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oepionie · 1 year

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—"PRINCE CHARMING'S KISS" dormleaders

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

synopsis: a potionology accident involving the adeuce duo leads to the prefect falling into a deep sleep. only an act of true love's kiss can save them and it seems that ace and deuce picked a certain boy to play prince charming.

⊹ [ cw ] — none◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF.GN! READER | papa crewel doesn't seem too happy, cauldrons, tomato riddle, azul tries to get engaged, kalim bawling his eyes out, soft vil, idia is about to pop a vein, malleus throws a lamp at lilia and it's deserved◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 4k+◞

"I SUMMON THEE, CAULDRON!"

"Deuce! No! I asked you to grab one not-" Before you could stop him, the cauldron already smashed against the pot atop your desk, flinging all the contents of the pink bubbling potion all over you.

"You dumbass! They said grab one, not summon one!" Ace hissed, throwing a towel over your soaked form. "Shit. We need to get them to Professor Crewel and — Oi, Prefect!?"

You fell forward, falling limp in Ace's arms as you both tumbled to the floor. Panicked, Ace was quick to push you onto your back, slapping your cheek and shaking you furiously. "Wake up!"

"W-What happened?" Deuce ran towards you two, guilt pooling in his stomach. His blood ran cold with fear once he saw just how pale and cold your face had turned. "Are they dead?!"

"No. It's not that strong of a potion." Crewel sighed, striding towards the two morons with a venomous scowl on his lips.

Leaning down, your adoptive-father gingerly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. All previous ire he exhibited seemingly melting away. "Oh darling, I have no idea why you chose these two strays as friends…"

"Once again, you've brought my pup to harm with your incompetence." The professor stood up straight once again, his stern gaze fixed on the two youngsters.

"Nonetheless, I think this will be a valuable learning experience for the two of you." Crewel said, grabbing a thick aged book from a nearby shelf and thrusting it into Ace's arms.

"That book there contains the instructions to brew the cure."

"D-Do we have to make the- uff-" Deuce coughed, unintentionally breathing in a cloud of dust released by the old book. "-cure ourselves?"

Crewel drew his eyebrows up to his hairline, jaw dropped in disbelief. "Seven's no! I'll be making the cure myself; I have zero faith in you two."

"You two are to write a 10,000 word long report about the potion and I expect it on my desk by tomorrow." The professor pressed a boney finger against the cover, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, and I trust that you'll keep my pup safe. You know the consequences if I find even a single hair missing from their head." The two watched helplessly as Crewel walked away, his sharp heels clicking against the floor.

"Man. What's with him." Ace grumbled, flinging the book at Deuce who easily caught it with one hand.

"Deuce, what'cha say we just head to Ramshackle?" Ace hummed, nudging your unconscious form with his foot. He hadn't even bothered with picking you up. Opting to just leave you sprawled out on the cold tiles.

Ace was truly the most friend ever.

"Interesting…" Deuce muttered, clasping a hand around his chin. Ace raised his brow, peeking over his friend's shoulder to read the text on the yellowed pages.

"One of the cures listed here is…"

✩—RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

"A True Love's Kiss…?" Riddle trailed off before scowling at his two dorm members. Just what sort of shenanigans were they pulling now?

He lowered his teacup slowly while frowning and blinking incoherently. "Could this be another one of your pitiful attempts at a joke?"

"Why the hell would we joke about his?" Ace whined.

Riddle shook his head, walking over to your unconscious form draped over Deuce's shoulder like a stack of potatoes. Checking your temperature, he pressed his hand against your forehead and tsk'd at the heat.

For a split second, his eyes briefly wandered over to your lips.

What if…

Snapping out of it, Riddle stepped back with his burning pink cheeks.

"What utter nonsense. Hand me that book, I can brew the potion myself." Riddle said, pulling his gloves off before he then motioned for Deuce to pass him the book.

"Ah yeah…about that-" Ace chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. "Crewel didn't allow any of us to make the cure…so you're kinda our only hope."

The part where Crewel promised to produce the cure was purposefully left out by Ace. In truth, there really was no reason for Riddle to kiss you other than to serve as Ace's entertainment but hush now Riddle didn't have to know that.

"Well them, pray tell, what makes you think I should take the role of Prince Charming? "

"You get that disgusting dopey look on your face when you see them." Ace smirked.

"I-I do not!" Riddle shouted, face turning a deep cherry-red. Ace laughed, pointing at Riddle's flushed cheeks. "See?! You're turning into a tomato!"

"How are we certain that they even like me back?!"

"Ugh! Stop being a coward! You'll never know if you don't try!"

They began arguing anew, flinging insult after insult at one other. Deuce sighs and places you down on the couch in the lounge. He knew that if they continued their screaming, nothing would be done. It's was time he took things into his own hands.

Deuce grabs Riddle by the arm, dragging him towards you. The redhead turns to him, demanding the first-year to let go but Deuce only shakes his head. "I'm sorry house warden, I'll bear the brunt of your punishment later but I need to fix what I did."

"No-! W-Wait-" Riddle sputters, digging his feet into the ground. "I-I can't possibly-How unconsensual!-"

"Whoops!" Ace seizes the opportunity to shove the redhead forward, causing his lips to meet with yours.

"?!" Riddle stills for a few seconds, his calloused palms resting on your cheeks. Peering at you through shaky lashes, Riddle snaps out of his lovesick stupor and jolts back. His face blooming into an even deeper red than thought possible.

"R..iddle…?" His heart hammers against his ribcage as you flutter your eyes open, blinking up at him. The press and warmth of your lips still remained and a million of thoughts raced through his head. One of them seemed to echo louder than the rest.

At his lips’ touch you blossomed like a rose and the cure was complete, bringing the enchantment to an end. He was your 'True Love'?

Riddle hesitantly cradled your body, assisting you in sitting up. He coughed, averting his eyes to the ground, unable to meet yours.

"I apologize for the unsolicited kiss however, seeing as how my feelings are returned." He turned to you, clasping your hand tight in his. "I would like to court you properly. H-How does lunch tomorrow at noon sound?"

✩— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

"…so that's why I dumped them onto ya' bed." Ruggie yawned, extending his arms over his head.

There you were, curled up against Leona's king-sized bed, clutching one of his pillows tight in your arms. Blissfully oblivious to the fact that your friends abandoned you, placing you in the clutches of a hyena and at the mercy of a lion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"So, since Leona's a prince and all, that 'True Love Kiss' stuff could totally work with him, right?" Ace grinned, placing his hands on his hips. "I've read 'bout it in fairy tales all the time! The prince kisses the girl and boom!"

"How'd desperate are ya' to go running to Leona for help?" Ruggie sniggered, grabbing a handful of dry clothes off of the clothesline.

Really, it was both pitiful and humorous at the same time. The two chose to cast the irritable, hot-headed lion as the Prince Charming in their decrepit fairy tale.

Let's be honest, when you hear the term "charming," the first thing that came to mind was not Leona Kingscholar.

Adjusting the laundry basket, he propped it against his hip, Ruggie tapped his chin and pondered. "I can help but it'll come with a price…"

Deuce rushed forward, shoving a box of donuts into Ruggie's free hand. "Will this cover it?!"

Whistling, Ruggie flicked the box open. His eyes gleamed seeing all the tooth-rotting pastries heaped atop each other.

A sly grin stretched across his face.

"Deal."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After Ace and Deuce handed you over to Ruggie, the hyena unceremoniously barged into Leona's room and all but threw you onto the bed.

"True Love's Kiss? Do those things even exist?" Leona scoffed, tossing a blanket over your form. Ruggie shrugged, heading out of Leona's room. "Dunno but since you two like each other, I figured you would wanna help."

Leona rolled his eyes, glancing at you. Your face was shoved against the pillow, a leg hooked over it. Well, by the looks of it, you seemed pretty comfortable. There was no harm in letting you stay for a bit.

"Shihshishi good luck on your love life." Ruggie grinned, sending Leona a thumbs up before slamming the door close.

"Damn hyena…" Leona grumbled, plopping down next to your sleeping body. His gaze poured over your skin, gliding across the contour of your jawline before settling on your lips. Leona softly pushed down on your lips with his thumb, parting them ever so slightly.

"So, you need a True Love's Kiss…" Leona whispered, leaning in, eyes fluttering close. "I better be the only one, herbivore."

His lips pressed firmly against yours, a hand propped under your chin to keep your head up. The kiss was unusually delicate and tender for someone of his nature, such a stark contrast to his gruff personality. Leona moved closer and his hair fell over his shoulders, chestnut locks draping across your chest. Within a few minutes, Leona drew back to see if you had awakened.

You stirred, bleary eyes blinking open and he smirked. Pride swelled in his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again, his tail curling around your waist.

"You're all mine, huh?"

✩— AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

"Man, just how strong are you eels?!" Ace growled, banging his fists against Floyd's back. Both of the Heartslabyul boys were slung over Floyd's shoulder, his grip on them tight and unfaltering.

Beside him, Deuce was kicking around, trying (and failing) to get the merman's grip on him to loosen. Suddenly, one of Deuce's kicks hit Floyd square in the jaw and the eel growled.

"Neh~ Squirm around some more and I'll snap both of your legs off." Floyd grinned, his bright sharp teeth on full display. Although hesitant, the threat seemed to work as the two boys stilled, not wishing to lose their ability to walk any time soon.

"Now, Floyd, there's no need for such aggression." Jade chuckled as he approached the group with you in his arms. Unlike Floyd's manhandling, you were carried in a firm bridal carry, treated as if you were a precious piece of china or rather…an offering.

"We just got word on the prefect's condition." Jade shut his eyes, placing a hand against his chest in faux sympathy. "How unfortunate that they've succumbed to such a fate. However, lucky for you we found a solution."

"Ya need a Prince Charming right~? Well, let's have Azul do it!" Floyd cheered, slamming the two boys down onto the ground. Ace groaned, cradling his back and squinting at the tweels. "You think you can drag me into another one of those contracts?! I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, you're mistaken. This one is free of charge, no strings attached." Jade chuckled.

"Yeah…I don't really believe that." Deuce muttered.

"Why're you so damn stubborn?! Can't we just hand shrimpy to Azul? I'm sick of seeing him makin' those dumb goo goo eyes." Floyd whined.

The eel yanked you from Jade's arms and stomped up to Azul's office. He kicked the door down, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

Jolting, Azul accidentally spilled ink all over his papers. The delicate fine print he spent hours painstakingy writing by hand dissolved into large blots of ink. His eye twitched as he grit his teeth, snapping his head up to meet Floyd's gaze.

"Floyd. What in the great seven's are you—?!" Azul was cut off when the eel plopped your dozing body onto his lap. It took the octo-mer a few seconds before he registered just what happened, cheeks burning a bright crimson when he realized you were pressed up snug against his chest.

"It's your lucky day, Azul~! You get to play Prince Charming!" Floyd sang as he made his way to the door. "Shrimpy here got cursed because of Mackerel and Crab so now you have to kiss them!"

Kiss…? Azul's mind went haywire but before he could speak any further, Floyd slithered out of the room and slammed the door shut.

It's not that he doesn't believe in the cure; love is a strong thing, and he's read that it can break even the most powerful curses. Even so, how could he promise that you'd wake up?

Azul pressed a hand behind your head, trying to calm his beating heart. Did you even acknowledge his feelings?

"True Love's kiss…Well, it wouldn't hurt to try." He murmurs, raising a trembling hand to rest against your cheek. He leans down and lightly presses his lips against yours, ever so clumsy, before checking for any reactions.

Azul stares down on your drowsy body as your eyes flicker open. He stares at you owlishly before breaking into a giddy grin.

"Prefect, s-seeing as how I'm your True Love-" Azul hastily unlocked his top desk drawer, pulling out a fancy piece of paper and handing it to you. "Let's make it official with a contract."

"..."

Blinking, you looked down and read the text on the paper. Azul smiled at you expectantly, nudging a pen towards your direction.

"Azul, this is an engagement contract…?"

"Precisely."

✩— KALIM AL ASIM:

Jamil peered at Kalim through a crack in the slightly-ajar door. Seeing the poster boy for the golden-retriever personality sulking was truly a rare sight. Kalim had his head buried in his hands, kneeling by his bed which had your sleeping form atop it.

"What did you tell him?!" Jamil hissed, whipping his head around to glare at both Ace and Deuce.

"W-We just told him how we needed a Prince Charming's kiss to break the spell…" Deuce trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "…we figured since he was related to royalty, he could break it."

"He must have misunderstood it then." Jamil sighed, slipping into the dark room. So dark in fact that he could barely make out the silhouette of his dorm leader. Kalim had shut the drapes so tightly that not a single ray of sunshine could strike through his bedroom. How…dramatic.

"Kalim, what's the matter…?" Jamil approached the young boy, placing his hand atop Kalim's shoulder. He didn't miss the sight of the pure gold jewelry hastily draped across your neck or the iris bouquet in your hands. Well…it was evident who all those were from. You looked like you came straight out of a Scarabian version of Snow White.

"J-Jamil!" Kalim wailed, screwing his eyes shut as thick globs of tears ran down his flushed puffy face. The vice dorm leader sighed and reached for a tissue box, which he handed to the distraught boy. Kalim snatched a fistful of tissues and blew his nose loudly.

"The prefect is cursed to sleep forever-! A-And I couldn't find the cure!" He cried out in anguish. Jamil squinted his eyes. "Kalim, in case you forgot, the cure is-"

"I know! Prince Charming's kiss!" Kalim interrupted, wiping away his tears with the back of his arm making Jamil grimace. "I sent out hundreds of search parties but he hasn't been found!"

Jamil paused.

Ah. In foresight, he really should have seen this coming…

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath to get his irritation under control. He reached for the hood of Kalim's shirt and yanked him back. Hissing into his ear, the snake spat. "Kalim, the Prince Charming is you."

"Wh-Whgat?" Kalim sniffed, his voice muffled and hoarse from his crying.

"You. You're the prince charming." Jamil groaned, running a hand over his face.

Kalim started at Jamil for a minute or two, processing what his friend just said. Eventually, he broke out into a wide smile and happy laughter.

Wasting no time, he was quick to swoop you into his arms, drawing you into a clumsy yet endearing kiss. It only took a few seconds before your eyes blinked open. He pulled away but not before pressing another quick peck on your cheek.

"So, I'm your prince charming, huh?" Kalim beamed, sending a you a silly toothy grin. He leaned down and peppered your flushed face with kisses once more, making you feel like your head was about to explode.

"Y-Yeah-" You shot him a bashful yet thankful smile.

Filled with happiness, the teen jumped to his feet and drew you into his arms. He lifted you up by the waist and spun you around, his loud laughter echoing out through the room.

"I'm so glad! Ah! But I still have to cancel all those search parties though…"

✩—VIL SCHOENHEIT:

"Tsk. This is what I said about hanging out with those hooligans potato." Vil scowled, seething in rage and looking as if he was just about to hex both Ace and Deuce for this accident. "It'll only bring you trouble."

After he was informed of the incident by Rook, he wasted no time in whisking you away from your two incompetent friends and claiming he would care for you himself. Like hell he was letting you stay in that shabby dorm of yours.

