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l13 · 11 months

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♡miguel x reader x peter♡

a part 2 to this drabble

word count: around 3,1k

WARNINGS : NSFW 18+ ONLY, NO use of y/n, f!reader, voyeurism, cheating (peter on mj), HINTS on miguel x peter but nothing actually happens, blowjob (m receiving), masturbation, making out, swearing, spitting?(not really, YOU'LL SEE OK), miguel loves humiliating peter, miguel gets jealous and territorial very easily, lazy writing, also my first time writing anything close to a threesome so please be kind

a/n: SO SORRY this took so fucking long but I hope that y'all will still enjoy reading it<3

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.

“Fuck, shit, fuck” Peter struggles to pull his pants back up as he turns around swiftly, a hand securely holding on to the front of his sweats as he gulps nervously “Miguel, my man! Fancy seeing you here… look, it’s not what it-”

“Cut the shit, Peter.” Miguel says with crossed arms, “At least have the balls to face the consequences of your… perversions.” he would have looked intimidating if it weren’t for his disheveled look–hair messy, chest rising and falling rapidly (who's he kidding, peter was still scared shitless).

“Wh-huh? I- no, you got it wrong-haha! That’s funny, though! Look- I’m just gonna go-”

“You’re gonna stay where you are.”

“Yup, staying right here.” Peter purses his lips, and he really hopes the outline of his bulge isn't that visible. (it was)

Miguel rolls his eyes, turning around and caressing your cheek as he whispers something against your ear. Peter tries to crane his neck to catch a clearer picture of you despite himself, but with that hunk of a man in front of you, it was a lost call.

You were nervous. Understandably so. Miguel’s words, when you were too busy cumming around his cock merely minutes ago, echoed in your head.

“Yeah, baby?S good, right? So perfect for me baby, fuck. Seems like you got what you wanted after all.” you had furrowed your eyebrows, confused, barely able to keep your eyes open, but when Miguel pointed his thumb at a nearby monitor with the camera surveillance of the place shining bright, with a figure right in the middle, you'd understood what he meant. And you'd liked it.

You cock your head to the side now, as you come to stand next to Miguel, grinning bashfully at Peter, who was looking at you with a gaping mouth. You’d laugh at the way he failed to cover his bulge with his hand, but you were too nervous to do so, so you decided to ignore the act altogether, even if it made your insides flip, “Hi, Peter.”

Jesus Christ, your voice. “Yellow-he-Hi!” Peter’s mouth was so dry, he doesn’t know how he managed to reply. Was after-sex-glow a thing? Because, fuck, you were glowing. There was this flush covering your cheeks and Peter thinks he wants to kiss you all over. Without even realizing it, his feet begin taking him over to you two. But not even a step in, and he’s very rudely interrupted.

“What are you doing?” Miguel’s tone is calm, and yet gives Peter an eerie sensation at the back of his neck that makes him swallow nervously, stopping in his tracks. “Uh- well, I just thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Miguel says blankly.

Peter flushes, seemingly understanding what Miguel planned to do, and takes multiple steps back till his back hits the wall behind him. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. “I- I don’t-”

“What? You didn’t actually think I was going to let you come anywhere near her?” Miguel’s laugh is cruel, and tears well in Peter’s eyes at the underlying humiliation.

“Don’t be mean,” you mutter against Miguel’s ear, your hands circling around his waist as you hug him, your eyes never leaving Peter’s. Yeah, Peter thought, don’t be mean, bitch.

Miguel softens under your touch, draping his arm over your shoulder to bring you impossibly closer, suddenly very aware of his own still very hard cock. He starts pressing kisses along your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, and you smile as you nuzzle against him. “Oh baby, you’re still hard, aren’t you? How selfish of me,” you didn’t sound sorry at all. But neither Miguel nor Peter cared.

Oh yeah, Peter was still very much here. Cock throbbing and all.

“Stop teasing, bebita,” Miguel hisses, his eyes fluttering as he ruts his hips against you, the smallest of whimpers escaping his lips. Peter would have laughed if Miguel’s voice didn’t make the sound hot. Another fact about Miguel that pissed him off, because when Peter whimpers, it sounds pathetic.

Peter drops his hand over his bulge, groaning under his breath when he squeezes himself over his pants, finally getting some much needed friction.

To Peter’s utter horror, that was the moment that Miguel remembered that he was still in the room, and Peter froze when Miguel’s eyes met his, goosebumps rising all over his body when Miguel’s gaze dropped to his covered cock. Fuck. “Touch yourself for all I care, but know that this is the first and last time I’m letting you in on this. The next time I catch you creeping on her, I’ll kill you.” Well, that was not at all what Peter expected. How horrible, and assertive. Not at all arousing.

Peter cleared his throat, “Kill me. Yeah. Yup. No, yeah, I got it.”

You laugh softly, your own hand dropping to palm Miguel over his suit, “Don’t worry, he’s all bark and no bite,”

Miguel tries hard to hide the slight tremble in his voice at the slight contact you gave him, “Is that so?”. He dropped his head, breath fanning across your neck, “Wanna test that theory?”. Both men smile when your breath hitches, Peter staring hard, and finally pulling his cock out. He inhales sharply when he wraps his hand around himself, so desperately wanting to close his eyes and fuck his fist till he comes, but keeps them open so as not to miss the show you so generously were putting in front of him. His eyes follow Miguel’s movements, as he bends to lick across your neck, biting down on your skin a second later, both men letting out sounds of appreciation as you moan.

Peter jerks his cock at a slow pace, eyes hooded, matching the tempo at which the tension builds up. He feels sick doing this, but he can’t help but let the pleasure take his mind off of the guilt that’s ready to eat him up, choosing to focus on how your throat bobs as you swallow, your lips forming a pretty 'o' as you lace your fingers through Miguel’s hair, mewling when he grazes his teeth over your collarbones.

Miguel presses the softest of kisses on the spot he’d previously bitten, and says, “On your knees, baby.” Peter is lightheaded by the pure sex dripping from Miguel’s voice, his cock twitching under his palm, and he squeezes his hand around the base of it, slowly bringing it up to circle around his tip, openly panting like a bitch in heat.

Seeing you drop to your knees was a sight Peter never thought he’d ever see, but one that he was very thankful for. From this angle, you gave Peter the perfect view of your profile. You were grinning, your expression a bit hazy, a bit cockdrunk. The tank top you were wearing looked crinkled, and Peter wondered if Miguel had the material bunched up over your tits while he was fucking you.

Peter stares as you grab at Miguel’s thighs over his suit, squeezing the flesh appreciatively as you look up at him expectedly. God, you were begging to get fucked again. Wait- over his suit? Miguel was still wearing his suit, how the fuck-

As if Peter was voicing his thoughts out loud, the material of Miguel’s suit disappeared slowly, his cock springing up, balls dropping the slightest bit from the secure hold they were being kept up by the tightness of the suit. The start of his thighs and his belly were also exposed, pretty bronze skin a perfect contrast to the deep blue color of his suit.

“What the fuck was that?!” Peter can't help but let out, and Miguel throws him a proud smirk, “Nanotech,” You smile at the small nerdy exchange, too preoccupied to properly join in the conversation. Miguel’s pleasure was above everything else. You wrap your hand around his thick cock, moaning softly as you trace the veins on the side, bending down to kiss and suck on his fat balls. “Makes things easier-ah fuuuck,” Miguel bites on his lower lip roughly, brows furrowing as he bucks into your hand, hand caressing the side of your jaw gently. You looked so fucking beautiful.

Peter drops his other hand to fondle his balls, suddenly jealous, and throws his head back against the wall, groaning as he still keeps his eyes open to watch you.

Five minutes later, Peter was still copying your movements. When you licked at Miguel’s tip, dragging your tongue over the head, and lapping up the precum greedily, Peter made sure he only touched his tip as well, circling and rolling his hand over the head. When you licked the sides of Miguel’s cock, your hand following the same pattern just under your tongue, Peter was jerking his cock in perfect synchronization, mimicking your technique entirely. He could practically taste the pleasure Miguel was getting.

During all this, Peter couldn’t hold back his voice. He moaned and groaned shamelessly, raising his hips to meet his hand sloppily. Fuck, he was so close to coming.

Miguel was truly no better, he was just better at masking it. He constantly gritted his teeth, hissing at your antics, but the occasional moan would slip, and it always made your pussy throb, as if you could feel it vibrating against you.

You take Miguel’s cock in your mouth with no warning, the tip touching your throat as you swallow around him, nose touching the base of his cock, your eyes tearing up quickly. Both men sputter at the sudden action. Miguel moans loudly, his belly flexing as he bends over you, fingers threading between your hair.

Peter almost comes right then and there, the movement of his hand on his cock so fast and rough, that it was creating a lewd wet sound “S-shit, you look so good, sweet thingmff fuuck. Yeah-like that, Oh my God,”

Both yours and Miguel’s heads snap up, surprised by Peter’s outburst. Miguel raises an eyebrow, his jaw locking. Was this asshole really imagining he was in his place? Well, he couldn’t exactly blame him, but it still pissed him off. When he turned his head to look at you, though, you were looking at Peter curiously and- were you biting your lip?

“Something you wanna say to him, baby?” Miguel’s voice comes out dry, and you can instantly tell he’s mad. You send him a knowing smile, shaking your head softly, “Not really. I just think he sounds sweet.”

“Yeah?” Peter whimpers in reply immediately. I sound sweet, I sound sweet, I sound sweet.

You glance at Peter again, rubbing your thighs together, and Miguel scowls at the movement and tugs at your hair hard, “Keep talking, Peter. Somehow, she seems to be liking your whining.”

“S so good, you’re so good, fuck I wanna feel your mouth on me so bad,” Peter babbles mindlessly and you can't help but watch as he thrusts into his hand needily.

Miguel notices you staring and grinds his teeth together, “What are you looking at him for, huh? Looking at his cock when mine is right in front of you. Am I not enough for you, bebita?” Your head whips around to look at the man in front of you, your eyes widening a fraction as you shake your head softly.

You make sure to put on a show as you run your lips all over Miguel’s cock, spreading his pre-cum all over your mouth and chin as you talk, “You’re everything. Your cock ‘s so pretty, the prettiest ever. Love it s’much..”. Miguel feels satisfaction spread in his veins, making him warm all over. He slaps his cock over your cheek for good measure as he stands taller and huffs out a condescending laugh, glancing at Peter with a dumb smirk on his face. That’ll teach him.

But what Miguel sees is not at all what he expected.

Peter’s eyes roll back, the hand on his cock tightening as he moans. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to be at Miguel’s place right now that it’s driving him insane. “Such a good fucking girl, baby, shit.”

Miguel snarls at his reaction before snapping his head back to you, “Open your mouth,”

You do as you’re told, tongue out as you stare up at him with doe eyes, but he just clicks his tongue, “Wider.” Miguel shoves his hand in your mouth, his thumb on your tongue as the rest of his fingers cradle your jaw. He pumps his cock with his other hand, biting his lip, and mutters “Yeah, just like that.. You gonna be good for me?” You nod, and Miguel's thumb gets coated in your saliva from the movement.

Miguel grins and takes his thumb out, slowly turning his head to lock eyes with Peter. Then, he brings his hand up to his face and closes his mouth around his thumb, hollowing his cheeks prettily as he sucks your spit off his finger, his gaze dropping to Peter's cock.

Peter's jaw slacks, and his hips stutter at the sight in front of him. Miguel's low chuckle falls on deaf ears, Peter being too busy watching your hands squeeze Miguel's ass impatiently, trying to coax him back in your mouth, mewling when he relents and slips his cock inside. Miguel can't help but raise his hips as you bob your head up and down his length.

Peter spits on his cock suddenly, the filthy sound making you glance at him again, and Miguel's jaw ticks “It’s okay, bebita, you can look at him. Look, but know that he could never fuck you like I did. Or did you forget how you creamed around my cock, hm? I bet that pussy’s still wet for me,”

Peter moans approvingly, “Mm I bet it is..”

Miguel inhales sharply, his eyes falling shut, “Peter.”

“Yeahuh? Fuck. Yeah?”

“Get your ass over here.” Peter nearly falls on his face as he stumbles forward, raising his sweatpants carelessly as he walks over. His hands tremble when he clasps them together in front of him lamely, standing awkwardly near you both.

“Closer, pendejo.” Peter gawks at Miguel's request, shakes his head, and reluctantly takes two steps closer. He made sure to throw a glance towards Miguel to ensure that he wasn’t getting punched anytime soon.

“Hold her hair back.”

Peter must have died and went to heaven. There was no fucking way this was happening-

“Did you hear what I fucking said-"

Peter jumps when Miguel raises his voice and quickly springs into action. His breath hitches, but he can't help himself- not when he's carefully pulling your hair back, his fingers brushing your cheeks, avoiding touching Miguel's hands as he's still holding your head, practically using your mouth as a fleshlight.

Peter tries not to react when you gargle around Miguel's cock, the popping sound your mouth makes when you pull back to get some air pulling a hiss out of him. You cough messily, and as you do, you turn to look at Peter, in all your tears-running-down-your-cheeks glory. And then you grin at him, and Peter's legs buckle. And despite everything, despite the drool running down your chin, and Miguel's hard cock still in his field of view- Peter says, “Rough day, huh,"

You snort out a laugh, and Miguel's eyes almost roll to the back of his head because- how the fuck is that funny?- and so, he growls, tapping your lips twice with his cock before shoving it back inside your mouth, his head dropping as he moans lowly.

“Oh, fuck.” Miguel’s head was fuzzy, hypnotized by the way you bobbed your head up and down his cock, your hands fondling his balls with juust the right amount of pressure that made his thighs shake. He touches your jaw with his pointer finger, thumb drawing circles over your cheek in awe. “Baby, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Peter whimpers, “fuck…” and Miguel laughs breathlessly, tongue running over his fangs, “Are you gonna fuck your fist again when you think back to this? Back when she had her pretty lips wrapped around my cock and you watched her take it.. Jesus Christ, you look pathetic. I bet if she told you to hump the fucking floor, you would.”

Peter moans and nods absentmindedly, pulling his cock out hurriedly and starting to jerk his cock sloppily, gaze glued on your fluttering eyes, mascara running down your cheeks prettily. His eyes flicker from your face to your cleavage and he whines. Your tits just look so soft, he can't help himself.

Miguel, ever the perceptive man, notices this, “Be a good girl and pull your shirt up for Peter, baby.” You moan around his cock at the way his voice trembles, and raise your shirt over your boobs, suddenly very aware of your own underwear sticking to your pussy mesilly. Fuck, you were drenched.

“Oh my God,” Peter pants, eyes losing focus, hand on your hair loosening as he moves his hips back and forth, fucking into his hand relentlessly. “I'm gonna cum, gonna cum-”

“Cum on her tits.”

Peter sobs, stepping closer to jerk his cock just over your tits and he jumps when he feels you squeeze his thigh, nails digging into the skin. He feels his balls tighten, and he grasps your shoulder as his knees buckle suddenly. “I'm cumming- Oh fuck I'm-” his cock twitches as he cums, painting your pretty tits white, the jerks of his hand never stopping as he rides out his orgasm.

For a moment, it feels as though only Peter's moans and whimpers can be heard, and fuck, he hopes there's no one outside because he's so fucking loud, and it's so humiliating that he can feel tears running down his cheeks. He feels lightheaded and utterly spent as he pumps his cock, squeezing his hand tight around himself as he watches the last of his cum drip down his length and onto your shirt, turning it a darker shade.

“Oh- fuck. Oh my fucking God.” Peter bites back a whimper and shudders, when you bring your hands to your tits, squeezing them roughly and getting his cum aaall over them.

The ringing in Peter's ears fades away, and he snaps his eyes to Miguel when he hears the state he's in.

Miguel grunts each time he snaps his cock back in your mouth, reveling in your gurgles, feeling the vibration of your moans go straight to his balls, and he. can't. stop. Not when he'd just seen Peter cum all over your tits like that. Not when he'd liked watching him do it.

“Take it. Fuck- take my fuckin' cum baby-shit,” Miguel whimpers and snarls as he snaps his hips one final time, holding your head in place, his thighs shaking as he cums down your throat. He throws his head back when he feels you swallow around his length, muttering incoherently to himself in Spanish as he whimpers and groans.

Miguel stumbles back slightly, cock slipping from your mouth at last, and both men can't help but stare hungrily, their cocks hardening once more as you gather the excess cum that's dripping down your chin in your hands, licking it out of your palms a second later. All three of you are panting hard, letting your actions linger in the air for a moment.

But then you look up at them, a sinful glint in your eyes, and Miguel turns to Peter and says,

“What are you waiting for? Lick her tits clean.”

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

#•ूᡣ𐭩 — miguel #•ूᡣ𐭩 — peter b #miguel o'hara x reader smut #miguel o'hara x reader #peter b parker x reader #peter b parker x reader smut

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elliesbff · 1 month

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“i need you.”

- abby anderson

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this second part, i’ve been going through a lot mentally and have just been trying to get my head around things. i genuinely hope this teeters to your satisfaction ♡ thank you for all the likes on pt 1 c:

cw: nsfw, scissoring, (r and abby! recieving) oral sex, (r! receiving) fingering, (r! receiving) slight dacryphilia, a bit of hair pulling, softdom!abby, sub!reader. enjoy! ˖ ࣪⊹

read pt 1 of i need you here!

