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hwangjoanna · 6 days ago

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‘The Collector’

When Y/N inherits a crumbling old estate from a great-aunt she barely knew, she discovers dozens of portraits in the attic. Each depicting the same impossibly beautiful man. As she begins to uncover her aunt’s obsession, Y/N starts to dream of him too. Whispered words. Eyes in mirrors. The sensation of being watched.

Hyunjin is everything the paintings promised. Elegant, possessive, devastating. He’s not a ghost. Not quite human. He’s something else. Something that feeds not on blood, but on devotion. Surrender.

As Y/N falls deeper under his spell, the house becomes a trap. The paintings breathe. Time unravels and love begins to taste like ruin.

Word count - 13k (both parts)

Warnings - MDNI 18+, Horror themes, Mentions of death, Nightmares, Dreams, Smut, Mean Dom Hyunjin/Sub Reader, Power dynamics, Orgasm denial, Petnames - darling, little thing, Hyunjin is mean, possessive but also loving, Reader is an absolute simp, Hyunjin likes reader to say ‘she belongs to him’ repetitively.

A/N - This is my apology for how long it’s taking me to write my squid game au fic, I appreciate all of your patience. This idea popped into my head a few days ago and I just had to write it. Don’t worry the next chapter of ‘Red Light, Green Light’ is almost ready! I know this isn’t on my teaser list but the idea came so I ran with it. The other fics in the teasers are also in the works, plus I have some surprise fics on their way too. ;) I hope you enjoy this little one shot about our lovely Hyunjin. For this fic I wanted Y/n to be extremely receptive to him, not anything like she is in my other fic. So apologies if you’re not a fan of a simp y/n.

^ The song above is the song that plays in the house and the one the reader sings to herself. Just imagine it a little slower, played on a vintage phonograph.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

September 1995

The key sticks in the lock as you turn it, your fingers trembling from the cold. The door finally groans open, revealing the dim interior of the old house your great-aunt left you. Dust coats every surface, thick as frost. The air is musty, tinged with something sweet and decaying, like old roses rotting beneath floorboards.

The house is a Victorian mansion just north of Maine, it towers over a small town in the hills and the forests.

You don’t remember her. No one really does. Your great aunt, Elena. They said she’d been strange, a recluse who spoke to paintings and locked her doors, mail left in the mailbox for weeks on end. But now her house is yours, she’d given it to you in her will, randomly so you thought. Every creaking wall and faded floorboard. You tell yourself it’s just a place. That you’ll stay long enough to sort through her things, sell what you can, and leave.

You spend your first day trying to sort out some form of internet, maybe get the electrics going and unpacking the groceries you’d bought to tide you over for the month. You liked to be prepared, even if it seemed over the top.

After calling an electrician, you soon found that the house would ultimately need to be rewired. Something you hadn’t really factored in but you accepted it nonetheless. They couldn’t book it in for you until January, and it was currently September. Great. You enquired at a few places but all said the same thing. ‘It’s a small town, we can’t do everything at the same time.’

You admit defeat, you can always check into a local hotel if it gets too much. You continue to explore the house, the peeling damask wallpaper, the loose floorboards and you find your aunts' old diaries scattered in random cabinets and drawers. You make a mental note to give them a read later, you’d need some entertainment, with no TV or any of your true crime books.

But then you find the attic.

It’s behind a narrow door at the end of the hallway, hidden behind an old armoire you push aside on instinct. Dust explodes into the air. The moment you touch the attic handle, your skin prickles, as if someone were watching. As if something were waiting.

You open it anyway. Using your full side profile with a push to get into it, the hinges are stiff and rusted. The door finally swings and you step inside. The attic is vast, the roof slanted and beams exposed. Covered furniture sits like forgotten monuments under yellowed sheets. But it’s the far wall that draws your attention. Portraits. Dozens of them.

All of the same man.

Different poses, different styles some oil, watercolour, charcoal but always him. His face is elegant, hauntingly beautiful. Long dark hair. A sculpted mouth. Eyes that seem to look through the canvas, through time. Even when painted in abstract, his features are unmistakable. There’s something intimate about them, something… wrong.

You don’t know why your chest tightens.

One painting in particular pulls you closer. It’s larger than the rest, nearly life-sized. He’s lying back on a velvet chaise, white shirt half-unbuttoned, gaze directed outward but it’s the expression that gets to you, amusement laced with sorrow. Like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s waiting.

You reach out. Your fingertips hover just above the surface.

And that’s when you hear it.

A whisper.

So faint, it might be the house settling. Or wind against the roof. But it sounds like your name.

“…Y/N…”

You snatch your hand back, pulse thudding.

You’re alone.

A beat of silence.

Then a soft creak, wood shifting under weight.m but the attic is still. You turn, eyes searching the corners, breath caught halfway between fear and something else. Curiosity. Something more dangerous.

You look back at the painting.

The man’s eyes are different now.

Wider.

Focused.

On you.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You don’t sleep in the bedroom upstairs. Not yet, the bed is dusty and old. You haven’t bothered to put your new bedding on there yet. Staring at all the paintings earlier you had lost track of time and suddenly night fell.

You settle instead on the worn velvet sofa in the sitting room. It smells like mothballs and fire ash, but at least it feels less haunted than the rest of the house. You light a single candle, since there’s no electricity yet and the flame flickers violently, like it resents being brought here.

Outside, the wind claws at the single-glazed windows, and the trees cast shifting shadows across the faded wallpaper.

You should feel tired, but your body refuses to rest. The house is too quiet. Not peaceful. Watchful.

You reach onto the coffee table where the stack of your aunts' journals sits and pull the old leather-bound book and place it on your lap, You still can’t stop thinking about the paintings. The journal, with your great-aunt’s name scrawled on the first page in ornate, spidery ink. You flip past yellowing pages until one entry catches your eye.

October 17th, 1989

He was in my dream again. The same eyes. The same mouth, painted in oil and silk and hunger. I awoke with the weight of him still on my chest, as though he had been there watching. Waiting.

I locked the attic but I still hear the frame creak when I sleep. I still feel the warmth in the paint.

He is beautiful. Terribly so.

You pause. A chill runs down your spine, not from the cold.

There’s another entry, dated two weeks later:

October 30th, 1989

I found the new canvas had moved. It was not where I left it. The brushstrokes on his lips have changed. More smirk than smile. The man is constant, but he is not still.

I should burn it but I cannot bear to.

You close the book and something groans above you.

The attic again.

You grip the blanket tighter around your shoulders. You tell yourself it’s just the wind… until you hear it again. A creak, deliberate. One slow footstep.

Your throat dries.

You glance toward the hallway. It’s swallowed by shadows.

Nothing moves and yet you see a flutter in your peripheral vision. Like something just stepped out of frame. You spin toward it. Just the bookshelf but when you cast your eyes down, a book has fallen to the floor.

You didn’t hear it fall and when you kneel to pick it up, your candle flickers violently once more and then, goes out.

You sit in the darkness for what feels like hours. Listening. The whisper never comes again but you feel it now.

That you’re not alone in the house.

You never were.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You slept very little that night. If you slept at all.

By morning, the candle you relit is nothing but a puddle of wax, the journal is still open beside you. The entries haunt you more than the creaking floorboards or the way your breath fogs in certain corners of the house but not others. You blame your imagination. The cold. Your exhaustion.

You tell yourself you’ll spend the day cleaning.

Get a routine. A rhythm. Make the house feel more like yours.

So you begin in the hallway. The wallpaper there is stained and peeling at the corners, curling like old petals. You set to work stripping it away, humming softly to fill the silence. A song you’ve never heard but fills your head anyway. Beneath the paper, the walls are marked by time, water damage and faint cracks.

But then, you pause. Narrow your eyes.

There’s something carved into the plaster underneath. It’s deep, rough etchings in jagged lines. You pull more of the paper down, heart slowly sinking.

There it is, a name. Hyunjin.

You freeze.

It’s not written once. Not twice. It’s scratched into the wall over and over again, some deeper than others, some nearly illegible, as if whoever carved it kept repeating it until their fingers bled.

Hyunjin. Hyunjin. Hyunjin.

The name dances across the wall like a ritual, a plea, a curse.

You don’t know why, but your hands tremble as you touch one of the carvings. The edges are sharp. Still fresh, somehow.

You whisper the name out loud before you can stop yourself.

“Hyunjin.”

A gust of wind slams against the window down the hall. The floor creaks.

You spin around, but nothing’s there. It’s like the air shifts. Like someone just walked through the room. It’s breath on your neck. You back away from the wall slowly, the hairs rising on your arms. Your eyes catch something just before you turn fully.

Another mark.

A date, 1994 scratched in smaller letters below one of the names. Your stomach turns. Your aunt died in 1993.

You go back upstairs. You don’t want to, but you do. Like it’s calling to you.

The attic door is closed, but not locked. You open it again, candle in hand this time. The paintings are where you left them, except one.

The large portrait. The one you couldn’t stop looking at. It’s still there but something is different. There’s a new painting propped beside it, one you don’t remember seeing before.

It’s unfinished. The brushstrokes are broad, urgent, and messy.

It’s… a woman.

You.

Your face.

Painted in the corner of the canvas, as if just beginning to emerge from shadow. Your eyes are wide mirroring your own. Frightened and beside you, only half visible, him.

Long hair. A bare throat. That same gaze.

He’s reaching for you.

You don’t remember deciding to touch it.

One moment, you’re staring at the new, unfinished portrait. Your own half-formed face staring back at you in pale, ghostly brushstrokes and the next, your hands are gripping the heavy wooden frame of the larger painting. Your favourite.

The original one. Him.

The weight surprises you, solid and cold like stone. You manage to lift it, arms trembling slightly as you descend the attic stairs. The old wood groans beneath your steps, like it disapproves.

You bring him into the sitting room.

Place him gently above the fireplace, where a cracked mirror used to hang. The dustless patch on the wall is still there, like a ghost of what used to be. You prop the frame up, stepping back to examine your own absurdity.

He stares at you from the canvas.

The same expression. That faint smirk. That devastating gaze. You tell yourself it’s just a painting. Oil on canvas. You need it to be just that but the room feels warmer now. Not cosy, it’s something subtler. Like breath. Like body heat. The kind of warmth that fogs glass when you exhale against it.

You sit back on the couch, eyes never leaving his. The silence settles differently now, less empty. More attentive. You feel watched. You feel… kept.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. Like you already know that’s his name. The ones carved into the wall.

The candle beside you flickers. You don’t sleep that night, either. You lie curled on the couch under a heavy blanket, staring at the fireless hearth beneath his portrait. Every time your eyelids grow heavy, a noise snaps them open, whispers behind the walls, footsteps upstairs, the soft drag of something across the floor. You think you hear your name. Once. Maybe twice.

By 3 a.m., you’re shivering, but your skin is damp. When you finally do fall asleep, it’s shallow, strange. You feel groggy. You dream of velvet and a white silk shirt. Of long fingers. Of a voice you almost recognise whispering in your ear.

“You brought me closer.”

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you wake, the fire’s still dead, but the room feels too warm again. Sweat clings to your back, your skin flushed as though touched in sleep. Your dream evaporates too quickly to recall but his name lingers on your tongue.

Hyunjin.

You sit up slowly. The blanket you fell asleep under has been pulled up neatly around your shoulders. Tucked in. You don’t remember ending up sleeping with a blanket last night. You had been too hot.

Your eyes flick to the painting above the fireplace. His face hasn’t changed. Not obviously. But there’s something new in it. The smirk a little more knowing. The gaze a little lower.

No longer looking out. Now looking at you. Your thighs press together and your pussy clenches around nothing. You don’t know what it is about the man in the painting that makes you so aroused.

You try to shake it off. You go about your morning in silence, making tea on the old stove, watching the steam curl up like breath from unseen lips. You talk out loud to yourself, just to fill the air but the silence answers you anyway.

A creak above your head.

A soft whisper. Like the beginning of a song, just out of reach.

You freeze.

The cup trembles slightly in your hand. You glance toward the staircase, but there’s nothing there. Just shadows coiled at the top of the landing like smoke. You set the cup down. Decide to clean again. The hallway feels tighter today, the corners darker. As you pass the spot where the name Hyunjin is carved into the wall, your eyes catch something new.

A handprint. It’s faint but it’s there.

Just below the letters, as if someone had pressed their palm there while scratching out the name. You reach to touch it. The plaster is ice cold. You shiver and turn away quickly but you can feel it now.

That thing they never taught you how to name, the feeling of being watched, not with malice… but with intent. Like you’re no longer a guest in the house.

You’re the prize.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

By late afternoon, you return to the attic again.

You don’t know why, but you’re longing to be near them. The paintings.

The unfinished portrait is still there. Still of you but it’s different now. The brushstrokes are sharper, the shadows deeper. Your eyes in the painting are more complete. Wide, startled like you’ve just realised something and next to you, in the shadows, the faintest outline of a hand now emerges from the dark space near your shoulder. Long lithe fingers. Just reaching.

You didn’t paint this and you haven’t let anyone else inside.

You back away slowly, heart pounding, and as you turn to leave, the old phonograph in the corner creaks to life without warning. The record spins. No one touched it. The needle drags.

Then the music begins soft, slow, haunting. Like a waltz half-remembered from childhood dreams. It’s the song. That song. The one you were humming to yourself.

You freeze on the spot and a gasp falls from your lips. In that moment. There’s no electricity, how is it playing? In the dusty reflection of a mirror propped in the corner, you swear you see him. Only a glimpse. Standing just behind you. Not quite smiling. Before the mirror goes still again.

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After the mirror incident, you don’t return to the attic for the rest of the day. You crave it but you resist.

You spend the evening with every candle you can light, even though only half of them stay lit. The static from upstairs still plays. The windows stay shut. You don’t eat. Your appetite drowned in the echo of that phantom music.

Instead, you return to the leather-bound journal. The same one you found in the cabinet.

You flip to the middle, where pages curl like dried leaves. Some have stains on them, water? Ink? You can’t tell. But the handwriting is shakier now. More urgent.

You land on an entry marked,

November 6th, 1989

I heard him again last night.

No…

I felt him.

The bed dipped as though someone sat beside me and then… the air moved against my throat like a sigh. Not cold. Not warm either. Just there.

I said his name out loud. Only once. I didn’t mean to but it made the silence pulse. Like the house held its breath.

I asked him to show me. Just once. I begged. I don’t know why I did it. Or maybe I do.

I want him to look at me like he does in the paintings. I want to know if I still exist when he sees me. If I am anything more than dust to him.

He answered me but not with words.