Vil eased you into a luxurious bed in one of Pomefiore's spare rooms, draping a delicate lilac blanket around your torso. His palms brushed up against your brow, softly smoothing out the creases along your brow line.

Dspite the color vanishing from your cheeks and the once bright visage that made you look so vibrant losing it's glow, Vil believed you to be ethereal.

"True Love's Kiss can wake her from the spell." Vil murmured, reading off of a page in the book Deuce handed to him.

"Hmph, if I had a Madol for everytime that was listed as a cure." This wasn't the first time he'd heard of such a thing. Vil has spend hours pouring over potionology books and you'd be surprised at just how many spells and curses have it mentioned. A tad bit overrated if you asked him.

"Though there will be no need for a Prince Charming, potato." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vial filled with a glimmering silver liquid.

The liquid swished around in the bottle, sparkling brightly. As you've probably guessed, this was the cure. Vil wasn't appointed Pomefiore's dorm leader for nothing. If he could make one of the most potent poisons this campus has ever seen then he surely knew how to make a cure as simple as this. It was mere child's play.

"The potion will suffice. Even a single drop is enough to wake you." He twisted the bottle open, gently grabbing a hold of your jaw to part your lips. He leaned down, holding the bottle over your face before pausing.

"As if I'd need True Love's Kiss to prove myself." Vil scoffed, eyes latching onto your face, his gaze intense yet warm. He tipped the bottle down, allowing a single drop to fall into your mouth before capturing your lips with his in a tender yet feverish kiss.

Vil eventually pulled away and hummed seeing the color and flush return to your skin. His fingers combed through your disheveled hair, undoing any knots. Your eyes fluttered open and Vil huffed, gliding his fingers along your flushed cheeks.

"Your skin is far too puffy, an unfortunate side effect of the cure. Worry not, I'll go grab a facemask for you." Vil pushed himself off of the bed, heels clicking against the floor as he marched out of the room. "A spa day is just what you need after another incident, potato."

It was all thanks to his potion that were you able to wake, he tells himself. Vil Schoenheit was not one for fairytales or wishing. He knew that he didn't need some magical curse or wish to win you over. No, he was confident he could accomplish it on his own.

As Vil eases the translucent mask onto your face, you smile brightly at him and his chest blooms in a sudden warmth.

Yes, it was definitely the potion.

✩—IDIA SHROUD:

"S-seriously, w-wh-hy me? Do I look like a Prince Charming to y-you?" Idia groaned, trying to shut the door but Ace stuck his foot through the opening. "Knock it off with the grin, geez… Weirdo…"

"We know you both have romantic feelings for each other!" Deuce shouted, holding you in his arms. "We really need your help!"

Idia shrieked, hair burning up slightly. He could barely hold eye contact with you for 3 seconds, what makes these two think that he could even survive kissing you? The poor boy would end up melting into a puddle of sad gooey awkwardness.

"J-Just wait until C-Crewel finishes the potion!" Idia shouted, shoving Ace away and slamming the door shut. His chest heaved up and down as he pressed his back against the door, arms awkwardly splayed to his sides, scrambling to keep the door shut.

His eyes ripped wide in panic when Ace continued to pound at the door, calling his name. "C'mon, Idia! Most people would take this as a great opportunity to win their crush over you know!"

"NOPE, NOPE, NOPE. COUNT ME OUT. I'M NOT GOING DOWN THE ROMANCE ROUTE." Idia vehemently shook his head, burying his face into the fabric of his shirt.

Ortho laughed silently, heading over to his distressed brother who looked like he was about to pop a vein. Scratch that, he probably already has.

"Big brother, didn't you and the prefect already go on a date?" Orthro said, tilting his head up to meet Idia's shaky gaze. "Why the big deal? It's just a small kiss."

"Th-That was different! I-I-It was a gaming session through a screen!" Idia sinked to the floor, curling up into a ball. He sobbed pathetically. "I could barely even keep my composure-No way am I surviving IRL."

"Yeah but they need you right now. You may not be Prince Charming but I'm sure the prefect would prefer you over any other." Ortho whispered, placing a hand atop Idia's own. The dorm leader's lip quivered, newfound courage blooming in his chest. He shakily stood up, knees wobbling from his nerves.

"…They need me."

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"I'm telling you Deuce, this guy's hopeless." Ace sighed, lips drawn into a thin line as he casually leaned against the door. Deuce frowned, lightly kicking Ace's shin. "Don't say such things about our senior!"

"Oh yeah? But he's-Argh! " Ace yelped falling backwards as the door abruptly opened. With a grunt, he landed on his back and found himself staring up at Idia's flushed face.

"Alright, n-normies. I-I-I'll d-d-do it."

Idia stepped aside and let Deuce enter his room. Anxiously fiddling with his hands, Idia watched the first-year carefully set you on his bed before stepping out of the room.

"We'll leave everything to you!" The two scurried away and Ortho also excused himself, leaving to give you two privacy. Idia stood in the middle of his room, a great distance away from you.

Alright, he could do this. It was just a simple little kiss, no biggie.

Hovering his shaky hands over your cheeks, Idia leaned over your form. His breath fanning across your face as he moved in, delicately brushing his lips against yours.

Your hands snaked around his neck, drawing him in deeper making the boy squeak. Pulling away, Idia averted his gaze, voice small and meek.

"H-Hey you. You're finally awake…"

✩—MALLEUS DRACONIA:

In a tall tower atop Diasomnia, an ominious green glow was emanating from an open window. Thick towering brambles, thorns, and vines wrapped itself around the brooding dorm. In the sky, claps of lightning and thunder flashed amongst the darkening clouds.

"Ah…we lost the prefect." Deuce deadpanned, his gaze fixed on the overgrown thick shrubs in front of them. Ace reached for a thorn, hissing as the tip of his finger was cut.

"Yeah..it's best if we leave them to Malleus, I don't think we can even get past all of…this."

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Lilia stood in the corner watching as Malleus tenderly placed you onto the bed, the dragon fae handling you as if you were a delicate piece of glass that could break at any second.

"Ah~ Are you going to be their Prince Charming? Khee hee, how ador—"

"Lillia, we need more pillows. There's hardly enough here." Malleus abruptly cut in, a stern look on his face.

Lilia blinked, gaze drawn over to the bed already filled to the brim with pillows of all shapes and sizes, so much so that some of them began pooling around the floor. All evidence of Malleus' nesting instinct.

"What a tragedy. There is to be a pillow scarcity in Diasomnia because of the devastation lay upon the prefect." Lilia replied, a dramatic theatrical sigh leaving his lips. He hurried out the door to meet Malleus' requests before the storm outside worsened. The dragon fae was already aggrevated, there was no need to make things worse.

Malleus' gaze was drawn to your serene expression, his aching heart plummeting to his stomach. Bending down, he softly cradled you in his arms. "Oh, my treasure, if only I could have prevented this."

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses amongst your skin before trailing them up to your lips. Fluttering his eyes shut, Malleus wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the bed as he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

Malleus drew back to see you ogle at him with with wide eyes, your fingers having immediately shot up touch your tingling lips. Chuckling, he bent down once more to press his lips against yours. You two exchanged kisses for what seemed like hours, the press of his lips against yours leaving your lungs burning and heaving for air. At some point he slipped into bed with you, holding himself above your body with his elbows.

"Khee hee, You two know it's supposed to be a 'True Love's Kiss' not 'Kisses', right?" Lilia barged into the room, a comically large pile of pillows in his arms. Malleus growled and tossed a lamp his way, one which Lillia dodged easily. The lamp shattered against the wall behind him, scattering into fragments across the floor.

"Ah ah, there's no need to be so furious. Let me just drop these off and I'll be on my merry way." Lilia cheered, dropping the pillows by the foot of the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old bulky camera. "Might as well take pictures!"

Snarling, Malleus drew his hand back to reach for the large painting sitting above the bed. You snaked a hand around his wrist, silently begging him to not hurl another object at his bat-dad.

"My baby boy is in love-OW!"

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✩— EXTRA:

"What did I say about keeping them out of harms way." Crewel snarled through clenched teeth, sitting in the detention room with both Ace and Deuce. Ace chuckled awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well if you look on the bright side, your kid finally has a love life, so there's that!"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

Taglist: @keedas , @spadecentral

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peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 🎄Simon has himself a merry little Christmas - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge

Simon opens his eyes to an empty bed on Christmas morning.

His breath catches in his chest when his hand slides across the sheets, instinctively seeking the warmth of your body, only to discover your side of the bed empty.

His rational, tactical, professional mind tells him you've probably just gotten up with the baby. That for some reason, he slept too deeply and didn't wake up when she did this morning, like he usually does. You're in the guest room, Emmaline's room, now, or in the kitchen. Maybe you're already drinking your first cup of coffee. You're fine. The baby is fine. Nothing is wrong.

But his heart... his heart screams. Terror ices his veins, adrenaline and fear taking control of his gross motor skills, legs twisting beneath him as he stumbles out of bed and races for the door. They’re fine, they’re fine, they’re fine-

“Sweetheart?” His voice betrays him. He sounds stressed, anxiety piquing, frantically turning the corner into the kitchen. Not again, he can’t do this again, this can’t happen again…

It’s empty. The front door is still locked, and so is the patio’s, twinkling Christmas tree glowing in the late dawn light. His mind splits. Check Emmaline’s room, they’re probably in there, get control of yourself… and… the glock 19 is closest, should still be under the top shelf, call Price, mobilize the team-

“Simon?” He whirls at the sound of your voice, air rushing out of his lungs, drawing into a relieved laugh. Emmaline is on your hip in a green, white, and red striped elf costume, complete with a pointed hat, jingle bell dangling from the top. “Morning.” You smile, and so does the baby. “Santa’s elf wanted to surprise you.” You’re still a little sleepy, eyes tired, and he does a double take when he realizes you’re in your underwear and one of his t shirts.

“I’m… surprised.” Bloody hell. His brain isn’t working, his mouth rendering him stupid, still caught in fight or flight, and your lips subtly twist before your eyes soften, realization soft across your features.

“Are you okay?” You question, and he nods, not trusting himself to not say something else moronic, flailing in the silence, failing. It’s been weeks since he’s felt like this, inept, clumsy, senseless, too easily settled into a life with you after that pipe burst in your flat and practically delivered him a holiday miracle, a treasure deposited right into his lap. “Here,” you push Emma into his arms, soft fingers over top his as you hand her off, looking up at him with that level trust, adoration that you’re always providing him, in your eyes. Just holding Emmaline settles the anxiety in his heart, soothes the raw buzzing that’s tearing through his head, and you smile, butting your head into his shoulder and placing a kiss there. “Will you take her while I get dressed?”

“Yeah.” He croaks, as you squeeze his forearm, turning away. “Sweetheart,” he calls, stopping you in your tracks. He wants to tell you he thinks he loves you; he thinks he’d die without you; he thinks you’re the greatest thing he’s ever had, ever held, thinks you saved him, but nothing comes out. You hold his gaze for a second, and then two, before whispering.

“I know… me too.” Of course you do. You pause, cocking your head. “Could you make some coffee? Gonna be a long day.” You raise an eyebrow towards the Christmas tree, where all of Emma’s gifts sit perfectly arranged, and he nods. He can do that.

“Just three scoops of this,” he tells Emma, portioning out the coffee into the filter as she babbles at him from her perch in his other arm. “Mama likes it pretty strong, doesn’t she? And then some water, like this.” He pours the pitcher into the machine’s reservoir, flicking on the power and listening to the gurgle as he makes his way to the couch. He bounces Emma on his knee, little hands waving in the air, trying to grab the end of her hat and gnaw on it. The tree sparkles behind her, lights and ornaments all aglow, and she giggles when she tips herself forward, planting onto his chest with both hands. “Easy, baby girl.” Rolling onto her back in the crook of his arm, she squirms, smiling up at him, finger extended towards his chin. “What is it, eh?” He leans, and she pokes his cheek, cooing with a satisfied grunt. She fits so naturally in his side, just like you do, and he settles into the cushions, relaxing, allowing her to explore, tactile touch padding across his face, little fingernails scratching at his stubble.

“You two look cozy.” You murmur with a yawn, cup of coffee steaming in your palms. He smiles, and Emma lifts her head to look for you, tracking the sound of your voice. You perch at his other side, knees tucking up next to his hip, nestling your head against his shoulder, fingers tracing Emmaline’s cheek. “Whatcha doing sweet pea?” He brushes a kiss across the top of your head, and you sigh, arm wrapping around his stomach. "This is nice."

"It is." He agrees. It's more than nice, it's everything. Everything he didn't know was possible, everything he didn't know he wanted. It's nice, spending Christmas with his girls, cuddled up together on his couch in front of a Christmas tree that's loaded with presents for the baby. A Christmas, the holiday he used to shun… now brought back to life by you. Nice is a good word to describe it, but others flit through his mind as well: perfect, redeeming, salvation.

Purpose.

He takes a ragged breath, and you lean back to look at him, waiting.

"It's more than nice, sweetheart, it's... I... never thought, never dreamed this could happen in my life. You and Emmaline, you're... everything to me." He pauses, cradling your face, watching how your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "I want," he swallows the lump in his throat. "I want you to stay. I want you to be here. Always." He needs you to stay, needs you like he needs air to breathe, needs you like he's never needed, never wanted, anything before in his life. He'd give you the world, if he could, wrap it up nicely and put it beneath the tree, but he doesn't know how to say that, how to explain.

He's grateful he doesn't have to.

"I'll be here, Simon. I'll be right here. With you." You take his hand, clutching onto him tightly. It's selfish, what he wants. Stupid. But he's not a good man... he's yours, and he'll be as wicked, as awful as he must to keep you and Emmaline safe. You're the only good thing about him now, and he'd dig himself free from a shallow grave all over again, just to crawl home to you. You've changed him, deeply. Fundamentally. Taught him the truth of love, of healing, your grief not so much different from his own, and he knows he'd die for you, he'd die for you ten thousand times.

Emmaline babbles at the sound of your voice, and you smile at her, not bothering to wipe away the tear that tracks down your cheek. "We're here. We'll stay. As long as you want us."

And christ, if that isn't the best Christmas gift he's ever be given.

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #codholiday2023

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notmyneighbor · 1 month

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count ~ 4.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor blood and violence, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You’ve only barely begun to recover from the wrung out feeling of ultimate bliss when you hear it: the warning klaxon, followed by the sound of tires screeching to a halt. The aggressive roar of truck engines. Doors opening in rapid succession. Loud voices and boots pounding on pavement.

The doppelgänger jerks upright, sliding off the bed and wrenching the curtains to one side to peer down at the scene unfolding on the street below. “They’re here,” he says, and for the first time you detect something like fear wafting from the imposter.

A flood of relief washes over you. Someone had alerted the disposal unit. It wasn’t too late to save lives after all.

You search for your discarded clothing, hurriedly sliding the retrieved garments back into place. Francis’ copy looks at you.

“They’ll know you let me in.”

“Yes,” you agree distractedly, hastily shoving the hem of your blouse back beneath the waist of your skirt.