.*･｡ﾟ 𝜗𝜚 .*･｡ﾟ

moments prior,

abby’s braid slid graciously past her shoulder as she pulled away from your short lived embraced, already missing the warmth of her sun kissed skin. it seemed like she was in a hurry, scurrying out of the gym in the blink of an eye. as you took a moment to gather yourself, you realised that she’d left her bottle behind, and her bench remained uncleaned. you stood there dumbfounded, what could she have planned that was more important than gymnasium hygiene? after all, it was her that taught all you know.

when you were nothing but a baby WLF, abby took notice of you as a new recruit and instantly saw potential in you, taking you under her wing and training you like hell to fulfil your true abilities. although you were nowhere near as burly or as experienced in combat as her, you were quite good with weaponry and crafting, as well as adapting to your surroundings, making do with what you had on you during critical times.

she calls you ‘the scavenger’ when you were not present. it was her unique way of honouring how far you’d come since joining the WLF, how she paved the way for the indestructible soldier she firmly believes you’ll grow up to be one day. it’s also just her adorable little nickname for you that she beckons nobody uses in her place.

she has the upmost faith in you. growing closer with each patrol, each gym session, and sometimes just casually hanging about the FOB or at each others rooms. your friendship was something others envied; it was pure, full of trust and built upon mutual respect. but those closest to you knew it meant more than what first meets the eye.

abby was out of sight in the blink of an eye, you look around in a suspicious daze, trying to follow her whereabouts. she was quick, but not quicker than you.

you had a long-overdue session to finish, but abby looked relatively… uneasy. something was wrong, and you could feel it. the line between instincts and curiosity began to blur as your feet developed a mind of their own, your duffel bag and towel long gone as you’d already turned the corner outside the gymnasium.

maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was overkill to automatically assume the worst was happening to her. but if something was really up with abby, you wouldn’t live it down if you didn’t initiate help.

the look on abby’s face as you stared at her through the firmly rimmed glass, her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowing only ever illuminating her intense eyes — a million thoughts a minute ran through your mind, instinctively charging for two heavy silver doors and up a random stairwell. you could smell the scent of pine and sweat — that was definitely abby.

all reasoning for your unexplainable shenanigans flew out the window as you approached abby’s room, a series of shuffles followed by a supposed muffled voice echoed from the opposite side.

your hand hesitantly reached up to knock, only to realise the door was never locked to begin with. abby could never be that careless, — maybe manny, but regardless — she would sometimes recall times where she’d have to remind him to lock up before leaving during your sessions at the gym. she’d never make a mistake she so harshly scolded people for.

your face inches closer to the door, the cool solid wood sending a kiss of shivers across your exposed shoulders as it welcomingly swayed open.

with each step, the unintelligible noises grew much clearer, and it was becoming more palpable as to what that was entailing.

you’re heart only dropped to your gut at the sound of your name, uttered by a helpless, whining mess.

“please… please.”

the door conditionally, and gently swayed closed on its own behind you, a little clck locking the door in full as you took a couple steps closer. was this a figment of your twisted imagination? the soft whimpers and subsequent cries of your name begged to differ. it was no secret now. abby had a thing for you. you were almost too afraid to move as each whine only grew more vehement.

with a couple more stalled footsteps, you froze at the sight of abby, completely ruining herself at the fate of her own hand.

your eyes widened instantly, the warm air prickling your eyes as would salt water. seeing her all ruined over the thought of you was enough to lift your hands over your mouth in keen disbelief.

you attempted to gather yourself, debating whether or not confronting her on this was the best idea — but no normal person would just walk away and forget this ever happened — forgetting the image of abby anderson, issac’s top scar killer, ramming her slick-covered fingers inside her wet cunt all while repeating your name under a dumbed spell? it’s not something that can just leave your mind at the drop of a hat. it certainly wouldn’t later, neither.

while lost in your thoughts, your tense arms dropped to your sides as your feet followed closer, the sound of your boots shuffling against the smooth concrete floor not catching her attention,

“abby?”

you watched as her oceanic eyes shot open, the abby you once believed would simply chuckle and brush off the idea of this, now scurried to find something, anything to cover her herculean figure, freckled arms still just poking out the sides.

it took more than an ounce of self control to not let yourself run wild at the fact that the abby anderson had a rather strong fancy for you, not to mention she was fucking herself to the thought of you.

as your initial astonishment subsided, your body beamed with want. seeing abby flushed and heated clouded your acclaimed critical thinking.

“…can i have a turn?” slipped from your lips after tending to abby’s own neglected desires.

and here you were, moments passing almost at the speed of light. you laid flat on your back, tits perked up from the arch of your back with abby towered over you. her estranged braid slid off her shoulder with her eyes staring you down. your neck generously splayed with bruises and bite-marks, only reminding you that she’s been wanting this for god knows how long. unbeknownst to her, you did too, you just never believed you’d live to ever experience it.

her hand lightly grazed over your tit, meticulously attending to your swollen nipple. her thumb teased at it, rubbing the area in circles to provoke a much anticipated and equally expected reaction. with her hand on your chest and her lips returning to attack your already purpled skin, you stifled a whine, bottom lip bit between your teeth. she kissed along your throat, from the point of your jaw to the crook of your neck.

she continued toying with your body as her tongue traversed to your waist, laying another round of sloppy kisses to your hip bones and abdomen.

it was like your skin grew ten times more tender whilst under her touch, each breath of hers against your skin feeling like a gentle tickle, accompanied by her large and surprisingly delicate hands palming your tits, it was growing to be too much, too much being your style, anyways.

her hand left your chest to firmly grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to her lap. she took her already soaked fingers, prodding at your pussy like you’d done previously. your breaths grew shakier with each flick of your clit.

her eyes returned to that intense, fiercely glare from back at the gym, so that’s why she was so concentrated, or rather in her own dreamland.

her tongue laid a generous coat of saliva along her lips, staring at your pussy like the starved woman she was. for how long she’d ached for this, you had no clue. this was bound to be a moment to remember.

your cunts were practically hugging each other, the feeling of being so close to her pussy only added fuel to the fire that gleamed in your core. the longer abby stared, just taking in your breathtaking body, the stronger the feeling of being exposed grew.

her head dives below your eye view, feeling her nose bump at your clit. she savours it, her tongue peeling out at an antagonisingly slow pace as she glares at you through her arched brows. she could taste it all, her juices mixed with yours..

your hand gently took rest within her blonde locks, hooking into the back of her braid.

“abby,”

you huffed, sounding more like a plead than anything. with each soft, trembling breath, she’d drag her tongue along your cunt in sync.

her face would dig further into you, arms slithering to wrap themselves around your thighs. even if you begged for her to slow down, your needy hole that clenched around nothing, desperate to be touched, told her otherwise.

abby would stare at you longingly, finally able to die happy between your tensing thighs as she rapidly swabbed your clit with your tongue, dragging it along in circles and the likes.

your body jerked at the sudden change in pace, back arching instinctively off the bed. the whole lower half of your body fired up, tingly and numb. her muffled grunts sent you haywire, violently gripping onto her hair. she was like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking and lapping around that sweet spot like her life depended on it.

“stop squirming.” abby would demand as she shoved your hips back onto the mattress, not once detaching herself from you.

you could barely comprehend anything she’d say as she was practically suffocating herself between your thighs, and you’d both be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

abby teased your cunt with her fingers, carefully slipping her thick digits inside of you. your legs squeezed around her head at the sensation of feeling so full. her fingers, let alone hands, were thicker than yours. and they felt much more fulfilling.

your moans would blend harmoniously, both equally experiencing pleasure from the other as you climbed the ladder of your climax.

abby’s suppressed grunts would only ring through your ears. where was the abby that was so shamelessly call out your name moments ago?

your grip on her hair tightened, practically dragging her face along your cunt to accumulate as much friction as your body desired. her fingers would work wonders, unforgivingly pumping in and out of you as her tongue would rub against your clit. each time she would flick against it you’d jolt, back arched with a shy hand over your mouth.

in a matter of seconds, abby had pulled away — both her tongue and fingers. just as you were about to reach the peak, you’d tumble down with your high dropping in seconds.

“wh.. why’d you stop?” you breathed out, tears that rimmed your eyes beginning to dissipate.

as if abby could read your thoughts, she placed a leg over yours, dragging your helpless body closer to her. your cunts were mere centimetres apart, the slick that built up from your pleasure mixing with hers.

“wanted to rile you up..” she muttered, her beautifully eager smile spreading from ear to ear as she strategically began kneading her pussy against yours. abby let out a stifled whimper, her perfectly toned arms pulling your leg almost over her shoulder.

you whined as she slowly dragged her pussy back and forth. the only thing ruminating through your mind in the moment was how you wished you’d done this sooner. way sooner. if given the opportunity any earlier, you’d have jumped at it like an animal in heat.

tears generously coated your plump cheeks as abby picked up the pace, she muttered curses under her breath with each drag of her swollen cunt. it was evident she was close, her arms would needily latch onto yours in an attempt to pull you closer than you already were.

the sounds of timid whines and skin slapping echoed through the room. you hoped that nobody would mention a peculiar series of moans to you or abby the next day. but all you could focus on was her slick engulfed thighs, her chest and the hickeys that’d covered her tits. her neck that was equally as bruised, and her face that contorted into a smile once she noticed you were staring.

“this feel good?” she asks, a sudden grunt spilling from her lips a second after.

all you could do was nod. you were afraid once you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop. abby, abby, abby, abby, was all you could think of. how strong she was and how easily she could throw you around if she wanted to, how easily you could tug on her braid while she fucked you dumb. it drove you insane how she wanted you and nobody else. she fucked herself to the thought of you and nobody else.

she disapprovingly shook her head, slapping your thigh playfully.

“mm mm, i don’t take nods, use that pretty mouth,” abby grinned, her cunt grinding viciously fast against your own. you whined dumbly, the pleasure overpowering your body. you felt numbing tingles along each cell of your body.

you whined shamelessly loud, “it feels.. so good.” abby’s face enlightened, her hips picking up pace from your undying cooperation. anything for her to keep going.

she squeezed a handful of your thigh and massaged it, letting out her pent up urges that she was only able to let out now.

you dumbly mumbled a bunch of nonsense yes’, keep going’s and abby’s, initially climbing the tower of climax yet again. and abby was, too. as much as she tried to hide it, nothing could excuse how her hips would dig into your abdomen from how quick she practically humped your cunt.

abby held your thighs close to her, gaining the upper hand in creating more friction. her clit would bump against yours almost ever second. both your whines enveloped the air around you as the coil inside you snapped, your pleasure releasing out into a white pool underneath you.

but abby was far from finished.

she pulled your hips closer, with pussies rubbing against each other and whines echoing through the walls. you wouldn’t doubt for a second that someone could hear you.

with more than a couple grunts and calls for your name, abby came down from her own high, her hips faulting and slowly grudging to a stop.

you both panted relentlessly. you swore if she kept going you would’ve came a second time at the snap of a finger.

trying to regain your breaths, abby lets out a chuckle.

she doesn’t say anything, but she shakily pulls herself off of you, propping herself up by her elbow next to you.

a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you as the reality of both your actions settled in. there was no hiding your attraction to one another now, none of this would’ve happened otherwise.

the never ending pining, hanging out one on one every chance you got and saying it was ‘just to train you’. you don’t know why you were surprised at the fact that abby would think about these things behind closed, or more so unlocked doors.

“..so?” abby’s voice was soft and meek, her hand fidgeting alongside her waist as her head rested on her other hand.

you hesitantly locked eyes with her, your previous shyness fading away as she planted a kiss to your forehead. something as cheesy and cute as a forehead kiss was enough to make you blush, subsiding all the things you both just did.

“..that was better than i expected.” you finally replied. abby’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to the side.

“oh, so you thought it’d be bad?” she kids in a sly tone, that familiar smile returning once more.

you playfully punched her arm in response, the both of you knowing in reality, it felt like heaven on earth.

“does it look like it was bad?” you poke back, pointing to all the hickeys and bite marks along both your bodies.

only now did you realise how much of a mess you made. there was cum all over the bedsheets, saliva all over your cunts and what not — this place was really overdue for a cleanup.

you chuckle as you examine the aftermath.

“we should clean up..”

“we?” abby questions.

“i don’t mind, i made it too, no?”

abby couldn’t argue with that. she sighs, pulling you up and off the bed so you could both clean up. not without peppering your body with kisses first.

fin.

i hope you guys enjoyed this, it was definitely a lot longer than i planned, and sorry again for taking so long!! but i enjoyed writing this a lot, hopefully you guys enjoy reading it too. ♡♡

dt: louise again realest oomf!!

word count: 2,793

#abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou game #tlou x reader #tlou part 2 #tlou2 #tlou smut #tlou show #tlou series #lesbian #tlou fic #abby tlou #elliesbff

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Note

I read your yandere dilf post just before going to sleep and had a very interesting dream as a result: yandere Wild West Outlaw!

He takes you hostage to keep the rangers from going after him after a robbery. You’re tied up in front of him on his horse and after riding away from town for a long time he doesn’t set you down somewhere like you expected but takes you with him into his hideout.

Bonus: he‘s (basically) masked > bandana covering half his face and the rim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes

Yandere Wild West Outlaw! Headcanons

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Masked Outlaw ;), Petnames, Killing, Mentions of Robbery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism/Surveillance, Description of Injury & Blood, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, etc.

A/N: Anon, I am in love with this concept !

♡ Yandere Outlaw whose body encompasses yours, his chest to your back and his arms caging you as he grips the horse’s reigns, his breathing steady as if he hadn’t just committed a multitude of crimes. Then again, considering how proficient he was at wiping the inn clean of all its savings and tying you up on his horse before the rangers could even arrive, you suspected this was not the first time he’d done this. Nor would it be the last.

♡ Yandere Outlaw says very little after he abducted you, his last words being sharp commands, laden with a calmness you would never have expected from a man holding an entire building hostage.

♡ And, in your terror, you said nothing to him, your back to his front as he rode to nowhere discernible, the civilised, populated terrain of your home town having melted away hours ago.

♡ No, the Outlaw gave nothing away. Even after days of being forced to travel with him to what you could only pray would be a town – somewhere for him to dispose of you before taking to the canyons again – he said nothing.

♡ He’d offer you food, and, after the first 24 hours of starving yourself out of sheer distrust – or principle, as you wanted to see it – you succumbed to your famine.

♡ Yandere Outlaw would feed it to you before disappearing behind whatever cover lay nearby – oftentimes his horse – and eat.

♡ Whatever lay beneath his bandana was a mystery to you. And it only took you trying to see what he looked like once to see that your endeavour was a hopeless one.

♡ You’d strained and leaned past the point of no return, falling onto your side.

♡ And Outlaw came back into view, adjusting his bandana back over his nose, the shadow cast over his eyes by his hat much like that descending over the valley you now inhabited.

♡ Your heart stammered as he grew closer, the spurs of his boots the land equivalent to the fin of a shark as Outlaw came to a stop before you.

♡ He got to one knee, so quietly that you could see why nobody ever saw him coming, and, brushing a lock of hair from your face with a gloved hand, chuckled.

♡ Low and rumbling, like an earthquake. Or one of God’s many natural disasters. A gruff, brief thing as ephemeral as life itself.

♡ “Don’t get yourself all scuffed up now, Darlin’,” he says. His hand trails from just behind your ear, tracing your jaw, the tendons in your neck, stopping just short of where your shirt hangs above your collar bones.

♡ You think that you hear him hiss. So sibilant and soft you’re unsure whether you perhaps imagined it and rather heard the conversation of pit vipers laying just below the hard sand beneath your ear.

♡ Outlaw’s head tilts, his face no clearer to you now as it was days ago, especially now with the setting sun casting a misplaced halo about his hat-clad head, his front shadowed. Two sides, one a light facade, the other his true nature.

♡ “You’re no good to me broken.”

♡ Yandere Outlaw whose only elaboration of that cryptic sentiment comes in the form of another day’s travel, during which you remained firmly bound – and gagged at one juncture when you made the mistake of crying for help when you spotted a lone merchant out on the open road.

♡ Yandere Outlaw neutralised that channel of freedom for you very quickly with a crack of a bullet, leaving you glassy-eyed and breathless as he ransacked the merchant’s travel cabin, taking all manner of valuables.

♡ “Why, thank you, Darlin’,” he says, his gloved hand coming to rest on your knee, clapping down on you and making you jump – shriek. And he squeezes with all the familiarity of someone who’s done this before.

♡ “Wouldn’t’a found this here haul if you hadn’t tried to scream your pretty little head off.”

♡ Yandere outlaw knows that’s isn’t quite true; he’s an excellent tracker, and an even better marksman. He’d have found this travelling man on his own eventually; the outcome would have been identical. But you didn’t need to know that.

♡ The gag was practically useless after that, for your desire to keep others from the same fate as the travelling salesman had you quiet as a mouse.

♡ Yandere Outlaw can sense how rigid you are – less so than you were when he’d first taken you, but you still felt…different. You were loose in the way that submission often made people slaves to fatigue, to their fate. And he couldn’t help but wonder if you’d succumbed to yours so soon, especially when, as you finally drifted off to sleep after a day and a half without it, you leaned into his chest, head to his shoulder.

♡ Unwillingly, of course. Your exhaustion weighed you down, lead. You had no control over your unconscious body, regardless of how repulsive you found the pillow you were leaning on.

♡ Yandere Outlaw can’t help but let his gaze drift from the open canyon ahead, gradually giving way to caves and rocky rivers, to your face. You were tranquil in sleep, brew no longer knotted in worry, or fear. Just…sleep.

♡ Yandere Outlaw could feel his hands twitching, the urge to touch you creeping up behind him the longer he stared at your vulnerable form.