The candle by my bed burned out the moment I closed my eyes and I saw him. In the dark behind my eyelids. That long face. That mouth was made for both cruelty and worship. Plump and pink.

He said my name but it was my voice that spoke it.

You read the entry three times.

Your fingers tighten around the page until it crinkles. You can’t help but look up, slowly, toward the sitting room fireplace where his portrait still hangs.

He hasn’t moved.

Of course, he hasn’t.

You feel something in the room has changed. The air has that same tension you feel before lightning splits the sky. A pressure, subtle but deep, like you’re being pulled forward by a string threaded through your chest.

Your gaze lingers on the painted man’s eyes. You whisper it, just like she did.

“Hyunjin…”

The candles flicker and you swear, just barely, that you hear it again.

A voice. Yours.

“Come to me.”

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You fall asleep with the journal open across your chest, a single candle still burning on the mantel.

The flame dances for hours.

Then stills.

You’re dreaming.

The room is the same, your same blanket draped over your legs, the same armchair in the corner, the same low hum of silence wrapped around you like a second skin but the painting above the fireplace is missing.

In its place is a velvet curtain. Deep crimson. Heavy.

Then, you hear it.

Music again. That same song from the attic phonograph, slower now, like a heartbeat underwater.

You rise, barefoot, drawn forward by something warm pulsing behind the curtain. The room smells like candle wax and cedarwood. Like skin.

When you pull back the velvet drape, he’s there. Not painted. Alive.

Standing in the centre of the room like he’s always belonged to it. The same face you’ve memorised from canvas after canvas, only now he’s moving, breathing.

His dark hair falls in loose waves over his cheekbones in a half-up up half-down ponytail. His pillowy lips are parted, just barely. His cat-like eyes. God, his eyes are molten shadow, thick with knowing. With hunger. He wears a soft white shirt, half-unbuttoned, exposing the smooth line of his collarbones, the delicate notch of his throat.

You know it’s a dream.

You know it.

When he steps toward you, slow and sure, you forget your name.

He says yours.

Not out loud. Not exactly. You feel it inside you, like a thought someone else whispered into your skull. “Y/N.” You shudder. He walks closer. Doesn’t touch you, he just studies you. Like you’re the art now.

“I’ve waited so long,” he says. His voice is velvet soaked in wine, deep and patient, with something trembling beneath it. It’s the most gorgeous sound you’ve ever heard. “I watched them all. But you… You came to me willingly.”

You part your lips, but no sound comes out. You’re not afraid. Or maybe you are. But it’s beautiful and that makes it worse.

“Do you know what it means,” he murmurs, “to bring the portrait down from the attic?” His eyes hold yours, unwavering. “It means you want to be seen.” He raises a hand slowly. You don’t move away.

His Fingertips trail just above your cheek, not touching, but close enough to make your skin burn.

“You dream of me because I dream of you too, darling.”

The candlelight flickers violently behind him and then the room begins to peel away. The dream collapsing in on itself like silk slipping from skin.

He leans in, his breath ghosting over your mouth, and in the final moment before waking, he whispers.

“Soon.”

You wake with a gasp.

The candle is out. Your neck is damp with sweat.

In your lap, the journal has been turned to a new page. One that wasn’t there before. The ink is still drying and it reads:

You brought me closer once. Will you let me in now?

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You avoid mirrors that morning.

You catch yourself doing it.

Not deliberately, at first, just a feeling. A tug behind your ribs. An awareness. As if your reflection might not behave. As if you’d look up and he’d be there, standing just over your shoulder, still and watching.

You shower with the curtain half-drawn, wipe the steamed mirror without meeting your own gaze. You get dressed slowly, distractedly. Your hands tremble when you button your blouse. The fabric brushes your skin and feels… too much. Too heavy.

Every sensation has been louder since the dream. You keep touching the spot on your neck where you felt him breathe. It lingers like perfume, like ghostfire.

You make tea to keep your hands busy but you don’t drink it. You wander through the house instead, pretending to organise, dusting shelves that don’t need dusting. Moving books. Not looking at the reflection in the hallway frame. Not looking at the portrait over the fireplace.

It’s there, that feeling. He is there.

Always watching, always waiting and you feel it. More than ever before.

Not just in the painting. Not just in the attic. He’s… everywhere now. Like he’s under your skin, in your blood. In the groan of the floorboards. In the hush of the house when you walk by. In the faint brush of wind against the back of your thigh when no window is open.

You see movement in your periphery at least three times before noon.

Once in the reflection of the cracked hallway glass. Just a silhouette, long and dark, gliding behind you like a shadow with intention.

The second time in the kitchen window. He’s standing in the garden for less than a heartbeat before he’s gone but you definitely saw him. Didn’t you? Pale skin. Bare, delicate throat. Hair pushed back like in the painting’s earliest strokes.

The third time, you see him more clearly and you don’t look away. His smile curves into a maniacal grin like he knows he’s winning.

Later you’re in the drawing room, picking through old boxes, pretending the pounding in your chest is just exertion. The window beside you is fogged by the rain outside. You don’t remember it starting.

Lightning flashes once, briefly illuminating the garden.

This time he doesn’t vanish. He’s standing just beyond the window.

Hyunjin.

You freeze.

He’s not moving. He isn’t trying to come closer. His head is slightly tilted, like he’s studying you, the same way he did in the dream. Like you’re the portrait now. His masterpiece.

You raise your hand, fingers lifting as if drawn on strings but before you can touch the glass, He smiles again.

Just slightly. Just enough to make your stomach twist. You hear him through the glass like his lips are pressed against your ear. “If you knew what I dream of doing to you, you’d run. Or maybe… you’d crawl.”

Then, the thunder rolls in, and when the light flickers again, he’s gone.

You don’t run. You don’t scream. You don’t even cry but your heart is pounding under your blouse, your blood pumping incessantly. Instead, you walk to the sitting room. To the fireplace.

To him.

The portrait.

You sink down onto your knees in front of it. The fire beneath has long since turned to embers, the room cold enough to make your breath mist but you’re sweating, trembling.

You reach up, pressing your palm gently to the frame. The wood is warm. Not from heat.

From presence.

Your eyes trace his features again, and again, and again. The way the line of his collarbones disappears into the shadow of the canvas. The tilt of his mouth. That expression, curious, smug, indulgent.

You exhale shakily. “You’re real, aren’t you?” You whisper to him.

You expect silence. Instead, a soft gust of air moves across your face, as though the painting has exhaled too. Your breath catches.

“I see you,” you say, quietly. “Even when I tell myself I shouldn’t.” Your fingers trail lower, brushing the bottom of the frame. You bite your lip. “I should be afraid of you. I think I was, at first.” The candle beside the portrait flickers. “But now…” You swallow. “Now I think I want you to look at me the way you did in that dream.”

Silence. Then something shifts in the room. The scent changes.

Gone is the must of the old house and in its place, a soft sweetness, rich and heady, like amber and something warmer. Skin warmed by candlelight. Silk clinging to damp flesh. The smell of night, and want. You close your eyes.“Did you make them fall in love with you?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper. “All of them? Did they all go mad for you?” Your voice is shaking now, but it doesn’t matter. No one’s listening. Except for him. “Is that what’s happening to me?” You open your eyes.

The portrait is the same and yet… his lips. They’re parted now. Only slightly. Like he’s going to respond.

You lean in, breath brushing the paint.

“What would you do to me,” you whisper, “if I said I didn’t want to run anymore?”

The silence holds you like arms and in the stillness, you hear it. Not out loud.

But inside you.

A voice like a promise, velvet and ruin.

“Then come to me, little thing. I’ll show you what it means to belong.”

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, you lit every candle in the house.

You open the windows to let in the wind and then close them again because it smells like him. Because it makes your breath catch, like fingers grazing your spine. Like silk draped over bare skin. You tell yourself it’s foolish.

You leave the painting uncovered.

You stare at him until your eyes burn. Until you feel that soft tug behind your breastbone again, that thread connecting you to something deeper, older, unknowable.

You curl up on the sofa with the blanket and this time, you ask for him.

You close your eyes and say his name aloud like a prayer. “Hyunjin. Come to me.” And the world tilts.

The dream begins in darkness.

Then candlelight flickers, thousands of tiny flames floating midair. No walls. No floor. Just velvet shadows beneath your feet and golden heat pressed against your skin.

You’re dressed differently here.

Something soft and sheer, a slip of fabric barely covering you. Your bare legs, your collarbone, the delicate curve of your shoulder, all visible. You know it’s a dream, but you feel exposed.

Wanted.

Then, you feel it.

Him.

A presence before the voice.

“Darling,” he murmurs behind you. “You keep calling for me. Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

You turn and there he is. Hyunjin. Closer than before. Closer than you’ve ever seen him. Not a painting. Not a phantom. Real and breathtaking.

His skin glows in the candlelight, the pale gold sheen of it like something carved from marble and silk. His hair falls loose around his face, strands grazing his lips. His eyes, black fire, endless, wanting.

He steps toward you.

You don’t move.

He lifts a hand, delicate, ringed fingers and brushes them down your arm. You shiver. It’s not cold. It’s too warm. Like his touch seeps under your skin.

“You brought me down from the attic,” he says softly. “That was your invitation.”

You swallow, lips parting. “I didn’t mean-”

He cuts you off with a smile. A beautiful, devastating smile.

“You did.” He says.

His fingers trail to your wrist, holding it gently against your pulse point.

“I’ve watched you since the moment you stepped into my house. Do you know how long I’ve waited to be looked at the way you look at me?” He says against your neck.

You try to speak but you can’t.

“You dream of me,” he whispers, leaning closer, voice velvet and threat and reverence all at once. “But I was dreaming of you first. I asked for you, waited for you.”

You feel him, everywhere.

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you against him. The slip of fabric you wear clings to your skin. His chest is warm against yours. You feel the curve of his mouth near your ear.

“Do you want to know what I’ll do to you?” His words come out through gritted teeth, like it’s taking every effort for him to hold back.

You nod before you can stop yourself. You ache. You burn.

“I’ll ruin you slowly,” he breathes. “I’ll make you forget your name, beautiful. You’ll sleep with my voice in your throat and my hands burned into your skin. You’ll beg me to stay even as you break for me.”

He brushes his lips over your jaw. Doesn’t kiss you. Just brands you with the promise of it.

“But you’ll be mine, darling. You already are.”

You gasp as his hand tightens around your wrist, his grip firm now, commanding.

“Say it,” he hisses. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m-” Your voice catches when you attempt to speak.

He squeezes harder. Your breath shakes.

“Say it, little thing.” His voice comes out harshly. So much that it shakes you.

“I’m yours, Hyunjin.” You whimper.

The moment you say it, the candles flare so brightly they blind you.

He grips your hip and then…

You wake.

You sit up on the couch, heart hammering, throat dry as your hands claw at it, like something is inside you. The fire is out again. The house is quiet.

Too quiet, then you feel it.

A throb in your skin, on your wrist.

You pull back the sleeve of your blouse, trembling fingers fumbling at the cuff. Your breath hitches. On your pale skin, a perfect outline of a hand. Long fingers. Splayed.

Pressed too hard. Bruised.

Exactly where he held you in the dream. You stare at it, chest rising and falling too fast. Tears start to fall down your cheeks and a small sob escapes your mouth.

It’s real. It’s impossible. He’s real.

You bring the wrist to your chest, hold it like a wound, like a gift. Like something sacred.

Slowly, shamefully, your thighs press together. You can feel your arousal soaking through the delicate fabric of your panties. You’re aching for someone who doesn’t exist.

Except… he does and he left his mark on you.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stop answering the door to the postman or neighbours. The outside world dulls in your mind. It feels irrelevant. You leave unopened mail that’s now overloading the post box at the front of the house. The electrician knocks but you don’t answer. You ignore the calendar, ignore the window, ignore the time of day.

Your life narrows down to candlelight, silence, and him. Hyunjin.

You say his name out loud now, without shame. You whisper it when you pass his portrait. When you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. When your hands are shaking and your skin burns with the memory of his dream-touch.

The bruise on your wrist has darkened into deep indigo and yellowed at the edges.

You run your thumb over it every few hours, pressing until it hurts, until your eyes flutter shut with the ghost of pleasure.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three days pass like this.

Maybe more.

On the fourth, if it even is the fourth, you go into the attic again. Something compels you. Something soft and undeniable. You climb the steps barefoot, your nightgown whispering around your ankles, hair unbrushed and loose.

You pass the unfinished painting of yourself without looking at it.

You know he’s in it now, you can feel his eyes on you. You carry a new canvas under your arm.

You set it down in the centre of the attic floor. Light spills through the stained-glass window at the far end, painting the space in muted red and gold, like the inside of a wound.

You kneel and begin. You don’t know why you paint. You’ve never been trained. Never done more than sketch absentmindedly in notebooks during meetings but your hand moves like it remembers something your body forgot. Like it belongs to someone else.

The first stroke is his jawline.

Then his mouth, plump and smirking, as always.

You dip your fingers into the paint instead of using a brush. The way the oil clings to your skin feels like sin. Like blood.

You paint until your shoulders ache and your knees are sore against the wooden floor. You paint until the candle beside you burns low, until the red light from the window fades into black.

By the time you stop, his face is there.

Not perfect but it’s close.

Too close.

Later, you wake up on the attic floor.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Your fingers are stained with paint, red, black, a strange bruised plum. It’s dried under your nails, in the crease of your knuckles, like something living.

The painting stares back at you and he’s beautiful.

He looks younger in this one. Softer, perhaps. His lips slightly parted. His throat is bare again under the collar of his white shirt. One side of his mouth lifted in a secret smile, the kind lovers share when no one else is watching.

You realise what you’ve done.

His chest is exposed. Smooth, pale, ethereal. You painted him how he looked in your dream.

Worshipful. You painted desire. Then, you carry it downstairs. This time, you hang it in your bedroom. Opposite the bed. You’ve started sleeping in there now.

You stare at it for a long time, standing in your nightgown, arms wrapped around yourself. You feel flushed. Like you’ve been caught naked by someone who sees everything.

Your breath shallows. “Is this what you wanted?” you ask quietly. “Me like this?” The painting doesn’t move but it’s like the room shifts. The temperature climbs. The air thickens. Your nipples harden under the cotton fabric. You squeeze your thighs together without thinking.

The candle on your bedside table flickers violently, then steadies. Your heart pounds. You know what’s happening. You know this is madness but, it’s a madness that feels like coming home.

You lie down on your bed, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. You turn your head toward the painting.

Hyunjin looks down at you.

Not the way a man looks at a stranger but the way a man looks at someone he’s already claimed.

You reach down slowly, one hand drifting beneath the blanket, under the hem of your nightgown.