“They’ll know,” he says again, more firmly this time, moving in front of you, one hand closing around the wrist you’ve yet to refasten the shirt cuff upon. “They’ll know about me.”

You stare at him, realization kicking in. The others were safe. You, however, had no such guarantee. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I should. You’re a liability.” His grip on you abruptly relaxes. He’s merely holding you now. “Your organization will punish you for this.”

You shake your head, trying to hastily tuck your hair back into place. “Not once they hear my explanation.”

The intruder scowls. “What defense will you offer? You knowingly let a replicant into your precious building.”

“I…” Your confidence wavers as you begin to consider how your actions will appear. He’s right. There’s no excuse for what you’ve done. You’ve not only failed at your assigned task, you’ve betrayed your own kind. An unforgivable crime.

He seems to read the slight panic on your features, his voice gentling. “Suppose we make a deal,” he says.

You look at him warily. “What kind of deal?”

“I make it look like you were attacked while you tried to fend me off. Make up some doppelgänger appearance when they ask you. Don’t tell them about Francis’ death. You get to live. I get to go down the fire escape, avoiding extinction.”

A life for a life, in essence. The elevator was temporarily disabled the second the alarm was pushed, but it won’t take the team long to sweep each floor. You were running out of time.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He turns your arm over so the underside is exposed, thumb pressing firmly just below the hollow of your elbow. “This will hurt,” he cautions. The only warning you get before you see it: that thing inside of the milkman breaking through, emerging. A sickly gray-green digit topped with a sharp yellow claw. He drags it right through the fabric of your shirt, right through your skin. It burns. A blossoming line of red appears, your lifeforce weeping out of the laceration. You feel lightheaded and nauseous.

“Don’t look at it. And don’t let it get on the carpet. We need to leave, now.” He steps back into the milkman’s shoes, not even bothering with the laces. You follow him to the front door, exiting the apartment. Locked again. You hear voices echoing in the stairwell, the heavy tred of the suited disposal unit pounding on the steps.

“Remember what I said.” The imitation’s knuckles graze your cheek, the touch almost tender. The injured arm cradled against your chest is throbbing. “I’m going to knock you out. It will help further disguise what happened.” The voices are getting louder. They’ve finished on the second floor, making their way to the third. The doppel’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, his mouth brushing yours hurriedly before your head is slammed against the wall, sending you hurtling into a void of darkness.

***

There is a debriefing after the incident.

No casualties. The residents were safe, excluding Francis, of course. You have a lie ready to account for his sudden absence. You say you’d heard him mention something about an emergency visit to a sick relative in a neighboring city as he’d dashed out the front door earlier that day. A phone call to his employer wouldn’t match this story, of course. You weren’t sure what family the man even had. None that would corroborate your fabrication, certainly. You were just hoping that your claim about him needing to leave abruptly very early in the morning without contacting anyone was convincing enough. It’s all you can think of on the spur of the moment.

The director, a severe looking middle aged man, frowns over the lenses of his glasses at you. You keep your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your stitched wound is slowly healing, the ache now a sort of dull throbbing that you’re consciously aware of from time to time. No apparent signs of infection, the surrounding skin clear.

“Your track record, up until now, has been impeccable.” The older man’s voice brings you out of your reverie.

“Yes, sir.” It’s true. For six months you’d performed your role as doorman perfectly. Never failing to detect a single doppelgänger. Protecting the innocent.

“Still, this is not a transgression that can simply be overlooked. The consequences of your misjudgment could have been dire.”

You’d stated that you’d realized the person requesting entrance was really a copy only after the door had been opened, catching an error on the paperwork at the last minute. Intervening, attempting to stall the intruder. Injured and knocked unconscious. You knew nothing more after that.

“It’s suspicious that none of this alleged false documentation has been retrieved at the site. Strange also that you’d been carried all the way to the third floor. We also have no record even remotely matching the description of the doppel you’ve given. How do you account for these discrepancies?”

“The replicant stated they were a new resident moving in to the vacant apartment on the third floor. It seemed plausible that there hadn’t been a chance for them to be featured on the day’s list yet. It’s hardly the first time someone’s name hasn’t been placed as it should be. The subtly incorrect DDD logo was the tip off I unfortunately picked up on too late, sir.” You pause, clearing your throat. There is virtually no moisture left in your mouth and you find it suddenly parchment dry. It’s difficult to speak, your nerves betraying you. “The replicant must have taken the paperwork with them in order to conceal the evidence. And I was knocked out immediately after being cut. I don’t remember anything after that.”

His lips press into a thin line. Your force yourself to maintain eye contact. This was your explanation and you could not falter. “Even so. You failed to follow protocol. And you failed to contact the disposal team.”

“There wasn’t time to dial the phone number. Not even time to sound the alarm. I simply reacted on instinct. I was hoping to…”

“To what? What did you think you would accomplish? You, a mere unarmed woman?” He drapes the last word in contempt. You flush, squirming in your seat at the insult.

The suited man sighs heavily, closing your file folder. “You’re going to be suspended without pay for one week. Then I expect you to return to work. Your temporary replacement is…less than ideal. Let me be clear, though: if anything else happens, you’ll be terminated. No debriefing. No excuses. Understood? This is your final warning.”

You nod, saving your sigh of relief for when you’ve exited the office. The air departs your lungs in a loud rush. You’d done it. You’d actually managed to talk your way out of it.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Francis’ doppelgänger.

He was out there, somewhere. The safest move would be to travel, to just flee the area entirely, but you doubt he’ll leave. He’s still here.

You can feel him.

***

You drive to your house, to the home of your childhood. An inheritance from your great grandparents, passed down through each generation. Outside of the city. Quiet. It’s a relief to see green again. The air smells clearer, too. No waste from factory smokestacks or concentrated exhaust from automobiles. A light scent of grass and summer wildflowers. You roll your window down, inhaling deeply. It’s the best you’ve felt in a while. Since before the incident.

Francis. Your good mood departs just as quickly as it had arrived. How terrible a person you are. Lying to save your own skin. To protect the doppelgänger that had killed your beloved milkman. Putting innocent lives at risk. You had no right to feel anything even resembling happiness or contentment. You should turn the car right back around and return to the office. Confess your sins and receive whatever punishment would be decided for you. Imprisonment, certainly. Perhaps a life sentence to match the life that had been stolen from the third floor resident.

You trudge up the steps of the porch, sinking down onto the topmost stair, your head resting against the post of the railing. There are strips of paint peeling, you notice. You’ll need to sand them down before you apply more stain. Something to occupy you during your week off. Distract you from your own misery.

You close your eyes and listen to the hum of insects. There is another scent in the air now; something damp. The sky’s clouds were white and fluffy looking, but you know those can change in an instant. You think there is a storm approaching.

Perhaps you will wait it out. Just rest here and see what happens, studying your surroundings. There are birds singing in the vacant field that hasn’t known crops for many seasons. You only tended a much smaller one close to the house. Some vegetables. That was all. More often than not the local wildlife took a sample, but you didn’t mind sharing. You should have a look before you head back inside later on, see if there is anything to harvest.

It’s comfortable here. The sun is at the perfect angle. You still have plenty of shade. Warm enough to warrant rolling your shirt sleeves back. Catching sight of the scabbed, sutured line marring your forearm. You trace the mark. You think about the copycat tracing your cheek. That final kiss before he’d knocked you unconscious. It made so little sense to let you live. Had some remnant of Francis’ psyche influenced him somehow? Urging him to spare you?

Your eyes slide closed and you drift off to sleep still mulling this over.

***

In the dream you are standing in the nearby orchard.

You know it is a dream, because in reality these fruit trees are no longer tended. Yet here you are, standing beneath the crooked branches of one peach bearing specimen. The many smooth emerald leaves shield you from the sun.

Francis is beside you.

Or not-Francis. You cannot say which it is. The smile is as you remember. The perpetually tired eyes. He reaches for one of the velvet skinned fruits, plucking it easily and handing it to you.

The texture is exactly as it should be. Not too firm and not too soft. Ripe and ready to take a bite from. You do so, your teeth sinking into the soft yellow flesh. A burst of sweetness on your tongue. The excess juice drips down your chin. You offer the peach to the milkman but he doesn’t accept, instead moving to take a taste of it from your face, first doting on your lips before he laps at the dribbling trail. You clutch his shirt and his kisses become rougher. Pushing you gently to the ground. You drop the fruit and your hands become full of his shirt, his hair, the soft earth beneath you. His mouth plants kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Hand dragging down through the floral patterned button front dress you’re wearing.

“Francis.” You reach for his face. It’s wrong. Something in the structure of the nose. So subtle it could easily be mistaken. The teeth suddenly bared in a smile that’s unfriendly. A grin of triumph. It isn’t Francis. You’ve been duped by an imposter.

The skin ripples. His eyes become bloodshot. You struggle to move. Your wrists are pinned at your sides. Sharp teeth nipping at the skin of your throat. A wolf ready to destroy its prey.

The thunder awakens you.

You jolt upright, massaging your stiff neck as you glance around hurriedly. The sky is a mass of gray clouds now, the natural illumination of the heavens notably dimmed. The air is laced with the scent of petrichor. You rise and the first drops of rain fall, pattering on your bare arms, sinking into you hair. Another disgruntled warning rumble, louder this time. The interval between that and the next shortening. You’re about to turn and enter the house when you see a figure standing nearby, on the outskirts of the side yard.

It’s him. The imposter that took over Francis.

The normally pristine, starched uniform is dirt stained, collecting souvenirs from the unpaved road leading to your house. The bowtie around his neck is loosened, draped around the unbuttoned shirt collar, the first several buttons of that work shirt similarly unfastened, revealing the white undershirt beneath. He’d never bothered retrieving the hat, the uncovered thatch of thick chestnut hair now tousled. Your fingers curl around the railing for support as he begins walking towards you with determined strides, closing the distance rapidly. The thunderstorm’s namesake harbinger sounds again. A flash of lightning. The rain is no longer a faint scattering of drops, now falling in an earnest deluge.

You both manage to escape being drenched, finding shelter beneath the porch roof in the knick of time, the imposter halting just in front of you. His chest is rapidly rising and falling, as if that brief exercise he’d just participated in was taxing him. You know that’s not the reason for those panted gasps for air, your own body mimicking that movement.

“Francis,” you say, but the name is drowned out by the growing ire of the storm.

He moves then, pressing you against the weathered clapboards near the living room window that overlooks the front yard. He cups your face between his hands and his lips crush yours. You respond without hesitation, kissing him back. Not giving yourself time to think about what you’re doing; to recall the dream you’d just had where you’d been destroyed by one of his kind.

“How did you find me?” You gasp when you part for air.

This utterance is barely audible, threaded between the next two bouts of thunder, muffled by the sound of the downpour. He slides his fingers against the harsh furrow on your arm. “I could sense where you were. Tracked you…” The words drowned out once again. His mouth moves close to your ear. “What did you say to them? What happened?”

“They bought it, for the most part, I think. The director is suspicious, though. I got suspended for a week.”

Another flash of lightning. It was foolish to remain outside any longer. You invite him in, struggling to fit the key in the lock, your trembling fingers not cooperating. His hand closes over yours, steadying you. The door surrenders, swinging inward.

It’s dark in the living room. You switch on the nearest lamp and toss your keys on the table.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know if you still do that, or…” It was unknown what the doppelgängers consumed for nutrition. Perhaps it would be different now that they could occupy a human body and not merely disguise themselves as one.

“I do. But that can wait.”

“Did you know that would happen? You being able to trace my whereabouts when you cut me?”

“No. It’s uncharted territory. Like so much of…this,” he murmurs.

“You need to call Francis’ workplace. Explain to them that there was a family emergency. That’s the excuse I gave for the sudden absence. The DDD has been looking for you. Well, for him,” you correct yourself.

“They’ll expect me to return at some point.”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll let me in. To dwell there. And what of my brethren?”

“I can’t let them in. You know that.” You swallow nervously. “You can’t harm anyone. If I let you inside, you have to promise me you won’t. You got what you wanted. You got to be one of us. There’s no reason to hurt anyone else.”

A large clap of thunder makes you jump. The doppelgänger moves closer to you, tipping his head to one side thoughtfully. “You think I’ll cooperate?”

“We had a deal. I let you escape. I lied to protect you.”

“And I let you live. Both ends of the bargain fulfilled. There is no obligation beyond that.”

“You don’t want to hurt me.”

“Are you quite sure of that?” One arm circles your waist, drawing you against him. His fingers sift through your hair, tugging your head back slightly. “These hungers for the flesh are so distracting. How your kind manages them…” His voice trails off and his lips touch yours.

The light flickers and dies. You’ve lost electricity, now standing in the darkened room cradled by the deceiver.

“<i>The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep</i>…”

You inhale sharply, thinking of the Bible on Francis’ nightstand. Reading scripture like any good devout soul, learning verses by heart. That memory resurfacing now.

“Francis.” You know it’s no longer him, not in his purest, human essence, but this evolution still holds traces like this that you can’t help but hold dear.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” His hands slide down over the curve of your buttocks as he kisses the corner of your jaw. You guide him towards the nearby couch, watching him sink into the cushions before you climb into his lap, your shoes sliding off and falling to the hardwood floor. You run your fingers through his hair, your mouth ravaging his. It’s the parts of Francis that you love that you’re adoring, you tell yourself. Not the pretender, but the fragments of the man inside he still carries with him. That is what your fingers caress and your mouth cherishes. You unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, then reach for the belt buckle, jerking the leather strap free from the metal, all while your lips and tongue work in a frenzy over his.

The rain and the thunder becomes white noise, a nearly muted sound in the background as you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper, the metal teeth parting to reveal white briefs. You touch his erection through that thin material, feeling the hard, thick line of it and he hisses, then groans somewhere near your neck.

“Yes, love, that’s what I need…”

You shove your hand beneath the elastic waistband and you make contact with feverish flesh. Another groan from the imposter. You sweep over the head of his cock, realizing he’s circumcised, smoothing leaking precum over the dome before you wrap your fingers around the shaft and begin stroking up and down. He moans into your mouth. It’s not the best angle, your hand a bit squashed awkwardly between your bodies. You slide off his thighs to sit beside him, never breaking contact, still pumping his prick, rolling your fingers over the crest as you reach the top, thumb dragging over the frenulum with each pass. Your tongue dances over his and you feel the arousal leaking from your own sex, soaking your panties.

Another glob of clear fluid oozes from the tip and your mouth waters. You want to taste it. Want to feel him in your mouth.

Your lips abandon his and he frowns, confused until he sees your head bowing over his lap, your body shifting as you engulf his turgid member. Another hissing sound of pleasure as the slightly musky flavor hits your taste buds. You haven’t fully taken him inside yet, only reaching close to halfway, applying suction as you move across that shallow expanse, allowing yourself to become accustomed to the length and girth of him. His fingers touch your head, not applying force, just resting there. You release his cock with a wet popping sound, stroking your saliva over his erection before taking him into your mouth again. You push deeper this time, forcing your lips closer to the base of his cock, to the nest of dark pubic hair. Your throat protests and you gag, the fingers on your head now tightening, pressing, urging you on.