♡ Yandere outlaw who, for a second, and a second only, let his hand slip from the reigns and slither, slowly, to your knee, up the expanse of your clothed thigh.

♡ Yandere Outlaw’s heart who, for the first time in a long time, beats at a humming bird’s pace when you shift in your slumber, making him withdraw.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, watching, waiting for you to settle back into sleep, kept his hands from you the rest of the night. Though temptation beckons him to do otherwise.

♡ Yandere Outlaw shifted behind you, waking you. Only when you were torn from a dream of being anywhere but here did you realise the horse had come to a stop, an unfamiliar breeze settling over you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, unsaddling you from the horse, carries you like a bride in his arms, kicking open the door to an abode you didn’t even know was there.

♡ Yandere Outlaw sets you down beside a pole, tying you to it. Tightly.

♡ “Welcome home, Dollface,” he says, hands settling on his belt as he watches your eyes jump from one corner to another, taking in these new surroundings, these new circumstances.

♡ Of course, you don’t accept the conditions Outlaw has roped you into. Not without a fight.

♡ Yandere Outlaw, as a result, had to keep his eye on you when you initially began your residence with him.

♡ For the first couple of weeks, he’d take you to the waterfall to bathe every other day; would watch you as you did so. At first, bashful and uncomfortable, you’d asked him to turn around as you stood exposed. To which the Outlaw just laughed. “Ain’t much worth lookin’ at,” he’d reassured you.

♡ Yandere outlaw who tells you exactly how the day’s going to go.

♡ “You’re gonna cook whatever I bring back. Y’understand ?”

♡ Yandere Outlaw who initially only lets you chop up vegetables and bread, withholding the excuse to use a sharp knife from you by intentionally not collecting any meat.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, before taking even a bite of the meal you prepare, makes you taste it first. “I know you little crafty types; poison enough in your veins to kill a horse.”

♡ Translation: “You’re having this first to make sure it’s not going to kill me.”

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, after that initial hurdle, though he won’t admit it, feels his tongue practically bursting with flavour when he tastes your soup for the first time. Though, he keeps it under wraps, his form hidden behind a wall, his bandana pulled down.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, with little alternative to offer you, makes you sleep in his bed.

♡ “Either that, or you’re sleepin’ outside.”

♡ He still wears the bandana btw, and wears a sleep mask over his eyes.

♡ He doesn’t touch you. Not in intentional ways, it would seem.

♡ Not at first.

♡ A light brush of the hand here and there.

♡ Sure, the urge to bask in the aura of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen is pretty overwhelming for the Outlaw. Especially since he doesn’t understand why he feels this way, never having felt it for anyone else before.

♡ Sure, he’s taken others, some much more enthusiastic than others (you don’t get to his level of notoriety without attracting a few hundred fans).

♡ So, when you’re asleep, an arm and a leg bound to the bedpost, he watches you.

♡ He tells himself it’s for his own safety, to make sure you’re not going to reach for a weapon and gut him like a pig.

♡ But when he sees your gentle face, he knows you’re incapable of that

♡ He likes to think that you’re incapable of anything without him around. Makes him feel bigger, stronger.

♡ So why exactly was he still looking upon you into the late hours of the night ?

♡ Over time, his resolve begins to crack.

♡ Especially with every aspect of your partnership accounted for.

♡ The baths, the bed sharing, the homemade cooking – it’s just all so…

♡ Domestic.

♡ But, that doesn’t make Outlaw trust you any more than the day he first took you. Not yet, at least.

♡ Despite his confidence in his own ability to keep you here, he knows the indomitable human spirit is strong enough to break through every precaution. And, just in case you do manage to escape, he’s making sure you can’t pick him out of a lineup if you make it to law enforcement – if the vultures don’t pick you off first.

♡ Yandere Outlaw makes you cook every night, under the guise of you “Needin’ your strength to straighten this place out.”

♡ Yandere Outlaw who appoints you as his head housekeeper, making it your sole responsibility to be the “homemaker” of the two of you.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who feels strange when he sees you with one of his shirts tied about your waist – a makeshift apron – who doesn’t even recognise this feeling as domesticity. Warmth. That feeling of security having been deprived of him all his life.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who wonders what you’d look like wearing one of his shirts.

♡ And something in his brain chemistry changes.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, during your river baths, knocks your clothes into the stream when you’re not looking, offering you his shirt when you’re ready to come out.

♡ “Y’really should be careful,” he tells you, swallowing thickly as the neckline of his shirt dips below your collarbones, drowning you. He looks away, not trusting that the feeling coiling in his lower half won’t spring out at any moment. “Men might take advantage of a pretty lil’ thing like you. Especially when you’re so…” A shiver shoots up his spine. “Vulnerable.”

♡ Your clothes seem to disappear not long after that, leaving you only with whatever consisted of the Outlaw’s wardrobe.

♡ You notice that he seems to disappear at odd hours of the day, leaving you to your chores while he does something.

♡ Little do you know that the something he is doing is a secret he’ll take to his grave.

♡ The sight of you in his shirts, of you in the river, is too much for him.

♡ He takes to hiding out in a densely vegetated patch of land behind the cabin to…relieve himself of his thoughts of you. Thoughts he’s used to sustaining for perhaps a second or two when it came to his prior conquests. Thoughts that, now, a month into your capture, extend long into his nights and speckle his logic when he’s on a mission.

♡ It’s dangerous, he knows; to have his mind elsewhere while he risks his life for the loot he so desires. But he can’t deny that they make him feel human. Normal.

♡ Despite how un-normal this entire situation is.

♡ It takes every ounce of his restraint not to just tie you down and take you while you sleep beside him, make you scream and cry for him as he empties his frustration and, dare he say, lust, into you.

♡ But, he doesn’t want to scare you off.

♡ Doesn’t want to see your eyes light up in fear whenever he enters the room.

♡ He wants something else.

♡ Something that he doesn’t have a word for.

♡ It’s only when he happens across a conversation with you, asking you if you had “A lover boy back home,” that he found the word he was looking for.

♡ You wince at the question, the memory of your life away from this situation salt in an unhealed wound.

♡ “No,” you tell him, your honesty a virtue. “Haven’t been in a relationship yet.”

♡ Relationship.

♡ It felt right to the Outlaw when he heard it; especially coming from you.

♡ It sticks with him the rest of the day, and while you’re cooking dinner, washing the Outlaw’s clothes, dusting the sparse furniture, he’s got one thing on his mind.

♡ How to get you into a relationship with him.

♡ He’s completely unequipped to deal with someone on such an intimate level, so he uses all his knowledge he’s gathered while seducing and bedding others to piece together a game plan.

♡ First, he needs to know what you like. He remembers from that one time a woman hit him with her shoe when he forgot her name ten minutes after meeting her.

♡ So, he starts hanging around you (much) more often, making you sit down and tell him about yourself.

♡ As he makes you spend time in his company, he comes to learn of the fanciful little things you enjoy.

♡ At first, the details are dry and few and far between, with you giving very little about yourself away.

♡ But, as his persistence drags into days, you eventually just start telling him whatever he asks, so long as it’s not too personal.

♡ Or painful.

♡ Whenever the outlaw can see you're starting to become upset, being reminded of your circumstances, he eases up on the personal questions and just asks superficial ones.

♡ “How’re ya feeling today ?” “D’ya eat well this mornin’ ?” “D’ya need me to dust a shelf down or something’ ?”

♡ His miniscule acts of selflessness are extensions of his effort to make you at least not hate him. Though you didn’t know this. His thought process was still an enigma to you.

♡ He also stalks you in his own home.

♡ Listens to you sing while you complete your tasks, your voice the softest thing he’s heard since…well, ever.

♡ Yandere Outlaw who, when he embarks on a hunt, never tells you where or when, and never even the how.

♡ The only clue you’ll ever be given as to his nigh-weekly excursions are trinkets he brings with him. Ones which you thought he’d pawn elsewhere in the county at a later date, or bury in the canyon somewhere.

♡ Until he offers them to you.

♡ At first, you’re not sure what to make of these…gifts ?

The first time he gave you one, he said nothing, only watching you.

♡ You swore you could see his shoulders heaving beneath his jacket, something almost feral in his demeanour. Pressurising.

♡ And, with the possibility of what could happen to you should you decline these acts of…generosity…You just take them, uttering a quiet “Thank you,” before putting them in a kitchen cabinet, unsure of the intent behind them.

♡ The first few times this happened, you were befuddled.

♡ Yet, with how gently the Outlaw placed them in your hands, with how intense his gaze was, even though you couldn’t see it beneath the permanent shadow across his brow, you could feel it.

♡ It was only one evening when the Outlaw returned with yet more loot that the meaning behind the trinkets became apparent.

♡ His hand disappears into the inside pocket of his jacket, and he withdraws a small box; rounded and bejewelled like an idol. He comes to stand before you, and, shoulders pinned abc and rigid, you swallow. Thickly.

♡ He looks down at the box, and,his finger dragging along the edge, slowly, he relinquishes it to you.

♡ And, by pure force of habit, you accept.

♡ You turn the box gingerly between your fingers, the dim candlelight from within the cabin just barely warding off the black of the night, setting the precious stones welded within the metal alight.

♡ “Well,” the Outlaw says, making you jump. You look up at him, eyes wide.

♡ “Open it.”

♡ He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

♡ Swallowing again, your gaze skitters back to the box.

♡ And, with bated breath, you lift the lid.

♡ A delicate, silver melody slithers from the portal you’ve opened, a serpentine tune wrapping around your mind, vivid, beloved memories riding on its feathered wings.

♡ Your favourite song.

♡ For a moment, one sweet, fragile moment, you’re not here.

♡ You’re back at home, in a warm bed that is yours and yours alone, surrounded by the people who matter most to you, any celebration mankind can conjure not even a whisper of the joy you feel in this scene.

♡ And then, as the wind blows autumn leaves from the human mind, the memory is gone, taken away by reality realising it has neglected you.

♡ You’re looking into nothing now, the apparition of your past slipping from you, your eyes wavered and muffled with…

♡ Tears.

♡ In your periphery, just outside the realm of reality you’re returning to, the Outlaw’s drilling gaze drops from you to the floor ina rare show of anticipation. A hand comes to the back of his neck, where he squeezes the skin. A stress ball.

♡ “Do you…” he begins, “Do ya like it ?”

♡ Your stare inches from the void up to the outlaw’s hidden face.

♡ Perhaps if he had a discernible human feature, you could sense anticipation there. But as it stood, this was no man, but a phantom.

♡ One which must have heard and remembered that tune you often sang while completing chores.

♡ You couldn’t take it.

♡ To have him acknowledge the memory – to make it more real – nailed your coffin shut.

♡ And you broke down.

♡ When you crumpled into a pile, the Outlaw took a step back, one hand reaching for his holster; a knee-jerk reaction.

♡ And what little solace he could offer came in a most inconspicuous display.

♡ The Outlaw got to one knee, now at your level.

♡ And, with a careful hand, he placed a gloved finger upon your shoulder. Then another. Then another.

♡ Spidery and unfamiliar, foreign, the Outlaw’s actions were jerky, janky, an unoiled machine. But he was trying.

♡ When his hand lay against the curve of your shoulder, you did not move. Did not shunt him off or scream at him to let go.

♡ You remained where you were, weeping into your shirt apron.

♡ And the Outlaw, with a fiery grip encircling his heart, feeling brewing in his centre, stronger than all those implicatures and desires. This was solid, unlike the quicksand foundations upon which the Outlaw’s every emotion was built upon.

♡ Was this…

♡ Empathy ?

♡ His grip on your shoulder tightened, the revelation swarming through him like locusts.

♡ He swallowed. Tried thinking through the orchestra in his mind.

♡ “S’okay,” he said. To you, and to himself. His fingers moved gently, your skin and muscle warm through the leather of his gloves. “You’re okay.”

♡ Things changed after that.

♡ He no longer forced you to sleep in the same bed as him, instead bringing back with him a fine silk cover from one of his trips, gifting it to you.

♡ Yet, you still chose to sleep in the same bed as him.

♡ “It’ll be getting cold soon,” you said. “WIth winter coming, and all.”

♡ And, while this new feeling, raw and fresh, was…nice compared to the emptiness that often lingered in his chest, the Outlaw couldn’t help but feel weakened by this influx of emotion.

♡ When he tried to have his alone time with his thoughts of you, he felt…wrong.

♡ Ashamed.

–

♡ You were used to him disappearing for days at a time. Hell, you'd come to expect it at this point in your captivity.

♡ But something about tonight felt...off.

♡ Not that you'd ever admit it, even to yourself, but with the amount of time you'd spent together these last few months, you no longer hated being in his company.

♡ In fact, on the days he would be gone from the early hours of the morn to the late hours of the evening, you could even say you...missed it.

♡ And, unfortunately, despite your every instinct swaying you otherwise, you find that to be the case now.

♡ But, more than that, you're concerned. Something you'd never thought you'd feel for a murderer, a thief. Your kidnapper.

♡ And your pacing, your lip-chewing, your nail-biting are all proven justified when the Outlaw slams against the front door, stumbling through.

♡ At first, you just watch, ready to yell, to ask where he's been the last few days, until you see it.

♡ A bloodied handprint on the door.

♡ He staggers in, swaying on uneven footing, his breathing stifled,as if through a thin straw. He wheezes, collapsing into the doorframe beside him.

♡ And you rush to him. As if he wasn't the one who put you here to begin with. As if whatever's bringing him to his knees now wasn't justified, provoked.

♡ But you don't think of any of that, your mind filled only with the fact that nobody knows you're out here. Without guidance, you'd be dead before you reached the edge of the canyon encompassing your hiding place.

♡ You needed him alive.

♡ After wrestling him onto his bed, almost buckling beneath his weight, you found the source of his downfall.

♡ A wound; bullet-bitten and bleeding, a rouge flower burgeoning with the promise of extinction.

♡ You tried getting him to talk, to tell you what to do. But his voice was barely a whisper, instead using what little seeping strength that remained to point to a cabinet.

♡ Inside, you found what you knew would be needed to heal him. Whether it – you – could save him, though, was another story.

♡ You tried taking his bandana off to see if he was hurt elsewhere, but to no avail. Despite the life draining from his body, he somehow found it in himself to stop you, to place a gloved, trembling hand atop yours, an imploring aura to the gesture.

♡ Don't.

♡ And, for the first time, beneath the dim light of the cabin, you could see something human on him.

♡ It existed only in the form of a shimmer beneath the shadow of his hat, his face still very much obscured, yet the emotions on it were not.

♡ You recognised this emotion, for you'd worn it yourself, both inwardly and out, for the last three months.

♡ Fear.

♡ In its purest and most carnal form.

♡ And a voice, strained with either agony or disuse.

♡ “Help me.”

♡ Throughout the night, you tended to Outlaw's wound. A maw-like, gaping thing it was, spouting blood as one would bucket water out of a sinking boat.

♡ Luckily, you didn't have to worry about shrapnel; the bullet went clean through outlaw's side, leeaving only the aftermath and not the instigator. You managed to stop the bleeding, use the stitching on Outlaw's shirt (which was basically yours now) to sew the wound closed.

♡ For the first time, Outlaw was uncharacteristically human.

♡ Sure, you'd seen the scars on his back when he bathed, the many brushes with death he'd encountered, some advancing into a dance, much like this night's escapade had been.

♡ But you knew, somewhere, somehow, that without another pair of hands here, Outlaw likely wouldn't have pulled through.

♡ Not this time.

♡ And now, here you sat, at Outlaw's beck and call, his bedside your new home.

♡ You watched over him, the cabin silent, the night just as quiet. Even the crickets seemed to chirp quieter, either out of fear or respect for the almost dearly departed.

♡ And, looking up from the massacre on the bed, your gaze swept the room. And you realise something.

♡ The front door, which neither you, nor Outlaw locked, is unguarded.

♡ Yandere outlaw is riddled with sleep, his agony having stripped him of his energy and his strength.

♡ So...why hadn't you tried to escape yet ?

♡ Looking over at Outlaw, sound asleep, you realised just how easy it would be to walk out that door.

♡ Sure, you might get lost. Might die of hypothermia during the freezing hours of a dessert night, but with enough layers, food and water, you saw no reason as to why you couldn't just leave right now.

♡ After all, it wasn't like you'd be killing Outlaw if you left. Sure he might die of infection, or blood loss if his stitches come undone. But you'd at least tried to help him. So your conscience wasn't going to be the issue.

♡ So what was stopping you ?

♡ Looking back at the Outlaw, you felt strange.

♡ The urge to protect him, to care for him, outweighed even your greatest notion of escape, which explained why the thought to do so hadn't hit you until just now.

♡ You bit your lip, looking between Outlaw and the door.

♡ Both options were tantilisingly easy to pursue, and yet only one would be available to you, the other perishing if you ignored it.

♡ Maybe hours passed. Maybe it was mere minutes.

♡ But watching the Outlaw sleep, at his most vulnerable, with his pleading “Help me,” rattling around in your mind, the choice already seemed to be made for you. You just didn't want to tell yourself exactly why.

♡ So...you stayed.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere Masterpost Masterpost

4K notes · View notes

seraphinitegames · 2 months

Text

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 05/April/2024

A really successful week this week!

After some suggestions about multiple choices on the same screen from a few amazing patrons, I looked into how to do that and if it would work for the character creation.

And it really has! I could cry it feels like there’s finally a solution, lol! :D

It does mean I had to completely start over, but with how it looks now, I think I have found how I want it to be for all the future books. It means I should just be able to copy everything I’m doing to the next book’s character creation screen and then just add the last book’s stats. That’s going to save SO much time in the future!