Your eyes stay on his as your fingers slide lower.

You shouldn’t but your body hums with need, and there’s no one to stop you now.

No one to save you from him and worst of all, you don’t want to be saved.

Your fingers trace your folds lightly, as you imagine his would. Your slick coating them, you circle your clit lazily, moaning under your breath. Your under hand joins and you pull apart your pussy, like you’re displaying it. For him.

You pull the sheets away, now fully exposed towards the painting where you meet his lustful gaze through the canvas.

Your lips part and you sigh, pushing two of your fingers into your tight opening. Your cunt clenches around them at the thought of your indecency. You curl your fingers upwards finding your g-spot, your hips rock to meet them and you whimper his name like a curse. Like you’re begging. You know he sees you and you want him to.

You come quickly then, imagining his palm against your throat and his fingers buried inside you. His voice whispering, “Darling.” Your pussy pulsating as you climax.

By the time you drift into sleep, you feel warm, spent, glowing. Your hand rests loosely on your chest, rising and falling with each soft breath but before your eyes flutter closed, just for a moment, you think you see the painting blink.

The candle burns out while you sleep.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that waits.

You dream again.

This time, there is no gentle darkness, no soft invitation. The space is harsh and shadowed, the air sharp as bitten lips. The candles that usually float like stars now flicker erratically, angry. The air hums with static, with fury.

He’s there before you can turn. Hyunjin, but he’s not like before.

His beauty is the same, still impossible, still so lovely it hurts, but his expression is different. Not amused. Not worshipful.

He looks betrayed. His jaw clenched and his eyes are black with fire.

You blink, your breath already catching in your throat. You try to speak, but he’s already closing the space between you. His steps are slow, deliberate.

He’s furious and yet, you ache for him.

“Do you think this is a game?” he asks, voice low and sharp like a blade, you wince at his harsh tone. “Do you think I don’t see you?”

He circles you, the air thick with him. The scent of spice and storm.

“Touching yourself,” he hisses, just behind your ear. “Under my gaze.”

You flush. “I-”

“Without asking.” He’s in front of you again, gaze burning. His lip curls. There’s hurt beneath the anger. Real, wounded.

“You think you can use me like a mirror,” he murmurs. “Look at me and take what you want, and leave me wanting?”

Your chest rises and falls too quickly. Shame curls hot in your belly and underneath it, something worse. Desire.

“It wasn’t like that,” you whisper. A tear falls and his thumb presses against it, holding it on your skin like he wants to keep it there. Make you feel it. The wet. The shame.

He tilts his head. “No?” He steps closer.

You try to move back, but the room shifts with you, keeping you trapped in his orbit. Your shoulder brushes a floating candle, and the flame licks your skin without burning.

“You think this is about lust?” he breathes. “You think I wanted to watch you fall apart while I stood here with nothing?”

Your throat dries.

“You begged for me,” he says. “You called me to you. You painted me. You spoke to me. You offered yourself and now you act like I’m not the one who decides how this goes?”

You can’t answer. Your hands are shaking and he notices. His voice softens, just slightly, and that’s what makes it worse. “I would’ve touched you,” he says, low and raw. “If you’d waited. If you’d asked me.”

You close your eyes.

“I would’ve undone you slowly,” he murmurs, stepping closer again. “Kissed your thighs. Worshipped you, made that ache you can still feel between your legs go away.” He pauses, his mouth so close to yours. “But only if you were mine.”

You open your eyes. “I am,” you breathe.

“Say it again.” He demands, his hand on your cheek now bruising.

“I’m yours.” You sob.

His expression flickers, something cracks. Something breaks open. He moves and grabs your chin, tilting your head up. Not rough, but not gentle either.

His thumb brushes your lower lip.

“No more touching yourself without permission,” he says, voice thick. “You want release? You ask. You wait. You earn it.”

You nod slowly, lips parting. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His jaw tenses.

“I think you did.” He spits. He leans in, so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

“But I forgive you,” he whispers, so softly, so gently, like his anger flipped like a light switch. “Because you’re my little thing. Because I’ll teach you better.”

Your knees nearly give.

He leans forward like he’s going to kiss you. But he stops, just an inch away. His voice lowers to a growl. “And next time you touch yourself without my permission…” he pauses. “I won’t be so merciful.”

The dream begins to unravel around you like smoke but his hand stays on your jaw, holding you in place. His lips against the corner of your mouth teasing with a faux kiss.

“Now wake up.”

You jolt awake in the dark. You’re sweating and the sheets are tangled between your legs. Your lips feel kissed, but they weren’t. Your core throbs with unspent ache. Your hands are empty. Your wrists are bare but your skin still tingles where he held you and you know now, for sure. He’s not just a ghost in the walls.

He’s real.

He’s watching and next time, you ask.

You’ll beg.

━━━━━━━━━━☽༓☾━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’re interrupted by a knock, sharp and repeated three times. It echoes down the hallway like a sound not meant to be here. You flinch, nearly dropping the brush in your hand. You’d been painting again, your fifth attempt this week, all them of him. Each more beautiful, each more wrong. None of them is enough.

You haven’t had a visitor in days. Weeks, maybe.

No one should be knocking.

You hesitate, brush still dripping crimson onto the floorboards. Another knock. Firmer. More human than anything you’ve felt in days.

You finally peel yourself away from the bedroom and pad toward the front door, vision slightly blurred from hours of staring at the canvas. When you open it, blinking into the afternoon light as you gaze upon a man.

Not Hyunjin.

Someone else.

He’s handsome in a way that feels solid, real. Like a person who eats hot meals and lifts heavy things and doesn’t whisper through walls. Tan skin, strong arms crossed over a thick jacket, concern in his eyes before you even say hello.

“Y/N?” His voice is deep, grounding.

“Sorry to just show up. I’m Changbin, uh, your neighbour, sort of. Down by the hill.” He pauses. “Your aunt used to talk about you. I helped her around the place, fixed the shutters after that storm years back. I didn’t know she’d passed until recently as I hadn’t heard from her for a while.”

You open your mouth. No sound comes. Then, he looks at you, really looks and his expression changes. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping.” He steps forward instinctively, hand brushing your arm. His touch is warm. Earthly. Unwelcome.

The second he touches you, the house responds.

A deep, guttural groan rolls through the floorboards like an animal rousing from its den. The overhead light flickers. A sudden draft snakes up from beneath the door to the basement. The air grows heavy.

Changbin steps back. “Shit,” he mutters. “It’s still here.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks at you then, serious. No flirtation. No pretence. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I’m fine.” You say, a bit too bluntly.

“No, you’re not. I know this house. I know what it does.” He whispers as if he knows it hears him.

You laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s too late. “You have no idea-”

“He lives in the paint,” Changbin interrupts you.

Your blood runs cold at his words. “What did you say?” You ask, in disbelief.

He stares at you.

“Don’t say his name. Don’t let him in and for God’s sake, don’t paint him.” He says, breathless. His eyes glazed over in what seemed like fear.

The air thickens like molasses.

“I already did,” you whisper.

Changbin’s face pales.

“You need to leave. Now. Pack what you can. Go to a hotel. Call someone.” He says, he’s shaking now but you don’t move.

Because the hallway behind you is darker now than it was a minute ago. Because the door to the sitting room has slowly creaked shut on its own and because you can feel eyes on the back of your neck.

“He won’t let me,” you say.

Changbin grips your shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re not possessed. Not yet but you’re under his influence. This house, it makes you love him. Makes you want to stay.”

“I do want to stay.” You answer, too quickly.

He shakes his head. “No. That’s not you talking.”

Something crashes behind you.

A framed photo drops from the wall and shatters on the floor, glass exploding outward, like something pushed it. Changbin flinches and looks up at the ceiling.

“You’re scaring him,” you say, voice strange and hollow.

“Good.” He says, but it doesn’t come out confidently.

Changbin looks at you again, gentler this time and for a moment, just a second, you feel like someone’s reaching a hand through the fog. “I can help you, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone.” He says, gently.

Then, all the candles blow out at once. The air howls. The hallway stretches unnaturally long behind you and a voice you recognise, too close, too deep, curls into your ear from nowhere.

“Mine.”

You gasp and stumble, nearly falling into Changbin.

He catches you.

The house roars again, louder this time. A low, guttural thrum that vibrates the floorboards, makes the windows tremble in their frames. A wind slams against the door from inside the house.

Changbin’s jaw tightens. He pulls you toward him.

“He’s stronger now. Feeding off you. Off what you’ve done. Every stroke of paint, every time you said his name, it gave him form.” He speaks through small gasps of breath.

“I didn’t know-” you start.

“You do now.” He says.

Changbin observes you, his gaze pleading “Don’t let him take the rest.”

You’re shaking. “He already has.”

He leaves you with his home number. He writes it on your palm, presses your fingers closed over it. “If he manifests, really manifests, don’t speak to him. Don’t touch him. Don’t look him in the eyes. Do you understand?” He pleads.

You nod but you’re lying because later that night, you go to your bedroom.

You shut the door and you stand before the painting again. You trace his collarbones with your fingertip. “I missed you.” You whisper, with eyes glazed over with longing.

The house sighs around you. Pleased. Purring.

You look at Hyunjin’s features in the canvas and they’re darker than before.

Alive.

You feel him before you see him. A soft shift in the air. The flicker of candlelight is slowing.

He steps from the shadows. Not from a doorway. Not from behind you. From nowhere. From the space between breath and silence. From the place you painted him into.

Hyunjin.

He’s real, solid. Undeniable.

The same face you’ve seen in dreams of oil paints and smoke, now with skin that gleams in the candlelight. His chest was rising and falling. Bare feet soundless against the floor. Hair falling in dark sheets around his face and his eyes. They’re the first thing you try not to look at but they pull. They always pull.

You look anyway. You can’t not. They’re furious.

“He touched you.” His voice is colder than you’ve ever heard it. “That… man.”

You part your lips, try to speak, make an excuse but no sound comes.

“You let him put his hands on you.” He says. You shake your head. “I didn’t want him to-”

He’s across the room before you can finish, towering over you at the foot of the bed. His presence makes the candlelight shiver.

“You should’ve stopped him.” He curses, jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck shift. He looks almost… wounded and then something flickers in his expression.

A softness. A restraint pulled tight. “But you didn’t go with him.” He says, gently. Like he’s speaking to an innocent child.

You nod, slowly.

“You stayed,” he says, quieter now. “You stayed with me.” He kneels in front of you.

Your breath catches.

He lifts your hands in his, pale, cool fingers ghosting over your knuckles, your wrists. His touch is reverent. Gentle. Possessive. His thumb brushes the inside of your palm.

The place where Changbin’s number is still written. He looks down at it, then up at you. “Open it, give me your hand.” He says. You hesitate, then you do.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your palm. Then he wipes the number away with his thumb. The ink smears and disappears.

“There,” he whispers. “That’s better.” He looks up at you again and this time you try to look away. You turn your head, breathing shallow, remembering what Changbin said. ‘Don’t look him in the eyes’ but Hyunjin’s fingers claim your jaw and they tighten. “No,” he says gently. “Don’t deny me now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

His voice dips, low and velvet-smooth. “You already gave me everything. I watched you in the dark, desperate, wet and shaking just from my name.”

You shiver. Goosebumps trail your skin.

“You paint me with trembling hands. You sleep beneath me. You whisper to me like I’m your god.” His grip tilts your face back toward him.

“Open your eyes, darling.” He says.

You can’t, so he leans in, mouth brushing your cheek. “Look at me.” His voice, startling. It echoes off the walls.

You obey and you fall.

It’s not just his gaze, it’s gravity. It’s a void wrapped in beauty. His eyes are endless, sharp and soft all at once. They strip you bare. They know you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

A whimper catches in your throat.

“You disobeyed me,” he says. “You touched yourself without asking but today, you stayed and for that…” He trails his hands up your thighs, barely grazing fabric, like a promise you haven’t earned yet. “You deserve to be rewarded.” He says, his pupils are blown. Smirk on his lips like he knows you’re already aching for him.

You tremble under his touch, under his eyes. There’s fear there but deeper still, there’s hunger. For him. For the darkness in him. For the way he sees you.

“You belong to me now, darling,” he says.

“I know.” You reply, almost on instinct.

“Say it.” He growls.

“I belong to you.” You whimper and at that, he smiles and this time it’s not cruel. It’s possessive. Triumphant.

“Then come here, little thing,” he whispers. “Let me show you what devotion earns.”

Hyunjin doesn’t rush. He never does.

You sit on the edge of the bed, barely breathing, trembling under the weight of his gaze. His hands cool, beautiful, steady, slide up your thighs, parting them with the patience of someone who already knows he’ll be obeyed.

You’ve never felt so bare. Not just physically, utterly stripped but also seen in a way that should shame you. Instead, it sets your nerves alight.

“Lie back for me, darling,” he says softly.

You obey without hesitation, sinking into the sheets, breath hitching. Your nightgown rides up your hips, and he doesn’t fix it. He just watches you.

“You’ve been so good,” Hyunjin murmurs, running a single finger up the inside of your thigh. “Even after your little disobedience.”

You whimper as he presses your legs wider.

“You stayed for me,” he continues, as if in reverence. “You looked at me when I asked. You let me in.” His lips brush your knee and your hips lift instinctively, needing him closer.

He chuckles against your skin. “Hungry little thing…” He kisses higher. Each press of his mouth was deliberate, claiming. His hands pin your thighs open. You can feel your slickness against the air now, humiliating in how ready you are.

“Look at you,” he purrs. “Already ruined, and I haven’t even touched you where you need me.”

Your voice is gone. You can’t form words.

Only shallow gasps.

Then his mouth finds you. The moment his tongue touches your clit, your hips buck violently.

Hyunjin groans against you, satisfied. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, breath warm against your folds. “Let me taste how much you need me.” he says and then he devours you. There’s no other word for it. It isn’t slow or romantic, it’s worshipful in hunger, the way a starving god would claim an offering. His mouth is firm and sure and relentless, tongue flicking and curling with obscene skill, dragging whimpers and moans from you so raw they embarrass you.

He loves it.

You can feel the satisfaction radiating off him, feel his pride in the way your body responds, trembling, gasping for more.

You try to reach down, try to grab his hair, something, but he growls against your cunt. “No.” He pins your hands to the mattress with one strong palm. Bringing his face up to yours, his teeth are bared in an animalistic manner. “You don’t get to touch. You just take what I give you.” Your walls clench around nothing, the ache growing unbearable.

He releases your wrists but you keep them there, fearing he’ll stop if you move. His mouth presses to your wet cunt and he laps at you, lazily now, dragging it out. Teasing. Controlling.