“Sweet girl, that’s it, you can take it. All the way. Fuck.” The curse is something you’d never imagine coming from the milkman’s lips, but you find yourself aroused by it, the depravity of what you’re doing erotic. Your head bobs, dipping lower each time, eliciting an obscene wet squelching sound as his prick collides with your throat. There’s a higher pitch to his sounds of pleasure now. His hips lift to meet you, shoving him in as deep as he can reach while your nostrils flare, searching for a greater air supply.

Your nails dig into this thigh. The loosened belt buckle jingles with each thrust into that moist cavity you’ve provided. The fingers in your hair loosen, allowing you a brief respite. You withdraw and cough. A thick trail of saliva connects your lower lip to his glistening cock. Your fingers massage through the slick and he hums appreciatively. Your lips feel slightly numb, tingling from the stretch. There’s a burning sensation in your abused throat, a soreness when you swallow. But the discomfort is bearable. You want to do this. You want him to feel good.

You suck in a lungful of air and then begin again. You hear the replicant’s breathing becoming shallower, more rapid. He’s getting close. You redouble your efforts, moving fast and deep.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to make me…it’s so fucking good…”

His hips snap up and an acrid spill of semen floods your throat. It catches you by surprise and you choke around the pulsing erection. It’s a copious amount of seed that spills over your retreating tongue. You swallow down the last of the bitter fluid, straightening, dragging the back of your hand across your spit drenched chin.

“That was…you…” The creature is speechless. You can’t help but feel a little pride over that. He captures your lips, mulling over the taste he’s left there. “I want to taste you,” he says, and your pussy throbs. “I want you to cum inside my mouth.”

He moves off the couch, kneeling in front of you. Shoving at your skirt. You hurriedly hook your thumbs over the edge of your panties and drag them down, feeling how wet the crotch is as they drag across your legs. Scooting closer to the edge, spreading yourself open for him.

His face moves forward and his tongue parts your folds. Laving down to gather a sample of your arousal. Humming with approval at the taste of you as he focuses on your clit. A long, slow drag over the sensitive nub. You whimper. His thumbs wedge along either side of your sex, stretching the pink flesh further open. His mouth covers your cunt and he sucks and your thighs try to close, the sensation overwhelming.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re delicious.” Slurping on your clit now. You thread your fingers through his hair, caressing his head as his tongue flicks across the hooded button. He doesn’t need guidance this time. Everything is the way you like it. Dividing attention between your clitoris and the entrance of your pussy. Pushing that muscle inside, fucking you with his tongue, alternating with lapping at your bundle of nerve endings. You wish it wasn’t quite so dark. You want to see his eyes. You know he’s looking at you even if he can’t discern much in the dim gray light filtering in through the windows. Watching your reaction even as he feels it in his mouth. Hears the pleading, the needy gasps and moans, the whining that begins the closer you get to coming apart in his mouth.

He moans, too, and the vibrations of that sound add another layer to your pleasure. A finger makes its way inside you. Violated by a second soon after, thrusting while he sucks your clit. You climax, panting his name over and over, your fingers frantic in his hair, your pelvis quaking as your grind yourself against him.

Eventually your movements lessen. He eases back and your quivering legs draw closed. He rejoins you on the couch, his mouth on yours, gifting you a taste of yourself.

Then you sit quietly, listening to the diminishing storm outside. The rain drums on the roof and taps along the gutters with a soft metallic sound. Your face is tucked into the doppel’s shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his arm curled around your shoulders.

You shouldn’t enjoy this. Any of this. You should be afraid, disgusted. Instead you feel oddly calm. Safe in his arms, even though you certainly aren’t. These alien beings were masters of deception and manipulation. You know better. It was foolish, what you were doing. Dangerous—for you, for everyone else.

But you’re convinced more than ever that some part of Francis is still buried within. The goodness of him negating the evil of this imposter.

“I’ll make the call in the morning.” The first words spoken in a long time. Your head lifts. “And I’ll move in to the apartments.”

“Just you. And you won’t harm anyone.”

“You ask for too much.”

“I’m giving up everything for you. Risking my job, my life, the lives of the people I’ve sworn to protect. My heart. My soul,” you finish with a whisper. “I don’t think you understand how many things I’m sacrificing.”

“I’m not human. It’s impossible for me to. There are no words for them in our language because they simply don’t exist.”

“But you want to be us. You should understand…”

“I will make the call and I will move in. Beyond that I am not promising you anything. Except…I do not want you harmed.” He reaches for your arm, tracing over the healing wound he’d inflicted. “I will try to prevent that, at least.”

A small concession, perhaps, but an important one nonetheless. If he was willing to spare you, maybe you could convince him to spare others.

Teach him the value of a human life while taming the monster within that wears the face of the man you love.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor

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blughxreader · 10 months

Text

Soft yandere Miguel O’Hara

cw: noncon, breeding, kidnapping, m masturbation, biting, SPOILERS. Headcanons and drabble. 1.4k words.

Mean dom Miguel is so hot, but I find that soft yan Miguel has so much overlap with canon.

This man still does all the sick and deplorable things a villain does, but in a way that's strangely tender.

I mean, you simultaneously have to be a sweet man and a stone-cold motherfucker to step in the shoes of your dead counterpart and con his family into thinking everything is fine. Like, he (eventually) fucked a dead man's wife, adopted his child, and seamlessly integrated into his shoes.

While certainly calloused, it also reveals a profound desperation for love and a willingness to do anything for it.

Enter you: a Spider from a random dimension that got caught up in an anomaly's destruction. Maybe your world was destroyed or it's emotionally difficult for you to return, so you end up spending a lot of time at HQ.

Miguel doesn't notice you for a while. There's hundreds of Spiders milling about the base, so it's only until you befriend Peter B and his baby that you get acquainted.

You draw him in without trying, no matter the walls that Miguel puts up. He needs to focus—everyone's very existence is at stake, dammit,—but by month five, you're the only thing he can think about.

His advances start off slow, bogged down by his own exasperation at himself. You're ordered to give in-person de-briefs in Miguel's office and get invited to lunch with him and Peter B, giving you the impression of an upcoming promotion. Miguel is as poised as ever, not letting a single stray emotion color his expression, and talks to you in an aloof, polite manner.

However uninterested he might seem, his insides tighten and flutter at your growing friendship. Every time you smile or secretly share a bemused look, he sinks deeper and deeper in his desire to have you.

Proximity-wise, Miguel vacillates between sitting next to you, close enough for your elbows to brush, and standing 30 feet away on his podium for the next week.

His involuntary, physical reactions startle him, and it becomes another contention he internally wars about. The second he thinks it's harmless to brush against you, it divulges into grabbing—cupping—pinning—fucking—ruining.

God, he fucking loathes the powerless feeling you inflict on him, but he doesn't have the strength to put an end to your friendship. He furiously jerks off after every meeting, biting into his hand to punish himself as he comes to the thought of you swollen with his child.

He thinks of all the deplorable ways to make you pay for causing these feelings, but he ultimately knows the blame lies within him. You see him as a boss and friend, nothing more. You would never intentionally drag him down to this state, so he bottles up all these feelings for your protection.

It takes a particularly bad mission for his control to break.

Whatever reservations he had about locking you in his bedroom evaporate when he sees you covered in blood and rubble. Protecting you from himself was one thing, but the thousands of universes?

You didn't realize what happened until you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, weary from pain medication.

He takes your fear, anger, and tears in stride.

While he can't shake his bitchy personality, his annoyance always fizzles out to mumbles and sighs. For months, he takes your verbal abuse and outbursts with resigned acceptance. Miguel didn't always like what he had to do, but he would commit any atrocity if it meant keeping you at his side.

He moves some of his work at home to spend more time with you, just content to occupy the same room while you adjusted to your new situation.

Your shared apartment is quiet most days, save for sporadic outbursts of rage from you, and Miguel daydreams about having a few little kids running around to fill the void.

He stares at you most evenings, watching you curled up on the couch pointedly ignoring him. Miguel thinks you wouldn't be so belligerent if you needed him for something, if you craved his presence and help in some way.

Miguel's mind always drifts back to his favorite fantasies on nights like these: you nine months pregnant and too big for anything other than his shirts. His eyes drift down to your stomach, to the place where you could make his dreams come true.

Patience is something Miguel prides himself on, which is why he puts up with the loneliness for nearly a year after bringing you home. You were given ample time to warm up to him and he's been nothing but kind. Every broken plate and spoiled food, every scratch across his face, every insult—he let you have your way in hopes that you'll eventually recognize him as your lover.

But no. You complained and struggled every step of the way.

Miguel could never hurt you, but he realized that more permanent and assertive measures had to be taken to make you see that you need and love him as much as he does you.

---

When he finally takes you, there's hardly any space between your bodies. There are months of touch starvation to make up for and Miguel is compensating all at once.

His entire 6'9" stature pins you to his bed, locking you between arms as large as your thighs. Miguel is the only thing you see or feel, as his hands caress every dip and curve of your body and his cock grinds against your slit.

With your legs helplessly hiked up around his waist and one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, he makes love to you with a slow burning intensity.

Your fear and disgust are palpable, but between his sweet voice in your ear and his fingers somehow knowing the rhythm and speed to play with your clit, you're more wet than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, mi cornazón. I have you." Miguel kisses your jaw, his cock rocking in and out of your aching heat with an agonizingly slow pace. "Just breathe steadily and let me take care of you."

He's too big inside of you, and your grunts of pain make him linger in place to help you adjust. When his stride picks up and the wet sounds of sex fill the bedroom, disgust roils in your stomach. Yet fuck, fuck, fuck, your body temperature rises with each stroke.

Miguel kisses you deeply, using his free hand to hold your head in place. He says, "It's time. I've been so patient. Be brave for me and take our baby."

He swallows your horrified pleading with another scorching kiss.

Your pussy clenches around his dick and your breath catches in your throat. Miguel hugs you tighter, his nose pressed into your hair as he angles himself just right. When the first waves of your orgasm make your head dip back, the sharp edge of fangs scratch your neck.

You barely register his mantra of, "Te amo," when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. Blood spurts from between his teeth, and you cry out in confused pain as your orgasm shakes your body.

Miguel moans into your flesh seconds later, pumping his cum deep inside you. His thrusting is uncoordinated and rough, too blinded by pleasure to notice how powerful his pounding is. The mattress springs whine beneath you two, and you can only cry from the overwhelming treatment.

He milks every last drop of cum into your cunt before he begins to slow. Both of you gasp for breath, your chests heaving against one another's as sweat cools on your hot skin.

He keeps you plugged up for a while longer to give the conception time. His bloodied lips drag across the wound on your shoulder, peppering you with kisses as he trails red along your neck.

A sob shutters in your chest as Miguel runs a palm along your stomach.

"You'll understand soon. I promise. This will be the best thing that's ever happened to us."

#yandere miguel o'hara #dark miguel o hara #yandere miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #yandere spiderverse #cw: noncon #cw: breeding #afab

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yanderestarangel · 5 months

Text

HEADKANONS MK1 | NEKO!BI HAN | SFW, SOFT EDITION |

TW: fluff, sfw and just bi han being a cute grandmaster.

Oh no... Your feared grandmaster has turned into a neko.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who asked for a spell to get stronger. Bi Han went to ask Shang Tsung for a spell to get stronger, but he missed the spell, and turned Bi Han into a neko - black ears on top of his long hair and a fluffy tail of the same color which moved every time Bi Han became agitated or angry.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who shouted at Shang tsung, "-what the fuck did you do???" Bi Han spoke furiously to the wizard while you stopped your master from killing the wizard. He would look at himself in the mirror, his ears bobbing in rhythm with his tail as you, his most loyal ninja, held back a smile.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who was pissed upon hearing the news about the spell, Shang tsung said that it would take a whole afternoon to find a spell with a reverse effect, but in the meantime you would have to take care of your grand master...

NEKO!BI HAN- Who likes to have his ears rubbed, even if he never admits it, he likes to be pampered and praised by you, who likes you to caress his soft ears, while admiring the fangs that grew in his mouth, he will purr and try to cuddle cuddle in your lap - he totally forgets that he's over six feet tall and extremely heavy because of his muscles - he'll make an angry growl when you ask him to get off of you, while grumbling that he's going to freeze your tongue - he never would, but he just wanted you to let him enjoy the warmth of your lap.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who jumps at you from random places, you can be walking and out of nowhere see a tall shadow high up on the ceiling, then see the figure of sub zero with his ears moving, and after a few seconds he will jump on top of you knocking you down on the ground - you can and definitely will get hurt some of these times.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who forces you to caress his sensitive spots, while he snuggled into your embrace, stretching while purring happily, feeling your fingers on his neck, back and on his fluffy tail, while scratching your bed with his nails, playing with a ball of red thread you had - now it's his - you could stroke under his chin, feeling his rough beard grow as he purred hoarsely, looking at you as he blushed slightly in embarrassment.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who will become more sensitive, while walking with you through the gardens, he would pull your clothing fabric lightly pointing at several black kittens, while looking at you and saying that he looked like them now - an elegant black cat - after minutes he will having some on your shoulders and lap, while smiling slightly.

NEKO!BI HAN - Who sleeps in your bed, being a smaller shell, while you massage his ears and massage his back - his tail will move gracefully with each touch - he will force you to stay there with him, enjoying the warmth of your body only, After all, he is still your grand master. When all this is over, he will pretend that nothing happened, returning to being the dreaded sub zero, but you took several photos of him still as a neko - secretly saving them in a folder on your cell phone.

©𝒀𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 2023

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lundenloves · 11 months

Text

fatherhood

This happened. *Holding a fist to my mouth, biting on them knuckles.* This happened as a combination result of an awful sleeping schedule and unemployment. Banged this out in an hour. Don’t tell me it’s obvious, i’ll fold. Happy reading, kids.

↳ no warnings | 1.1k | f!reader

part two | dad!simon masterlist

the way his eyes make me want to howl in tears while digging my own grave isn’t actually canon. sigh.

Ghost stood still for thirty-two seconds, standing in near open fire on enemy view. One that was only guarded by a particularly large tree, saving his life when Soap had dragged him down to cover by his tac vest. “What the fuck, Lt.” He’d shout over the fire, his brows tightened in a frown toward his lieutenant. “Eh?”

Ignoring the sergeant, Ghost would continue the rest of the assault half-heartedly. Which was disconcerting to say the least, and so, so unlike him. Only mumbling over the comms when required, saving the already minimal chit-chat and failing to hear the multiple requests for backup from Gaz.

Johnny had been bold that night. Hitting his lieutenant on the shoulder and fucking grabbing his mask, turning Ghost’s head toward him. Well, for the mere two seconds Simon had allowed for it before pushing him off. “What’s wrong with you, Lt? For fuck sake. You’re scaring me ae.”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“Naw. You focus, sir.” He placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, before standing up and checking round the corner. “Let’s move, yeah?”

Simon’s jaw tightened under his mask, begrudgingly following Soap. Comms fucking yapping on in his ear, and he barked back at them while gesturing Johnny keep walking. It wasn’t ideal, yet so poignant to see him so different.