Starting over also meant I could put in the new body part selection choice for those who want to specify, though there is also the option to pass it. It was a selection suggested by one of my sensitivity readers to help hopefully make intimate scenes much easier to write, as well as much clearer to read for everyone!

That selection will pop up in the actual narrative for those that import characters, so you’ll still have that choice if you want to specify it for your character, but it means for people creating characters they can go into the story already that choice in place for the intimate scenes (if you want the detailed scenes).

Here’s a glimpse at what the character creator screens are looking like now:

So much cleaner and neater, as well as a WHOLE lot quicker! I’m just not sure how it will pop up on phones yet—hoping not too much scrolling!

The character creation is the last thing I need to finish before the demo section can finally go to the editor and first readers. It’s been worth the time to get it finally sorted though, especially as it means it’s also already set for future books, and I don’t have to spend this much time on it again, or melt my brain with figuring out coding, lol! :D

I’m not keen on the ‘Select a’ bit, but that’s how it shows up automatically, so I’m doing my best to work around that.

So yeah, it was so nice to finally get somewhere on this character creator after so many different tries. I really hope it’ll be so, so much quicker and easier for not just you guys to go through but also me and my readers for testing, hehe!

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! I’m going to be working this weekend to get this completely finished so the demo section can go to the editor next week, but will be offline as usual, so I'll update you all again next week! <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #romance #vampires #unit bravo #twc detective #choice of games #hosted games #choicescript #romance fiction #vampire romance #twc book 4 #The Wayhaven Chronicles Book 4 #character creation

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bubble-dream-inc · 1 year

Text

i walk the line.

You had joked with Ghost before about getting married, never with a tone serious enough for it to be taken into account, even if it was something you dreamed about whenever you were alone with your thoughts. What you hadn’t expected was the question to come up at such an inopportune time.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Sergeant Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 2.1 K

a/n: i hate giving my fics titles so just assume the song in the title is the vibe i want the fic to have lmao. also this is unedited and not beta read so beware of typos and shit

warnings: estabilished relationship, profanity, whump, description of wound, mentions of death, badly timed marriage proposal, medical inaccuracies, fluff, happy ending

It’s cold.

No, scratch that. It’s fucking freezing.

God, you hate the cold. Considering how much you despise it, it amuses you to think you might have been a desert creature in another life. A lizard, maybe. The types to scurry really fast and eat small insects all day. What a life.

You’re lost in your musings but you think there are a few very faint voices calling for you. Where are they coming from? Above? Seems like it. First, you hear their voices getting clearer, and recognize a word. It’s your codename, meaning, it’s your teammates voices. But why do they sound so agitated? Next, you feel pain. Quickly rising, scorching hot pain in your abdomen.

Oh, that’s right. You were shot.

A scream echoes out wherever you are and only later you’d recognize it as your own, in the same moment you recognize Ghost’s own booming voice frantically calling out for you, and the heavy weight of Soap’s large hands holding you down so you wouldn’t trash as much. It had been ironic, really, how much the mission went smoothly, 99% of it being completed without a hitch, but right as you were about to celebrate success, some fucker neither of you had seen before had decided to put a bullet in you - any of you - blindly, and it so happened it would hit you. The offender was long gone, a throw knife lodged in his skull as quick as a blink of an eye in the split second after the gunshot was heard, but the damage was already done. A few seconds before it happened, you had groaned how much you couldn’t wait for evac to come so you could take a hot shower and sleep, since your bones were aching, and Gaz had laughed and called you old-spirited. So much for that shower, you think as you take in the surroundings of what you could see of the abandoned safe house from your position on the blood stained table. It was painful to think about if that same table was used in the past for a family reunion or to gather folks around for good news, before hell broke loose and war tore apart the people, so you didn’t think about it. Ghost called your codename again and you cast your eyes downwards to look at him, the fear in his eyes sending a chill down your spine.

“Hey! Talk to me, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

You had screamed as he was removing the projectile from your flesh, you realized. Was not your first rodeo, a thought that made you want to laugh bitterly, but just the idea of laughing made you wince in pain. His hands were currently trying to stop the bleeding, and after taking one look at the wound, you suddenly felt at peace.

It was pretty shitty you were going to die in an equally shitty safehouse, but that’s the life you chose. So, against your better judgment, you chuckle lowly and decide to follow your superior’s orders.

“Keep talking, eh? Alright.” You groaned once more when he applied more pressure to your gaping wound. “L.t, do you- do you remember when i told you…I wanted to retire early and - fuck - get to the countryside and get a big ass dog?”

He looked up at you briefly, glad you were talking but clearly wondering where you were going with this. You knew he hated when you spoke of the future as if you were going to die - which, right now, you were pretty sure it was really happening this time - but you couldn’t help yourself. Of course he remembers that conversation, it was in the beginning of your secret-not-so-secret relationship. You had asked him what he would do if he wasn’t a soldier, and he had given you a very cryptic and vague answer that resembled a lot like nothing. In turn, you told him your wishes half heartedly, as if thinking of living for 10 more years was a very distant dream.

The relationship between the 141’s Lieutenant and one of its Sargeants was a sort of urban legend going around. People knew it was happening, but didn’t dare speak of it, and no one had ever really seen any proof of it, so, it was best to avoid prying into Ghost’s private matters as to not risk being at the receiving end of his annoyance, and, in turn, you both found solace in having something that only the two of you knew about. It never hindered your professionalism and it had been going on for a few good years now, so it became somewhat naturalized between the folks coexisting in the same space as you and Simon after a while. However, that never stopped the natural curiosity to flourish in a few people - namely, your comrades, who always knew there was something going on given the fact you’d literally look at your superior with hearts in your eyes - so you had to ignore Gaz and Soap’s expectant eyes on you as you spoke so tenderly, the intensity of witnessing the start of what seemed like a very intimate talk momentarily sharing space with the worry they were feeling over you.

“...Yes. I remember.”

He never forgets the things you say, even if you think it’s not important at the time. You hummed, ignoring the pain that came with it.

“Big dogs were never really my thing. I just-” A cough ripped out of you, and you didn’t need to look to know there was blood in it. “ I just thought it was the kind of thing you’d want. Big dogs fit you. It felt less scary to think about retiring once I added you in the equation.”

You were slurring your words and you knew it. As you regained your breath, you briefly saw a very wide-eyed and angry looking Price curse into his comm asking where the fuck was the goddamn chopper. Your codename being barked alongside the word “WIA” to a poor fellow soldier on the other side of the line left you with a bad taste in your mouth. You hate how scared Ghost looked, your big, scary, stoic Ghost, and you can’t help but feel selfish for leaving him, even if being shot was not your fault and wasn’t really in your plans when you left the base that morning.

“Stop talking like you’re fucking d-”

“We could have done it, you know?” Your laugh is, once again, bitter, and you’re acutely aware of the tears streaming down your face. Death has never scared you, but now that you got a reason to stay, you’re terrified. “Could’ve gotten hitched somewhere nice. Can’t really imagine you in a suit, though.”

The pain doesn’t stop, but it gets duller as you feel your consciousness slipping away, and you never fought so much to stay awake in your entire life. Simon yells something to Soap among the lines of getting something from somewhere so he can continue trying to save you, but you don’t register his words. His tone softens once his eyes are back on you.

“I’d wear a suit if you asked me to, sweetheart.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask, though.”

Not caring there are other people in the room, you smile at him, well aware it must be uncanny to see Ghost be so tender towards another person, but again, you were the lucky one who got to see it every time it was just the two of you, so you got used to it with time.

Your vision starts spinning more and more, and your eyes start to close the moment you hear the familiar, faint sound of a helicopter getting closer, Simon’s big hands suddenly on your face to try to keep you grounded, and he sounds even more exasperated than before. He calls your name - not your codename, for once.

“Stay alive, do you hear me?! You gotta stay the fuck alive so i can take you to the bloody countryside and get bloody hitched-”

“You askin’ me to marry ya’ in my deathbed, sir?” You manage to slur out, your smile growing despite the panic you don’t have the energy to express settling in your bones, and Simon’s eyes widen even more behind the mask.

“Yes, I am, so stay with me, that’s a fucking order-”

You chuckle, closing your eyes as the frantic sounds around you all blur into a garbled mess. Faintly you feel your body being moved around, a strong wind on your blood and dirt caked hair, hear some more shouting, but then,

Silence.

——————————

Feels like the thousandth time you have woken up, and the feeling of coming in and out of consciousness is unbearable at best.

The first time - or the second, you don’t remember - there was a strong light above you, but you had no energy to open your eyes, so it lasted a measly second before you were out again. Later, you heard an unfamiliar voice saying something about an induced coma for a few days for a better recovery. You wondered if they were talking about you (they probably were). This happens a few more times before you actually feel your consciousness coming back for good, and, before you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is how warm it is, and, if you could, you’d smile. The spring air smells good, and you think you catch a whiff of cleaning products while you inhale, suddenly aware of how empty your lungs felt. The third thing you notice is the weight on your hand, and once you open your eyes, you find a familiar set of skeleton gloved hands on top of your own. A few years back you had told him with a laugh the print was very 2000’s, and he had just brushed you off with a scowl, but you’ve never been so glad to see the tacky thing. His thumb caresses your skin as he patiently waits for you to become more aware of your surroundings, and you instantly smile when you finally meet his gaze, which looks extremely relieved.

“Hi.” Your throat feels parched, voice straining as if you’d swallowed a kilo of sand, but Simon thinks your voice never sounded so sweet to his ears.

“Hi.”

It hurts to move, but you do so anyway, slowly sitting up despite Simon’s protests just so you can see him more clearly and grasp his hand a little better. While you are busy cringing at the dull pain in your stomach from the stitches, he extends a glass of water for you, to which you grab and gulp down immediately, quenching your thirst and looking over at your partner with such gratitude an onlooker would have thought he was a literal godsend.

“How bad is it?” Your voice still felt rough from disuse, but at least it sounded a bit more familiar to your ears.

“Pretty bad.” He doesn’t bother you with details; he knows you were never a fan of hearing about your wounds descriptively. “But you’ve always been tough.”

You flash him a grin that has him silently flabbergasted both with how beautiful you are and how quickly you seem to bounce back from a near fatal injury. Suddenly, you remember your last words before you blacked out, and your smile turns shy as you cast your gaze down to where your hands meet.

“...Did you mean it?”

Simon has always been extremely observant and smart, he knows what you are talking about immediately, and you like to think he is smiling under the mask as he goes back to gingerly caressing the top of your smaller hand with his thumb.

“I did, sweetheart.” His voice is low, and every time he calls you a pet name it has your heart doing somersaults. “I’m sorry I don't have a ring yet and I don't know when we would have some time off to have a ceremony, but I want to marry ya’. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Feeling like your smile would grow so big it would rip your face, you beamed at him, acutely aware of how you must have been looking like a mess with a - hospital - bed head and tired eyes, but you’d hoped he could notice the hearts in your eyes as obviously as you felt them. Things always seemed to fall in place with Ghost; no need for extravagance or huge acts, and the fact that your marriage proposal was exactly that, made you fall even more in love with him. You watched lovingly as he raised your hand to press a mask covered kiss on the top of it, and shook your head, laughing gently.

“Of course i’ll marry you, Simon.”

#capy.writes #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #cod modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reade #simon riley x reader #cod ghost x reader

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eiightysixbaby · 6 months

Text

i’ll be home for christmas

PART ONE: Last Christmas

series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.8k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you feel like you’ve been floating through life since eddie left town last christmas. what are you supposed to do when everything reminds you of him, and christmas doesn’t feel the same anymore?

cw: switches between past and present tense, angst angst angst, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’.

author’s note: i cannot express how excited i am to finally be sharing the first part to this story! i have truly poured every possible ounce of my energy into this and i really hope it shows. thank you in advance for reading, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

Snowflakes swirl around your face, dancing in front of your nose before being whisked away in a flurry of cold air. It’s not snowing hard — just enough to make Hawkins feel more magical. You stuff your hands into your coat pockets, eagerly awaiting the steaming cup of coffee you’re headed for. Behind you, Nancy pleads with Mike to put a hat on because his ears are bright red from the cold, and of course he doesn’t listen. Stubborn as usual. Steve calls him a little shit, and you roll your eyes to yourself as they bicker. You can’t quite bring yourself to laugh, though, and you don’t turn around to join in on the teasing like you usually would. Your eyes are angled down, watching as your boots press imprints into the dusting of snow that coats the pavement beneath you.

“I always thought Hawkins looked its prettiest when it’s snowing,” Robin’s voice says from behind you, getting clearer as she jogs to catch up to you.

Your shoes scuff against the frosty sidewalk, a little hum leaving you as you glance around at the town center. The storefronts are all decorated for the upcoming holiday, strings of garland and pretty green wreaths with red ribbon hanging on every door. Cheery window displays with Santa Claus and artificial Christmas trees liven up the shops. Shiny red and gold baubles hang from bare trees, string lights wrap around ornate light poles and coil up until they kiss the big red bows that are tied around the tops.

Robin’s right. It is pretty. The snow makes everything even more picturesque, like you’re living in a town inside of a snow globe. This could be the setting of a holiday movie, as far as you’re concerned. You’ve always loved Christmas, it’s always been the happiest time of the year for you. This year, though, is different. The warmth and joy you usually feel every December is gone, left behind on a snowy night last year. Robin senses your sadness, of course she does, because she’s sensed it just about every single time it’s crept up on you over the course of the last 12 months. Ever the empath, that one.

“Hey, I know it’s hard for you this year, kid,” she says, softer now, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder as you walk side-by-side. Her vibrant blue eyes catch yours, studying you carefully. “You know we’re feeling it too. And we’re all here for you,” she adds, nodding in the direction of the rest of your friends.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids all trail behind you, spread out on the sidewalk. You know they’re all feeling the difference of this holiday, too. In their own ways, they’re hurting too. You know you’re not the only one. You almost feel selfish, but you know that’s not what your friends would want, so you try your best to shove it down.

“I know, Rob. Thank you. I promise I’m not trying to be a downer,” you say, taking a shaky inhale. Crisp, cold air fills your lungs, the icy chill almost burning.

“No, hey, don’t do that. You’re not being a downer. We’re gonna have you all merry and bright in no time,” she says with her signature pretty smile, but you feel like she’s trying to reassure both you and herself as she says it.

You hope she’s right. You long to break free from the shackles of the numbness that’s clung to you this entire year. A certain someone’s absence that’s left you feeling hollow.

You reach the coffee shop, holding out a gloved hand to open the door for your friends. You trail in behind everyone, warm air hitting you in a comforting wave, like a blanket wrapping around your frame. The entire place smells like fresh coffee grounds and hints of vanilla, and you inhale deeply, letting it envelope you.

You vaguely hear Dustin and Max arguing about whether hot chocolate or coffee is the better hot beverage, before your ears tune in to the Christmas music playing over the speaker. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” rings out in the small space, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut as the soothing voice croons through the sound system. What should be a happy, comforting song only adds salt to your wounds, and if you had any say here you’d turn it right off. It reminds you of all of the things you wish you could forget, reminds you that you won’t be spending this Christmas with the person you should be. Longing coils its way around your heart, squeezing tight enough you feel it could shatter.

“What’re you gonna get?” Jonathan asks from beside you, bringing you out of your head as you realize you’d been staring aimlessly at the menu.

“Huh? Oh, um, probably a vanilla latte. Boring, I know,” you give him a little smile, the best you can muster, which he returns.

“Nah, it’s a classic. Can’t go wrong,” he says, walking towards the waiting cashier to go and order.

He orders his drink and yours, paying for both before you can get a word in edgewise. “Jonathan—” you start as you both move to the side to wait for your items.

“Don’t offer to pay me back. It’s my treat, okay?” he insists, giving you a knowing look. It’s his way of trying to cheer you up, to bring that holiday spirit back to life inside of you.

You and Jonathan had been friends for years now, he’d been a part of the group since the beginning, but only in this past year did you become especially close. He’d been such a big support system for you, letting you vent when you needed to and only offering advice when you explicitly asked for it. He’s an exceptional listener, the perfect confidant, and you’re grateful for his friendship. You’re grateful for the whole gang — their warmth and consistent companionship making everything easier for you.

Jonathan tells you to go sit with the others, assuring you that he’ll collect the drinks and bring them over to the table. Coats and scarves and gloves are discarded, hung on the coat rack that’s nestled in the corner right behind the two tables Nancy chose for you all. She sits next to Robin, the taller girl draping an arm over the back of Nancy’s chair, fingertips brushing her shoulder affectionately through her fluffy sweater. You sit across from Steve, opting for the seat closest to the window so you can look out. Max, Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike all sit at their own table, animatedly chatting about the Secret Santa gift exchange they’re doing. You giggle lightly when Dustin accidentally reveals that he’d drawn El’s name, the table immediately grilling into him and roaring with laughter.

Jonathan sits down beside you with the drinks and you immediately grab your cup, the warmth from it soothing your hands. You slip into easy conversation; talking about what Christmas gifts you all still have to buy and coming up with a plan for the group Christmas party, discussing your jobs and all of the usual things.

“And so I’m banging on the bathroom door, right? Yelling at Steve to come help me with this customer,” Robin rambles animatedly, her hands flying as she tells a story from work. “He comes out of the bathroom, and the fucking button on his pants pops off. His pants literally fall down around his ankles in the middle of the bakery. I’m peeing myself laughing at this point, the customer is still angrily waving his fist at me—” she keeps talking, you know she does, but your attention is diverted elsewhere in the midst of her anecdote.

