividly flashed into her mind, it made her shiver. At the same time, she found the answer to Isshin’s question. Her chest began to pound.

“No.” The pair of eyes that had stared intensely at Haruka might have felt terrifying, but now that she recalled, those eyes hadn’t been red.

“How about the clothing?” “I couldn’t remember clearly...but I think the ghost was wearing a dark blue kimono.”

“Not white?” “Yes,” replied Haruka.

Isshin nodded firmly. “In other words, the ghost had nothing to do with this painting,” he said, touching his chin. “Right,” Haruka responded in agreement.

During Isshin’s explanation, she had also arrived at that possibility. She had been confused and had said that the ghost had come out of the painting, but thinking about it calmly like this, the painting and the ghost were likely two separate things.

“When the ghost appeared before Haruka-chan, did they say anything to you?” “No, not at all...” Haruka shook her head.

Yakumo might be able to get information from the ghost, but Haruka couldn’t. It felt frustrating. “Even if they didn’t say anything, did they appear to be attempting to convey something?” Isshin threw yet another question.

“Attempting to convey...” “Yes. Such as through expression, movement, anything.”

“Expression…movement…” said Haruka as she retraced her thoughts. Was there something—At first, Haruka couldn’t think of anything. However, it was as if something suddenly clicked.

“Looks like you recalled something,” Isshin narrowed his eyes from reading Haruka’s expression. “Yes. Their hand was pointing like this.”

Haruka lifted her arm parallel to her chest as she pictured the sight from back then. Her finger pointed towards the painting on the wall. “So this painting really was—” mumbled Isshin.

“Did you get something?” asked Haruka. The corners of Isshin’s mouth lifted into laughter. “If my instinct was right, the ghost Haruka saw hadn’t come out of the painting, but instead wanted the painting to be seen.”

“What do you mean?” “Most likely, the ghost that appeared in this room was the ghost of the previous owner. I think the previous owner wanted Shizuko-san to look at this painting.”

Isshin’s line of thinking sounded logical and made sense. And yet, there was still one thing Haruka didn’t understand.

“Why did he want her to see the painting?” Even without being asked, Shizuko used this room every day, so she would see the painting whether she wanted to or not.

“What he was trying to show was not the painting itself, but something hidden in that painting,” said Isshin as he took down the painting’s parchment scroll and placed it on the tatami before closely observing it. “What’s being hidden here?” asked Haruka, looking at the painting.

“Look over here—” said Isshin, pointing at the bottom right corner of the painting. Haruka glanced to find that the area pointed by Isshin was slightly folded. The paper of the painting also appeared to have peeled off from the parchment scroll.

“This...” muttered Haruka. Isshin nodded firmly. “Yes. Most likely, this painting had been removed from the scroll before, and then reattached.”

“But why do something like that?” “Rather than explaining, it’d be easier if we confirm it. Shizuko-san, may I?” Isshin asked, requesting permission.

Shizuko went silent for some time from hesitation, before eventually replied, “Yes, go ahead.” Isshin carefully peeled the painting away from the parchment scroll to avoid tearing it.

After it was completely removed, Haruka spontaneously said, “This...” An envelope was tucked between the parchment scroll and the painting paper.

Isshin took the envelope and handed it to Shizuko. “Here you go.” Shizuko accepted it, but she didn’t check the contents straight away. Instead, she threw a dumbfounded look at Isshin.

Even without saying, Haruka knew the woman must be wondering why something like this could be in such a place. “Most likely, the one who hid that envelope here was the previous owner.”

Hearing Isshin’s explanation made Shizuko’s expression turn serious. “The previous owner? Why so?” asked Shizuko.

Isshin made a melancholic expression. “I think he wanted you to see it.” “Me?”

“Yes. Inside it is probably a will.” said Isshin blatantly. Haruka stared at Isshin in awe.

When Isshin had said he was going to solve the mystery, Haruka had equally believed and doubted him. No, rather, she had thought it would have been impossible for him. However, Isshin managed to deduce that the ghost had been trying to inform the location of the will and located it based on what little information he had obtained from Haruka and Shizuko.

As expected of Yakumo’s uncle. No, Isshin couldn’t even see ghosts. And yet, he managed to reveal the truth this far, so perhaps he was even more superior than Yakumo.

“You heard it, right? How about you come out now?” Isshin said suddenly, as if talking to someone. Who is he talking to?