You.

You had gone into labour with Simon’s baby. The issue was, he had found out before going out on the current assault. His military mind raced with every possible travesty to do with childbirth. He feared you weren’t going to make it without him for unknown reasons, he felt it.

Soap didn’t know. No one knew.

He was good at that, keeping things to himself. Especially the things that ate at him — never did they ever come out aside from when Johnny forced them. Even then it was a battle.

So when they arrived back to base in safety, all trudging back to a meeting room. Gathering thoughts and sharing collected information, it was odd that Simon hadn’t shown. Not just odd, but almost scandalous as Johnny would say.

No messages. Nothing.

He hadn’t heard from you and in his head that meant fucking death at this rate. The balaclava came off for a split second, looking at himself in the lens of some sunglasses sat on a shelf adjacent to him. The stubble he had left was itchy against the fabric, smoothing his hand across his jaw he put his head into his hands.

Although, the balaclava was back on in under a minute for the subconscious feeling of vulnerability creeping in. And he was right to feel so when the door to his office had been knocked on, so light that he knew it was Soap before even opening the door.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, standing in front of his desk with arms crossed. Johnny entered and shut the door behind him, his hands flat on the surface.

“Lt. Are you alright, sir?” The way his eyes narrowed was enough to make Simon’s roll.

“Just grand.”

Although the tough facade was almost dropped when his phone had pinged from the desk. Jaw tensing at the sound, he was sure his fingers had twitched at the need to reach behind himself for it. Soap stared pointedly at the way the heel of his boot tapped against the floor, his fingers now looped in the pockets of his tac vest.

“Check it then.” The Scot nodded toward the desk.

“Do you need anything?” Simon asked. The dead stare he gave was piercing, shifting his feet to lean forward from the desk a little.

Johnny pointed to the desk, “It’s ringing, sir.”

For a moment, Simon did consider kicking Johnny out but figured. Fuck it. Reaching for the phone behind him to find it were a FaceTime from you, his own masked face staring back at him. This was probably it. The worst or best news of his life only a swipe away. With fucking Johnny MacTavish only feet away from whatever reaction Simon would undoubtedly suppress.

And well, it wasn’t so bad, Soap knew you. He knew you well. Well enough to the point where throughout your pregnancy he had been labelled ‘uncle Johnny’ by yourself much to Simon's demise

So when he swiped to answer, and was virtually face-to-face with a newborn it was a… chaotic feeling in his stomach to say the least. One that dropped to the floor when the baby had cried loud, a strangled babble that turned into a scream.

“Shh, shh,” Your voice mumbled over the line, zero energy throughout but just enough for Simon. “Daddy is there. Look baby, he’s here.” You had framed both yourself and the tiny baby on your chest, voice wavering with the last few words.

Johnny couldn’t save himself from the steps he took forward, planting a hard grip on Simon’s shoulder and shaking him slightly in glee. “Congratulations, mate.”

Simon took the balaclava off, his hair strewn across his forehead and spiking in every which way. He had no idea what to say, holding the fabric close to his chest and staring in awe.

“She’s beautiful, Si.” Was all you had said, obviously exhausted but confirming the gender for the first time.

Simon felt his knees buckle at the thought of having a little girl in the world, the familiar feeling of worry was completely wiped. The image of the little person enough to change his whole mindset, no longer was he scared but ready.

Ready to give his little girl whatever she wanted.

He was still lost for words when the call had ended. A promise of another at the same time tomorrow was the only thing that kept him upright, pulling the balaclava back on and looking to Johnny who cracked a grin.

“You’re a fuckin’ dad, Lt.”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes before holding the door open for the two of them. “Can I tell ‘em?” Soap continued, gesturing toward the group they were walking to.

“If you must.” Simon let a small smile take his face, content in the fact it was well hidden.

“Oi!” He’d called out, jogging ahead of his lieutenant and slamming his hands on the information table, sending many papers flying off edges. “Lt has stepped into fatherhood.”

The men erupted into deep voiced cheers just to wind their lieutenant up, all shaking his shoulders and drawing the attention of the whole fucking camp toward them.

It was the first time he had felt himself smile properly in months. His ears tinted a deep red although not visible, neck likewise.

Fatherhood it was.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

taglist? fill out this form.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2

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entitled-fangirl · 3 months

Text

So guilty.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: An accident happens and the reader dies. Felix blames himself for it.

Words: 1,959

Warnings: spiked drink, death, drowning, cursing, makeout session, skinny dipping, guilty conscience

Author's note: Idea came from this request!!!!

Masterlist <3

.................................................................................

Felix and his girl had been together for what felt like an eternity. Truthfully, they'd been together a little over two years. But she spent many of her breaks at Saltburn with him, and his family adored her as one of their own.

That’s what made things so difficult. She was practically one of them.

Felix loved her more than the moon and the stars. She was his everything. He would eat, sleep, and breathe her if he could. She was his reason for waking up in the morning. And she was a beautiful sight to wake up to, indeed.

Like this morning.

Felix opened his eyes to see the sun peeking through his window, illuminating the bedroom. He leaned on one elbow to admire the sunrise before ultimately laying back down on his back. His head looked directly to his side to see his beloved girl. His angel.

She laid on her stomach, her face turned in his direction. Her cheek was slightly squished against the pillow, her hair an absolute wreck. But he found it so alluring. So perfect. Heavenly. Her pretty face lit up by the sunlight was the best thing his brown eyes had ever had the joy to witness. He let out a soft breath at the sight. One that woke her up.

Her eyes flickered open, before quickly closing again after seeing the sun in her eyes. She let out a light groan. “Mmm… ‘Morning, love.”

He grinned, his voice gravely from sleep, “‘Morning, angel. God, you’re such a pretty girl.”

She smiled, rolling over onto her back. A hand of hers came up to cover her eyes as she lightly rubbed them with the back of said hand.

He wished he could save this moment in time forever.

But, like all good things, it must come to an end.

Duncan’s voice was heard outside the door. “Master Felix, breakfast is in thirty minutes.”

He leaned up on his elbow, his voice echoing, “Thank you, Duncan.”

They heard his footsteps retreat from the door.

Felix’s attention turned back to the girl in his bed. Her pretty face. Her perfect body. Her sweet sweet soul. “What do you wanna do today, angel?”

A silence fell over them before she opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. She thought for a while before turning her head to look at him, “Let’s drink the day away, huh? You and me?”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips pull into a grin before he gently kisses her forehead, “Anything my angel wants.”

…

Hours after breakfast, the two sat in the library, sharing a bottle of liquor.

Felix’s parents didn’t mind. Not at all. They were the parents to encourage drinking in the house rather than out in bars and clubs, claiming it was best for them to realize their tolerance when safe at home. Felix didn’t care what morals they tried to teach. They could drink in the house, and that’s all he needed to know.

The bottle sat half empty, the two feeling buzzed as they talked for hours.

It didn’t really matter what the two talked about. Not at all. Felix could listen to her speak the alphabet for four hours and still think she was the most precious thing on earth.

But it escalated after a while. The two lay on the couch, their bodies close as they made out.

His hand was up her shirt, her hands pulling at his hair. He would never get tired of her pretty body. The small noises she made in pleasure. The way her body would react to his touches. He loved every second of it.

She pulled away from him suddenly, her eyes staring at his lips. “Let’s… let’s go sw… swim, yeah? C’mon Lex.”

He takes a moment to consider, or as much as he could in his drunken state, “you sure, angel? It could be kinda cold…”

She nodded, “Pl…Please, Please Lex. Wanna swim… Wanna swim with you..”

He nodded, letting his fears go before they even became present.

…

She pulled him across the dock excitedly.

He set their basket and bag down before setting up their picnic. Well, as much of a picnic they could put together by themselves, two drunk college kids in love.

He laid out the blanket before setting down the other alcohol bottles he brought. He let her take a look at the bottles as he set each one down on the blanket. “Now, let’s waste the rest of the day like you wanted, angel.”

She quickly pulled off her swimsuit cover, revealing the cute red bikini she was wearing.

He couldn’t help but stare. God, she was such a pretty thing. Too pretty. How he got her, he’d never know. She must’ve felt his stares because she grinned. “C’mon, Catton. You promised a swim…with…with me.”

He nods, opening one of the bottles in front of him. “I did. Just wanna… wanna buzz a little before I do… just…go…go ahead, baby girl….”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She grinned, running off the dock into the water.

He grinned, laying down on the blanket and pulling the bottle to his lips. “Talk to me…”

She splashed the water around her, “Oh, Lex. This is incredible. This... yeah… good idea…”

His head nods, even if she couldn’t see it. He pulled his sunglasses on, not wanting to look directly into the sun above him. “Well… wasn’t my idea but… I’ll take… credit if it makes you happy…”

She giggles, “It does.”

Felix let the silence fall before changing the subject. “D’ya think Oli’s alright? He was acting weird yesterday…. Should… Should have I invited him to swim with us today?”

He could practically hear her grin in her voice. “Oh, Oliver doesn’t want to be here… this is for you…and me.”

He grinned, “What… what d’ya mean, angel?”

He’s hit in the face with a cloth. He pulls it up.

Her swimsuit pieces.

He sits up, holding the pieces in front of him with a shit-eating grin. “Fuck, angel. You’re quite… quite wicked… aren’t you?” He took another swig of his bottle.

She giggles from the water. “Aren’t you glad Oliver’s not here?”

He scoffed, “More than fucking happy… no one gets to see this but me, huh? Such a pretty girl…” He stood, stumbling slightly. How much of that bottle had he drank?

He shuffled forward on the dock until she was in his line of sight. The sight of her bare shoulders sent him into a frenzy. “Fuck…” He wished, just for a moment, that they were in a clean pool so he could see through the murky water. See her pretty body on display for him.

She grinned, “Ya coming in, Lex?”

He let out a breath, “Jesus, angel. Yeah… yeah I…. I’ll be there.. Give me… give me a second.”

He walked back to the blanket, struggling to take off his shirt. He does so, tossing it in the bag before taking another swig of the bottle in front of him.

He sets the bottle down and walks back to the end of the dock.

Where was she?

Oh, Fuck. Where was she?

“…Angel…?”

No response.

His voice grew louder, “C’mon, angel. This isn’t funny.”

When he was met with silence, his mind quickly sobered him. His voice was loud, calling out desperately, “Angel… ANGEL!”

When no answer was heard, he jumped into the cold water.

He surfaced, his head swiveling around to look for her. Any sign of her. Where the fuck was she?

His heart told him it was just a game, that she was hiding somewhere, but his head said differently. She didn’t play games like this. Not the worrisome kind.

He began to swim further out in search for her. He hit the middle of the pond, looking around desperately.

He had only turned his head for a second. A second. And she was gone.

She was gone.

His family heard his heartfelt screams from the house.

…

A few days had passed, and Felix was beyond disrepair. His hair was unwashed, his facial hair grew in, and his eyes held a dull look compared to the bright shine they used to have.

He felt guilty. So guilty.

He had killed her.

As much as people tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t do it, it didn’t matter. He still believed that he killed the one thing he lived for. And he killed himself in the process.

With Oliver’s party coming up, Felix couldn’t care any less. He felt guilty for not entertaining his guest, but what was he supposed to do? The poor mourning boyfriend couldn’t even sleep at night, his night terrors becoming worse every night.

Oliver broke the boy’s train of thought. “Felix?”

He looked up from the bottle in his hand, “…what?”

Oliver was saddened by the tired, heartbreaking look in Felix’s eyes. “I’m worried about you. You don’t sleep. Don’t eat… This isn’t what she would’ve wanted.”

“How do you know what she wanted” Felix’s voice growled. His hand tightened around the bottle.

“I… I don’t know… It was just a thought, Felix. You really do need to care for yourself…”

The poor Catton didn’t even look up from the bottle this time, “You don’t know anything about me, Oliver. Now, get the fuck out.”

Oliver stumbled back, surprised by his harsh words before obeying them.

…

Felix sat against the base of the statue in the maze. His eyes closed in thought. He should be happy. Partying. Having fun. Enjoying life.

Life.

How could he enjoy his life when he ended hers?

He reached over to the newest bottle next to him, taking a big swig.

He was a disgusting human being. How could he even be around a party after he did this? After he lost her? His angel. God, his fucking angel was dead.

He finished off the bottle quickly, throwing it into one of the hedges. His head fells against the statue, his body relaxing.

He heard rustling and opened his eyes.

Oliver rounded the corner of the maze, meeting Felix’s eyes.

“Thought you’d be here…”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Oliver’s antlers. “…the fuck you… you wearing, Quick?”

Oliver’s head tilted, “It’s for the party? How much have you been drinking, Felix?”

The boy’s shoulders shrug, “Doesn’t fucking matter….”

Oliver nods, “Well.. you have the wings on. I’m not that strange for my antlers… unless, of course, you’re too drunk to remember putting them on?”

Felix turned her head to look. Sure enough, a pair of gold wings were on his back. When the fuck did they get there? This whole time? He let out a groan, “I’m fine, Oli…”

Oliver sighs, “Yeah, sure bud.”

Felix noticed the mostly full alcohol bottle in Oliver’s hand, his eyes wandering to it.

Oliver noticed it too. He held it up. “You want this?”

Felix nodded, holding out his hand.

And Oliver happily handed it to him with a shit eating grin.

“Just… don’t drink too much too fast, Felix. Got that?”

Felix nodded, “Fuck off. I… I’m fucking fine…”

Oliver nods. “Alright. I’m gonna go back to the party. Just… sorry, Felix.”

Felix took a large drink from the bottle, “What the fuck for?”

Oliver shrugs, “Everything, I guess. You got handed the wrong cards in life.”

He scoffed, “Go back to your party.”

Oliver does just that.

…

In the morning, Felix’s body was found in the maze, exactly where Oliver had last seen him. The bottle laid empty in his hand.

Oliver found peace knowing the two lovers were reunited in a much different place.

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#fanfiction #felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #jacob elordi imagine #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn 2023 #saltburn #saltburn movie #felix catton fanfic #felix catton angst

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newtkive · 3 months

Text

practice - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader, mentioned platonic marcus x reader

summary: The sudden changes at your work prove to be a lot to keep up with, but Carmy notices your efforts where you think he’s just a tough boss. He proves to be more than that when he finds you pulling an all-nighter at the restaurant.

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: none really, anxious reader, ooc!carmen (he would never let mistakes fly like this lmao), kinda fluff at the end

a/n: this is basically how i would react working there bc i almost have an anxiety attack every ep watching carmy yell at everyone. sorry for any typos!

The fast moving pace that Carmen Berzatto brought to The Beef was something extraordinary. The skill of his professional chef background was carried over into the small hole in the wall that otherwise would have never changed if it wasn’t for him.

His drive was contagious, even infecting the staff you knew like the back of your hand. You never would have thought your coworkers, ever comfortable with a stagnant pace, would become accustomed to such change around their second home.

It was great to see your favorite people quickly see their own potential thanks to Carmy’s vision. The only problem was you.

You were falling behind, and quickly.