A car horn honks outside, making you turn your head towards the commotion just in time to see a van pull up at a stop light outside of the coffee shop. A van that makes your heart feel like it’s plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. A Chevy, a deep burgundy in color with a cream stripe running along the side. You feel your mouth go dry as you’re plagued with a flood of memories. You vaguely register Jonathan and Nancy’s laughter towards Robin, you know you should be laughing too, but your mind is already far away from this moment — transported somewhere else. Back to a year ago. Back to Eddie.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

You hoist yourself up into the van, a smile on your face as you sit down, instantly pressing your hands to the air vents to try and warm them up. You’re buzzing from the party at Steve’s, waving enthusiastically to the host in question as he closes the front door to his house. Eddie had insisted on warming the vehicle up for you while you said your goodbyes to everyone, and he watches you from the driver’s seat as you buckle your seatbelt.

“So, where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, barely able to contain your joy.

“You’ll see,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. He shoots you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but you shake it off easily, assuming he’s just getting tired. You know you were.

Snow flies sideways in the beams of the headlights, those big, fluffy flakes that have always been your favorite. You drive past houses decorated like something out of a scene from a movie; rainbow lights coiled around bushes and pine trees, white bulbs lining rooftops and candles glowing in windows. Every door seems to don a wreath with a big red bow, and even some snowmen wave at you with their stick arms, mittens held high in the air.

It’s magical, that’s the only word you could use. Your heart feels like it could burst out of your chest, giddy like a child again. Christmas music plays on the radio and Eddie hums along to it beside you, making you want to grab him and kiss him and just never let go. What you two had going on was unlabeled, at the moment, but the tension between you was tangible. Your seemingly upcoming relationship had become the butt of the affectionate jokes in your friend group, the gang being less than subtle about what they expected from you and Eddie. And they didn’t even know about the kiss yet…

Being with him felt like everything good in the world, wrapped in a tiny package and sealed with a bow. Sometimes he would look at you like he loved you, and sometimes you felt like you loved him. There was no rush, no hurry, no deadline with Eddie. You let things flow naturally, progress gradually as you enjoyed getting closer and closer with one another. You’re feeling like tonight might be the night, like he might finally ask you to be his.

The van drives across snowy backroads, a dense layer of trees on either side. You know exactly where you’re headed now, hands rubbing on your thighs in an absentminded fidget. It’s not long until you pull up beside Lover’s Lake; your usual spot, your special spot. There’s a lonely dock leading out to the water, a dock that you’ve spent many a night sitting at while you gazed at the stars with the curly haired boy. It, too, is decorated for the holiday now, strands of lights twisted around the railings, illuminating the surrounding frozen water.

Eddie puts the van in park, killing the engine before his door swings open with a reluctant creak. You open your own door, only to be met with him extending a hand for you to take, helping you down onto the icy ground. You tug your hat further down over your ears, slipping your gloves out of your coat pocket and onto your hands. Eddie’s grabbed a blanket from the back of the van, tucking it under his arm. You can see your breath with every exhale as your boots crunch through the dirt and grass, walking to the dock with Eddie right in front of you.

The blanket is laid out on the old wooden planks, serving as a buffer between you and the cold, frozen surface of the dock. You gaze out at the vast expanse of the lake, a few lights twinkling on the opposite shore. You reach for Eddie’s hand, giving his fingers a squeeze before just holding them, your gloves providing him with some extra warmth.

“I have something for you,” he says then, taking you by surprise.

“Eddie, I thought we were exchanging gifts tomorrow—” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“This couldn’t wait,” he insists, and his eyes hold an emotion you can’t place.

Is this it? Is he going to ask you to be his girlfriend?

His hand fumbles around in his coat pocket before he finds what he’s looking for, retrieving a tiny velvet box. A dainty ribbon is wrapped around it, tied with a bow on the top, and you gasp a little when you see it. He hands it off to you, watching as you delicately pull the knot loose, setting the shiny ribbon in your lap. You open the box with so much care, a hand flying to cover your mouth when you see what waits for you.

A beautiful gold necklace with a heart pendant rests on the silky bunch of fabric inside the box. You lift the pendant with a finger, noticing an engraved ‘E’ in the center of the heart. The whole thing is dainty, not flashy, not too much, but yet more than enough.

“Eddie—” you breathe, tears pricking in your eyes as you meet his stare.

He looks nervous. He’s not smiling.

“I want you to have that so you never forget me, and how much you mean to me,” he says, scooting closer to you.

He pulls you to him, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I could never forget you, what do you mean?” you ask, clutching the box close to your body.

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you. And I need you to try and understand,” he says, and the words immediately make your stomach flip. You feel ill, and he hasn’t even told you what he needs to tell you yet.

You close the box, holding it even tighter, as if it could freeze this moment in time.

He pulls back just slightly, enough so he can look you directly in the eye. One hand rests on your cheek, the shockwaves of his touch reaching the deepest parts of your soul.

“I’m leaving Hawkins. Tomorrow,” he says finally, a shuddering breath leaving him.

And that was the moment your whole world shattered.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

You’re torn from your memories at the feeling of Jonathan’s hand on your arm, his voice calling to you through the fog you feel floating in your brain.

“Sunny, hey, you okay?” he prods, concern evident on his face when you turn to look at him.

Nancy, Steve, and Robin look expectantly at you from the other side of the table, worried about where you’d drifted off to.

“Yeah, I— I’m fine,” you say, giving a smile that’s less than believable. “Sorry, just… thinking. Lots going on for the holidays, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, squeezing your shoulder as if to let you know he’s here for you.

He gives you that look he always gives you when he knows there’s something you aren’t telling him, he knows you too well. You feel bad lying to him, but you don’t want to bring up Eddie in front of the whole group right now. Robin was telling a funny story. Your friends deserve to laugh, to be happy. They don’t need your anguish. Saving face is the easiest option.

To your appreciation, they simply ease back into the conversation at hand. Your hand reflexively reaches up to your chest, grabbing at the small pendant that rests there. Your thumb runs over the engraving that you know is the letter E, your breath leaving you shakily. You take one final look out the window, the van from before now gone — much like the man it reminded you of.

You end up making an excuse to leave your friends early that day, no longer feeling able to force a positive attitude. You know they must be worried, know that they see through your facade, and guilt gnaws at your insides. All they’ve done is try and try to keep your spirits up, to help you move past everything, and you’re just stuck in the past. You haven’t exactly been easy to help, either. You miss Eddie, but every time he’s called you decline speaking to him. You can’t — certain that you wouldn’t even know what to say and that you’d just cry helplessly into the phone. And nevertheless your friends persist, always there when you need them and always willing to cheer you up. Plans are made with Nancy and Robin to bake Christmas cookies sometime soon — an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse at the way they so excitedly ask you to join them — before you bid everyone goodbye and part ways.

You stomp your snow-covered boots on the doormat just inside of your apartment, kicking them off haphazardly as the icy sludge begins to melt on the ground. You float around the space as you hang up your coat and remove your gloves, hat, and scarf, your body physically completing the actions but your brain residing somewhere else entirely. You curl up on your couch, wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket as you stare blankly at the black screen of your tiny television. The glow of your Christmas tree does nothing to soothe you — where it used to be a comfort, it now feels like a headache. You have half a mind to tear down all of your decorations, but you know it wouldn’t truly make you feel any better.

As if you weren’t sad enough already, as if the past eleven months haven’t been torturous enough, you really can’t get Eddie out of your head now. Seeing a lookalike van to his shouldn’t bother you, nearly a year later. Something so commonplace shouldn’t phase you. You press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, willing your tears not to fall, willing yourself to forget him and forget it all and leave him in your past. You know it’s hopeless, you know you can’t possibly forget him, and it only makes you more frustrated.

One hand grips the pendant of your necklace, pulling roughly on the chain and making it snap. You toss it onto your coffee table, sobs wracking through your entire body now. Your fingers rest where the necklace once was, feeling the loss of him, something tangible. Laying down on the worn cushions, tears blur your vision as you cry, left alone to remember. And you remember everything.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

Your brows furrow, your brain not comprehending what he’s saying. “I don’t.. I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I found a place in Chicago. I can’t be in Hawkins anymore, Sunny, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t belong here. I need to go out on my own and make something of myself,” he says, wincing as if it pains him to speak about. You don’t have the grace in this moment to see that it does pain him. More than he can say.

“No…” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head furiously. “No, this is a joke. This has to be a joke,” you try to convince yourself, moving to stand. Your chest feels tight, like all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie says, standing with you, reaching an arm out to steady you when your boot slips on the icy dock.

“Don’t touch me!” you shout, louder than you’d ever wanted to be with him. “You can’t—” your voice breaks, your lip wobbling. “You can’t leave me.”

“I have to. You’ll be better off without me, okay? You have Nance and Robin, and Jonathan and Steve.”

“What about them?” you ask, voice quiet.

“What?”

“What about them? Did you tell them that you’re leaving? Did you tell the kids?”

“I… no. I need you to explain everything, okay? I didn’t want to ruin the Christmas party,” Eddie says, his eyes averting your gaze, shifting on his feet.

“Oh, but it’s okay to ruin my night? It’s okay to ruin my life?” you hiss. Eddie’s visibly taken aback by this, his eyes impossibly sad. You know the last part may have been too much, but you don’t care.

“You’re going to be fine without me,” he says, puffs of fog leaving his mouth with each word against the cold wind.

“What about us, Eddie!?” you cry, your throat raw with the way you scream it. “You’re going to act like this is nothing? Like we have nothing!?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He stands maybe two feet away from you, silent, his figure illuminated only by the string lights wound around the railings to the dock. His silence rings in your ears.

“So that’s it. You’re just going to go away, leave me here and forget about me,” your voice trembles, your feet stepping backwards as you start to distance yourself from him.

“I could never forget about you, I don’t want to forget about you!” he emphasizes, moving towards you. “You’re the only person I’ve told this to besides Wayne! Because I care about you far too much to just go,” he says, his voice breaking as he steps closer still.

“Oh, my hero,” you scoff, shaking your head as you wipe tears from your cheeks.

You turn on your heel and start running towards the van, your heart feeling like it’s being wrung out in your chest. The wind hurts your face, every snowflake that hits your skin pricking you like a needle.

“Sunny. Sunny!” he shouts after you, his shoes crunching on the frozen ground as he tracks you down. Hearing the nickname he’d so fondly given you ages ago — because you’re always ‘a ray of sunshine’ in his words — simply feels like he’s driving a knife through your heart now. “Please, I need you to understand—”

“How could I? How could you ask this of me!?” you sob, your defenses raised high. “I could’ve gone with you!”

“No! You need to be here, you’re happy here! You have friends and family and a job that you love — here.”

“You have friends here. You have Wayne, and you have me,” you say through gritted teeth, sniffling hard.

“I need to go. I need to get away from this town,” he says softly, mournfully. “Please…”

“Take me home, Eddie.”

“Baby—”

“Take me home! I don’t want to be near you any more, take me the fuck home!” you grit, pushing him away when he tries to hold you.

“Okay,” he sighs, defeated. “I’ll take you home.”

The ride to your place is alarmingly silent, your mind hazy as you stare blankly out the window. The happy hugging families and Christmas lights and snowmen mock you as you drive past, every joyful scrap of the holiday feeling like a sick joke now. Your stomach is in knots, your heart breaking inside of your chest with every passing second. You feel like you’re in a daze, like you aren’t even real.

His van finally pulls into the parking lot to your apartment, the snow swirling harder now in the glow of his headlights. It doesn’t look light and delicate as it had before, it doesn’t shimmer the way it used to. It looks foreboding, plummeting to the ground in fast, aggressive streaks.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie starts, and you scoff before he can keep going. Tears slide down your face as you shake your head, your lip wobbling.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that if you’re really about to leave me,” you say, voice thick with the bile that rises to your throat.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry. You’ll be better without me, I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Eddie,” you say, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

You open the passenger door, hopping out of his van for the last time. You’d climbed into this van a mere hour ago so hopeful that tonight he’d make you his, and instead he’s ripping it all away. You chance one final glance at his face, the defeated and empty expression that sits on it. It makes you want to crumble, fall to your knees right there on the snowy concrete and wail until your throat is raw. But you don’t give him the satisfaction, and you slam the door shut instead. The sound of it reverberates in your ears, making your head throb. The little velvet box sits in your coat pocket, your hand clutching it as you walk quickly to your building.

You barely process the fact that you reach your door, that you unlock it and step inside. You only process the hard floor beneath you as you sink down onto it on your knees. Sobs wrack through your body as you hunch over, gasping breaths making your chest shudder. Taking the little necklace box out of your pocket, you stare at it for a moment. Chest heaving, tears streaming down your face, you open the box. You take the necklace out, fumbling with it through your blurred vision. It somehow feels right to put it on, it feels like you need to put it on. It’s the only piece of Eddie that you have.

The pendant rests above your heart, your hand grasping it and clutching it tight. Through all of your anger and your hurt, there’s an unspoken love for Eddie, and there’s a part of you that clings to his gift like it’s a lifeline. Like maybe wearing the necklace could make him change his mind, like you could summon him. And so you sit, still in your coat and your scarf and your hat, curled in on yourself on the floor of your apartment as you cry. Letting yourself feel every ounce of emotion, cursing Eddie’s name for how alive he made you feel and how he’s taking it away in the blink of an eye.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The next morning comes with a blanket of heavy snow, the sun rising over the sleepy streets of Hawkins and making the white powder sparkle. You’d hoped, nearly taken up some faith and prayed that after some sleep you’d feel better. That your problems could be washed away with the morning’s light.

Naïve? Maybe. Probably.

Because as soon as your alarm clock blared in your ears and you opened your tired eyes, you felt honestly worse than you had the night before. You feel as though someone has scooped up your insides, tossing them out and leaving you hollow as you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The promise of coffee and the obligation of work is what gets you out of bed, your head instantly pounding when you stand up. Your feet slide into your cozy slippers as you trudge down the hallway to your kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started before moving to your living room. You go to pick up the television remote when something shiny catches your eye. The light reflects off of a gold pendant, making it sparkle.

Eddie’s necklace. Your necklace.

At least in your sleep you’d been able to forget that you had taken the necklace off. And in your post-sleep still-tired haze you’d been able to remain unaware, if even for a short while. You stare at it for a moment, tempted to put it back on. But then your puffy, sore eyes from last night’s sob-fest and the snot-covered tissues that litter the floor encourage you to leave it off.

All Eddie’s done in the last year is make you cry, so why should you wear his necklace every day? He doesn’t deserve it.

Or that’s what you try to convince yourself, at least, as you stomp into your room and hide the necklace away in your jewelry box. You can’t stomach looking at it for too long, desperately trying not to cry again. You’re not even sure if you have any tears left, or if the reservoirs have run completely dry. Shaking it off, you return to your living area, clicking the TV on and turning it to the news station.

“We sure got quite a bit of snow last night, and we’re definitely not the only ones!” the weatherman says, too perky for this early in the morning. “I was just recently in Chicago and, let me just say, be thankful that’s not us. Talk about a lot of snow!”

Chicago. Your eye twitches at the mention, and then the TV is promptly clicked off. Way to start your day strong.

You were hoping things would improve when you got to work, as your current job could barely even be called a job. Your front-desk position at the school was on hold for the winter break, but this year Hawkins Middle was sponsoring an ice skating event. A temporary ice rink was installed in downtown Hawkins, and you had offered to help run it. You’d mainly been in charge of skate rentals and serving up hot chocolate or coffee, and it was actually really fun most days. Chief Hopper had even been convinced to dress up as Santa, showing up on Fridays and Saturdays to greet the eager children.

Today, though, of course the world has to test you. You can hear kids shrieking and throwing tantrums before you can even fully see them, and as you walk in to the worker’s trailer you hear Vickie, one of the teachers at the middle school, getting royally bitched at by an impatient mother. Wincing, you put a hand on her shoulder when the woman leaves, signaling that you’re here to take over and rid her of misery.

“I’m warning you,” she says. “It’s crazy out there today.”

To make matters worse, on your drive here the first song you found on the radio was one of Eddie’s favorites. You had changed the station only to find another one of his favorites before turning the damn thing off entirely. Then, on the short walk from your car to the ice rink, you’d been walking behind someone who looked exactly like Eddie. The curly hair, leather jacket, white sneakers… it made your stomach turn. You were more disappointed than you wanted to admit when you saw his face and it, of course, wasn’t actually him.

It’s like Eddie was everywhere you went, an inescapable constant.

You just wanted to not be sad anymore. Your heart was tired of hurting, and you truly felt as though Christmas couldn’t be over and done with fast enough.

You try to put on a chipper attitude as you greet families, politely helping them get their skates and giving the kiddos your best tips and tricks for the ice. There’s a larger crowd than you’d expected today, everyone in town seemingly flocking over to grab some hot cocoa and go skating. You expertly maneuver between skate rentals and drink-making, insisting your other helper keeps an eye on the ice rink itself. It keeps you busy, at least, your brain pleasantly distracted by the chaos. In brief moments of downtime, you watch as wobbly children try to stay upright on the slippery rink, parents following close behind with outstretched hands, ready to steady them.

You’re putting skates back in their respective places when the door to the little trailer opens and shuts, a strawberry blonde head of hair lingering in your peripheral vision.

“Hey, Chrissy!” you greet her, setting out cups for the next round of cocoa orders. “How’s break been going for you?” you ask, smiling at her as she pulls off her earmuffs.

Chrissy was one of the cheer coaches for both the middle and high school, and you’d become friendly with her through school events and the like.