As Haruka was wondering, Isshin continued, “It must be stifling, hiding in a place like that.” Isshin spoke even louder than before.

His gaze was aimed at the closet. Could there be someone inside?

There was no reply, the closet door remained closed, and they could only hear the sound of pouring rain. Haruka could only remain quiet and observe what would happen. Shizuko stared at the closet as well, stiff as a stone.

“You’d like to know the contents of the will too, right? That’s why you’re trapped, hiding yourself in there. What do you think? Don’t you want to confirm the contents together?” said Isshin for the third time in the direction of the closet. There was no response for some time, but the closet door eventually slid open.

A man emerged from inside. His entire body was drenched, and water dripped down from his hair. Haruka had seen him before. That person was—

“Kenzou-san,” said Shizuko in surprise. “Why is he here?” Haruka looked at Isshin, demanding for an answer.

Isshin appeared to have known all along that Kenzou had been hiding inside the closet. Therefore, he had to have known the reason why he had done so as well. “Simple enough. Following the water spots that formed on the tatami, we could clearly tell someone was hiding there,” Isshin explained as he pointed at the water spots on the tatami.

They may seem to be water that had fallen randomly at first glance, but after Isshin’s explanation, Haruka realised that the spots were directed towards the closet. “Furthermore, from Haruka-chan’s story, it became obvious that someone else had been in the room aside from us,” continued Isshin.

“W-what do you mean?” asked Haruka, and Isshin smiled. “Haruka-chan, you said that you had been attacked by a ghost.”

“Yes.” “That was unnatural.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Haruka denied vehemently. Isshin shook his head. “I wasn’t accusing you of lying. But try to remember the theory Yakumo always said.”

Isshin’s words made Haruka come into a realisation. Right. Yakumo had always said that ghosts were clusters of emotions of the dead, with no capacity for physical influence.

In other words, even if Haruka were to encounter a ghost, the ghost wouldn’t be able to put Haruka in harm’s way. Despite having understood that, Haruka wasn’t entirely satisfied. Because—

“What I saw was clearly a ghost.” Haruka thought she was about to get refuted, but Isshin immediately agreed. “Yes.”

Haruka became confused. “Haruka-chan, you did see a ghost. There was no mistaking that. However, that ghost and the one who attacked you are different people.”

“Different people?” “You should be able to deduce it by now. It more or less went like this—” said Isshin as he began his explanation.

Based on Isshin’s explanation, after encountering Haruka and the others at the entrance, Kenzou hadn’t left. He had opened the window from outside and had entered this room. He had thought Shizuko wouldn’t return to her room until her guests had left.

And yet, Yakumo and the rest had gone inside to see the painting. Kenzou had hurriedly escaped into the closet to hide.

Moments later, lightning had struck and the room became pitch black. Unaware of the situation, Kenzou thought everyone had left the room and he had gone out of the closet. Not noticing Haruka, still standing frozen inside the room from seeing the ghost. Kenzou had spontaneously pushed Haruka and she had screamed. Hearing footsteps of everyone returning to the room, Kenzou once again had quickly hid inside the closet.

Then, because the figure of the ghost Haruka had seen had overlapped with Kenzou’s figure, Haruka had thought she had been attacked by a ghost. Despite his calm tone, Isshin’s words were sharp.

Haruka was impressed after witnessing a new side of Isshin capable of analysing brilliantly. Yet thinking about it calmly, there was still a point she didn’t understand.

“Why didn’t Kenzou-san escape from the house after pushing me?“ After Haruka had collapsed, she had been relocated to the neighbouring room and everyone had left the room where Kenzou had hid. The man should have had the opportunity to escape from the room then.

“He couldn’t escape.” “Eh?”

“He couldn’t leave from the entrance. It would spell trouble if he were to be discovered. He could’ve gone out from the window, but he must’ve been confused from panic and was unable to think straight.” Haruka could accept that theory, yet there was another thing she didn’t understand.

“Why did Kenzou-san snoop into the house?” Upon Haruka’s question, Isshin turned to look at the will held by Shizuko.

“I see. So Kenzou-san secretly went inside the house to search for the will,” said Haruka. Isshin nodded firmly. “Yes. Kenzou-san, thinking the will’s contents were against his wishes, attempted to search for the will and steal it.”