You tried to convince yourself you could keep up as things changed. But your mind was faster than your barely skilled hands and you were terrible at cutting ingredients evenly during a rush and you always somehow got sliced or burnt and your eyes always stung from the onions you were stuck prepping because that was the one job you couldn’t fuck up but hated— to put it simply, you sucked.

The faces of your coworkers reflected what you feared every time you turned around to take a breath, heels of your hands rubbing tears from your eyes as Carmy screamed profanities at the crew. Tina’s eyes would linger on you, brows raised and silently asking if you were okay. You would nod and blink the tears away before jumping back in. By the end of every shift Ebraheim would pat you on the back before leaving, and Sydney would send you a small, sympathetic smile and wave while you tied your shoes on the bench near the locker.

Each time you could see the sympathy in their eyes and it made you hate yourself even more.

You were used to sandwiches; assembling simple ingredients between a hoagie bun on a slow Sunday surrounded by the people you called family. Cracking jokes here and there, no pressure to make things completely perfect, which ended up making things perfect. So much so that regulars even seemed disappointed to see you up at the register some days instead of in the kitchen assembling their lunch.

Carmy wasn’t blind, he could see exactly what was going on, which was why he didn’t pick on you as much as he did when he first arrived.

The first couples of weeks that Carmy was there he noticed the difference in your station compared to everyone else’s. Organized, cohesive, clean—save for the multiple drinks you always had. You worked at your own pace, not slow but definitely not up to par with Carmen’s standards. You made it work though, cutting ingredients almost perfectly and whipping up sandwiches and other specialties not a second too late.

The change happened when Carmy upped the stakes and encouraged—or yelled at—everyone to be as quick as they possibly could. His yelling was off putting, and you didn’t respond well to much other than positive reinforcement.

The chef didn’t notice until the uneven bread and too-thin tomato slices lead back to you. He was quick, marching over to you with a purpose; if it was a cartoon, his hair would be alight with fire. “Chef!” His voice was hard and urgent, because he didn’t have time to deal with this.

As he approached, he noticed your hands shaking as you held the dull shitty knife, head whipping up and cheeks red, all but heaving from the pressure. So much pressure.

“Yes Chef?” You asked attentively, waiting for him to explode.

Carmen had all intentions to do just that, tear you a new one, tell you that you’ve been here long enough to know how to cut a fuckin’ tomato the right way but he paused. The look in your eye was wild and scared. His face fell, obvious turmoil behind his blue eyes causing a change in his decision. You waited with bated breath, but what you were expecting never came.

Instead, Carmen did his best to be calm and set his hand on the counter, leaning a bit. “I want you to show me how to slice that tomato.” He said.

“What?” You were confused and it was clearly written on your face. So were your nosy coworkers who exchanged looks and shrugged, expecting the young man to wail on you with his words.

Looking over your shoulder at the others, you tried to exchange weary looks with anyone but Carmy pulled you back in with his words. “Don’t worry about their shit. C’mon, show me.” He said again, motioning to the tomato sitting on the cutting board, looking at you expectantly.

After a beat of weariness you did what he asked. With an exhale your knife pierced the red skin and cut it, your wrist dragging it back and forth to cut all the way through. You gave a few more slices, doing your best to ignore his scrutinizing gaze.

Reviewing your slices, you mentally pat yourself on the back at the sight of them perfectly even and a fairly thin. You turned to look at Carmy, and he seemed to have an epiphany as he stood there holding his chin. Eyes flickering up to you, he nodded. “You know what that showed me?” He asked, and before you could answer he continued. “You’re competent, you did that shit with a dull knife. Don’t cut ‘em too thick or too thin, you have no excuses.”

He should feel ridiculous, like he was coaching a baby how to do the easiest job in the world, but for some reason Carmen was able to swallow his irritation and try to guide you.

You nodded, back straightening and hands sweaty. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmy was about to walk off but stopped himself, turning back around, eyes boring into yours as he grew more serious. “You hear me yelling, you listen, but I need you to focus, Chef. You can do this shit, I’ve seen you pull through before. Don’t let my mouth get to your fuckin’ head.” He said low enough just for the both of you to hear.

He was close, blue eyes staring right at you, the smell of the kitchen clinging onto his apron. It should’ve been intimidating, and it was a little, but you knew this was his version of offering comfort and maybe even some sort of apology.

“Heard, Chef.” You said just as quietly back.

There was a second of him staring, before he simply walked away without another word, leaving you to your own devices. Whatever he said seemed to put some perspective into your work, because you didn’t have anys setbacks for the rest of the day.

On the way home, sitting on the train with headphones in your ears and a jacket wrapping you up tight, Carmy’s words swirled in your head. You knew you could do this, and you could somewhat see in Carmy’s eyes that he had faith in you too. It was just a new world you were all suddenly thrown into and it was hard finding your place. On days where you felt like a baby fawn standing on shaky legs, wobbling and failing to find your footing, you had to keep going.

A single word rang in your mind.

Practice.

Your apartment was pretty small and shared with a roommate, so you lacked the accommodations and tools to really do all you wanted. Aside from that, you didn’t want to be the rude roomie who clashed pans in the kitchen all night long. So, as you made your way off the train you didn’t leave the station. Instead, you waited for the next ride to the city and headed straight for The Beef.

The sun set as you approached the back door, humming a tune as you pulled out a spare key—one that definitley would be confiscated once Carmy found out about it, probably clambering about it not being safe in the foreseeable future—from under the fuse box outside and unlocked the door.

You entered the kitchen, brows immediately raising as you saw all of the kitchen lights on. Slowly moving forward, a sense of anxiety grew as you knew no one would usually be here except for Carmy, and you really did not want to get a talking to from him right now.

Turning the corner, you sighed in relief when you saw the familiar stature that belong to Marcus. He had his phone out, recipe pulled up in front of him and a song playing softly from the speakers that he sang along to. You chuckled softly, alerting him of your presence. Head snapping up at the sound, he almost looked like a deer in the headlights as he met your eyes.

Similarly to you, he let out a relieved sigh and sent you a smile. “Scared me, Y/N.” He laughed softly, hands whisking again.

“Sorry.” You apologized, tugging your coat off. “What’re you doing here, man?” You asked as you headed over to the lockers and shoved your stuff away.

Marcus shrugged. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Practice.” You said simply, shrugging and tying your apron around your waist. Approaching the kitchen, you started gathering a few clean pots to start your work.

Humming and nodding, Marcus gave you a knowing grin. “Same here.” There was a beat of comfortable silence as you gathered a knife, cutting board, and an onion before washing your hands. “I actually stay here sometimes overnight. It’s easier, that way I won’t waste time going back and forth from home.” Marcus explained.

Surprise filled your features and you sent him an impressed look. “Wow, no wonder you’re getting better fast.”

He chuckles bashfully, filling another mixing bowl with flour and whatever else he desired. “Eh, I guess.” The shrug of his shoulders made you laugh before you turned back to your own work.

With one last question of Marcus asking if you minded his music, and you affirming that you didn’t mind at all, he turned the dial on his bluetooth radio up and you both fell into a comfortable rhythm; Marcus in his corner and you on the stovetop.

By the end of the evening you prepared a vibrant beef braciole dish that a few of the others had been practicing since Carmy introduced it. You brought it to one of the stainless steel counters with two forks, setting it next to the two pieces of cake Marcus had sliced up from his recipe of the evening.

You both dug in, humming in satisfaction as you tasted each other’s creations, sharing impressed and ‘holy shit’ expressions that made the other laugh.

“This is fantastic.” Marcus said, another mouthful of beef being added to his mouth.

You laughed and shook your head, muttering a thank you, trying to swallow down your surprise. Marcus could tell, because he doubled down. “No, really, Y/N. This is the best one I’ve tasted yet, aside from the big Chef.” He said with a grin.

Shaking your head, you gave him your appreciation. “Thank you, Chef. I can say the same thing from you.” You motioned with your fork to the cake. In truth, his words pushed you and affected you more than you lead on.

The both of you fell into a rhythm, whipping up treats and savory meals almost every day after work. Marcus playing music at his own station, you timing yourself relentlessly to try and replicate the fast pace of the open hours of the restaurant. You sometimes even found yourself staying overnight, taking turns with Marcus to use his sleeping bag—he insisted where you didn't want to overstep, but sleep called you and his pillow was comfy.

Relentless practice proved to keep you on track and up to pace with everyone else, slowly but surely. The impressed glances shared between Tina and Sydney every time you had them taste a dish or were quicker than usual were enough, but Carmen was ever the critic. A new menu soon graced The Beef alongside their regular sandwiches, and it was a tough menu to master. You almost had them all down pat, practicing relentlessly for almost four weeks now after work.

However, every time you presented a steaming spoonful of stew, or a perfect bite of chicken piccata that everyone else in the kitchen seemed to love, Carmen would bite into it, hum, and shake his head. "Good." He said every time.

"Good like.. good good? Or good but start over, it's trash, throw it away?" You would ask, clearly waiting with baited breath on a slow day.

Carmy shook his head again. "It's not ready yet, Chef." And then he would be off to collect more expo receipts and leave you there disappointed, shoulders deflating in defeat.

"I think it's great, Chef." Marcus would smile, hands busy working on dough for his unmastered donuts. You would offer a sad smile in return, marching off to assemble another hoagie and handing your failed dish to a waiting Richie in exchange for an appreciative rub of his hands together. The negative feedback only spurred you to improve your craft as much as you could.

It was a rare occasion that Marcus didn't stay at the restaurant overnight. He left early in a frenzy after a phone call, muttering something about his mom's nurse needing him. Offering comfort wasn't your strongest suit, so you bid him luck and made a mental note to bring him his favorite coffee during work later in hopes to cheer him up.

At the same time you were plating what felt like your dozenth chicken piccata of the week, soft footsteps approached the kitchen. As soon as the timer went off behind you, you whipped around and hit the top, a harsh exhale and wipe of your forehead following the silence. You felt proud, plating and finishing your dish in record time without any hiccups.

A soft chuckle brought you out of your stupor, head snapping up to meet bright blue eyes from across the kitchen. There stood Carmy with his unruly curls, white tee and brown jacket he was beginning to pull off. In place of his usual stoic face was an amused expression, clearly not expecting to see someone in the kitchen at this hour.

You froze at the sight of him, but his soft smile eased your shoulders a bit. “Smells good.” Carmy said as if it was the most casual thing, hanging his jacket by the lapels on a hook. He sat on the bench, beginning to change his shoes into nonslip ones.

Stuttering, your cheeks turned pink. “O-oh, uhhh, thanks.”

“You’re here early.” He said back, standing now and readying to tug on his apron.

Brows furrowed, you looked above him to glance at the kitchen clock. Big red numbers read 6:15 AM and your brows raised in shock. Before you had a chance to respond, he walked closer, beginning to talk again. “I’ve noticed you and Marcus are always here before anyone else.”

You shrugged, nervous smile gracing your lips as they upturned slightly. “Ah, yeah. We both wanted to practice. Y’know, catch up with everyone else.” You explained. Conveniently, you decided to not mention the instances of spending the night, figuring it would be a little to embarrassing or earn you a talking to.

Carmy was now approaching the other side of the counter where you stood, hands tapping the steel. His little smug smile didn’t leave his lips as he nodded. “I also noticed a few things missing from our inventory.” His words were clearly teasing, but they made your face run pale.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, Chef. Take it from my paycheck, please—I didn’t even consider—“ The rambling was embarrassing, and his head shake cut you off.

“No, stop, Y/N. I'm teasing you.” Carmy laughed softly with a small smile, clearly endeared. The use of your name made you bashful.

A beat of silence followed, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. Carmy glanced behind you at the dish that laid perfectly plated, motioning to it with his hands. “Let’s see if your hard work is paying off.”

Blinking in surprise, you obediently nodded and turned to grab the dish. Sliding it in front of him, you gathered a fork and knife. Carmy grasped the utensils with a ‘thank you’, fingers brushing yours. It didn’t take long for the chef to dig in, eyes immediately closing once the first bite hit his taste buds.

“So.. what do you think?” You plucked up the courage to ask after he swallowed.

Carmy looked up at you, lips curling upwards and a proud look dawning his features. “Great, as usual.”

Usually those words would make you excited, but Carmy had a habit of complimenting your dishes before declaring how they weren’t good enough just yet. You simply nodded, swallowing thickly as he took another bite and savored the taste. “What should I change?” You asked, straightening your back in preparation for the inevitable criticism.

Humming, Carmy shook his head, the same amused look as before coming back. “Nothing, Chef. It’s perfect.” He said firmly. Those words made your breath leave your lungs, hands becoming clammy, and before you knew it you were grinning.

“Really?” You asked, not able to keep your excitement together.

Carmy let out a full laugh at that. “Really.” He confirmed.

You clapped your hands together before covering your face, hiding the grin as best you could. It had been awhile since you felt so elated due to cooking, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. You felt like the whole month of dedicating your time to cooking was culminating to this moment. Carmen watched you with soft eyes, taking in how happy his words made you. You turned back to him, giving up hiding how ecstatic you were. “I braised it differently this time, could you tell? Well, obviously you could if it’s good this time.” You rambled on, a bit of a giggle in your voice.

“It’s always this good, Y/N.” Carmy suddenly said. His words had you pausing, tilting your head playfully. Hand trailing along the counter, he rounded it to stand next to you.

"What do you mean?" You asked, smile falling a bit. The man's words echoed in your head and you looked around the room as if to try and find meaning from his statement. Surely he didn't have you remake the dish for no reason, right? But Carmy's strong posture and raised brows, waiting for you to figure it out yourself, made you think that's exactly what he did. Sobering up, you scoffed and crossed your arms as you sent him a look. "Are you serious? This whole time..." You trailed off.

"Yes, this whole time." He said, leaning on the counter with one hand, eyes not leaving you. "I needed you to bust your ass, Chef. I knew you needed the practice, so I gave you the motive." Carmy explained. The scrunch of your nose made his chest hum with something warm, akin to looking at a kicked puppy that he wanted to scoop up and reassure. Guilt washed over him a little bit as he feared he was acting more and more like his old Chef, but he pushed those feelings down as best he could. He did this for the right reasons, unlike that dickhead in New York did to him. There was no berating and preying on insecurities, just some tough love.

Sighing, you were torn between being angry and feeling grateful that Carmy saw this potential in you. You didn't know what to say, so you blurted out exactly how you felt. "I'm embarrassed."

Carmy frowned, ducking his head to catch your eyes where you looked down a bit. "Why are you embarrassed?" His voice was soft, tiptoeing as to not make you more upset.

Allowing him to meet your eyes, you curled into yourself at the attention. "Because I've made a fool of myself these past few months." You murmured, spilling your guts to your new boss for some reason that you didn't know. Maybe it was the quiet kitchen, or the sudden defeat you felt, but your mouth was faster than your mind.

A small 'no, no, no' left Carmy and he shook his head, reaching a hand out to place on your shoulder. "Don't be. I came in and turned shit upside down, it just took you a bit more practice to get the hang of things." His hand started to rub your arm comfortingly, leaving heat where he touched. You knew this must have been a form of an apology in his own way. The words didn't come easy to Carmen, but he tried to convey it the best he could.