“Oh, you know, it’s going fine I guess….” she says, biting back a smirk as she stretches her arms out, hands splayed flat where she holds them in front of her.

You glance down, instantly clocking the sparkly diamond ring on her left ring finger. Eyes widening, you gasp, taking her perfectly-manicured hand in yours.

“No way. Jason proposed!?” you ask, watching as a pink lipgloss smile breaks out on her face and she nods.

Her and Jason had been the it couple for the majority of your high school career, and they’d still been going strong since graduation a few years back.

“Yes!! Can you believe it!? I had no. idea. he had this planned!” she squeals, her ponytail bobbing as she bounces slightly on her feet.

For some reason, it makes your heart feel like it’s about to crack beneath your rib cage. It shouldn’t, this isn’t about you, but the air is whisked from your lungs regardless.

“I— I’m so happy for you,” you say, stammering a little as you try to feign happiness. “Congratulations.”

“You okay?” she worries, her brows furrowing as she tilts her head at you. Her perky demeanor is gone, concern taking over her features.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry, I just feel a little weird. Haven’t eaten much today,” you lie, forcing a smile on your face. “Seriously, congratulations,” you say again, sighing in relief when she thanks you and walks back out of the trailer, going to check on everyone skating.

You slump against the counter, a lump forming in your throat. As much as you wish it didn’t, this only makes you think of Eddie. Again.

You can’t help but let your mind wander to what could’ve been if Eddie had stayed, if maybe in a couple short years he could be proposing to you. Last December you’d been so hopeful that the two of you would make things official soon, and when Eddie gave you that necklace you were nearly certain of it — for a moment, at least. What if he had been here, in Hawkins, this entire year? Surely you’d be spending Christmas together, decorating together and baking together and simply existing together. It feels like you’ve been robbed. All of your feelings for him have had no place to go, the adoration you boxed away clawing at your heartstrings desperately.

There’s a part of you that’s so envious of what Chrissy has, and there’s another part of you that feels guilty for that. It’s not her fault you’re broken, not her fault you’ve been a shell of your former self for months now. You’re too in your head, and before you know it you’re turning away from the service window, furiously wiping at the tears that have started to fall down your cheeks.

The rest of your day is spent the same way it started — the same way all of your previous days had been spent; thinking about Eddie Munson, and what could have been. If only you could change what happened last Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #support banner by cafekitsune #i’ll be home for christmas

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punkpandapatrixk · 6 months

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🌻Thinking About You ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

My Dearest Dream Person,

I think, the signs are all around me. When I weave dreams of my ideals, surely I must be thinking of you. I’ll recognise you when our eyes meet for the first time. I’m sure I can do that. After all, I have dreamt of you for the longest time.

I know I will love the way I feel, the way I am, when I’m in your presence. I’m certain that I will know then that this is true love…

with all of my heart,

Your Destined One♥︎

PLAYLIST: so this is love playlist by Sea Pearl

MOVIE: Sleeping Beauty (1955)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

For my Pink Clouds, there is a little incident with Pile 3, which is like, super random? But I was told it was important LMAO So I’ve included a mini behind-the-story for it as a sweet extra message🥰If you’re already subscribed, don't miss the full post on Patreon~🌷

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – I will hold and heal you, and always be there to protect you♥︎

VIBE: So This Is Love from Cinderella

my daydreams leading to you – Knight of Pentacles Rx

At the time you’re finding this PAC, your Destined Person is in a state of wanting to hurry and meet you XD They have this strong desire to be with you and hold you close. I think their Higher Self is making it clear to them that you exist somewhere in this Universe and that makes them daydream a looootttt about being in a relationship. Problem is, they don’t really know what you look like or how to find you… so… they could be trying to find a glimpse of you in so many different types of people! LMAO

For the most part, I don’t think this means your Destined Person is all and about dating all kinds of people just to find you—that would be kinda trash, right? But to a large extent, they daydream to no end. They could be seeing people, yes, finding them attractive or interesting, and being curious about them, only to realise there’s quite nothing there… These people don’t feel… right… or complete. Like there’s always something… wrong… or missing.

This could drive them crazy at some point. Wondering why their wants and ideals are so damn complicated! So unrealistic! But the truth is, they could never be satisfied with any of those different types of people because each of them hold only ever a piece of the puzzle that would make a whole picture of YOU~🧩It is your Destined Person’s task to figure this out themselves and finally get a clearer picture of what kind of Love they do truly deserve in this world (it is YOU~!)💕

let’s go on a date! – 5 of Swords

If you’ve chosen this Pile as your main pile, I feel like you’ve had a few storms in the past involving human connections in general. In simple terms, a lot of people have been so MEAN to you! It could be your own “family”, fake friends, toxic partners, whatever, really. A lot of people have caused a great deal of psychological pain onto you. And I have a strong feeling your Destined Person knows about this. I’m sure they know about this from the aethers, one way or another. After all, it’s not like their Higher Self isn’t in communication with your Higher Self? Huehue

That said, even before you meet in the physical, your Destined Person already has this vibe about them… of wanting to protect you from harm. I feel like they have this unsettling feeling deep inside of them, a feeling they can’t quite put a finger on, that they want to protect somebody. They want to be a hero to you. When you’re finally together, I still see this image of them wanting to punch anybody who would pose a danger to you XD

I’m seeing this comical image of them punching the air to demonstrate how they’re going to keep you from any, ANY, kind of harm. They’re funny like that. Humour is their love language hahah They’re not afraid of making a fool of themselves if that makes you laugh. Your Destined Person is going to be so devoted to protecting and comforting you♥︎

i want you around – Queen of Pentacles

Aaand…there’s a high chance that your Destined Person is a rich boi/gal. Not only do they have this nurturing quality to them, but they also have the means to provide for you. Even if they’re not that rich (yet) when you meet, the key thing is that they have this desire to work hard to provide for you. Make your dreams come true more easily. Make your life together easy. They don’t want you ever again to experience pain or hardship.

Truly, this is a daddy/mommy vibe~ It doesn’t matter if your Destined Person is younger or smaller than you, they will take it upon themselves to be the daddy/mommy in the relationship😂If you’re the one who’s older or bigger than them, you will find this stupidly endearing HAHAHAH

Your Destined Person is sensual, reliable, emotionally dependable, very honest and hardworking, on top of being funny. They have all of these lovely qualities that they can’t wait to pour unto you. They’re currently in this weird space where they really, really want to be someone’s boyfriend/girlfriend… GOSH, I HOPE YOU MEET SOON, DAMMIT!✨🍀🩰

DAYDREAMS🔻💚

words to describe you – Priestess of Patience

what’s in my heart for you – Priestess of Enchantment

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – You’ve shone a light of hope on my dark and dreary world

VIBE: Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty

my daydreams leading to you – 9 of Swords Rx

Right off the bat, your Destined Person has gone through some hellish experiences in this world. They’ve not had an easy life, and that’s caused them to view reality as immensely bleak. Before the idea of you came into their conscious mind, they’d probably had it so rough they couldn’t let themselves dream big or dream beauteous things. You know how people settle for less because they’re afraid of getting disappointed, again and again, by reality… by people?

On a different note, this could also mean that your Destined Person has endured much trauma in this life. People who have endured trauma could tend to have nightmares, even night terrors, right? We’re talking bad memories, PTSD, even CPTSD, so… this isn’t exactly an easy energy to navigate. Due to their traumas, they could also have developed harmful habits or strange coping mechanisms needed for survival. Within their psyche, there simply was so much chaos and pain.

One day, God came to your Destined Person and awakened a dream of YOU in them~ This miraculously gave them so much comfort and brought a sense of gladness for the first time in their dark and dreary world. When your Destined Person learnt of the aetheric connection you share, that you exist somewhere in this world and that you are waiting to meet and fall in love with them, they felt genuine softness for the first time in a long, long while…

That there is still something down the lane, there’s someone dearly beloved, that’s still worth living for~♥︎

let’s go on a date! – IV The Emperor Rx

From that moment onwards, your Destined Person went on to transform themselves. To make them stronger and more dazzling so they could become a perfect match for you. If this Pile is your main pile, I’m sure you’re a super dope person! I mean dope as in super awesome. I just know it that you’re a wonderful individual who has a big heart, and that a lot of people find you capable and inspirational. One way or another, this of you was conveyed to your Destined Person by the Universe~!

You are strong and kind and your Destined Person already knows this of you. In many ways, I feel almost like your Destined Person feels like they might not have that much to offer you… You’re so, so much, much more than they ever have been. Perhaps you’re richer, more successful, more famous, and all that, so…

Your Destined Person is currently just working on themselves. Making something out of themselves. They don’t really know yet what they could ever give you aside from their genuine heart. But they’re not going to be satisfied with just that. They’re not a loser, you know. They’re only beginning to let themselves be what they’re supposed to be—there’s still a lot they’re discovering about their strengths and natural talents! When they’ve figured this out of themselves, they’ll know just exactly what precious something they could offer you as a token of their Love~

i want you around – 8 of Cups Rx

Of all the Piles, I feel like your Destined Person is quite literally currently in a phase of self-discovery. They’re deep in the trenches of their own trauma healing and self-transformation that they can’t afford to focus too much on your energy. So this could mean you don’t always get clear aetheric messages from them. Plus, it feels like your Destined Person can’t or don’t even want to convey too many messages about what they think or feel about you because they know words would simply fail them.

The reason why? They’re afraid their words would become empty promises. They don’t even know themselves yet at this point. They’re not their best version of themselves yet. What tangible ideas or things could they possibly offer you? So, that’s kinda the vibe they’re operating with at this point in their Life. And if you should know anything, it is that your Destined Person has not had the luxury of being helped, supported, or coddled much by those they relied on. So there’s this vibe of them being afraid that they themselves can’t be relied upon. And that’s so sad because I think your Destined Person has such a genuine heart…

But worry not! At the end of the day, your Destined Person is literally just being taught by the Universe how to love themselves, prioritise their own needs and wants, and express themselves more honestly. They’ll get there😊They’ve just had a very lonesome and miserable life for the most part. One thing they do want you to know though, is that they’re thankful you exist at all in this Universe. You’ve given them so much hope and calmed down the storms in their world♥︎

DAYDREAMS🔻💛

words to describe you – Priestess of Prosperity

what’s in my heart for you – Priestess of Inspiration

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – I offer you now… Heaven on Earth! My Love!

VIBE: When You Wish Upon a Star from Pinocchio

my daydreams leading to you – 3 of Pentacles Rx

Even just looking at the pic you’ve chosen, it feels like you and your Destined Person really do wish to offer something precious to one another~ It’s almost like a prayer, I feel. That you hold such precious thoughts of one another and wish for the most wonderful things to happen to each other. But even more than just hoping, wishing and praying, the two of you are intent on making the world a better place so the other could rest more easily.

This isn’t just your Destined Person’s thoughts; I feel that even you have always held it in your heart that you wish to become a better person for the one most worthy of your Love. That person destined for you also carries it in their heart to work on themselves and transmute a ton of generational trauma as well as curses. If this is your main pile, I hope you know that you’re a powerful Soul who’s been tasked with the transmutation of Mankind’s negative inclinations.

You and your Destined Person are Divines Feminine and Masculine. You each embody the essence of the Divine in your own unique expression of Feminine and Masculine. Since you were a child, you were already a sage; you knew it within the heart of your hearts that changing the world begins with changing yourself. That’s why you will notice later on that both you and your Destined Person will appear to be such distant creatures from the rest of your families each—because you will have transcended above the ordinariness of the lineage you were born into LOL

let’s go on a date! – X The Wheel of Fortune

All of the above said, of all the Piles, yours is the most certain to meet very soon. I feel like, in the aethers, you are already one and united, and so, you’re just waiting for the temperatures of Planet Earth to get right so she could welcome your Divine Union. You and your Destined Person are such high-vibrational creatures that when you come into contact forests would shake and mountains would shudder XD I’m thinking of the chaos caused by Ponyo when she was trying to get to Sosuke LMAO PERFECT illustration!

You don’t want to end the world. So, this world has had to ready itself in order to witness your Divine Union with your Divine Counterpart. I’m sure when you’re together you’re going to become famous; whatever the scale of your community may be. You’re going to be seen by those around you as the charity-couple or inventor-couple or some shit. You and your Destined Person are going to be working together. And there will be something magical about what you do together—even if that thing is just a small business of a cosy café! For example.

Or it could be something what would be similar to the stories of the invention of bandaids and the surgical gloves. It’s just something lovely like that. There is healing in whatever you do which is needed by Mankind right at this passage of time. I just know it that your matrimony is going to be so full of meaning, of love and joy, or service to Mankind, and most importantly, so full of magical moments that make everything you’ve been through so worthwhile.

i want you around – King of Cups

The King of Cups—the King of love songs and poetry. He is kind, sensitive, patient and caring, compassionate and understanding. And immediately, a quote comes to mind with this aenergy:

‘The right person will make you fall in love with yourself, too.’

Your Destined Person resembles you so much. They possess so many qualities that you like that remind you that you have them, too. Looking at your Destined Person, you are reminded of how good and kind and capable you yourself are. The deeper your feelings get for them, the more in love you feel towards yourself, too. Life, finally makes sense.

You’ll find, ever so unexpectedly, that you don’t need so many distractions anymore. You need only this one person and everything else is a blur. You couldn’t care less anymore about people or things that feel so little in meaning. Not interested anymore. Ain’t got time for any of that now. You want only the one and true thing: a union—a Life—with your Destined Person.

Ever so naturally you will understand that the way to manifest this Love is through your own personal transformation. And so in that sense, your life’s focus becomes only one: YOURSELF. And you realise this—you become motivated to purify your world—through receiving the awakening call of your Destined Person’s identity.

DAYDREAMS🔻💗

words to describe you – Priestess of Magick

what’s in my heart for you – Priestess of Divination

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

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after-witch · 6 months

Text

Caring Was a Thing With Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Title: Caring Was a Thing with Claws [Yandere Sigma x Reader]

Synopsis: Sigma is good at caring for Sky Casino. And he finds that he really, really wants to care for you, too.

Word Count: 2000ish

notes: yandere, unhealthy relationship, kidnapped reader, kissing, drugging

You do not belong at the Sky Casino. Sigma knows this the instant that you’re granted access, all nervous smiles and downcast looks at the guards who usher you politely (but by no means meekly--they were hired to keep his clients, his world, secure, after all) through the security system.

Not that you would be the type to be hiding weapons or some secret, dangerous motive. No, no, that’s not you. He gets a read on you instantly, and he doesn’t even have to touch you. Though, he thinks, neither are you some voracious gambler looking for a higher thrill than those found in measly casinos on land.

So why are you here? It’s curious. A debt you must pay, perhaps? Someone leaving home for the first time, intent on something new and exciting?

Ah, but he doesn’t really have time to be curious about someone that doesn’t pose a security risk, does he? So he shelves away that curiosity with his other unwanted things. Instead, he’ll stick to what he needs to know: your name, what you like, what you dislike. The facts necessary to create a mental shelf that will help you enjoy your time here.

That’s what he does best, make everyone within the casino happy. And safe. Safe as they can be, here in the sky, under his leadership. It’s all he has, this place, this space, these myriads of bells and whistles; sights and sounds that haunt his dreams, ephemeral though they are; now you, too, are part of that machine underneath him.

Your code name is B8934. You don’t belong here. You don’t fit in.

But he hates it when leave, all the same.

Because you really are different from the others.

The first time he spoke with you, he almost couldn’t hear your voice. Soft and sweet, a whispering gentle tones that seemed to pull him towards you. But it was you who leaned in towards him, repeating yourself, apologizing for being so quiet. So shy. He told you it was nothing, no problem, and you cleared your throat to repeat your words.

“Your hair.” He had blinked at you, and you stammered out: “I like it, I mean. It’s really pretty.”

A new feeling had come over him then. A strange one. A prickling in his cheeks, a slight pressure. You didn’t realize it at the time, but you’d just stolen his first blush.

And… it continued from there. Your attentions. You sought him out, here and there, and at first it raised the creeping ivy of his defenses. Did you think he might rig games in your favor, if you befriended him? You wouldn’t be the first to try and, as he read in a book and spend an hour agonizing over the non-literal meaning, “butter him up.”

But you weren’t like that. It became clearer and clearer with every day, every meeting, every hour you spent with him. You weren’t looking to manipulate him for anything; you were simply being you.

You’re sweet. Kind. Entirely out of place here.

And Sigma thinks he might be in love with you.

Yes, this must be the feeling that swells in his chest every time he sees you. Alone or in a crowd. It makes him feel faintly sick, and sometimes he even catches sweat building on the back of his neck. Words, which don’t always come easily to him anyway, seem to stammer and stutter all the more often.

This awful pressure in his chest, which is perhaps not so awful at all, makes him want to write down everything he can about you. So he does, carefully jotted in a notepad that he’s dedicated entirely to you and no one else.

You don’t spend a lot of money. Perhaps you don’t have it. You don’t like seafood, but you sometimes eat oysters if someone else buys them and encourages you to down a few. He finds that he hates this, when it happens; hates the sight of you laughing with someone else. You laugh too loudly sometimes and then catch yourself doing it, and you touch your cheeks, even if you’re only talking with him--do your cheeks burn?

All this and more, carefully recorded and organized, so that he can reference it when he needs to; after all, if the casino is under his management and protection, don’t you fall within that carefully drawn up category? His goal is to keep the casino safe. To keep the patrons happy.

You should be safe and happy too.

But more and more, he finds himself asking that same question: can you be safe and happy if he’s not there to make sure it happens? Who knows what you get up to in the outside world.