“Why does he need to steal it?” asked Haruka. Isshin closed his eyes sadly. “What if, the contents of the will dictates that the rights to the sake factory are to be exclusively handed over to Shizuko-san?”

Hearing Isshin’s explanation made Haruka understand. Kenzou must not have wanted everything to be snatched by Shizuko.

Not to mention Shizuko had seemed to be unaware of the existence of a will, so he had wanted to find it first and steal it, such that the inheritance could be dealt with by law and split across his descendants. While that wouldn’t make him receive everything, at least he would get a portion of it.

“I’m not handing over this sake factory to you,” said Shizuko firmly. Her eyes were filled with resolution. Yet they hinted at sadness at the same time.

What was with that glint in her eyes? “Stop joking! What do you know about what I had to go through because of you?” cursed Kenzou.

“You went about as you pleased and ran away from home because you didn’t want to inherit this sake factory. So why now—” Shizuko glared at Kenzou. “What are you saying? I left because you were there! Father was always looking after you, that he wasn’t acknowledging me at all!”

“You’re wrong!” “What am I wrong about?”

“The previous owner really wanted you to be the one to inherit the factory, not me...” Tears pooled in Shizuko’s eyes.

“Impossible!” “It’s true. When he was still alive, the previous owner said if Kenzou returns, then I’m free to live as I like…” Shizuko said with tears rolling down her cheek.

What cruel words. Haruka felt like her chest was being stabbed. It was as if the previous owner had said that Shizuko was merely Kenzou’s replacement and nothing more. To Shizuko, who had low self-esteem from being the daughter of a mistress, that must have torn her heart apart.

“But you never returned until the previous owner passed. That’s why I swore to protect this place,” said Shizuko, clutching the will against her chest. From Haruka’s eyes, it was as if Shizuko was holding back pain.

“Don’t mess with me! It’s too late for that!” Kenzou lifted his fist to strike at Shizuko.

“Watch out!” Haruka screamed with all her might. Kenzou’s punch went in Shizuko’s direction, but it hadn’t hit her.

Something launched into the room with incredible speed, pushed Kenzo until he fell, pinning him against the tatami. That something turned out to be Gotou.

“Looks like you guys are safe,” Gotou, who was soaking wet, said in satisfaction. “Good grief. So Uncle wasn’t able to close it up properly,”

Grumbling as he entered the room was Yakumo— -

11 -

“Yakumo-kun!” Haruka exclaimed in relief. She had briefly wondered what might happen as Kenzou attacked Shizuko. But since Gotou had him held down, one problem was out of the way.

“My apologies, but the two of you will have to follow along with me for a little more,” said Yakumo, throwing a gaze at Shizuko and Kenzou. He spoke as if the case wasn’t over yet, even though the full story of the case had become clear. What did Yakumo intend to do?

As Haruka was lost in her thoughts, Yakumo walked towards the centre of the room and clapped. From that alone, Yakumo managed to seize the entire atmosphere of the room, despite his recent arrival.

With bated breath, Haruka watched him intently. “The goal and motive behind Kenzou-san hiding in the closet is mostly as Uncle explained.”

Haruka grew puzzled from Yakumo’s explanation. “Don’t tell me, you heard?”

“From the middle,” said Yakumo nonchalantly. “Then why didn’t you come right away?”

“I wanted Uncle to take the spotlight. Well, the closure was lacking, though.” “Don’t say that. I’m not used to it,” said Isshin, touching his head with a troubled gesture.

“The closure was lacking? What do you mean by that?” Yakumo had said something similar as he had entered the room. Haruka didn’t understand what that line was referring to.

“Kenzou-san has no intention to sell this sake factory,” said Isshin. “What, so Uncle already knew,” said Yakumo in disbelief as he messed with his dishevelled hair.

“What do you mean?” asked Haruka, leaning her body forward. From Shizuko’s story, Kenzou had left home after graduating high school as he had been unwilling to inherit the family sake factory—

“Exactly as said. Kenzou-san has never once thought about selling this sake factory for the money.” “What are you saying? This person...” denied Shizuko immediately, but Yakumo interrupted her.

“I understand your feelings. However, you’re mistaken. Isn’t that right, Kenzou-san?” Lying on his stomach, Kenzou bit his lower lip. “I hated Shizuko. Ever since she arrived, Father only paid attention to her and never acknowledged me even if just a little. That was why I ran away from home.”