“You’re so wet, darling.” he groans. “I could drink from you.” You cry out, legs quaking. You’re so close. So close but just before the wave crashes, just before you break… he stops.

You sob, lifting your hips, but he holds you down firmly. “No,” he says again, gaze dark and serious now. “Not yet.”

“Hyunjin… please-” Your voice is wrecked. You’re crying.

He rises from between your legs, lips and chin glistening with your arousal, the candlelight casting him in a gold and soft glow. His hair falls around his face like ink.

He doesn’t kiss your mouth and doesn’t hold you. Just watches you, flushed and gasping, undone. “This was your reward,” he says quietly. “For being mine. For staying but I never said anything about your punishment, for your disobedience.” He growls the last word.

Your body shakes from need. You don’t understand why he’s leaving but you know better than to beg again.

“Next time,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle down your throat, licking at his lips. Tasting your arousal. “If you’re very good… maybe I’ll let you come.”

You choke on a soft moan, pressing your thighs together as your hips grind into the empty air.

He steps back into the shadows. His form begins to blur. The candlelight dims but before he vanishes entirely, you hear his voice one last time. Right against your ear.

“I’ll be watching.”

You’re left trembling. Empty and marked with his mouth. You know it’s too late to leave now. You don’t want to. You want him to finish what he started but Hyunjin never gives you what you want. Only what he thinks you deserve.

The house is quiet after he disappears. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that rings in your ears.

You lie in bed for a long time, legs sticky with your own arousal, heart still thudding like it hasn’t caught up to the fact that he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling and imagine his weight still on top of you. His lips are still between your thighs. His breath still claims the air you breathe but he’s not there. He left you aching. Again.

Part 2

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Tumblr wouldn’t let me post it all as a one shot so the link to part 2 is above.

Disclaimer - Stray Kids are not owned by me and are just used as inspiration for fiction. This story does not represent them or Hyunjin in real life. Images in the header are not owned by me.

Feel free to like, comment and reblog.

Do not repost, translate or copy my work.

Taglist - @fairylix @hoes4minho @lilileen25 @akindaflora @tirena1 @stayjinnie @jehhskz

@alittlebitofeverything04 @chloe-elise-2000

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #18+ mdni #hyunjin x reader #skz au #seo changbin #skz ff #skz fanfic #skz smut #hyunjin smut #dark romance #SoundCloud

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feasibilities · 7 months ago

Text

Office Hours - Dr. Oppenheimer x Graduate Student!Reader (Part 2)

Synopsis: Dr. Oppenheimer continues an affair with his former student.

Warnings: Teacher/Student Relationship, Cheating, Smut, Nervous Breakdown, Sexism

Author's Note: This is the 1st fic I'm posting as a 23-year-old. Sorry it took so long. Enjoy!

Click here to read part one!

Your affair with Robert was best thing you could ask for and now it was going up in flames before your eyes.

“I leave tomorrow morning.” He said softly, cradling your nude body.

“If you love me, you wouldn’t go. What is so important that you can’t write or call? I won’t even know where you will be.” You croaked.

“I do love you but it’s out of my hands. I’m sorry.” He agonized. Suddenly, you stumbled off the bed and ran to the bathroom. He tried to follow behind you but the door was already locked.

“Open the door.” He begged.

“Go away!” You wept. He stayed at the door listening to your muffled sobs until he dressed himself and left without a word.

A nervous breakdown characterized the next few weeks. The invitations to outing from your friends slowed as they suspected you were too far gone. In a fit of rage, you destroyed your home. Your concerned neighbors contacted the authorities when they heard the commotion. Upon seeing a woman in hysterics, he apologized for wasting your time and left hastily. You smashed your framed doctorate degree in a final act of defiance. Finally, you fell asleep on your couch with the remnants of destruction around you.

After a period of grief, you decided to pour yourself into research at your alma mater. Your gender proved to be a significant barrier. You began to omit your first name from peer-reviewed journals and reveled in the shock of your colleagues when they met you in person. Eventually, you got your own office. You felt a sense of normalcy for the first time in a while.

You were surprised to see two U.S. soldiers waiting at your office door when you came into work. Your secretary explained that they were here on “private business matters”. You reluctantly invited them in and sat at your desk. Both of their uniforms were adorned with a variety of service ribbons. One of the soldiers explained that there was a classified project that required the assistance of scientists. He firmly added that if you were interested in the appointment, you needed to keep it a secret. The other seemed to be a form of reinforcement as he likely assumed you were male.

As great as things were going here, you thought this was a great opportunity to leave all of the baggage of California and gain worthwhile experience in your field. After a lengthy conversation, they told you that you had until Monday morning to decide—it was Wednesday. He handed you his business card and shook your hand. They left as quickly as they arrived.

The encouragement of your friends and colleagues was enough for you to make a decision. On Friday afternoon, you watched everyone leave for weekend as you nervously twiddled the business card in your hands. You finally dialed the number and cleared your throat to boost your confidence.

“Sergeant Fuller.” He answered, picking up the phone rather quickly.

“Hi, this is Dr. Y/L/N. I was calling to confirm my interest in the opportunity you mentioned on Wednesday.” You concluded, twirling the phone cord with your finger.

“Great news. You will receive a memorandum with a start date in the mail. It should arrive on Monday afternoon.” He said.

“Thank you. Have a great weekend.” You replied, hanging up the phone.

On the morning you were due to leave, you looked around at your empty 1-bedroom home for the last before beginning the 16 hour drive to Santa Fe, New Mexico. You made regular stops to take photos of the gorgeous landscape. Memories of a romantic excursion to Robert’s ranch in the Sangre de Cristo Range tugged at your heartstrings. You were exhausted by the time you reached the city. You checked into your assigned hotel and went to bed.

The next morning, you reported to the U.S Army Corps of Engineers at 8:30 am. You met with a kindly woman named Dorothy McKibbin who gave you necessary documentation and directions to Los Alamos. The process proved to be tedious as a thorough background check was conducted in order to give you security clearance. Little to your knowledge, your offer letter was signed by your previous paramour, Robert Oppenheimer.

You drove to the location and made it through the military checkpoint in one piece. While you were being escorted to the on-site housing complexes, you were amazed at how a bustling city was built in the middle of nowhere. You were given a quaint 1-bedroom apartment in a building with a gorgeous, forested background. Your belongings were diligently searched and put away deftly.

“Are we allowed to call our family and friends?” You asked, searching for a landline.

“Phones aren’t permitted in private residences. There’s a phone in the lobby for emergencies.” A volunteer soldier defined as if he’s said this many times before. You rolled your eyes and thanked him for his help. Before he left, he made an attempt at encouragement.

“You’ll be in history books for this. Try to make the best of it, miss.” He remarked, closing the door behind him. Your only connection to the outside world was a radio gifted to you by your secretary. You sat it on a table near the window so it could get the best signal possible. Bing Crosby serenaded your decorating process. Your finishing touch was hanging your graduate degree above your desk. To keep yourself sane, you decided to keep a daily journal.

The following day, you decided to explore the locale. You found a café near the log and stone cottages on site. After ordering, you sat at an empty table in a corner and wrote in your journal. A familiar voice interrupted your mindless scribbling. You looked up and saw Robert and his heavily pregnant wife, Kitty. They were meeting with a burly man in an army uniform. You were so bewildered that you couldn’t move. Unbeknownst to his wife, Robert saw you walk in and insisted they go in for some inexplicable reason. Kitty ordered him to go up and order since she was much too tired. He ordered a coffee for the two of them and a chocolate croissant for Table No. 9. A few minutes later, the pastry arrived to your table with a note taped to the plate.

I’ve missed you dearly. Meet me at Stone Lodge #6 at 7pm.

-Robert

—

You came to the cabin prepared to admonish Robert for his impudent actions. Instead, your nude body was intertwined with his as it was on the last night you saw him. The fireplace crackled quietly in the background of his perfervid dedication to you. Afterwards, you decided it was time to address the elephant in the room.

“Do you love me like you love Kitty?” You said quietly, intertwining your fingers with his. His eyes flickered pensively before he answered.

“No, I love you in a different way.” He replied confidently, kissing you deeply. You kissed back with the same intensity and then pulled away.

“Would you leave her for me?” You asked daringly, catching your breath. Signs of disquiet crept into his stark features. In an effort to soothe himself, he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“I can’t answer that.” He admitted. You felt a deep sting at his words.

“Do you remember what you promised me at Sangre de Cristo?” You interrogated.

“Yes, but-“ He started, ashing the cigarette.

“I was promised a ring, a baby, and a life out of the dark. And yet, here I am with nothing.” You croaked, tears filling your eyes.

“It’s more complicated than that. I…recommended you for this project because I felt horrible about how things ended. I was sworn to secrecy.” He explained, taking your hand in his. There were millions of things running through your mind. Staying silent, you rolled over and fell asleep. He put out his cigarette and embraced you from behind.

Waking up the next morning, Robert watched as you dressed yourself.

“If you’d like, I can drive you back to your apartment and wait for you. We’re running a bit late.” He said, adjusting his tie and looking at his watch.

“Are you sure you’re not embarrassed to be seen in public with me?” You murmured.

“No.” He spoke softly, pulling a jacket over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly.

While waiting outside of your apartment building, Robert pondered the aforementioned promise he gave you. He wished there was some way to make a honest woman of you and keep Kitty happy. He was at an impasse that seemed impossible to solve. Gazing at his watch once more, he wondered what was keeping you. Before he could go check on you, you were walking to the car. The curls in your hair were pristine and your makeup complimented your carefully-selected outfit.

“Ready to go?” You said with a coy smile, breaking his trance.

“Y-yes.” He stuttered, driving off.

Robert spent the little free time he had that morning admiring your beauty. You made it a point to cross your legs to sneakily show off your garter belt. His colleagues were equally distracted but were much better at hiding their ogling. At noon, he caught you alone in the hallway. You were whisked into his office for a brief liaison. At the pinnacle, his desk began to scrape against the floor with his impassioned movements. You two had made love countless times but there was a lustral quality to moment. He lingered until the alarm signaled for everyone to return to work.

—

Too busy frolicking with his former student, Robert forgot to tend to his pregnant wife at home. Kitty had went into labor in the middle of the night and he received a courtesy call from Rabi. Naturally, he rushed to her side and reveled in the arrival of his baby girl. You felt disposed of once more but had little time to wallow in self-pity—you were pregnant. You felt a mix of gratification and dread. You had a lifelong connection to the only man you ever loved but could end up raising the child with a fleeting father. You had no idea what to do outside of telling him in person.

You knocked on the door of the cabin and waited for him to answer. He opened the door with a smile on his face and went to hand you a drink before you handed him papers from the nearby clinic. He stayed calm as he read through them.

“What are we going to do?” You asked nervously. He took your hand in his and sat you next to him.

“This is what we planned for. I made a promise to you and I plan to keep it.” He declared. You wordlessly embraced him and hoped he was telling the truth.

The End

#we are so back!#my writing #cillian murphy #oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy smut #teacher x student #smut #love #drama #period drama

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fortunekookie07 · 1 year ago

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Mc disappears on a mission/snowcrest (Days, weeks, author's choice) I want pain, anguish But a happy ending, with a reunion (the only requirement, life is sad enough 😭)

This is the prompt requested, and I got this idea.

Looking for my Heart

The mission seems simple enough, you thought as you read through the file that Jenna had sent. After you had gone to Snowcrest last year with Zayne and temporarily teamed up with the Deepspace Hunters stationed there she had decided to add more diversity to the training. This included rounds in Snowcrest.

This time it was your turn, you were excited to see Dr. Noah and Pie again. It had been almost six months since your last trip. Getting out of Linkon for the first time in awhile was just the refreshing change you wanted.

Zayne had agreed to take you to the train station so you could meet up with your temporary team, but for some reason, he was late. This was highly unusual, Zayne was almost never late. He prided himself on his perfect manners.

You decide to take your luggage downstairs anyways. Surely Zayne was on the way or maybe even pulling up to the complex now. Upon seeing the quiet parking lot devoid of his car a pout forms on your lips. You grab your phone and scroll through the texts you'd exchanged and check to make sure you'd told him the correct time and date. There it was, Wednesday morning 9:30, along with his affirmation and yet no Zayne. You decide that this is not ok and immediately tap the phone icon to call him.

Straight to voice-mail, a frown furrows your eyebrows and your lips purse out in frustration. You call again, once more, twice more. You almost lose count at the number of straight to voice mail calls you send. So you type him a text in anger.

I know you don't want me to go to Snowcrest but this is my job after all. If you didn't want to take me you shouldn't have agreed in the first place. Trying to make me miss the train is really petty. You hit send without a second thought and immediately call for a taxi. Minutes later one is pulling into the parking lot and finally you are off.

After getting to the station and finally securing your tickets and luggage your phone rings. Zayne's name and picture flash across the screen. In anger you shut your phone off and stuff it deep into your bag.

You walk down a few cars before finding a seat. Across from you is a family. A little girl is giggling as her father is making funny faces and the mother is quietly laughing as well. A smile crosses your face and then unwanted thoughts pop into your head.

For a moment you see yourself and Zayne in that exact situation. Though he'd probably never actually admit it, Zayne would do anything you asked no matter how silly. To him you'd hung the moon and scattered the stars. A small smile came to your face and you violently shook your head back in forth, uncaring that your hair whipped your cheeks as you did so.

"No I'm angry, we're mad at Zayne. Be mad at Zayne"! You chant softly to yourself before slapping both cheeks. Having successfully for the moment chased away the daydream you sit back in your seat as the train begins to move and look out at the scenery flashing by. Slowly changing from city to mountains.

Two hours later the heaters in the cars came on as the temperature outside had dropped. It was snowing lightly according to the weather report. Your about to get your jacket on when an alert sound on your Hunter's Watch. You look down and see that a there is a Metaflux warning on the screen and the scanner is red.

Immediately your heart starts hammering in your chest as a cold sweat rolls down your back. This is exactly the readings you saw on your first day Hunting.

"Look out"! You scream just before everything goes white and you hear a high pitched screech and then nothing.

**********************************************************

She was standing off to the side holding Dr. Zayne's phone. Finally it was her turn to watch for important calls or messages and inform him of them. Finally she would be able to get closer to him. Oh how she had dreamed of this day! Luck was finally dealing her the winning hand.

At least that was the cloud nine Mia was currently occupying until the phone actually started soflt vibrating. A quick glance at the screen sent her stomach straight to the pits of ultimate fury. How did this stupid girl have Zayne's number? She was always around him. It made her blood absolutely boil staring down at her stupid smiling face and name on the screen. "Humph"! She scoffed sending the call straight to voicemail. Oh how it delighted her to reject that snake's call.