Here, you can be a little too naive. A little too trusting. You sit close to drunk men who edge their greedy fingers on their thighs, and you never notice until they brush your skin and you slap them off. You accept fancy drinks bought by strangers with a grin and a raise of the glass. You bet too much money and drink too many roaming glasses of free champagne, stumbling and woozy by the end of the night.

You are in over your head, clearly.

He sees it, even if you don’t.

And that’s why he slipped a sedative into the cocktail delivered to your table tonight. You downed it without a second thought, which only confirmed his decision.

You’ll thank him eventually, he thinks. When you realize that this is for the best.

The last thing you remember is losing a round of blackjack and downing a pretty pink cocktail that someone (but who?) sent to you. On the house, the waiter said, and that’s all you needed to hear before drinking the entire glass in one undignified gulp.

Maybe that’s why your head hurt so much. (Okay, that, and the multiple cocktails you’ve had tonight.) Maybe that’s why you couldn’t remember how you got here, in… someone’s room, on their nice, soft bed?

Maybe that’s why there was a chain on your ankle.

Oh.

What?

Your clarity sobers up enough for you to yank hard at your leg, which rattles with the weight of a thick, silver chain attached to a silver bracelet around your ankle. The sight of the chain, the feel of its weight, the realization that something is terribly, terribly wrong all seem to crush your chest at once.

Sobs come then, wheezy sobs, accompanied by thick tears that drip down your cheeks.

“It’s… all right. Calm down.”

Your body jerks--Who is it--and your eyes dart until the source of the voice steps into the light.

And just like that, you stop crying. You break into a relieved, shaky smile.

Because it’s Sigma. Sigma walks out of the shadows and for a brief moment, your heart soars. He’s here to rescue you! You got drugged by some creep and he’s looking out for you, like he always seems to do. He’s kinder than he realizes, and you’ll tell him exactly that after he gets you out of here.

Only he doesn’t seem to be moving towards your chained up ankle. Nor does he seem to look shocked at what he sees. He only looks... concerned, which is reasonable. But

“I-I promise it’s not permanent,” he says, gesturing towards the chain. “It’s just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself while you’re still… adjusting.” He looks around, eyes downcast and uncomfortable. “You have everything you could ever need here. Good food. A comfortable bed. I’ll make sure you never need anything and never get hurt.” There’s something like pep in his voice that makes you want to puke. “I promise. I’m very good at managing these things. If-if there’s something you don’t like, I can get you some things, some books or--”

“Sigma,” you say, voice cracking. “What’s going on? Why--why am I chained up? What did you do?”

His eyes widen. His mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

“But why?”

And then there’s a pager going off, and he huffs, pulling out his phone and flipping it open with hands that shake.

“What is it?” You watch his eyebrows furrow. His frown twitch. “I’ll be right there.”

He glances at you, and he looks so sad and worried that some part of you wants to feel sorry for him. But then the reality that you’ve woken up on a bed (his bed?) with a chain on your leg comes swinging back, and that fades away.

“I’ll be back soon. There’s…” He gestures towards the top of a dresser pushed against the wall, which you can see is littered with snack bags and water bottles. “Just for now, don’t worry, I’ll have real meals brought in. And um.” He stares down at the floor, and a peek flush creeps onto his cheeks. “The chain can reach the… bathroom, if you need to.”

He turns, and you almost get the impression that he’s forcing himself to leave without looking at you. His name dies on your lips before you can speak it.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Chained up.

In an unfamiliar room.

Because of Sigma? But why? Wasn’t he your friend? Or, as close to a friend as you could get, considering he basically owns the place?

And what did he intend to do with you? He didn’t seem like… that kind of guy. He was quiet, shy. A bit like you, except he didn’t drink, which always made you loosen up more.

Curiosity and fear lead you to slowly step off the bed. Your head is still fuzzy from the drinks or drugs or both. But you don’t stumble as much as you thought you would when you make your way around the room, dragging the silver chain behind you.

There’s a dresser. A nightstand. The bed. A TV, but there’s a layer of dust all over it, and you doubt it’s been used much.

A desk. Although it’s not messy, it’s terribly cluttered, covered in a few stacks of books and assorted printed pages all bound together. There are all sorts of bookmarks and sticky notes in them, and you can see the traces of pen ink on the margins of them. He’s been studying… something… hard.

A book on nutrition. A printed analysis on the optimum temperature for indoor health and wellness in all seasons from the maker of some heating and cooling system. A vintage volume bound in fabric with the gilded scrawl, “A Conversational Guide to Making Conversation.”

Your fingers just touch the edge of a printed article entitled oh-so-bluntly How to Kiss when the secure door slides open and Sigma steps in.

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

Then he looks down to see what your fingers touch, to see that you’ve found his stash of reading material, and his skin flushes.

“That’s--it’s just--” And oh, how his stammering might be cute, if you were anywhere but here, in this room, with a chain trailing from your leg. “I wanted to make sure I did things right when I brought you here.”

Things.

Like feeding you. And keeping you warm.

And kissing you?

Heat creeps up from your toes to your scalp.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you murmur. Of all your conversations with Sigma--the shows you liked, the books you read, the cat you saw at your neighbor’s apartment window every morning--you’d never touched on anything like this. Why would you? This was something you kept tucked away at the back of your drawer, never to be known to anyone but yourself.

“Of course you haven’t,” he says, and there’s something like eagerness in his voice. “I haven’t either. I mean, I want to--with you--I’ve been waiting.”

Waiting, you think? For me? No, not for me. Waiting until he could take me.

Because that’s what he does. He takes.

He takes a step forward, and you’re afraid to move. Even when he takes another step, and another, and he’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

He takes those steps, and then he takes your first kiss. He doesn’t grab you or hurt you or force you, and maybe that makes it hurt more.

His lips are soft. There’s a faint scent--mint, maybe--that lingers from his breath. He doesn’t stick out his tongue, but only covers your lips with his own, a faint wetness clinging to your lips as he pulls away.

His breath is heavy. So is yours. For different reasons, you imagine. Very different reasons.

You step backward now, chain clinking, until you hit the bed. Your legs give out--this is not the knee buckling that is meant to happen with a kiss, is it?--and you stare ahead. At Sigma, but not at him, all the same.

The silence between you stretches thin until he clears his throat.

“Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

You nod, even though the last thing you want right now is food.

“I’ll get something!” He says, perhaps too quickly, because then he’s clearing his throat and repeating himself. “I’ll have a meal brought up. I know all your favorites, and I’ve made sure they’re extra nutritious.” He blinks, then seems to consider something. “Ah, are you cold? I can go get you something warmer, flannel or a blanket or…”

“Yes,” you answer, not really listening.

His voice seems far away. You seem far away, even to yourself.

Your fingers clench the soft, silk sheets underneath you and a slow, rolling thought wraps itself around you like an unwelcome blanket.

That was your first kiss. He took your first kiss. Or you gave it, and maybe here, in his room, with a chain keeping you from going too far, it’s the same damn thing.

And it won’t just be your first kiss that he takes, is it? No. A glance around the room, a bit of applied thought, can attest to that. He intends to keep you for… forever?

Forever is a long time and so much will slip away from you, right into his hands. Onto his lips, onto his fingers. Sigma will be your first everything. Your first kiss. Your first cuddle. The first one who tenderly kisses your knuckles and works his way up your arm to your neck, tickling it with peppered touches.

He’ll be the one to take your virginity, too, and there’s some awful feeling in your stomach as you idly wonder if he’s gotten a book about that particular topic yet.

#yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere sigma #sigma x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes

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drchucktingle · 1 year

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It’s Carly Tingle’s big day, the release of her first traditionally published horror novel, Camp Damascus. Unfortunately, Carly’s having trouble enjoying this moment as fear and chaos begin to swirl around her. She wants the book to do well, of course, but it slowly becomes apparent there’s more to Carly’s ambition than meets the eye.

Things get clearer when Carly revisits an old erotica short she’d written, titled Eaten Right By The Physical Manifestation Of My Pride And Excitement That The Lead Character Of My First Traditionally Published Horror Novel Is On The Autism Spectrum Just Like Me. This sets off a chain of fourth-wall breaking events that will send Carly on an adventure unlike any other.

Now at the book shop, Carly will come face-to-face with the beautiful physical manifestation of her pride and excitement as an autistic artist, culminating in an erotic lesbian encounter that could inspire generations to come.

This erotic tale is 4,300 words of sizzling human on sentient physically manifested excitement in the form of a punctuation mark action and lesbian autistic pride love.

----

please enjoy EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME out now for free but asking for donation to AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK

MORE ABOUT THIS TINGLER:

hey there buckaroos i would like to use today to talk on something that is very important to me. i have talked a lot about my journey as a bud on the autism spectrum, and about how I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC.

my story on the spectrum is not a struggle. my way was diagnosed in early twenties, but because of way of masking VERY FEW BUCKAROOS WOULD EVEN NOTICE. it has given me ability to hyper focus and get large amounts of writing done, to find creative ideas neurotypical buds might miss, and to have a unique perspective on life on this timeline.

HOWEVER as man name of chuck my pride in this way used to make me uncomfortable, thinkin i should not share my story. there are many buds on this spectrum who have a MUCH harder time than chuck, and i want to respect the VERY IMPORTANT AND VERY REAL struggles of my fellow autistic buckaroos. for long time i did not feel like it was my place to share and say ‘personally, i wouldnt change my autistic trot for anything. i think being autistic is very cool’

but as tingleverse got more fans and buckaroos started listening to my words more i started thinking: THIS is an opportunity to prove love. part of the reason i am PROUD of my spectrum way is because FIRST INTERACTION with idea of this trot (was called aspergers way back then) was to realize that ALL MY HEROS were on this spectrum: david byrne of band TALKING HEADS being number one.

my FIRST INTERACTION with this idea was not ‘whoa this is tragic’ it was ‘whoa the coolest buckaroo on the PLANET is the same as me’

POINT IS i have been on this timeline a while now and now i am in this position myself. i can be the one buckaroos see when they learn this about themselves and think: WOW LOOK AT THIS WILD ARTIST I ADMIRE BREAKING THE NORMS AND CHARTING A NEW TROT THROUGH THIS TIMELINE WE ARE BOTH AUTISTIC THIS IS THE HECKIN COOLEST

most of the characters i write are probably a little on the spectrum because they are comin from inside chucks head. i look back and notice this and laugh, but other than a single tingler i rare actually OUTRIGHT SAY this character is autistic. i decided that FIRST BIG HORROR NOVEL WITH A TRADITIONAL PUBLISHER was a good time to change this. while i write erotica most of the time which means NO YOUNG BUCKAROOS ALLOWED, horror is a little different. buckaroos young and old can read CAMP DAMASCUS and think ‘i see myself in this autistic hero and I FEEL COOL’

EVEN WRITING THIS NOW makes me get teary eyed and emotional, because these feelings of belonging and positive representation were SO IMPORTANT to me. i would not be trotting here without these autistic heroes, and now i have been given the chance to create one of my own with CAMP DAMASCUS and WITH MYSELF just by being chuck and talking openly about my joyful, exciting, artistic trot on the spectrum.

WITH ALL OF THIS IN MIND i am releasing a brand new tingler called EATEN RIGHT BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF MY PRIDE AND EXCITEMENT THAT THE LEAD CHARACTER OF MY FIRST TRADITIONALLY PUBLISHED HORROR NOVEL IS ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM JUST LIKE ME for free. HOWEVER i am requesting that if you choose to read you send your three dollars (or whatever donation you would like) to the AUTISTIC SELF ADVOCACY NETWORK. this way 100 percent of all profits will go to them. (WARNING this is actual erotica so no young buckaroos allowed for this one).

all ages (who are old enough to read horror) can preorder CAMP DAMASCUS at any bookstore. i also have a tingler name of NOT POUNDED BY THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOMEONE ELSE'S DOUBT IN MY PLACE ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM BECAUSE DENYING SOMEONE'S PERSONAL JOURNEY AND IDENTITY LIKE THAT IS INCREDIBLY RUDE SO NO THANKS that is pound free so all ages can read so check that out if you would like.

thank you for blessing me with a space to explore these ideas. i am so thankful to be here with you and you have treated me so well. i am eternally grateful for our tort together and look forward to the future we craft on this timeline.

LOVE IS REAL - chuck

#tingleverse #autism #actually autistic #love is real #chuck tingle #camp damascus #horror #lesbian #queer

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officialrocketjumper · 5 months

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HOWDY EVERYONE- so excited to FINALLY be able to show off my piece for this year's Bumbleby Big Bang!

Unfortunately no accompanying story as of yet- but I really hope you guys get to read it someday! The premise involves Yang cursed to be trapped inside a sword, which was an idea I KNEW I had to make move.

Details and development stuff under the cut!

Lots of fun collaboration with the author, Celeste! We worked together to find the look-of-picture, Blake's outfit, how the Grimm look, the style of the sword, the whole shabang! I'm really happy with how it all turned out!

When I first saw all the prompts, even before claims opened, I got to work on a handful of exploration pieces based on some of the summaries, to decide which of the stories I was interested in would be the best fit. Here's the initial idea for this one I put together over a lunch break:

After showing Celeste, we got to work finding the look we wanted! Went back and forth a bit and found this great look for Blake! Also shoutout to Pinterest boards for visdev inspiration I love you Pinterest boards.

Just about everything stayed to final anim, with the simplification of getting rid of that purple cloth hanging from her belt, (since I already had the rope ends to think about working with), and the light purple strap across the chest, since leaving it out would simplify the linework on her chest.

The sword also went through a bit of change! Celeste had the idea of Yang making the sword catch on fire, which I LOVED. I went with a split design so we can see the fire more clearly start from the hilt and grow to cover the whole blade.

And from there we brainstormed animation ideas! I went all over Youtube for video reference of sword work (that would be complex enough to be interesting, but short enough to be manageable). I found something we liked from Motion Actor Inc., a channel I've used LOTS for both personal and professional work (I work in 3D Animation, for those who don't know). I edited this together, to see the action from multiple places at once, which gave me the idea for that camera move that's in the final anim!

Now for the fun part! Make that badboy MOVE. For the cam turn, the first frame she's in the air I'm referencing the top left video, and the frame she lands I'm referencing the bottom left one. While she's airborne I'm just inbetweening that! No reference for the Grimm, just wanted it responding to her attacks, but I end up tweaking the roughs later on to make the block feel stronger.

Then from there we had to actually figure out Grimm designs! Nimona had just released, and Celeste and I loved it, so she asked if I could take some inspiration from Nimona's shadow form! GLADLY. Here's what I came up with!

I was going between how the movies and comic designed Nimona, really loving the almost liquid shadow of the movie, but also how the comics had this broken up/held together rougher form. Celeste liked the second to last one the best! The original plan was to have it leave a wispy shadow trail like the concept art, but to simplify the animation we left it solid instead!

Next up is tiedown! Basically just getting the roughs more on-model, so the lineart comes out nice and clean. I've also transferred the new Grimm design to the base from earlier, and fire's also outlined orange so it reads clearer. (SPOILER- if you look REAL close here, you can see Yang visible in the fire! I liked the idea of Blake's slash also doubling as Yang throwing a punch. The idea is in the concept art earlier but now it's working with the action.)

Next step- final look of picture!! I asked Celeste for sources of inspiration to draw from when thinking about environment design, and we got Nimona, She-Ra, and Owl House! Used each of those as springboards for shading style, colour palettes, and how the fire would look!

From there, we kept the straight trees/bush/lake/foreground greenery from the first one, the blues from the second, and the fire from the third!

Once I had this frame, it was a matter of working backwards and making the background work pre-camera turn (which was ABSOLUTELY the most challenging part of this process). Learned a lot doing this! Procreate isn't quite equipped to make something like this efficient, but I'm pleased to say that Dreams would make something like this easier in the future (keyframing objects instead of hand-drawing/spacing duplicates by hand, for example).

From then on it was just colouring the lineart, adding shading, and finishing up the background! Beginning-to-end this whole process was beginning of July to end of October!

I had an absolute BLAST putting all this together. Here's to next year where I find a way to do something even more ridiculously complicated!! It's fun!!!

#rwby #bumbleby #bumbleby big bang #bbb2023 #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #(technically!!! look at the fire!!)#officialrocketart #officialrocketanimates #greatest hits #HOOO WHAT AN UNDERTAKING #so glad I came up with an idea pretty outside of my comfort zone but having the CLEAREST idea on how to execute it #means things went smoothly it just took a Long Time #AND I LEARNED LOTS #hope you guys can read the story one day!! its dope!!#bonus bonus fact for tag readers i didn't put in the post proper: i showed the rough pass to ANIMATION INDUSTRY COLLEAGUES for feedback #shoutout to ioana and v love you both lots #ioana for tightening up the rough pass and suggesting i smear the sword #and v for notes on my sword smears #okay i hope you guys enjoy!!!#it has been true for ages now but The Bees Motivate Me To Create #and in these trying times i thank them for that

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vanishedinvain · 6 days

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐄

—𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader (but she doesn't show up yet, sorry lol)

summary: benedict's last moment of contentment before the storm that marooned his dreams.

warnings: very very brief mention of a gun, baby's first fic (it's me, i'm baby)

wc: 1.6k

next chapter // series masterlist

The Wiminet Art House sits just outside the limits of Mayfair, owned by the Dowager Baroness Lyra Wiminet. It is only half the size of a wing at Somerset House, and most of the artists are either anonymous or so unknown, they are as good as anonymous. It crams in an overwhelming number of pieces, barely a centimeter between each frame. It features a myriad of styles: soft landscapes, portraits, absurd finger-paintings, violent war scenes.