With tear filled eyes, Kenzou continued, “For the first few years, I wandered aimlessly whilst working part-time to put food on the table. Eventually I felt that I shouldn’t keep on going like that and began working at a sake factory in Tokyo. I studied there in hopes that someday Father would acknowledge me…” “Lies...you never said anything about that. Besides, if that was true, you should’ve told that to the previous owner.” Shizuko responded, criticising him.

“He couldn’t tell him. Kenzou-san intended to return after studying business management and acquiring sufficient knowledge to be acknowledged by his father,” Yakumo explained. “Eh?” exclaimed Shizuko.

“Unfortunately, he didn’t make it in time. The previous owner passed and Shizuko-san took over the place,” ended Yakumo. “In the end, Shizuko inherited this place. Father never cared about me to the end...” Kenzou said with trembling fists.

“Is that really the case?” mumbled Yakumo. “That’s why Father entrusted this factory to Shizuko, right?” said Kenzou, glaring at Yakumo.

Yakumo accepted his gaze head-on and went silent for a while before turning towards Shizuko. “Shizuko-san. Please check the contents of the will,” he said.

Despite appearing confused, Shizuko then took the will out of the envelope and read the contents. Shizuko’s face instantly hardened, before falling to her knees on the tatami.

The contents appeared to not be what Shizuko had expected. “What was written there?” asked Yakumo.

Shizuko lifted her face with lifeless eyes. “Assets such as cash and bank accounts are given entirely to me—” said Shizuko in a hoarse voice. “That was why you had Father die. After all, you were aiming for the assets...”

“Wrong! The previous owner had a heart disease. Since before Kenzou-san even left...but he didn’t say anything.” “What did you say!?” Kenzou yelled in anger, only for Gotou to hold him back. “Be quiet.”

“What else was written in the will?” asked Yakumo, urging her to continue. “All rights concerning the sake factory are given to Kenzou—”

Shizuko’s voice trembled. All this time, Shizuko had fought to protect her family’s sake factory. And yet, the sake factory was about to become Kenzou’s.

Surely she felt unwilling to accept that fact. As it turned out, Kenzou hadn’t expected the contents of the will either. “Really?” he said, voice filled with confusion.

“How cruel. Even though Shizuko-san has been protecting the sake factory all this time...” “You’re mistaken,” Yakumo blatantly denied Haruka’s words.

“What do you mean?” “Shizuko-san, the truth is, you actually feel relieved, right?” said Yakumo towards Shizuko.

“What are you saying?” “At the very least, the previous owner was aware of your low self-esteem and feeling of inferiority caused by your origins.”

“I...” “That was why the previous owner had paid more attention to you from the start. He must’ve felt guilty that the inferior feeling within you had been caused by him.”

“But...” “Though illegitimate, to the previous owner, you were still his child. So he suffered having to watch you help out the business just to find some worth in your existence.”

“That’s impossible...” “Do you know why the previous owner wrote the will to hand over the sake factory to Kenzou-san?” asked Yakumo.

Shizuko shook her head. “He knows about him...”

As if signalled by Yakumo’s words, a man entered the room. Despite being drenched head to toe from the rain, the man appeared lean and intelligent looking.

“Kazuo-san—” said Shizuko spontaneously. “Shizuko-san…I’m sorry. I can’t give up no matter what...” said the man called Kazuo with his head hung.

The sudden development made Haruka unable to understand the situation. “What’s going on?” asked Haruka.

Yakumo sighed and began his explanation. According to him, Kazuo was a banker in charge of the bank loan lent to the sake factory. After a few visits, he fell in love with Shizuko.

However, recently, it had been decided that Kazuo’s employment was going to be transferred. Because of that, he had proposed to Shizuko, to which she had rejected. The reason had been obvious.

If she were to marry Kazuo, she would have to be willing to follow him to his location of transfer. In doing so, she wouldn’t be able to protect the sake factory. “Don’t tell me, the previous owner had been aware of this, that’s why he intended to hand over rights to the sake factory to Kenzou-san so they could move forward with the marriage?” said Haruka.

“Correct. He thought eventually the day would come to set free Shizuko-san, who had tried to inherit the sake factory due to her feelings of inferiority. Luckily, Kenzou-san had intentions to take over the sake factory as well. In reality, the previous owner had wanted to express his intentions directly. Unfortunately, he passed away before he had the chance to do so. That was why he tried to convey his wishes by showing the location of the will he had hidden just in case.” Haruka understood after Yakumo’s explanation.