Leaning forward, Carmy mustered his best stern expression, wanting to keep your gaze so you couldn't look away and distract yourself from his next words. Your breath caught in your throat, not used to this proximity. "I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself too."

Heat encapsulated your cheeks and you nodded, spurring him to nod as well. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

As soon as Carmy saw your shy smile he gave one right back to you. Still close, he radiated heat that made it all the more difficult to calm the butterflies growing in your stomach. Eyes never leaving each other's, the air grew tense as the dust settled. Unlike the usual sandwich smell, an aroma of a clean linen scent came off of him as you realized he must have showered before coming here. Carmy never would admit it, but your perfume filled the air for him, making him linger longer than he should have. The blink of your stare looking up at him made Carmy's chest tighten, and he immediately pulled himself out of whatever trance he was in.

Clearing his throat, Carmy let go of your shoulder and backed up a bit. "No more all-nighter's here. Okay, Chef?" He tried to seem playful to rid himself of awkwardness and whatever that just was.

Mouth falling open, you gaped at him. "How did you know?!"

Hands up in surrender, Carmy just shrugged. "A Chef never tells his secrets," He began, heading over to the drying rack to busy himself, playfully adding, "And someone kept leaving the spare key out, so I figured." The smirk he sent you made you grin and roll your eyes.

Carmy would never tell you he knew because that's what he used to do. Before he got the hang of things in his earlier days as a chef, late nights in the restaurant kitchen and a half hour of sleep was the norm for him. As you began cleaning up your work the chef's gaze lingered on you, blue eyes studying your form with a thoughtful look. Carmy shook his head, smiling to himself and starting his work. He reckoned he saw himself in you more than ever.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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selineram3421 · 28 days

Text

*spaced out*

Courting Pursuit

Part 1

Prologue

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ (gn) gender neutral reader, mule deer reader, assuming alastor is a marsh deer, flustered alastor, Spanish translated, food mention-not specific, italics= thoughts, mentions of dismemberment ⚠

You had gotten Alastor's attention after that peck on the forehead.

It annoyed him though.

How dare some demon think to kiss him, the frightening Radio Demon, who slaughtered other Overlords to get to the top. He should be feared!

But after that day all you did was give him gentle smiles and what he assumes are compliments in Spanish. He's had to get a dictionary to translate them, not wanting to go to Vaggie every time.

After learning how to properly translate in his radio tower, he's left with a flushed face.

Damn that sleepy eyed deer- He huffs and tosses the book away.

Then he starts to notice more things about you. Mostly because he's trying to figure out a way to get you back for daring to touch him.

You look sleepy, almost all the time.

Noticing how strong you are when you lift one of the couches for Niffty to clean under it. How big your antlers are and how often you have to lower your head in order to enter a room without hitting your antlers on the door frame. Damn Angel for pointing out your big build and chest.

A button has shot out and broken a glass at the bar, the thread having finally snapped from the constant tension.

"Holy shit!", Angel laughed and turned to the white haired demon. "Hey vagina! You owe me a twenty!"

He learned the proper shirt size for you so that it wouldn't happen again.

Then he's noticed that you like to stand near him when given the chance. Sitting on the chair next to him when having dinner with everyone, sometimes following him to the bar, and then watching him cook.

It annoys him.

You still don't fear him.

Another night, another meal to be made and you're watching him cook again. The Radio Demon finally speaks up about your presence in the kitchen.

"If you aren't going to contribute in making the food, then leave.", he glances over his shoulder with a slight glare.

The mule deer stays leaning against the door frame for a second longer before pushing themselves off, walking over while rolling up their sleeves.

"Te ayudaré." (I will help you.)

It is quiet in the kitchen, save for the occasional ask for spices and other ingredients.

You are quite skilled with a knife.

He watches from the corner of his eye as you mince the vegetables.

After everything is done, you get the plates and set them down on the counter before starting to serve some the food one one of them.

"Who are you serving?", he questions.

You don't reply, instead you finish piling food on the plate before offering it to him with the same smile you always show him.

"Eat."

The Radio Demon was confused but took the plate anyway. It was the cook that ate last, it's always been that way.

"I don't really understand why you served me first. The others are in the dining room.", he said.

Before he could put his plate down, you stopped him and gave him a utensil.

"Please, eat. Has trabajado duro, así que come y relájate. Yo serviré.", you flashed another smile and gathered up the other food filled plates, balancing them on your arms as you made your way over to the door. (You have worked hard, so eat and relax. I will serve.)

He stood there as he watched you leave the room, taking a glance at the plate in his hands.

What exactly were you trying to do?

Later in the week, Alastor decided to pay a visit to Rosie and brought some food that you had made after finding out where he was going.

He sat on one of the arm chairs as the woman across from him complimented your food.

"I need advise for a problem."

The black eyed woman lifted a brow.

"You? Now this must be something good. You never ask for advise unless something has really stumped ya.", she said and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

"It's about that mule deer I brought with me last time, the hotel guest.", his smile strained slightly. "I don't understand why aren't scared of me like other sinners. Hell, even the Princess knows to be wary of me but the damn demon just smiles at me."

This gets her attention and she sits up a bit straighter.

"Go on.."

"Not only that, they dare to peck me on the forehead.", he looks away. "I hate that they aren't afraid. They sit close to me, compliment me, follow me around sometimes, helped me in the kitchen just a few days ago. Served me a plate even!", he raised a hand up in annoyance. "I've ripped demons apart in front of them but they still act so strangely around me! I don't understand! Why are they so odd!?"

Rosie laughs as she places her elbow on the arm rest, leaning her chin in the palm of her hand, wearing a knowing smile.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're being courted."

Alastor turned to look at his friend.

"A what now?"

You..courting him?

How absurd! Laughable even.

"Hahahaha!", he wiped a tear away. "I didn't think you'd make such a ridiculous joke, ha.."

The woman crossed her arms and stared him down with a look.

"Surely you jest.", he says.

Rosie sighs and stands from her seat. "Dear old friend, what are the ways to court or show interest in a person?"

"Ah..well. You know I've never-", he begins but is cut off.

"The most popular ways to court someone are to give the person of their interest compliments, attention, gifts, acts of service, and often treated in a respectable manner.", she lists off and she walks over to stand next to his chair. "And the oh so famous line of reaching a person's heart is through their stomach.", she says and pokes his mid section. "It sounds a lot like what that big darling deer is doing for you."

Alastor left, not knowing what else to say after his friend laid out the evidence so plainly for him to see. Once he arrived back at the hotel, he noticed the mule deer sleeping in the lobby on one of the couches.

"Everyone else is asleep in their rooms.", Husk spoke up fron the bar.

The spider demon is at the bar drinking a maroon liquid from a martini glass in his hand.

"Why are they..here?", the Radio Demon gestures to you.

"Said something about making sure to welcome you when you got back. I don't know why they'd want to though.", the cat demon serves himself a drink.

"Gentle Giant is real sweet, that's why.", Angel places his cup on the bar counter. "Damn, I'd want some hot demon to welcome me back home.", he says before leaning closer to the bartender. "Oh Husk~"

Husk just rolls his eyes and drinks his alcohol.

"They gotta sleep in their room. The couch is not that comfortable.", Husk mentions.

Not too long later, the two demons at the bar leave to go to their rooms to retire for the night.

Alastor now left with the task of waking you up.

He goes over and places a hand on your shoulder, beginning to shake you slightly.

"Wake up. You have to go to your room.", he says.

You slowly blink your eyes open and stare at him for a second. Then that soft dopey smile forms on your face.

"Bienvenido de nuevo.", you mumbled out. (Welcome back.)

". . . . . . . . ."

Shit.

He made sure you didn't hit anything on your way back to your room. Immediately walking away after your door closes to think over a few things.

Fun fact: Female deer can also have antlers but it is very rare and only occurs when there is a hormonal imbalance of testosterone/regulation issues.

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @wat4r @lustylita @sleep-7372 @+?

ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

#mule deer reader #deer demon reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #x reader #gn reader #alastor x reader #mentions of dismemberment #flustered alastor

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bro-atz · 12 days

Text

sun's out

in which: you and seonghwa are on a picnic and, well, one thing leads to another.

pair: idol!bf!seonghwa/afab!gf!reader

word count: 1.5k

content: smut, public sex, unprotected sex (REMEMBER TO WRAP UP IRL!), nicknames (baby), some cockwarming, hwa feeds you strawberries, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: "for my beautiful partner of five years, maya" — @juyofans 2024; and @yunhoszn also requested to be tagged so here you are babes; also, if you're not imagining this fit while you read, you're not imagining right jsyk

networks: @atzhouse @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @newworldnet @wonderlandnet

Since he had a couple days to spare in between schedules, Seonghwa decided to make up all the lost time with you by taking you out on a picnic. He told you to wear your prettiest outfit and “make yourself look nice for him”— as if he had to tell you, but seeing the words on the screen from him made all sorts of shivers run down your spine. So, you did your makeup and hair all pretty, and you wore the cutest little sundress that you had been saving for a special occasion— a white one with strawberries all over it— and matching strappy heels before taking off.

The second you saw Seonghwa at the location he texted you to meet him at, you nearly foamed at the mouth. He, with his flattering, black tank top, wide cut black jeans, and black cowboy hat, was stunning. He was so stunning, in fact, you feared that if you looked right at him, you would go blind.

“Seonghwa!” you greeted from afar as you broke into a light jog to get to him.

You jumped into Seonghwa’s outstretched arms, the man immediately giggling as he twirled you around.

“Hi, baby,” he sighed into your ear. He set you down and held your hands as his eyes scanned you up and down, the tips of his ears starting to turn red as he said, “Look at you dressed up all nice and pretty for me… You make me so happy, you know that?"

A faint blush rose to your cheeks. Before you could even gather words in your head to respond, Seonghwa kissed your cheek and led you over to a large tree where he had spread out a picnic blanket, glasses, a bottle of wine, and a picnic basket.

The two of you sat down and talked in hushed tones while sipping on the white wine Seonghwa had expertly chose for your little picnic date, the two of you laughing, smiling, and enjoying the company. It had been so long since the two of you were able to experience a normal date instead of having to sneak over to the ATEEZ dorm or him over to your apartment— it was truly refreshing.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you suddenly said, slightly startling the man. “I brought something for us.”

You went on all fours and reached for your bag— you had put it on one of the corners of the picnic blanket to keep it down— and started rummaging through it. You wanted to take polaroid pictures with your boyfriend, and you specifically set it aside to bring it for your date, but it seemed like you left it at home because it was nowhere inside your bag. You cursed under your breath and continued to rifle through your bag as if you would magically produce the camera, but that was obviously not going to happen.

While you struggled, Seonghwa, who was at first interested in what you brought, had shifted his attention elsewhere. You had crossed over in front of him, giving you a nice view of your chest, and his mouth was practically foaming when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra or pasties or anything. Fuck, he was rock hard, and he needed to do something about it fast.

You sat up and were about to complain to him about the fact that you left the polaroid at home when you took a look at his dazed face, confusing you slightly.

“Hwa? What’s wrong?”

“C’mere, baby,” he uttered, his hands patting his lap. “Sit.”

You shifted towards him, your legs on either side and straddling him before you lowered yourself slowly onto his lap, your clothed cunt immediately pressing against his stiff crotch— and that’s when you realized the situation. Your body started warming up when Seonghwa placed his hands on your thighs, his fingers slowly slipping the dress upwards, his hands beginning to pet your thighs.

“Hwa,” you breathed out as you tried to push his hands away. “Not here—”

“Do you know what you’re doing to me, baby?” he purred, his nose brushing against your ear. “There’s no way I can wait. I need you right now.”

His hands slid up the bottom of your dress and cupped your asscheeks before clenching tightly, your hands flying to his shoulders to support yourself as you suppressed every single raunchy noise that threatened to leave your lips. You heard him inhale through his teeth before he bit his lip and gazed at you on his lap with hungry eyes.

“Baby, bite down on this for me,” Seonghwa asked softly as he held up the front of your dress by the hem up to your lips.

You did as he asked, giving you the nicest view of your bare breasts, waistline, and tiny thong which was practically useless as it revealed practically everything. Seonghwa ran his tongue over his lower lip as he stared at your body, his hands quickly working on his belt and pants, his cock springing up the second he pushed his underwear down. Before you could formally protest further, he pushed your barely-there-panties aside and slipped his cock in to your soaking wet pussy.

“Wow, look at that,” he whispered teasingly as he felt you tense up around him. “You want this just as much as I do, baby. You’re so fucking wet.”

Seonghwa’s first swear word of the day made tingles run down your spine. It was true— you desperately wanted him ever since you saw him in the distance with that outfit on and the cowboy hat on his head, but it was the fact that he was going to fuck you in public that scared you.

“Don’t worry, baby. This is private property, and even if people show up, they’ll just think we’re being lovey-dovey as long as you stay quiet…” Seonghwa whispered as he read your mind (God, you loved that he knew you so fucking well). “Unless you want everyone to hear you being fucked like a whore.”

Another wave of tingles surfed over your body, making you grip his shoulders even tighter. Blinking through the blurriness of your eyes, you locked eyes with Seonghwa and saw his flushed cheeks and red ears. Your lips got dangerously close to his, only for him to tease you by briefly brushing his lower lip against yours.

“Baby, open up,” he breathed out.

Hesitantly, you opened your mouth, and instead of Seonghwa kissing you, he grabbed a strawberry from the picnic basket and stuck it in between your teeth. Not going to lie, you were confused as hell first, but when you sunk your teeth into the strawberries, you couldn’t help but want more. And so, with his cock deep inside you, you continued to sit on his lap like a good girl and be his cockwarmer as he fed you strawberries.

While he was feeding you, he didn’t hold the strawberry properly, making strawberry juice drip down your lips and chin, little pink dots covering your exposed chest. Without a second to lose, Seonghwa ran his tongue over the juice on your chest before licking a slow stripe from the center of your chest over your collarbones and up your neck and chin before kissing you, his lips and tongue making the remnants of the strawberries taste even sweeter.

“Hwa,” you whined into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily, your hips antsy as you gyrated them against his.

“I got you, baby.”

His hands cupped the underside of your ass and started assisting you as he bounced you gently on his lap, the contact of your hips against his making low, quiet noises. His nose brushed against your neck as he dropped his head, his breathing getting shallower as you rode him at a steady pace, his hips bucking upwards occasionally.

But that wasn’t enough for neither him nor you. You nearly yelped as he leaned forward, knelt, and sat on his knees, his arms wrapping around your waist. His hat fell backwards when you ran your fingers through his hair and tugged at his roots, bringing his head up to look at you. You pressed your lips against his and hugged him tightly as he moved your body with his own sheer strength, his cock somehow going further and further inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” Seonghwa hissed as he broke off the kiss and hugged you to him. “I’m cumming!”

With that, Seonghwa gave you one final thrust before his cock throbbed inside you, his cum spurting inside you and filling you up. His cock remained inside you as the two of you fought to regain your breath, the stars in your eyes immediately clearing— you were so close, but not quite there, filling you with disappointment.