Well that was until the phone started vibrating again almost immediately. She's calling again?!?! Mia thought wanting to throw the device into and inferno.

I've been in his department for two years and she already has his number?? How dare she deceive my Zayne! She sent the call to voice-mail again. This went on several more times and she was almost giddy at having rejected the call five times. A wide smile made its way onto her face as a text message popped in then. Zayne would never allow anyone to talk to him like that. She was riding this wave for the next hour before finally the surgery was done.

Mia quickly deleted the records of the call and then looked up as Dr. Zayne set down his instruments and gave his final orders. He was handing the last of the surgery duties over to his team. They quickly got to work stitching the patient back up. Dr. Zayne walked over to her and her heart skipped a beat as she watched another nurse help remove his scrubs and gear before finally standing in front of her.

He looks so tired, she thought silently handing over his phone. He accepted it and a deep frown immediately hung over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Damn, I'm late". He said quietly.

"Is something wrong Dr. Zayne". Mia asked gazing at his face. Mock concern on it. Zayne only looked at her before leaving the room. Mia was confused, while it was true they didn't have much contact, he'd never outright ignored her before. She shrugged it off as tiredness. It had been a six hour surgery after all.

Mia left the surgical wing and went back to the nurses station to write down the report she knew would be expected by the end of the day. However forty-five minutes later she was being summoned to Zayne's office. He had directly written an email and sent it to her. This had never happened before. Mia had attended dozens of surgeries with Zayne before, but never had an email come to her straight from him.

She was so elated that she didn't even notice the looks she was getting as she practically skipped to his office. Word of her misdeeds had traveled around the entire cardiac ward and then some, but Mia hadn't noticed. Too busy floating in the clouds to see the disapproving stares and mock sympathy she was getting.

She stopped only once at the last bathroom before turning to his office to check her hair and makeup. She quickly undid the ponytail her hair had been thrown in before and finger combed the strands before relying it neatly. Adjusting her bangs to fall just right across her forehead and removing all traces of smudged eyeliner. Perfect! She thought glancing once more before leaving.

Standing in front of his office door she cleared her throat and raised her hand to knock, but another hand beat her to it. She turned a withering look on her face but nearly recoiled in shock. Standing to her right was the president of the hospital along with his secretary and another Doctor she couldn't remember the name of.

"Come in". Zayne's deep voice sounded from the other side. The president quickly pushed the door open and strode inside. His secretary looked at her. A woman in her mid thirties with square framed glasses a high ponytail with side swept bangs and piercing golden eyes. She looked like an eagle that had just found her next pray. Mia suddenly felt small, all her early excitement and high dwindling rapidly to nothing.

She walked into the room like a timid mouse searching for the cat she just knew was watching her. "Y-you wanted to see me Dr. Zayne"? His green and gold eyes looked at her. Expression flat, devoid of all emotion and even life. Her body started to trembled as she played with the hem of her uniform shirt.

"Did I receive any calls earlier this morning"? He asked her out right not beating around the bush. "N-no sir, your phone did not ring". She was sweating nervously. Why was she being asked this in front of the president. She wanted the floor to swallow her.

"Is that so". He said and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees with that single sentance. He wordlessly turned his computer monitor around to show what he was looking at and Mia felt her stomach sink to the floor as she stared at a frozen image of herself holding Zayne's phone. It was clear as day.

"Are you unaware that in addition to their being an observation deck above my operating room there are also cameras all over the place? Are you sure this is the route you wish to take"? He asked as her pressed play on the video. You could clearly see her holding the phone and looking down at the screen when the device lit up. The name couldn't be read from the distance but the picture of you was unmistakable.

Mia lost all composure as she ditched her cover. "Why does she get to have your number and hang around you all the time like some cheap skank? It makes me sick the way she's always coming to the hospital like she owns the place. She doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. She doesn't deserve to breathe at all"! Mia shouted chest heaving from her words and anger. "Who does she even think she is? She's isn't good enough for you"! She went on. There was no coming back from this, Mia had tossed all caution to the wind and she was going down with her sinking ship.

"Are you so self absorbed that you don't even know who my patients are"? Zayne asked, his voice was cold enough to give Mia frostbite as she practically froze. Horror dawning on her as realization started to sink in. "Not that it is any of your business in the first place. She has an extremely rare heart condition and requires weekly checkups to make sure no changes occur. She has my number because I gave it to her....".

Just then the door burst open and several people came in panicked. "Dr. Zayne you need to see this now"! The male shouted grabbing the remote and turning the TV on to the news in a flurry.

"..Minutes ago on the mountain there was an explosion believed to have been cause by metaflux, at the time the train bound for Snowcrest was at the heart of it. As of yet we are unable to get reports of the accident. As you can see drones are trying to get closer bit having no visual luck. The smoke has completely enveloped the accident. We are able to confirm that the train was blasted off the tracks as you can see here". The reported said as a still image filled the screen.

You could clearly see where the tracks ended brokenly and the huge gouge that had been taken as well as the black smoke. All eyes in the room turned to Zayne who had stood abruptly from his chair with such force that it had been knocked over. He scrambled for his phone furiously before tapping and immediately calling someone. The phone went straight to voicemail. Over and over again to no avail, finally he dropped the phone and hung his head brokenly.

He looked up sharply and sent her a withering glare, "The president will deal with you. I need to go". He said directing the last part to the president.

No one said a word as Dr. Zayne left the hospital and drove straight to the train station. He tried calling Dr. Noah, but to no avail. Emergency lines overruled all other communication.

Zayne felt like all his sanity was about to slip away, you were missing and you took his heart with you when you vanished.

*******************************************************

That had been eight days ago, every news outlet was following the story as the very world held its breath. Four rescue attempts had been made with no results. The explosion had stired up all the Wanderers and the area was thick with danger. Rescue workers couldn't fend off the Wanderers and there just weren't enough Deepspace Hunters that could destroy them, protect the rescuers, and look for survivors. All hope seemed to be lost.

As morning dawned on the ninth day something changed, the areas that had previously been inaccessible were suddenly clear. The Wanderer sightings in the first zones had dropped to zero. Even the metaflux readings were bottoming out. Like the forests surrounding the area was reclaiming itself.

Zayne finally ditched the watch the Association had put on him and headed into the wilderness. You the only thing on his mind. He was coming for you no matter what.

*******************************************************

Pain, that was the most prominent feeling you had first as you tried to open your eyes and move. They didn't want to cooperate. Something shuffled near you and then you realized something was holding your hand. At first you were afraid, unable to open your eyes and unable to move. Panic started to set in and with it dizziness. Even though you were already lying down the ground beneath you was spinning. Like a merry-go-round turned on to fast.

Then there was a quiet shushing. "It's alright, please calm down. Your injuries are serious and we have no way to treat them. We barely managed to stop the bleeding. Your eyes have been covered because there were deep cuts on your forehead. In addition your right leg and arm are badly broken. I don't know the extent of all your injuries so please don't move. If it hadn't been for your warning no one but you would have survived. My wife and daughter are alive thanks to you. Please let us help you". A male voice said softly near your ear. A hand brushed your hair back and then there was gentle pressure on your left hand.

A smaller hand had gripped it holding softly. "We managed to put up some shelter, it's been snowing non stop since the accident and the area is not safe. Your watch alerts us to dangers so we're staying hidden. You're a Hunter aren't you"? Those time a female voice was speaking softly. Memories slowly came back, you remembered the family you saw on the train and tears came to your eyes. That family had survived and not only that, protected you at your most vulnerable moments.

With all the strength you had left to muster you squeezed the small hand still holding yours before passing out again. Thankfully in unconsciousness there was no pain and there was also Zayne.

How you missed his cool demeanor and often icy personality. You missed staring into his deep hazel eyes and getting lost in them. You missed him holding you and waking up to him. In your dreams Zayne had already found you and was gently tending all your injuries while hiding how much it pained him to see you in this state.

The next time you woke up all was quiet around you. Carefully you pulled the layers of cloth off your eyes and peered into the dim light. It stung a bit after so much darkness. Huddled around you was a man, woman, and small child. They looked worse for the wear and tou noted cuts, burns, scrapes, and the like on them. Seems they had been extraordinarily lucky to escape with such minor injuries. You took note of the extent of your own injuries for the first time. Breathing hurt if you sucked in air too deeply, seems you can add ribs to the list of broken. Not to mention the burning paid in your side. That was heavily bound with cloth. That must be the bleeding that was hard to stop.

You tried to lift your head but that just sent oy straight back to the world of dreams. All your energy spent on just moving cloth from your eyes and feeling out wounds.

*******************************************************

Zayne was still unsure of the man walking beside him. He sort of knew about your upstairs neighbor and frequent Hunting partner but had never actually met Xavier before. He was quiet hardly speaking and seemed to be emotionless. Taking down every Wanderer that approached.

He hardly even needed Zayne's help, in fact he was pretty sure the man required zero help at all. It was quite a surprise when Xavier had agreed to Zayne's coming along in the first place. He knew there was more that Xavier knew than he would ever let slip. This guy held more secrets than a diary.

When Zayne had told him he was going to find you with ir without his help Xavier relented and off you were. Easily slipping past barriers and blockads headed for the accident zone.

Suddenly Xavier stopped his sled dogs and walked through the trees. In front the train tracks appeared and so did the spot where a huge hole was. Spanning at least thirty feet wide and probably ten feet deep at its center, it was no surprise the train had been blasted off the tracks. One of the cars lay on its top. Windows busted and scorch marks all over the metal. The fire on this one had burned a long time. The smell of burnt wooden, metal, and coal still lingered in the air. The bursting of snow looked odd on the scene. Any tracks that may have been on the snow were long since gone. Dusted over with more snow.

"Not here". Xavier said quietly leading away from the car and walking further away from the train into the woods. The air was dead silent, no animals had been seen in days. Having run away, or too terrified to come out of hiding.

Zayne felt his heart freezing over with the bitter cold. He would not admit the chances of your survival of the explosion until the evidence was thrust right before his eyes.

The hospital had forced him into a personal leave two days after the explosion. He was walking around in a daze, because quite literally his heart was missing. He got angry everytime he thought about what one of the nurses had done. Rejecting your calls like that several times. Her job was terminated that day. The president would not have such a malicious person on staff at Akso hospital. If word got out that patients were treated like that because a nurse thought she was entitled to whatever she wanted their stellar reputation would plummet.

A crunching noise started coming from a few feet in front of them. Xavier dashed forward towards thr sound.

In a makeshift clearing a man was walking their way. He looked beat up and tired as he froze at the sight of them before smiling in joy. It looked like he had been crying.

"Oh thank god"! He cried coming to them in relief. "We need help, the young woman that is with us is hurt real bad. I don't know if she's going to make it. I can't treat her injuries. Zayne felt his blood freeze as a sickening feeling came over him. "Show us". He said and the man immediately turned are hurried back the way he'd come. For the first time Zayne realized there was a tent strung from blankets and branches.

The man pushed the heavy blanket aside and went in. Zayne paused for a moment before he and Xavier followed. As soon as Zayne got a look at who was lying on the ground it felt like his soul left him.

There you were, his heart so battered and hurt he could barely breathe. For the first time Zayne wished he didn't have any medical training ir knowledge. He could easily see every injury and the signs of the ones the untrained eye could not.

A fever had set in and you were shivering despite the blankets on you and the two people huddled near you trying to keep you warm.

"Move aside", Zayne said with a calm he didn't feel. He took his backpack off and immediately searched for the pain medication and bandages. He gave you a shot to dull the pain your broken bones would definitely be giving you. He removed the cloth wrapped around your stomach and examined the injury. He could tell they had tried their best to care for you but lacking any supplies at all it had been a struggle. Signs of infection were already setting in. The jagged cut to your side was deep and would require antibiotics and stitching. Neither of which he had now. He just tried his best to clean the wounds with the basic supplies he had and moves on.

At some point during his treatment, you woke up. Eyes hazy and unfocused. "Zayne can't you find me already"? The fever had made you delirious. "Hurry and come find me Zayne. I can't hold out much longer". He stoked your head and mumbled. I'm looking for you, I'll find you soon. "M'kay". You say before slipping back into a feverish sleep. "We need to get her out of here now". Zayne says to Xavier carefully turning you onto your back and the carefully picking you up.

Your face scrunches in pain and whimpers escape your lips but you do not wake. The pain meds are doing their job, for the most part.

*******************************************************

After what seems like a year later you're waking up. You tense as you realize that you no longer have anyone around you. The little girl is gone and so are the mom and dad.

It takes you almost three minutes to notice that you are lying in a bed now and not on a covered ground with several blankets. Only when you realize that do you also hear the sounds of machines. You blearily open your eyes and see the white walls and the large curtained window on your left.

Zayne is also there, asleep in a chair that just screams uncomfortable. There is a chart in his lap and you realize it's yours. You are glad that you can't read what is written from your angle. You try to turn onto your side and one of the machines starts beeping angrily at you.

Zayne snaps awake instantly and reaches over to press a button. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. He must be exhausted. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a whisper. Your mouth is so dry.

Your voice is only a whisper. Instead you try to move your hand. This manages to catch his attention. He is immediately checking you over. Doctor mode has been activated.

"Are you in pain? How is your head"? He fires off questions rapidly. Unable to answer them you point to the water on the table. His gaze follows your finger and he grabs the glass holding the straw for you to sip. "Slowly, not too fast". He gently chides.

"Zayne, you found me". You say not answering any of the questions. "Of course I did". He says matter of factly sitting down and staring at you again. "I know you are too resilient to go down without a fight. You're tougher than that".

You smile softly gazing at him. "I need my heart". He gently takes your hand staring at the ring on your finger. He won't say it but you have certainly put his heart through a beating.

"When can I leave the hospital". You ask and he just sighs. "You're just going to have to stay put for awhile. You're in for a long recovery. The extent of your injuries were no small matter.

"Dr. Zayne I'd like you to return my finacee to me now". You say in a joking manner squeezing his hand.

A long sigh is drawn out from him before he says "just what am I going to do with you"? He leans over and kisses your forehead, both eyelids and then finally your lips.

"I hope you know a person can't live without their heart. Don't make mine disappear again." You smile, feeling warm with his words.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne x reader #halseyhatter #fic prompt #love and deepspace

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demonslayerunhinged · 11 months ago

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Unhinged yap/headcanon

What happened after?

In the context of SaneGiyuu, Sanemi's inferiority complex is really sad because as he's feelings for Giyuu develop and get stronger, there'll probably be that voice at the back of his head that says Giyuu wouldn't want to date someone like him.