The situation wouldn’t have gotten this complicated if only they all had expressed their feelings honestly, but such was often not the case within families. Hence, inheritance disputes became a common occurrence.

“You’re joking with me. In the end, everything was for Shizuko’s sake. I was never acknowledged…” said Kenzou with a bitter look on his face. Tears fell from his eyes. Kenzou had practically decided to leave home because his father hadn’t acknowledged his existence. The fact that he was going to receive the sake factory in order to set Shizuko free—surely he couldn’t accept it.

“You misunderstood,” said Yakumo firmly. “What do you even know?”

Kenzou threw a challenging look at Yakumo. “To the previous owner, both you and Shizuko-san were his own flesh and blood. Not just Shizuko-san, you were both dear to him.”

“If so, then why didn’t Father look my way?” “He looked at you and watched over you closely. Did you think the previous owner decided to have you inherit the sake factory with no basis?”

“Eh?” “The previous owner often visited the place where you were studying sake brewery.”

“No way...” “Even in the sake production industry there are connections and acquaintances. The previous owner and the owner of the place you studied at were old friends. He frequently came by, but merely observed without reaching out to you to be considerate of the goal you were aiming for.”

“How did you know all those things?” asked Kenzou, voice trembling from emotion. “I asked the previous owner about it. His ghost is over there at this moment. You can see him too, don’t you?”

Yakumo pointed at the spot where the painting used to hang. While faint, Haruka could make out a dark shadow over there. Kenzou should be able to see it too. He kneeled down and sobbed loudly.

Kenzou and Shizuko, siblings from separate mothers. Various misunderstandings had occurred due to their complicated family circumstances, but they finally discovered the intentions of the previous owner. After this, they could slowly talk it over between the two of them.

Haruka stared at the painting laid atop of the tatami. The pair of red eyes appeared to be hinting at a gentle ray of light—

- 12

- “Hey, do you think that painting was of your ancestor, Yakumo-kun?” asked Haruka once they had returned to the car.

Apparently, the man with red eyes in that painting had been a purification expert. When Haruka had seen the painting for the first time, she couldn’t help it that the man with two red eyes—Yakumo’s father—had flashed into her mind. Even so, from what she had heard, supposedly the man in the painting had used his ability for the sake of others.

Just like Yakumo right now— “Who knows. I don’t know the details. Just that—” said Yakumo, turning to look beyond the window, where pouring rain continued still.

“Just that what?” “If that person’s eyes were both red and could see spirits, his life must’ve been much more difficult than the life I’ve led in the present.”

“Yeah...” What Yakumo said was right.

Right now, Yakumo was hiding the colour of his eye with black contact lens, but there was no such thing back in the Edo period. Discrimination at the time had to have been worse as well. The man in white kimono had to have lived in suffering from the odd and disgusted looks from other people.

“And yet, that person worked as a purification expert—” “Right.”

“He must’ve had an incredible amount of resolve. No, perhaps...” said Yakumo before muttering under his breath. “What?”

Haruka wanted to ask, but Yakumo evaded by saying, “Nevermind,” and said nothing further. Haruka had no idea what Yakumo could be thinking of at that moment.

Even so, after having encountered that painting, she felt that a peculiar fate had unravelled. “Anyway, the case is over. Let’s head back quickly,” said Yakumo whilst leaning against the car seat.

Gotou, who sat in the driver’s seat, and Isshin, who was in the passenger seat, turned their backs simultaneously. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be possible to head back,” said Isshin with an unusually troubled look.

“Not possible?” asked Yakumo, lifting his left eyebrow. “The roads are closed due to a landslide at the Chuo expressway,” Gotou sighed.

“It appears that we have no choice but to find somewhere to stay overnight,” Isshin continued. Having suspected the situation, Yakumo exhaled a long sigh—

- Translation Notes

[1] To be more specific, he was being compared to Bodhisattva Maitreya. [2] Kongozue (金剛杖), a type of pilgrim’s staff made of wood, with a square or octagonal cross section, most notably used for the Shikoku Pilgrimage.

[3] Tokonoma (床の間), a raised area in a Japanese-style room where artworks and important items are displayed.

#shinrei tantei yakumo #psychic detective yakumo #shinrei tantei yakumo translation #psychic detective yakumo translation #yakumo saitou #saitou yakumo #manabu kaminaga

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