Your gentleman boyfriend, though, knew that you needed just a little more. He smiled gently at you and left a little kiss on the tip of your nose before saying, “Tell you what, baby. If you can keep my load inside you ’til we get back to the house, I’ll eat you out and fuck you until you can’t walk, okay?”

tags:

@k-hotchoisan @eyeryis @sinnarols @sunshineangel-reads @hwallazia

@dazzlingstarrs @dutchessskarma @yourlocaljonghoe @st4rhwa @frobin4ever

@sanhwajjong @certifiedmoa @therealcuppicake @yuyubeans @hyunukitty

@startlinglyoongi @hyukssunflower @chewyhotteoks @bsehindu @alexwritesfics

@woomyteez @skteezcursed @yessa-vie @sanglix @minkilicious

@isiloiale @ywtfvs @nvdhrzn @khjoongie98 @jaerisdiction

@ninoshome1 apply for the permanent taglist here!

#atzhouse #cromernet #cultofdionysusnet #newworldnet #wonderlandnet #ateez #park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa ateez #seonghwa ateez #park seonghwa smut #seonghwa fic #seonghwa fanfic #park seonghwa fic #park seonghwa fanfic #broatz

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cherrychilli · 13 days

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18+ Steve Harrington x F! reader, friends to lovers, skinny dipping, PIV sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, pool sex WC:1.9K

A/N: Feeling very rusty so I'm attempting to dust the cobwebs off my brain and get back into the swing of things with a little bit of Steve filth.

This will they won't they thing was starting to get old.

The casual flirting between you and your neighbor had ramped up in the last month, but you knew him well enough to realize when he's pulling back on the reins, even if subtly.

Up until now you'd enjoyed the way Steve's gaze wandered over you and the playful banter that tended to edge towards suggestive. You'd even glimpsed the only semblance of 'King Steve' that'd remained ever since he turned his whole image inside out a few years ago — that slight, but thankfully tolerable air of playboy confidence you couldn't find in yourself to dislike despite how you made sure to roll your eyes whenever it appeared.

But things were starting to fizzle out now, you could feel it. This thing that had started to brew between you and Steve seemed to be following the trajectory of a bottle rocket — the chemistry you shared soared for a while but now the chances of things becoming serious appeared to be heading for a nosedive.

Your discerning eyes were too sharp, noticing the flickers of hesitation and trepidation that peeked through when he spoke with you now, less flirting as of late, more awkward floundering and not the adorable kind.

You don't know it yet but the reason was because all those fears he'd thought he'd long outrun had started to shadow him again, afraid of things panning out like they always had in his love life.

The Harrington charm drew the girls in like bumblebees to pollen, everything turning sticky sweet for a while but it always ended the same way — with Steve getting stung.

He's gotten in his head about it — every bad date, every lousy hook up, every ounce of self doubt he'd tried hard to swallow down regurgitating back up in his mind like bile. He'd even begun to second guess if you really wanted him the way he wanted you, scared of messing things up if he were to make a real move because he doesn't want to lose you. Not after all the years of liking you so much.

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, you only know that the waiting's been hell on you, feeling more than a little fed up of all the flirting that hadn't led to anything more than a spike in sexual tension and a bunch of almost kisses a couple of times you'd been alone with Steve.

Almost wasn't good enough.

You wanted to show him that you were serious about him — no more bullshit. You were determined to go after what you wanted, taking it upon yourself to make the first move, knowing it'll have to be something big if you were going to really convince him.

And you have the perfect thing in mind.

Given he was supposed to be the only one home at this hour, the sound of swashing water echoing from the pool deck comes off more alarming than anything else.

Ears trained in that direction, Steve quietly steps closer towards the noise, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other like he's walking a tightrope.

Was it robbers?

No, robbers only break in to take your shit, not take a dip, he shook his head, feeling stupid he'd even considered it at all.

Speed running a list of possibilities in his mind, a slight shiver ran through him as he quietly hoped it wasn't another skunk that had wandered too close to the edge again, nearly gagging at the memory of how the scared, drenched animal had rewarded him for saving its life a few months back.

Peering out of the entry way, he reckoned he would have guessed a hundred other things before he ever would have guessed what he saw outside. Dropping his keys and jaw, he finds you wading in his pool. Unbothered and very much unclothed.

"Um...you're in my pool", he states as he steps out, dumbfounded.

"And you're..."

He doesn't say it. He wont, afraid that if he did, whatever's happening might suddenly stop. Hell, it felt far too good to be true, half expecting to bolt upright in bed at any second to find it'd been a dream all along, a tent in his plaid pajama bottoms waiting to greet him.

"I am" you confirm, knowing exactly what he'd meant to say, smiling devilishly.

With the pool lights on, your lack of swimwear is obvious against the blue tiles although the rippling water surface obscures your body enough to prevent him from getting a clear look at you no matter how much he squints in an attempt to focus.

"You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, Harrington", you chide, moonlight making your wet skin glitter like topaz.

"Huh?", Steve shakes his head, the jolt crackling up the length of his spine feeling far too real to be part of a dream. This is happening. This is really fucking happening, thunders and echoes inside his head, the realization making his palms turn clammy — the first time since his teens that a girl's elicited that kind of bodily reaction out of him.

"Got tired of waiting for you to nut up and make a move", you wade closer to the edge of the pool with all the allure of a siren approaching shore, the tops of your breasts showing above the surface.

"I want you, Steve", you beckon to him sweetly. Sincerely. "Come join me. It's lonely in here", you finish with a little pout.

He's never undressed quicker in his entire life — all of those nerves and doubts ironed out of him with that one simple confirmation.

You watch as his belt is unbuckled in a flurry, shirt following as it's tossed off to the side. It occurs to you then to offer him a modicum of privacy because it feels like the right thing to do, placing your hands over your eyes until he submerges himself into the water with you. But not before you submit to another urge, sneaking one quick peek between your fingers, your cheeks growing hot when you glimpse his half hard length dangling between his legs.

Covering your eyes again, you wait for him to join you, growing giddy when you feel him enter the water and wade closer to you.

You're met with that hopelessly moony smile of his when he gently pries your hands away from your face. "You always leave your clothes behind when you trespass or is this a new thing for you?", he asks, pearly teeth peeking out as his smile widens into a grin.

You laugh back, a little surprised that you'd gone through with it yourself. "Gonna beef up security around here if I keep it up?", you joked lightly, earning a chuckle from your neighbor.

"Fuck no. I'll even take down the fence so you don't have to hop it next time", he grinned harder, deviously handsome in the moonlight.

Your toes brush his as you wade a little closer, a shiver running through you despite the warmth of the water you're chest deep in. "It was between this or surprising you in your car", you told him, sharing the plan you'd concocted the night before. "You know— trench coat, hide in the backseat. Pretty classy stuff but then I thought about it a little more and realized it sounded kinda sketchy", you made a face, scrunching up your nose. "Didn't want you to think you were getting carjacked or something", you huffed another laugh.

Steve pales a little, laughing along nervously, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Hadn't even thought of that", he lied, glad he didn't rush out here swinging his bat like he would have had he not convinced himself otherwise about the robbers.

As the amusement tapers you focus your stare on the rise and fall of Steve's chest and the hair matted against it, pressing a hand there to feel his taught, wet skin.

There's a lull in your banter as his hands find your waist and your own starts to trail down, gliding over the plane of his soft stomach, fingers dipping underwater to skim the coarse trail of hair below his bellybutton.

Your touches are delicate for a start, fingers curling around Steve's erection as you feel him twitch in your palm, your thumb gently sweeping over the bump of a vein before trailing up to find his tip.

You meet his gaze when you glide the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, smooth and from what you can tell, sensitive from the way his breath stutters and his length flexes in your hand.

The waiting comes to an end then.

Steve leans in as quickly as you do, lips meeting yours, the scent of chlorine strong on your bodies, his chest pressing against your breasts. It's a dizzying minute of his tongue hungrily brushing against yours before he pulls you up by the underside of your thighs, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your body reacts quickly, crossing your ankles behind his back. His shaft nudges your clit from this angle and it makes you whine into his mouth, all needy from being deprived this kind of intimacy because of how he'd held back all those weeks.

He pulls away from the kiss to look as you, cupping your cheek with his hand.

"I know baby, I know. Made you wait for it too long didn't I? Don't worry I'm going to give it to you now, okay?", he coos, one part reassuring one part cocky.

Your core aches with anticipation when he says it, desire heavy and burning in your belly.

"Steve wait", you cut him off before his lips can come down on yours again.

"Yeah?"

"Could you— could you do it rough? that's how I want it", you tell him, digging your nails into his biceps. You're in no mood for anything soft or slow. Not right now. Not after waiting this long.

"Whatever you want— I'll give you anything you want", he promises, leaning in to kiss you again.

It doesn't take long for the swashing to recommence, building up to a loud, choppy splashing. Your back will carry evidence of how he has you pressed against the side of the pool tomorrow, arms wrapped around his neck as his tip meets your entrance and he works it inside, his length rutting into your soft core, punching out a chorus of moans and whimpers wrapped around his name.

Before he's completely lost to the warm, wet tightness of your walls wrapping around him, Steve only prays that none of his other neighbors care enough to peek over because if they did, things were bound to get awkward at the next block party.

"Promise me you w-won't go cold on me again", you beg when he locates that spot inside you, the head of his cock dragging over it just right.

"I promise", he answers, unclenching his jaw to nip at your bottom lip. "Promise me you'll go out with me after this? be my girlfriend?"

It nearly sends you reeling, being asked the question you'd been waiting to hear for weeks now as he's literally inside you, making your orgasm approach faster.

Smiling hard, you're still letting out little uh's and ah's because he doesn't let up his pace, driving his cock into you, all hard and fast just like how you wanted.

You couldn't wait to keep making up for all that time you spent doing anything that wasn't this, gasping out your answer.

"I promise"

#steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader

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runabout-river · 7 months

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The Incongruence of his Life and Death - How the 6-Eyes will Die and Gojo Satoru will Live

Chapter 236 seems perfectly crafted for a farewell to an important character. But while reading it for the first, second and third time, I couldn't help but feel that something was not only missing but purposefully left out: Gojo's care for his students and the goals he had set for himself as an adult.

In the departure for the afterlife, where the souls of his dead friends have gathered at an airport, Gojo is back to being a teenager with everyone else also being their younger self, or in the case of Haibara and Toji, their selves when they died.

Gojo talks about his fight with Sukuna, how unbelievably strong he was and how much he had trained to best him but still he lost and he had no true regrets on that. The fight had been fun even if it was a shame that he couldn't bring Sukuna to go all out on him.

Later he tells Yaga, calling him principal, that he thought that all sorcerers died with regret, implying that he doesn't feel any regret right now after having lost to Sukuna. When Sukuna tells Gojo that he won't forget him as long as he lives because of how well he fought, we see Gojo smiling at that while lying bisected on the ground.

This entire scene, especially at the airport and the reverence about the fight is completely at odds with Gojo's character growth and the life he lived as an adult.

It's no coincidence that everyone is more than 10 years younger here because only teenage Gojo would go out without any regrets after a good fight he lost. This Gojo we see at the airport could've very well been the Gojo that lost his first fight against Toji.

But it isn't teenage Gojo, someone who only had a perverse self-satisfaction about Jujutsu and did it for the kick of it instead of protecting others with it, who died.

It's adult Gojo, who dedicated his life to protect others and his students and who fostered them to become as strong as him and did everything so they could grow unhindered and enjoy life especially their youth, who is lying cut in two on the ground.

This love for fighting alone only entered Gojo's mind past the middle of the Shinjuku Showdown when he realized that he might lose this fight and after he was reminded of fucking Toji again. Gojo was brought back to the time of his teenage self when he lost against an opponent who was stronger than him.

But what about the actual Gojo? Teacher Gojo? Would he die without any regrets? Absolutely not. His regrets would actually be too much to count.

He left his students and the world with a murderer stronger than him, ensuring widespread destruction and immense death, first and foremost of everyone he left behind that meant something to him.

Gojo let it happen that Megumi, the person he went into this fight to save, who was the child that started his evolution into a teacher, the son of the man who made him to what he is today; Gojo let it happen that Megumi became his executioner.

(And is Geto without regrets? Is Gojo without any regrets that Kenjaku is desecrating his friend's body to destroy Japan? Isn't there any fear that Kenjaku might take Gojo's dead body as his next vessel? Where is the regret in that?)

When we strip the airport scene from its serenity and the good feelings of a happy ending it evokes, we're left with nothing but pure arrogance the dead have over the suffering of the living. So they get to enjoy peace while everyone else is devastated and about to get slaughtered?

Is that justifiable because everyone will be dead anyway and then they can all enjoy the afterlife together? Except Megumi of course, who'll be Sukuna's vessel for centuries if not millennia and who'll suffer in hell for that long after having killed not only his sister but his teacher and his friends in the future, too.

Those who are already dead like Nanami, they can't do anything about this conundrum anymore but Gojo was still smiling on the ground. So, after the thematic argument for why Gojo has to survive, here comes the practical part: How?

I've already covered parts of this in my chapter 236 Thoughts. Step by step:

Gojo is bisected along his abdomen, not his head

Gojo was still conscious enough to smile at Sukuna, like how Yuki was still able to make her last attack

Gojo can activate his RCT and he can make a Binding Vow as long as he isn't completely dead

We've not seen Shoko's reaction to his defeat, so we have neither a confirmation of his death nor her determination to save him

Utahime and Gramps can strengthen any healing

Angel might have abilities to aid them and Takaba has reality bending powers as long as he's funny

Why the 6-Eyes will still die.

Because it's already over for him. The 6-Eyes is not the strongest sorcerer on earth. His ultimate defense has found its match in Sukuna evolving his own technique; an evolution that Gojo is not going to catch up to.

"Are you Gojo Satoru because you're the Strongest or are you the Strongest because you're Gojo Satoru?"

Irrelevant. Sukuna is the Strongest. That title and that burden has been lifted off Gojo's shoulders. Gojo makes peace with it at the airport.

A Binding Vow with yourself always comes with a balance the universe imposes on you. What would the trade-off be for Gojo's upper and lower body to be connected again? His Eyes seems like a good bargain here.

So there you have it, my theory. The 6-Eyes lost this fight but Gojo sensei can still lead and foster his students to new heights he won't ever personally reach again. He can't just forget about them because he had a good fight, Gojo isn't a self-centred teenager anymore.

You know who was missing at the airport? Outside of Nobara, Yuki and Mai? Tsumiki. What is Gojo going to say to her? That he tried but well? Gojo isn't at the airport for his departure to the afterlife, he isn't going North, he's going South.

All of this is of course my personal feelings and interpretation. Gege might go in another direction like permanent death and flashbacks. But I'm so sure that Gege has written the airport intentionally like this. That Shoko will go to Gojo and pull him out of his death bed because he can't go out like this.

Chapter 236 is written with a sense of finality and farewell, but Gege is also really fond of misdirections and false sense of security (dread?) as we've seen just last chapter.

So, hope dies last.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #sukuna #fushiguro megumi #meta

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