Giyuu calling him beautiful must have hit him like a bus. He's used to people being afraid of him, calling him ugly or scary, so to have someone not only think he's worthy of attention but to call him beautiful???

Well....

Giyuu on the other hand struggles with his own esteem as well. He has to deal with depression over losing his sister and Sabito, his first love then, his imposter syndrome thinking that he's not worthy of being the water Hashira.

In his mind, he thinks that the second strongest Hashira wouldn't really think much of a guy like him. Sanemi is cool and badass, he says what's on his mind and isn't afraid of nobody, and Giyuu wishes he could be like that.

...

Giyuu wasn't sure what to think of the wind Hashira at first. They were tasked on a mission together along with a small group of junior slayers. Even though Sanemi had piqued his interest at his introductory meeting in the Master's mansion, right now he was much more focused on just getting the job done and going home.

The demons turned out to be a lot more than they initially thought and Giyuu was unsure that he would be able to fight and keep the junior slayers safe, but as he's cutting them down, he sees Sanemi rushing towards the hoard with a wide smile on his face.

"Come on! I'll take all of you bastards!"

Wind breathing, fourth form: Rising Dust Storm

This leaves the demons in shreds, drenching Sanemi in a shower of blood and guts.

Giyuu dealt with the rest of the hoard, and after he decapitated the last demon, Sanemi came up to him, his katana resting lazily on his shoulder. He had his usual grumpy look, but he said

"You're strong, that's good"

He then turned abruptly and went to check up on the civilians.

Giyuu stared after him for a minute before going to check in on the junior slayers and the civilians. Throughout the time, Sanemi's words were still ringing in his head.

You're strong, that's good

You're strong

They didn't go on any more missions after that, as their status as Hashira meant their had to head separate teams of juniors on missions. Giyuu tried to forget about Sanemi and his words since that day, but he couldn't.

Not seeing each other was good because it meant Giyuu was able to put away his feelings, he didn't know what to make of them. Why had the words stuck to him? What had his feelings meant?

At the next Hashira meeting, he watched as Sanemi sidled beside Rengoku with Obanai on his right, for a brief moment they locked eyes, and then Giyuu knew. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

...

(This is the night after Giyuu called Sanemi beautiful. Muzan's visit to the Ubuyashiki mansion was delayed because his dry-cleaning got lost in the mail, idk)

Giyuu sat on the edge of the well, lost in thought, when he felt a slight rush of wind. He didn't have to look to know who it was on the other side of the well.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, Giyuu was the first to speak, he made an attempt to apologize

"Shinazugawa...I-"

"Did you mean what you said?" Sanemi's voice was gruff, but his words were a soft whisper.

His first instinct was to lie, but honestly he was exhausted. What did he have to lose?

"Yes"

There was silence again. This one stretched for so long, Giyuu for a silly moment thought that Sanemi had fallen asleep.

Then he heard the crunch of gravel as Sanemi stood up straight.

"The final set of trainees left for Gyomei's mansion this afternoon" he whispered

Giyuu eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he turned to the other side of the well. Sanemi's back was to him, Giyuu wanted to ask why he told him this but was cut off as Sanemi continued.

"The next set would be coming in tomorrow morning"

Then he was gone, leaving Giyuu in a state of confusion. What had Sanemi meant by that? What was he trying to say? He pondered for a moment, then a soft, sharp gasp left his lips as his eyes widened in realization.

Giyuu knew. He knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #sanemi x giyuu #sanegiyuu #unhinged yap #might make edits later #unhinged hc

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cosmos-coma · 2 months ago

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Winter Mountain Soldier Spy- Part 6

A/N: Eyyy, this one is shorter than the last few chapters. I just wanted to try and get something out a touch faster (and leave you all on a cliffhanger)! enjoy!

Pairing: Winter soldier!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Words: 1549

Bucky Masterlist | AO3

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

___________

Light filtered in through the cracks of your haphazardly closed curtains and settled pleasantly on your face. A wall of warmth pressed against your back, keeping you just within the drowsy reach of sleep– not unlike strong arms that currently held you flush against Winter’s sleeping form.

You rolled over, an annoyed huff escaping your lips as you sought to escape the stray light, and turned in towards your stalwart companion. Prickly stubble scratched against your forehead as you tucked your head beneath his chin, safe in your dark alcove. Roughened hands roamed your back unconsciously and once again ushered you toward sleep.

Life had been rather peaceful this past week. Despite the heavy weight of your recent conversation, the whole house felt lighter. Early morning breakfasts with the radio on felt a little more alive than they did before. Maybe it was the newfound closeness- the hand that now rested on your hip instead of the counter, or the low, almost imperceptible hum of Winter’s voice alongside yours- but rolling out of bed has never felt more worthwhile.

Though even that couldn’t change the fact that you both were looking over your shoulders now.

You had become more hesitant when answering people’s questions, even from those whom you had known for years. You walked a little bit quieter, and kept your pocket knife a little bit closer- all for some semblance of security.

But still you were thankful- once you two got home almost all of the fear and worry melted away. You could breathe easy, you didn’t have to parse your words, and you didn’t have to watch your step: your home had become a sanctuary.

Or so you thought.

When you woke again, your bed felt cool and empty. Where Winter usually lay beside you was now lukewarm and wrinkled, his scent still lingering faintly on the pillowcase.

You stretched with a quiet pop of your collarbone and a tired sigh before finally rolling yourself out of bed. Your feet padded over cool ground as you bumbled about the room, getting dressed. The deep freeze in the weather had refused to let up despite most everyone’s annoyance, but it was fine by you. You grabbed your favorite wool sweater from its prominent place in your closet and pulled on some wool socks for good measure. Worst comes to worst, you knew you could always use Winter as an additional heat source to warm your freezing toes.

With a little more wakefulness, you make your way out into the kitchen, looking around for signs of Winter as you went, until finally stumbling across a piece of junk mail on the kitchen table with a note scrawled in Winter’s handwriting.

‘You said you forgot your medicine yesterday. Went into town to grab it. Back soon.’ He had written. The time he left was scribbled quickly and askew in the corner of the note, a little obvious it came as an afterthought.

You couldn’t help but smile at his short, to-the-point sentences; it reminded you of how he was when he first showed up, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You checked the time, ‘He must’ve left right before I woke up.’ You thought, nodding to yourself as you set it back down and turned toward the freezer, “Well, maybe it’ll give me a chance to take care of the fire for him… I kinda miss it anyway.” You thought aloud and grabbed your unsuspecting prey- a breakfast sandwich- from the depths of your cold box.

You went about your breakfast quickly, taking a moment to enjoy a few quiet minutes by yourself before you headed outside to the furnace and wood shed.

Sparse flakes of snow danced down from the sky, occasionally being joined by larger swaths of white as the weary limbs of the trees finally gave in and dropped chunks of last night’s snow. The sharp cold of the air bit at your cheeks and nose, but didn’t hurt the way the negative temperatures did. You stopped and watched briefly as the world of winter turned slowly around you, and you smiled.

It was going to be a good day- you could feel it in your wool-wrapped bones.

Chickadees and titmice chirped their narration as you stoked the old furnace and filled it with most of what remained of your prepared wood. It looks like both of you had underestimated how much wood you’d need.

Smoldering coals glowed with life as the embers finally caught a fresh breath of air, exhaling smoke from the chimney above and the now open door before you. You were gonna reek of fire smoke by the time you finished, but you kind of liked it that way.

You then moved on to brush the snow from your chopping block— a old hardwood log- and we’re quick to wipe your wet hand on your jeans and stuff it back in your pocket to quickly warm it again before you retrieved your trusty axe.

You checked the time again, Winter would probably only be another 25 minutes or so, but even if you only got through a handful of logs, you still wanted to help him out by getting started.

Knock… knock… knock-thud….

The familiar sound echoed as you split your first logs. It was easy to get back into your groove, even after you had let Winter take over for so long. By your third long you had gotten so wrapped up in the rhythm of it all that you nearly missed the unfamiliar car rolling down your street… until it began turning into your driveway….

You paused, swinging your axe up onto your shoulder as you watched it approach. You didn’t recognize the dark SUV as it pulled as it rolled up to a stop in your usual spot— nor did you recognize the second one that followed behind only a few seconds behind. You tried to peer into the windows from afar, but their deep tint left nothing for you to discover.

Instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rose, and your grip on the axe tightened as if holding onto a lifeline.

But… Winter wasn’t here, and that was a good thing. They wouldn’t find any definitive evidence of him inside, and as far as you knew, no one could prove he had ever been there.

You took a deep breath and willed your grip to loosen; you would not give them a reason to be suspicious.

Two large men stepped out of the second car, strapped head to toe in dark tactical gear, carrying at least one gun each that you noticed hidden away beneath their gear. They were dressed almost exactly like Winter was when he first showed up— as if they were walking into a war zone, and not a farmhouse.

They gave a cursory look around, paying you barely any mind as they swept their eyes over the grounds, the windows, and every possible vantage point they could think of. When they finally seemed satisfied, they nodded to one another and rapped their knuckles against the first car’s windows.

Without hesitation, the doors opened, letting out three scientists who all nodded to each other, and seemed to ask the guards to stay behind for now as they all turned their eyes toward you.

The small group made their way toward you, led by a woman of moderate stature, with a lab coat that seemed a little too long for her. Flecks of grey hair stained her temples and hairline, yet she looked to be barely breaking 35. Her smile was soft, yet professional as she approached you, flanked by two meek-looking young men, their unassuming frames also clad in white coats.

“Hello, Good morning…” she greeted kindly, stopping a few steps away from you, just out of arm's reach.

The name on her lab coat and keycard meant nothing to you as you took a quick glance over her—nor did the embroidered name of the company she seemingly worked for–Hardy’s labs.

Nothing looked terribly out of place at first. Beneath her work coat, she seemed to have several layers of warm clothes on, and a winter hat to top it all off. Glasses hung on the bridge of her nose, and a clipboard found its home tucked beneath her arm; all normal things. No, looking at her, you would have figured she was a scientist pulled way out of her depth on a sudden assignment. That is- had the wind not shown you it’s mercy.

A short, small gust of wind rolled through the trees, gently billowing the edges of her thin lab coat. In its movement, the coat’s lapel lifted like a sail, fluttering against her cheek just long enough to see a flash of silver pinned below, previously hidden from sight.

Your blood ran cold as you took in what you could of its of it’s shape. The hollow features of a skull stuck out to you, followed by a handful of malicious tentacles that reached out from where a body should be.

These people weren’t from ‘Hardy’s’ bullshit lab… they were from Hydra’s.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you from your work” she said with well practiced kindness, “but I have a few questions to ask you.”

_________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions @yeehawbrothers @mgchaser

WMSS Taglist:

@fanfictionreaderfan @thesarcasmqueen-22

If you wanted to be added to the general or WMSS Taglist please ask/DM and let me know!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier!bucky x reader #winter soldier!bucky x you #winter soldier!bucky imagine #james bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes imagine #marvel self insert

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satureja13 · 7 months ago

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Dayn has to leave soon, his clients are hungry and waiting for him. Jeb and Kiyoshi quickly dragged him over to the astrometrics lab, where they'd stored Vlad and Ji Ho's meteorites, to ask him if he knows anything about their strange behaviour - only to find out that they now even started to float ö.Ö' And Dayn has no idea either what might have caused the glowing and floating stuff...

He also delivered their mail to the security office. A few letters form a certain Jasmine Holiday? Jeb: "I don't think we know her? Is this spam?" Dayn: "Uh - maybe? I've delivered quite a few of them." Jeb will check them later.

And when Dayn just wanted to head to the bridge, he sensed that this odd sensation, he noticed since he came on board, grew stronger again. Dayn: "Do you mind if I make a quick scan? There is something unusual here..." Saiwa: "Sure, go on."

Little Goat to Little Goat: 'Omg! They are going to find the Romantium!' Little Goat: 'Oh no! They are going to take it away!' Little Goat: 'Ach! And we had so much fun with it...' Little Goat: 'At least we have the hot tub now.' Little Goat: 'But who's going to use it without the Romantium?' Little Goat: 'Ach dammit!'

Dayn: "The source is in the engine room, let's take a look."

Dayn: "This is a Romantium ore. Why did you put it beneath the ventilation? It's permeating the whole ship. Oh, I see! Clever!" *Dayn winked at Saiwa* Saiwa: "A Romantium ore? I don't know why it's here. Strange. Though - I noticed something was... uh 'encouraging' us ^^' " Dayn, eagerly: "If you want to get rid of it?" The Little Goats stepped into Dayn's way, a hostile look on their cute little faces.

Saiwa shooed them back to the meadow and looked at the ore. It has potential... Saiwa: "Oh, that won't be necessary. We can handle it." Dayn laughed: "I see."

Vlad and Jack at the bridge overheard them. Vlad: "You know something about that ore?" Jack: "Why do you ask me?" Vlad: "Do you?" Jack: "Eh... I found it beyond the veil. The lightning that hit me left it behind. And I kind of know about its eh - romanticizing effect. But I didn't put it under the ventilation! I swear!" Vlad hissed: "And I swear - one day..." All that kissing and stuff with Ji Ho. It just happened because of that ore?

Luckily Dayn came upstairs just in time to show them which button to push to ignite the beacon so they can be found by the outpost, should they get lost.

Jack's finger hovered over the button: "It's this one, right?"

Dayn: "Yes. But don't get so close to it. There is only one beacon. If you accidentally push it and you get lost afterwards - you're really lost... The outpost won't find you and no one will know where you are because the GPS still doesn't work. Just let the autopilot follow that detour to the outpost - and don't push that button if it isn't necessary." Jack:

(Iconic scene above is from Guardians of the Galaxy 2) Then it's time to say farewell to Dayn. He hugged Lenny one last time: "Good luck Boys! Take good care of our Lenny!" The Little Goats were so glad he's finally leaving and that the Romantium's going to stay: 'That was close! Let's hide it before they get a grip on it!'

'The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding In all of the directions it can whizz As fast as it can go, of the speed of light, you know Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is

So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure How amazingly unlikely is your birth And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere out in space 'Cause it's bugger all down here on Earth'

Galaxy Song from Monty Python's 'The Meaning of Life'

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: starts ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-29

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 2 years ago

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A Perfect Bad Day

masterlist

summary: you call in sick to the bureau and hughie rushes to you

paring: hughie campbell x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.8k

warnings: language, crippling depression

author’s note: there’s not enough hughie fics and i will not stand for that! so here’s one to add to the collection for the most precious guy of ‘the boys’ who’s never done anything wrong ever <3

gif source

“Hey, Rachel, have you seen Y/n today?” Hughie asked his assistant. Campbell was running Supe Affairs but he didn’t want to work without his beautiful girlfriend safe inside the office. You weren’t just his romantic partner, you ran the bureau with him. The ultimate power couple, if you will.

So, when you seemed to be thirty minutes late, Hughie began to really worry.

“Oh, she actually just called in sick,” Rachel replied. “Not ten minutes ago,” she added when the look on Hughie’s face seemed to ask why she didn’t inform him earlier.

“Really? That’s not like her?” He furrowed his brows. “I need to go check up on her, call me if anything big comes in but until then-”

“Keep things running smoothly? I’ve got it Mr.Campbell,” she interrupted.

Hughie nodded in thanks before he left the office. His mind was racing as he drove to your place.

What if you were in real trouble? God he should’ve just moved in this week instead of waiting for his lease to end. Then he could’ve seen you this morning and made sure you were okay.

Hughie was considering calling Butcher when you didn’t answer your cell. Butcher was an asshole, but he’d make sure you were safe until Hughie got there.

“Goddamnit, Y/n, if you die on me…” he mumbled to himself, speeding down the highway.

“You’ve reached Y/n! This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail!” Your answering machine mocked him. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the way you worded the outgoing message. You always loved that damn Supernatural show and had even gotten him to watch all fifteen fucking seasons.

“Hey, it’s me again, getting really worried here! Please answer the phone! I love you,” he said into the phone before hanging up. “Please, please, please be okay!” he exclaimed.

After what felt like ages and an unlucky amount of red lights, Hughie finally made it to your apartment. Technically his apartment too, his stuff just wasn’t in it yet.

He knocked on the door but you didn’t answer so he used the key you’d given him a few weeks ago.

“Y/n?” he called out as he entered. “Baby it’s me, are- are you okay?” There was no answer so he continued walking into the apartment. He opened the bedroom door and let out a breath of relief when he saw you. “Oh thank fucking god,” he muttered. “I’ve been calling you nonstop, are you alright?”

As he got closer he noticed your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you replied flatly.

“No offense but you’re clearly not okay,” he scoffed a little as he sat down at the foot of the bed. You tucked your knees in before he could reach his hand out to comfort you.

“Just not feeling up to it today.”

“Well, then I’m gonna go change into my pj’s so I can get under the covers with you and we’ll watch TV together, how does that sound?” he asked. You nodded as a slight smile formed on your lips. “Perfect!”

He stood up, walked over to the head of the bed, and planted a kiss on your cheek before he went to change into his pajamas. He came back in his sleep shorts and a Billy Joel tee. Obviously he slept in a Billy Joel tee, he only had about a hundred of them!

He got under the covers and pulled you closer to him so you were almost sitting on his lap. He took the remote from the nightstand and turned on the TV on the other side of the room. (The adults in your life had warned you ‘don’t put a TV in the bedroom’ but honestly? Best fucking investment you’d ever made!)

Hughie didn’t say anything. He just held you tight against his body, arm draped over your shoulders as his hand brushed against your bicep comfortingly. He quietly found the show you were watching and pressed play.

“Ooh season four? Perfect!” He smiled.

A few moments passed, two sets of eyes focused on the Yellow Fever episode playing.

“Thank you, Hughie,” you mumbled.

“I love you,” he whispered back, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you so much,” you replied and took his hand in yours, kissing it softly. “So fuckin’ much.”

You really were thankful for Hughie. He knew what was wrong and he knew how to help. He knew you didn’t want to talk and that you didn’t want to be alone. He also knew if anything was to make you feel better it was cuddles, cookies (which he’d get for you later), and a Supernatural marathon.

#the boys #the boys fluff #the boys tv #hughie campbell #hughie campbell x reader #the boys fanfic #the boys x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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constellationguy · 1 year ago

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That Radio Show

Summary: In the absence of the radio demon listeners of hell find a new broadcast to enjoy.

Chapter three

Chapter one: The New Voice On the Air

Every child dreams to be famous when they grow up, you were no different. When you were younger you wanted nothing more than to have your voice heard from all corners of the globe, to be heard on every radio station, to have your voice ring in the ears of millions of people. You took countless vocal lessons as a kid to prepare you for audition after audition, however very little came from it. Until in high school, you landed a job with your local radio station and fell in love with the art form. You worked almost full time despite school work piling up, the high of being live on air was worth barely passing a class or two. You did school work while music played on air when you weren’t speaking, it was the best job in the world in your book and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Eventually you took over the station after you graduated, working from 5:30am to 6:00 in the afternoon on most days, but night shifts always had the best callers and the warmest ambiance. You pored your heart and soul into your work until you died in a freak hunting accident in 2017.

When you arrived in hell you had dear like qualities, “I guess getting shot like game turned you into game in the after life” you thought looking at your new doe like features. Being new to hell was such an uncomfortable feeling, however you tried to get yourself in your feet as soon as possible. You spent about half a year working in a tailor shop getting yourself a house and a phone. Once you got enough money you finally got yourself an office and radio equipment to start broadcasting within the month. To advertise the radio station you made a hellstagram account just simply named “That Radio Show”. Your bio stated “That Radio Show will be making its debut on station 66.62 fm on the air in 2 weeks time at 5:30am on XX,XX, 2017! Be sure to tune in and maybe give us a call while on the air to chat at (666)-xxx-xxxx or send us mail to read on the air at xxxxx PO Box. Can’t wait to be on the air!”. You made posts advertising your debut, and asking your followers about ideas what to name your new radio show, and of course song suggestions. To your surprise your account went viral and got millions of followers in just a few days, your dms and comments filled with suggestions and surprisingly sweet comments with very little backlash. So when you debuted at 5:30am you had thousands of listeners tune in. Just as 5:30am graced hells residents, a sweet piano piece started to echo through the streets of hell. You lowered the volume just slightly hoping it would give just enough ambiance to your broadcast before speaking.

“Good morning residents of hell.” you said cautious of the volume of your voice.

“It is currently 5:30am in Pentagram City and for many it is time to start the day. As some of you may know this is the debut broadcast of That Radio Show!” You said excitedly.

“So please be sure to check out That Radio Show on hellstagram to send in song suggestions. As this is my first day on the air I hope my dear listeners can treat me with some grace” you hummed.

“Well, I’ll let those of you who got woken up by me go back to sleep and those waking up in peace for a bit, here is “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire” by The Ink Spots”.

You then muted yourself before fading the piano music and changing it to the song. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held and smiled into your microphone. You spent about two hours introducing the next song in the broadcast order before you got your first call.

“That was “Let’s Do It” by Ella Fitzgerald. Such a sweet song this early in the morning don’t you think? Well-“ you were caught off guard by the phone ringing.

“It seems we have our first caller,” you answered the phone.

“Hello dear you’re on the air!”

“Oh darling!” a southern voice called through the phone.

“Your voice is just velvet to the ears of all of us in Cannibale Town, we are loving you down here darling! Keep up the tunes and let that voice shine.”

“Aw thank you dear,” you cooed into the microphone, “Such high praises on debut day, but nonetheless it is well appreciated.” Listeners could hear the smile in your voice and boy did it pull heart strings.

“Well of course darling, can’t let a beautiful voice go un-complemented, you have a good day now.” The lady said into the phone. “You too, Miss.” You exhaled, chuckling a bit, a smile evident in your tone.

“How sweet that was, ha, well it is currently 8:00am in Pentagram City and the weather is perfect for a morning walk. I hope you can take that opportunity and start your morning off right. This is “Je Te Leaisserai Des Mots” by Patrick Watson, hope you enjoy.” Once you muted yourself you practically squealed in joy with the blatant success of the radio show. Your hellstagram was full of comments praising your voice and pick if songs. The overwhelming support uncommon in hell was shocking and such a surprise, a welcome one though. You got a few more calls throughout the day, only one of them being rude and chastising radio for being an out of date media and flirting with you brazenly on the air.

“Oh that’s no way to speak to a lady, let alone live on air,” you cooed feigning innocence. You sent a devastatingly loud electroshock through the line and your callers line went dead as he fell to the floor.

“Oh dear it seems he hung up,” you chuckled “well- no matter, just remember dear listeners don’t be brazen and you won’t get shocked,” you said with edge in your voice. “Well, this is “Viola Sonata: 1. Largo” composed by Andrei Volkonsky.” You said giving out a light satisfying sigh. As the song closed your voice again rang in the heads of your listeners, “Well doesn’t that piece just tear at your terrible heart strings, such an erre sounding piece. How about something a bit lighter, this is “Bella Belle” by the Electric Swing Circus, hopefully a good dance will shake off any lingering weariness and tension, tune in and dance along, here’s Bella Belle”.

The rest of your day was rather uneventful.

“Well dear listeners, it is 6pm and my time on air is sadly up, don’t worry though. If you stay tuned into this station you’ll still hear music that I lined up to play until I get back tomorrow at 5:30am. Have a lovely evening sinners, I hope you all can tune in tomorrow.” You finally muted yourself for the last time today and leaded back into your chair sighing satisfied. You missed this feeling when you died. Well, no longer would you miss this feeling, you thought as you grab your things and left your office. Just as you locked up the owner of the building spawned behind you.

“SHIT-“ you yelled jumping and dropping your things.

“Such a jumpy thing you are,” the man teased to your annoyance. “You made a rise out of hell today toots, all the old souls have been craving a new voice to cling to after that old shit up and disappeared.” This man was just trying to get a rise out of you at this point but you indulged him, wouldn’t want to get kicked out of your office, he owned the building after all.

“Cut to the chase, what do you want,” you said shortly electricity dripping off your tongue.

“Oh I thought deer were jumpy and scarred things, never thought one would bite back so violently.” He said, voice full of tease and annoyance.

“Unless you are here to tell me about the this “old shit” of a senior I apparently have I would like to leave,” you said pushed through him going down the stair well.

“No need to be a bitch toots,” he called after you. You let it go for now, a little insults in exchange for a bit of information was a fair trade in your opinion.

After fixing yourself a meal you looked up your supposed senior, from what you could tell that “old shit” the building owner was talking about was the Radio Demon. He disappeared this year, a terrifying demon just up and left the public eye. From what you found online he was an overlord and a powerful one at that. He used is radio show is display his power, so this is what you were needed to live up to. Odd.

Chapter two: In the Eyes of the Public

With the radio demon’s disappearance there is less competition, you thought, though that’s a big role to fill for the public. No matter, you thought, you’ll learn to manage, he’ll be back soon… probably….

Everyday your influence on hell’s population grew, listening to your opinions and snide comments, hells older population absolutely fell in love with you. The younger population wasn’t to fond of radio as you were but, to each their own, as long as they keep their complaints between each other and not on your broadcast. As the months past the public grew fonder of you in the radio demons absence, you worry for his return but as months turn into years you worried less and less about him coming after you.

Well into your first year broadcasting you made a slip up that you somehow ended up in your favor.

“Good evening my dear listeners, it is currently 3:30pm in Pentagram City and this lovely winter has graced our dear city and lulled us into a somber mood. I can’t deny that I am not feeling it too so todays music is definitely in the feels today, here is “I’ll Never Smile Again” by Tommy Dorsey” you lowered a dial and muted yourself before sitting back and singing along to the music. Little did you know you turned down the songs volume and muted the piano you had playing in the background, not yourself. So as you listened to the light music and sang along to the sad tune all of hell could hear your voice. Many of your regular listeners simply enjoyed the show while newer listeners decided to record the song and it spread like wildfire, to your embarrassment.

You tried gloss over your mistake however hell seemed to love this little mishap and blew it way out of proportion. Soon enough your dear listeners began calling you “the princess of radio”. As much as you didn’t like the name at first, terrified for when the radio demon came back, it stuck and there was nothing you could do about it.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor

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oishiyani · 1 year ago

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🦐 ; Another Owe

warnings ; none! this is entirely SFW

🦐 ; y/n fell into a swirling feeling of misery inside! don't worry akutagawa's there to rescue!

—also this is just a small drabble about one of the episodes in bsd WAN! i thought this would be a cute idea

"err.. looks like I lost it somewhere.." you whined in a tone of distress. Having one of the missing documents you were suppose to fill in supposedly went lost! that was even one of the last batch that you had to deal with!

'now how am i gonna tell the boss now..?' you thought.

you scratched the back of your head as you continued to travel every corner in the room, looked under every sofa and chairs, maybe in the drawers? no- you still couldn't find the missing document.

your back felt like it was experiencing a massive back pain from searching through the entire room, but in conclusion- it still wasn't found! you sighed.

"are you looking for this?" a voice spoke behind you.

you turned around to be met eyes with akutagawa, who was holding a document that you assume to be the one you're looking for.

you took a look of the document, looking closely into the text and finally recognized it as the last and missing piece of your work. You let out a sigh of relief with a smile next.

"oh yeah! this is the last of it thank god you found it!" it felt like the heavy weight on your shoulders had been released as soon as you recieved the paper from akutagawa. you thanked him and went on to arrange the final documents you finalized.

"tch, you should remember where you put your things. they're always scattered.." he commented.

"sorry, i owe you one again!" you replied.

oh y/n y/n y/n.. are you even aware of how much this man had helped you through such small needs and crisis? there was a never ending loop of how much your needs were need to be fulfilled but worry not! akutagawa is there for you at any time.

while you were arranging the stack of documents you had in your hands, a thought came up in your mind. it was akutagawa, but you started to realize how much he had helped you with so much list of stuff you needed throughout your time in the port mafia!

that time, when you were feeling a flu after delivering a mail the boss ordered you.

you opened the doors leading to the meeting room of the port mafia, seeing that nobody was in the room.

your breath was starting to hitch- your body felt quite hot than before, lastly you felt like fainting. you

sat down to one of the long sofas and laid there 'till you didn't realize yourself that you had fallen asleep.

later on waking up with the feeling of something comfy under your head. you lit your eyes a bit- vision was blurry but as soon as sight cleared, you sat up and noticed a comfy pillow was what was underneath you.

at the corner of your eye, the sight of a glass of water and what seemed to be medicine pill sat across the table not far from you.

you heard the sound of a door open. you looked to its direction to see akutagawa again, with both of his hands in his pockets he walked to you.

"hirotsu provided that for you, when he entered the room- he saw that your breathing was shortening and upon checking your temperature from your forehead. he said it was hot."

"you have a flu y/n."

you stared at him then shifted your gaze back to the medicine hirotsu gave you, you let out another smile. "then i have to thank him as soon as i see him, thanks for informing me akutagawa." you replied.

while staring at the objects on the table, a sound of a loud thud occurred. you looked to where it came and saw..

a whole box of.. yogurt drink 10 billion lactobacillus cells?!

you were taken aback, not sure of how to react- yet you didn't know what were those for.. you stared at it blankly not until akutagawa let out a cough, eyes closed with fist formed on his mouth as he did.

a faint red shade on his cheeks where you didn't seem to notice. that's good.

"drink those, it'll help with your flu." he said as he retreated back his ability that seemed to carry the box of yogurt drinks for him.

akutagawa exited back to the door, still leaving you in a confused state.

the next day, you felt more better than yesterday. being stable enough to walk through the base of the port mafia.

you entered the meeting room yet again, you were met with your fellow workmates. Hirotsu, Tachihara, and Gin. they all sat except for Tachihara, leaning on the sofa with arms crossed.

"hello Y/N, how have you been feeling?" Hirotsu greeted as you walked in. "greater than ever! thank you for the medicine you gave me Hirotsu-san!" you happily thanked.

"say.. akutagawa gave me a box of those yogurt drinks called 10 million lacto- uh.. i forgot but there were tons of them! he told me to drink those.. but I only finished 3 so far.."

"HE GAVE YOU WHAT?!" Tachihara yelled.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, "you're not suppose to give those to people who have a flu! how can they down something that thick?!" he said in a frustrated tone.

"oh? so that's why he bought a box of those.." Gin said, everyone looked at her.

"yesterday around noon, I saw my brother walking around the city and I happened to get a glimpse of him stopping by a store. But I had no clue why he was there, i went on with my day after that." Gin said.

Hirotsu took a sip of his tea, "hm, yesterday he asked me where was y/n, when i told him you were resting and had a flu, he left off in a haste." he said.

akutagawa bought those for you? no way he did! that must cost a lot and he didn't need to buy that much!

"well next time, advise your brother not to buy a damn yogurt drink and instead buy something else!" Tachihara commented.

"i've never seen my brother buy something for someone that much. (aside from dazai..)" Gin said.

"i owe him another one yet again.."

#bsd x y/n #bsd x reader #bsd x you #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n #akutagawa x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bungo stray dogs imagine

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stardust-goddess · 2 years ago

Text

The Dress

Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Deciding to go out of your comfort zone you buy a dress you normally wouldn’t buy. When a conversation breaks your confidence Dean comforts you.

A/N: So this is something that actually happened to me and I wish I had Dean to comfort me through it at the time. Thank you to everyone who’s been enjoying my work so far, I’m still learning and navigating tumblr, but I’m excited to share some more of my ideas with you all! Enjoy and let me know what you think💕

Warnings: (I realized I should probably be putting these on my stories) negative/insecure thoughts, body image issues, self hate, cursing, some fluff and comfort, implied/mentions of smut

You were practically giddy as you drove closer and closer to the bunker. You had stopped into town earlier to check your PO Box that you shared with the boys. Opening the box there wasn’t anything super important, but you got overly excited when you saw the package you had been waiting for sitting inside. You had been waiting for a while for it to come in the mail. As soon as you saw it you grabbed it and practically ran back to your car, hopping in to head back to the bunker.

You had ordered dresses, two to be exact. Your job has an upcoming party in a few months, and you were really excited to go. You were a new employee to your office, and had only been there for a few months. You loved your job and was happy working for the first time in a long time. You felt more confident and had a strong feeling of belonging and appreciation with all your coworkers. When your boss announced the upcoming party, you felt this was a great opportunity to showcase those feelings. New job, new you and you wanted your dress to reflect that.

Finally reaching the bunker, you pulled in and parked next to the Impala. You noticed Baby’s hood was propped open, Dean bent underneath it but then standing up straight to watch you pull in. Throwing you a smile his bright green eyes locked on you. He looked so good today. He was in jeans and a tight black tee, showing off his muscles that always made you go weak in the knees. His usual flannel discarded while he worked on Baby. Shutting the car off you climbed out, remembering to grab your package from the passenger seat. Shutting the car door you made your way over to join Dean in front of the impalas open hood.

Slinging an arm around your waist Dean pulled you in close “Hey Baby.” he said with a grin pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Hi Honey.” you said burrowing yourself a little deeper into his embrace. Moving back a little bit Dean settled on the edge of Baby, guiding you to stand between his legs by the belt loops of your jeans. Hands linking together at the small of your back. Dropping your package to the floor, you wind your arms around his shoulders.

“How’s Baby coming along.” you said nodding your head towards his beloved car. “Good so far she’s runnin’ strong.” he said looking fondly at the impala for a minute before turning his attention back to you. “How was the ride to town?”

Your face lit up in excitement as you unwrapped one of your arms from Dean, and bent down to grab your discarded package from the floor “My dresses finally came!” You practically squealed showing him the bundle.

Dean’s face softened as he took in your form. You were practically buzzing, with a big smile on your beautiful face. You were so adorable. He knew all about your upcoming party. His heart warmed at how happy you were. He was fully supportive of you working at your office. Anything that kept you safe and out of danger was a win in his book. He remembered sitting with you not that long ago while you scrolled through the computer, looking for the right dress. He tried to sneak a peek at what you were buying, but you evaded him easily wanting it to be a surprise.

Running a hand across your hip, Dean decided to get playful “Did you? Are you going to model for me?” Reaching up he brushed his lips across the shell of your ear “Maybe I’ll get to take them off of you too” he whispered voice low and gravelly, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your ear. Your face flushed and you felt that warmth travel all the way through your body. Thighs involuntarily rubbing together. He knew exactly what to say to get you all worked up. “Dean” you whined at his teasing. Dresses? What dresses?

Bringing his hand up to cup your face he pressed another kiss to your lips. Thumb running across your cheek. “I know Baby, I just love this blush.” leaning back he released you from his hold.

“Go on, try them. We’ll have plenty of time to play later.” knowing you were eager to try them on. Warmth spreading to your core, you clutched the package close to your chest, pouting at his withdrawal “Promise?” Kissing your pout away Dean grinned. “Absolutely Baby”

with a light pat to your bottom Dean sent you out of the garage. Taking a deep breath, you take a minute to calm your racing heart from Dean’s heated words. You couldn’t wait for later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In your shared bedroom, you finally open your package. Pulling the dresses out, you lay them out across the bed and admired them. Grabbing the first one you shed your clothes and put it on. Looking in the mirror you analyzed your body. It was a very pretty dress. A bright red color made of lace. It had short sleeves and an A-line skirt that went past the knees, giving it a classic look. This dress was something you would normally wear, safe and predictable. You picked it partially out of habit and as a back up just in case you didn’t find anything else. You looked nice, but you wanted something different.

Grabbing the second dress you removed the first to put it on. This dress was a style you’d never worn before. You never had the confidence to until now, but your want to reflect your new found happiness made you choose it. Turning back to the mirror you took in your appearance. It was a deep wine colored dress. Tight to the body and accentuating your curves. The sleeves were long with a modest v-neck, and ruching down the whole front. This one was shorter, stopping just above your knees. It was perfect. You loved it and It was exactly what you wanted. You thought you looked amazing and felt amazing too. You’re confidence spiking even higher.

Admiring yourself a few more minutes you decided to call your mom. She knew about the party as well and you wanted to show her the dress you picked out. Pulling out your phone you find your moms contact and start a video call. The call quickly connects and you see your moms smiling face

“Y/N! It’s so good to hear from you! You’re brother is here too.” the screen pans over to your brother who gives a smile and a wave. After a few minutes of pleasantries and catching up, you finally get to the reason of the call.

“Mom I wanted to show you the dress I picked out for that party at work. I love it so much!”

Propping your phone up you step back so she can see you in full view. “What do you think?”

Your mom is silent for a minute, a slight frown on her face as she takes you in. “It looks nice, but are you sure you want to wear something like that?”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow in confusion “is there something wrong with it?”

Your brother speaks up from behind your mom “Honestly, it doesn’t look good.” you felt your heart plummet to your stomach, throat tight with emotion. Your brother continues “Really like just the style in general is so bad, it’s really not flattering at all.”

Trying to keep your composure, you swallow hard as tears fill your eyes ready to spill over. “I thought it was great. I wanted to try something new, be more bold and confident.”

Noticing the emotions playing across your face, your brother tries to back pedal “That dress wouldn’t look good on anybody, it was just poorly designed. Do you have time to find something else?”

Grabbing the first dress you hold it up to show them. “I bought this one too but I always wear this type of dress”

Finally speaking up your mom lights up “Oh I love that one, it’s perfect for you and it’ll cover up the problem areas.”

Hearing enough you quickly reply “Thanks guys, I’ll talk to you again soon.” Ending the phone call you let the tears escape and roll down your cheeks.

You were so stupid. How could you think that this dress would look good? You’re brother was wrong. Plenty of other women could wear this dress, but you weren’t one of them. You clearly weren’t confident enough or attractive enough to pull something like this off. You were just plain, ugly, boring you. You sit on the edge of the bed, tears still falling. You wrap your arms around yourself like armor, trying to control your breathing as your tears turn into full sobs.

Your thoughts starting to spiral, you think of Dean and cry even harder. You don’t deserve to be with him. How could he possibly love someone like you? When he could have any gorgeous woman on his arm. You were pathetic. Ugly and broken and definitely way out of his league for someone who was as gorgeous as he was. Standing up abruptly you take the dress off and throw it to the ground. You grabbed your pajamas, an oversized t-shirt and shorts and put them on before making your way back to the bed. Crawling under the covers you grab your pillow and clutch it to your chest sobbing, wishing you could be someone else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking through the halls of the bunker, Dean search’s for you. It had been a while since he saw you in the garage. He didn’t think it would take long to try your dresses on, and he thought you might’ve came back when you were finished. After searching through the main rooms and asking Sam if he’d seen you at all which he hadn’t, he made his way towards your shared bedroom. As he gets closer he notices the door is shut. We’re you still trying things on? He then hears noise on the other side of the door, muffled sobs that make his chest tighten in slight panic. Opening the door he sees you. Curled up under the covers of the bed, pillow clutched to your chest, and the most heart wrenching sobs coming out of your mouth. What the hell happened? You were so happy before.

Dean was at your side in seconds. Kneeling down in front of you and running a hand along your hair “Baby what’s going on? What happened?” You don’t respond, sobbing and coughing as you lose your breath. Dean looks over you quickly. After not finding anything physically wrong with you, he relaxes slightly and tries to calm you down. Pulling the pillow away from you, Dean fills the empty space. Guiding your head into the crook of his neck. His hand running through your hair while the other slips into you shirt, pressing against the small of your back and gently rubbing. “Shhh baby girl it’s ok, you’re ok. Can you try and take a deep breath for me?” Cuddling closer into Dean, you soak in his warmth. With the smell of his cologne and his strong heartbeat invading you’re senses, you take a small shuddering breath. “That’s it Baby nice and easy, deep breaths in and out. You can do it.”

Dean continues whispering sweet words to you and helping you breath until you finally start to calm down. Pulling back slightly Dean presses a kiss to your forehead, taking his hand out of your hair to bring it to your cheek. Wiping the tears away with his thumb. “There’s my girl, What happened Baby? Who’s ass do I have to kick?” You let out a small watery giggle before hiding your face away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset” you reply, voice and throat scratchy from your crying.

“It’s not stupid, you know you can tell me anything” mustering up the courage you sit up a little, looking into Dean’s gorgeous green eyes. Dean follows you resting against the headboard and securing you at his side. Your head rests on his shoulder grabbing his hand and twining your fingers together. Deans other hand is still on your back warm and comforting, rubbing up and down in long strokes.

“I tried on the dresses and one of them was exactly what I wanted. I loved it and felt amazing in it. I called my mom to show her and my brother was with her too. I showed them the dress and they didn’t like it. They thought it wasn’t right for me, that it was completely unflattering and did nothing to hide all the problems I have on my body.”

Dean saw red. How could your family do that to you? Problems on your body? You were absolutely stunning! Trying to reign in his anger you continued with your story.

“I feel so stupid they were clearly right, I’m not confident enough or pretty enough to wear something like that. I don’t know why I even bothered in the first place. You deserve someone way better not a loser like me.” You look down in your lap, upset and ashamed.

Tilting your head up, Dean places a chaste kiss to your lips rubbing his thumb along your jaw as he speaks

“First of all you aren’t a loser and you’re not stupid. You’re so amazing. Smart, funny, and drop dead gorgeous. I don’t want you thinking for another second that you don’t deserve me because you do. And second, your body? It’s perfect Baby. You drive me crazy with these gorgeous curves. For me no other woman compares to you.”

You heart melts at his sweet words. You loved this man so much. Looking into his eyes which showed nothing but genuine love and honesty, you felt a little lighter. Dean loved you for you and that’s all you ever needed. Throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug you cuddle into him.

“I love you, I love you so much”

“I love you too baby girl, but now I need you to do something for me”

Untangling from your embrace Dean stands up, leaving you confused as you watch his movements. Crossing the room Dean reaches down and grabs your dress from the floor. You had almost forgotten that you threw it there. Walking back over to you he places it in your lap

“Will you put this on for me?”

“I don’t know Dean, I don’t think it’s going to look good” you replied looking down at the dress in your lap, some self doubt still lingering. Reaching for you, Dean tilts your chin up. “It will I promise, do you trust me?” Of course you did, you always would. Giving him an affirmative nod you stand, turning your back to him. You quickly shed your pajamas and pull the dress on. Adjusting it so it sits right, you take a moment not quite ready for his reaction. ‘It’s ok’ you tell yourself ‘you can do this’

Steeling yourself you turn around, looking Dean in the eye. His breath hitches once you’re facing him “Fuck, baby you look gorgeous” eyes raking over your form. The dress fit to you like a second skin, accentuating all of your curves that Dean loved so much. He couldn’t resist stepping closer, hand reaching out to your hip to bring you into him.

“You really think so?” You reply wrapping yourself around Dean, feeling your body warm at his words and his touch. Dean presses a kiss to your lips, then your cheek, working his way down your jaw and your neck before burrowing into the spot we’re your neck and shoulder meets. Hand gliding along your hip feeling the smooth material of the dress. “I think it’s time to take this off now Baby, gotta show you just how much I love this body, dress or no dress.”

Reaching down, Dean grabbed the hem of your dress slowly dragging it up and leaving a fiery trail along the skin of your thighs before stopping back at your hips. Guiding you back to the bed and leaving hot kisses along your neck, the dress soon came all the way off and Dean spent the rest of the night showing you just how beautiful you really were.

#supernatural #spn #spnfandom #spn fanfic #spnfamily #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #reader insert #x reader #comfort #insecurity #fanfic #romance #relationship #dean x you #jensen ackles

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