When it first opened, every London newspaper dismissed it as the eccentricity of a widow, mad without a man to guide her. There was no cohesion, they said. Downright tasteless. Where was the class? The refinement? It was a laughingstock for all of two days before the ton moved on as they always did.

It was also Benedict Bridgerton’s most frequented gallery. And Eloise had no idea why.

“You have been here at least twenty times in the past year, and they have only changed a single painting,” Eloise pointed out on one of these trips. Though she did not prefer to visit the same blasted gallery with the same blasted paintings, it was more merciful than watching Daphne and their mother flit about the house searching for the perfect dress to secure a proposal from the Prussian prince.

Plus her brother promised to buy her an apricot ice afterwards.

“What could possibly be left to see?” she asked.

They were standing in front of a rather large seascape, one that spanned a quarter of the wall. Benedict turned away to look at Eloise, a grimace upon her face as she tried to see what her brother saw. It was a quality Benedict most appreciated in her; she was stubborn and quick to snark, but she never wrote off his interests as frivolous. She was attempting to understand, even if she was staring at the painting like it personally offended her.

“Do you remember when you were eleven and Colin brought home that mystery novel for all of us? The one where an opera singer was killed in the middle of a show.”

“An Aria Most Deadly,” she recalled, smiling, “I couldn’t put it down. Col was scolded for bringing home such a—how did Mama word it?—terribly gruesome and improper book.”

He chuckled, remembering their mother’s scandalized face. As Colin was being scolded, she had set the book down on the settee. Eloise, ever nimble, snatched it and ran up to her room with nary a scuff across the floor.

“You re-read it over and over, looking for the clues, even after you’d finished it days prior. A snide comment from the stagehand that was once humorous turned dark. The author’s insistence on describing the location of the candelabra suddenly became obvious.”

“The details were so much clearer in hindsight,” she remarked.

“That is usually the privilege of hindsight.” He gestured back to the painting in front of them. “What do you see?”

She stared for a moment, tilting her head to one side to see if a change in angle would help. It was a turbulent scene, violent even, with outbursts of red and orange screaming amongst the cerulean and imposing slate clouds as the ship went down.

“A shipwreck?” Eloise answered with a shrug. “An unfortunately timed storm?”

Benedict stepped back, and grabbed Eloise by the shoulders, shifting her to the right so that she could stand in his place. “Do you see that spot of red on the ship?”

She squinted slightly. “Clearly, a fire broke out on the ship. Likely from the gunpowder catching on the wood. I mean, it says it in the title, Ship on Fire in Water,” she said, reading off the plaque underneath.

“But look closer at this spot of red at the front of the ship. Or that one by the captain’s quarters. Compare it to how the artist paints the flames,” Benedict insisted, gesturing to each area of interest. “He or she blends out the flames with orange and a bit of yellow usually. But these particular spots aren’t. They’re blended with brown. Maybe even a bit of black. That’s not fire, is it?”

Her eyebrows raised as the realization dawned on her. “It’s blood! Someone was killed. The captain, maybe?” She turned back to look at him in unbridled excitement at the newly-uncovered narrative.

Benedict smiled widely, crinkles forming around his eyes, watching his little sister finally get it, get him. “Possibly.”

“What do you think was the motive? Was it a mutiny?”

He shrugged. “That I am unsure of, dear sister. Every time I come back, I see something new. So, perhaps we need to look at it longer. Or make our rounds and come back with fresh eyes.”

Eloise had bounded off before he even finished.

They spent another two hours in the gallery, making little comments on each one, attempting to decipher a story from it. They even requested a step-ladder for the ones that had been skied because Benedict, having met Lady Wiminet, knew that there was no rhyme or reason as to the placement of each painting.

There was a most brilliant park scene about half a meter down from the ceiling. The artist did not draw a realistic, soft sunset, but a heightened one with punchy plums and a bright tangerine shade to blend. It was a bold choice that Benedict would’ve never thought of. The scene itself was of a promenade, much to Eloise’s displeasure, but she found amusement in mapping out the interpersonal relationships of the swans in the lake.

They made their way back to the bloodied, fiery ship shipwreck, standing in amicable silence before Eloise spoke.

“I understand it now. Why you've been here twenty times. Why you sketch until your fingers shake at dinner, but then use your drawings as fire kindle at night. You’re chasing greatness.”

“I want to get one of mine on these walls one day, El,” he said quietly, as if they weren’t the only people in the room. It was the first time he had admitted that ambition out loud.

“You will,” she replied, equally quiet back.

He sighed in relief. He wasn’t worried about Eloise’s reaction, though her vote of confidence was cherished. He was worried about being so unworthy that the words would refuse to roll off his tongue, lodging in his throat as a croak. But the idea was out there now, and a mirthful giddiness sprouted forth in the soil where his insecurities were rooted.

“I’d be anonymous, though,” he added after a pause.

She frowned, but neither of them made further comments on the subject. He already understood what she didn't verbalize. She dreaded living and dying in anonymity without a university degree or prolific novel attached to her name, something to outlast her that wasn’t a dullard husband or terrifying child. She could not stand the thought that the world might feel zero impact from her existence.

Benedict, however, was far less eager to sign his name on a canvas. He could be displayed in any gallery in England if he simply asked, regardless of whether he was even good enough. Who would dare criticize a Bridgerton painting, with nine generations of viscounts breathing down their necks? If he were to ever put his name on any of his work, he wanted—needed—to be so good that everyone would be too awestruck by what was in front of them to check whose name was etched onto the little copper plaque beneath the frame.

This was one of the only points of incongruence between the second eldest Bridgerton brother and sister that couldn’t be remedied by a simple anecdote or shift to the right. Though, perhaps there was no need for one; a painter would never ask a writer to adjust her palette and a writer would never tell a painter his meter was off-tempo.

It was an afternoon well spent away from the ornery obligations of the social season, coming home with their appetites spoiled from the promised apricot ices. Benedict grabbed An Aria Most Deadly from the library, and read the first few chapters before retiring for the night. He’d finished the novel after he pried it away from Eloise years ago, so he knew it was the conductor who had killed the opera singer. This knowledge only pulled the deftly placed clues into crisp focus upon this second reading; even the first chapter was littered with hints.

Perhaps that is why when he sits in the viscount’s study, the one that was never supposed to go to him, he often thinks about the night of Granville’s party. That night began with him feeling so alive, more alive than he could ever fathom. Yet, it ended with a sinking stone of dread taking up a months-long residence in the pit of his stomach.

Were there clues he should’ve seen?

If he’d been less drunk off the wine or the women or both, he’d have noticed Daphne wasn’t wearing the necklace gifted to her by the prince, even though he clocked the ostentatious clunk of jewelry when she left for the Trowbridge Ball. Or that the hem of her dress was muddy and her face was pinched, on the verge of tears.

If he wasn’t so preoccupied with how to take advantage of his freedoms as the spare of the family, he’d have noticed the blooming violet bruises on Anthony’s knuckles as he yanked Benedict into the study with considerable force.

It wasn’t until he was rolling his shoulder, about to complain that his arm could've been popped out of its socket, when the gun box was placed on the desk with a resounding thud.

Things only clicked into place as Anthony began frantically talking about estates and dowries and an appointment with the duke at dawn, but there were signs from the moment he walked in the door.

The details were always so much clearer in hindsight.

next chapter // series masterlist

a/n: they dropped new abc pictures last month, and i decided to make it everyone else's problem by starting this fic. now it’s bridgerton eve!!! rejoice!!!

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix

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sovksluv · 4 months

Text

no one but you.

𖤐 . pairing - book!Clarisse La Rue x gn!Hades!reader

𖤐 . request - hullo hullo! i hope this isnt a bother but i was wondering if you can write a hc of childofhades!reader being claimed like similar to episode one and how percy got claimed during capture the flags? lots of hugs im so disappeinted that their aren't a lot child of hades fies. hades is honestly my fav greek god and character from the show

𖤐 . content includes - fighting, blood, daggers, lowk mean clarisse, idk what else

𖤐 . word count - 1,208

𖤐 . taglist - @perseus-jackass

𖤐 . a/n - this wasn’t meant to be clarisse x reader but it kinda just morphed into it, not complaining tho 🤷‍♀️

you don’t particularly enjoy the weekly capture the flag games, but since Annabeth has led and won the past two, it would be wrong not to aid in the blue team's success.

her first game had ended with a surprise when camp half-blood’s newest camper, Percy Jackson, had been claimed by Poseidon.

now, you were stealthily moving through the woods, peeking around trees with your dagger held tight in your hand. your job is to find and disarm Clarisse, or at least distract her while, Percy and Annabeth made their way to the red team’s flag.

your head shot to the direction of a twig snapping, tightening your grip on your dagger, you ducked behind a tree and scanned your surrounding area.

“i know you're there,” you heard a far, raspy voice call, not even attempting a whisper.

you sucked in a sharp breath and slowly turned your head to the direction of the voice. you heard the crunch of leaves under their feet as they got closer. you had a feeling you knew who it was, but you were still unsure.

“oh, come on, no need to quiet yourself. I know you search these woods for me,” the voice hinted, but at this point you had already recognized it. it was Clarisse.

it became clearer now that she was closer, which pushed you to quietly sigh out loud and stand up from the tree, emerging from behind it. there stood Clarisse La Rue, she had her spear stabbed into the ground with one hand and helmet cradled in the other. but what drew most of your attention was the smirk planted on her face.

“hey there, Sparks,” she teased, her smirk increasing at the raise of your eyebrow.

you loosened the grip on your dagger, noticing you’d been gripping it even harder than before.

“don’t call me that,” you replied, inching closer to her, holding up your dagger.

“don’t be such a grump, Sparks,” she taunted, throwing her helmet to the side, wielding her spear. “what are you doing here all alone? looking for me?” she smirked and moved closer towards you as well. the two of you began circling around each other, weapons in hand.

you held eye contact with her hypnotizing eyes, ignoring her questions. her smirk widened and her head slightly turned. “i'll take that as a yes.” she stopped walking and stood up straight, lowering her spear once again.

you hesitantly copied her movements, although still slightly weary. you sighed, squinting your eyes at her as if you were trying to read her like a book. “well, why are you just standing there? i thought you loved fighting people.”

She slowly licked her lips and stepped closer. the sunlight between the trees shined right on her face, making her eyes glow with a warm, unfamiliar delicacy. “i was gonna go easy on ya’ sparks, wouldn't wanna hurt you too much.”

you scoffed and boldly decided to strike first. you took quick steps towards her, swiping your dagger at her with each one. She skillfully dodged each swipe, taking steps back from you as she did it. she grinned at your failed attempts to strike her.

“come on, Sparks, you can do better than that. come on. come at me.” you let out a huff and went at her again. she countered all your moves with her spear this time, using the dull end to knock at your dagger.

you moved with sloppy determination, while she countered everything you had smoothly and flawlessly. “don’t go all soft on me, Sparks. i know you can do better.

“i told you to stop…” swipe “calling…” swipe “me…” swipe “that!”

Clarisse had her back pinned against a tree, with your dagger pressed tightly against her neck. she was breathless, looking at you with both surprise and pride on her face.

she let out a breathless laugh. “look at you, Sparks. i knew you could do it.” she held strong eye contact with you, refusing to be the one to break it first.

your grip on your dagger faltered, and you swallowed harshly.

Clarisse took your surprise to shove you off of her with her spear. she began her own attempts at striking you. this time you skillfully countered her attacks.

your dueling constantly sent the both of you backing up from the other. Clarisse’s hits seemed to soften as yours became even more determined.

“wouldn't we be better on the same team?” you ignored her taunts, but you were unable to ignore the way the fire inside you raged brighter and hotter. her taunting was fueling the constant burning.

few cuts littered your skin, some also visible on her. Clarisse was becoming sloppy, her spear faltering and her feet tripping over small tree roots and rocks.

Clarisse continued, noticing the fire lighting up behind your eyes. “but we can’t, can we? because you’re just a pathetic little unclaimed child.” her words felt like an indescribable searing traveling through your bloodstream.

suddenly, Clarisse was flat on the ground, her hair splayed out and her spear lying far away from her with your legs pinning her to the ground. a scream rang through her ears and the woods, and she felt a stinging on her neck.

though she felt the blood and felt the pain, she couldn’t tear her wide eyes from the bright, burning symbol of Hades floating above your head. the fire from your eyes matched the fire above you as you heaved, still unaware that your father had made an entrance.

“Hades…” she whispered. it was barely audible but you heard it.

you drew your dagger away from her, not missing the way blood had seeped from her biggest wound. no one had been able to draw blood from Clarisse. ever.

“what?” you whispered. your breath fanned her face. she still hadn’t looked at you, eyes still trained on the scorching fire above. your eyes followed hers, widening as you finally realized what she was looking at.

“oh.” you softly spoke. you carefully got off of her and stood up, hesitantly offering your hand for her to grab. she pulled herself up, a new smirk planted on her lips.

“finally understand all that fury you’ve got, Sparks.” she laughed and retrieved both her spear and her helmet. she ignored the aching cut on her neck, not wanting you to have any more glory than you already got.

“yeah… i guess so.” you breathlessly chuckled, watching the symbol above you disappear as the two of you heard the final conch sound.

slight panic washed over Clarisse’s face, now suddenly realizing that you had successfully distracted her for the majority of the game. “what? worried you lost again?” you taunted her, a mocking smirk on your face.

she scoffed and playfully shoved you. “whatever. just go.” she tried to sound serious but the small smile on her face showed otherwise.

a smile like hers was mirrored onto your face as the two of you slowly made your way back to the other campers. Clarisse would never admit to the warmth she felt when being near you, or the smile on her face.

but seriously, she would never let another soul see her like this. no one but you.

#𖤐 . rue’s world #𖤐 . rue talks #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x you #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #dior goodjohn #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo disney+#pjo tv show #pjo show #pjo spoilers #pjo fandom #pjo series #percy jackson

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zoropookie · 10 days

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HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-nine — bittersweet (💋)

Reading the text didn’t bring tears to his eyes, but for some reason, it still stung badly.

It wasn’t the words themselves, but a twinge of disappointment that he felt shortly afterward. It ruminated in his thoughts the minute that the car ride started, and all he was left with was his own disappointment, and a lack of fight left.

And as he sat in that passengers seat, the words seemed to be knocked out of him yet again. The world blurred into a haze of colors and shapes. He clenched at his own palms until his knuckles turned white and his mind spiraled.

It suffocated him, but he knew a lot about that to endure it anyway.

"You know," A female's voice rippled through his chaos to grasp his attention. "It's not that bad."

He blinked, slowly refocusing his gaze and turning his head manually towards Furina. "What is."

"The (Y/N) stuff." She said, glancing every now and then from the road towards him.

His expression was of weary resignation. "You think so?" He sighed out, the words feeling heavy on his tongue every time he even spoke.

"They may be mad at you right now, but you have a plan." She said, her gaze steady. "It may not be fool proof, but you'll come out of it with a clearer conscience than that Tartaglia ever will. I promise."

But even with her promises, it didn't feel right to be comparing his peace of mind to another's. Maybe his conclusion would be completely different after all. Her words rushed over him like a soothing balm, the turmoil that he usually felt being nudged away.

For the first time in forever, he felt somewhat of a spark of determination. "Thanks." He murmured audibly, a small gasp coming from the former as he cringed, "For...all this, I guess. It's not often people are this nice to me."

"I didn't think you were capable of being grateful! I should gloat in this." She grinned, "You've grown used to people treating you like a liability. Whether you like it or not, it's not normal. Wean yourself off of that as soon as possible."

The rest of the car trip was silent. He couldn't entirely take his mind off of the events, and even the meeting he's taking himself to, but the passing scenery outside the car window put his mind elsewhere until the car slowed to a stop.

He put his back cap and mask on with less resolve than what he started with, unable to shake the feeling of discomfort her felt now that the gravity of the situation weighed down on him. He looked again out the window at the exact seat he wanted before exhaling. "If I don't come back, just abort mission."

"Don't be dramatic." Furina's eyes dulled, also knowing this situation was wary. "But...I'll be near, okay? Just in case this goes south and it actually is someone trying to kill you."

"Yeah, it's really fun being shark bait, thank you." He shook his head to himself, opening the car door to approach the cafe.

The building was more certain than he was in that moment, a warm glow beckoning the area. He never realized how little he went out these days, this same coffee shop was entirely different than the last time he came. The familiar sight and sounds of the city he used to know was suddenly unfamiliar to him.

Muted voices to him inside the little shop, all rambling vicariously. It was funny, the main reason he stopped even coming here was because things started getting busier and busier. Ei would apply pressure to him once he agreed to the streaming stuff. Did he ever really lose his identity if he never got to have one in the first place?

He squared his shoulders once the espresso he ordered was ready, quickly nodding in acknowledgement to the barista and sitting outside for a breath of fresh air. Everything around him was suffocating, and he never thought he'd be like one of those guys who are scared of having an actual life outside of their computer.

Maybe that was her plan, now that he was thinking about it.

He let the cool breeze wash over him, despite almost his whole face being covered except his eyes. He felt skittish, and uneasy, fingers lightly tapping at the to go cup of espresso in his hands. "What am I even looking for..." He murmured irritably, annoyance plaguing his thoughts.

It was a long, and arduous three minutes he sat there thinking about who Twitchpatch may possibly be now that he knew about Childe. How the fuck did he even know who it was? A familiar of his, maybe? But not that many people know about Narukami coffee shop unless someone who did told someone else.

And if they did...then there's also a limited amount of people. He didn't know what to think...until it hit him. Why would Twitchpatch, a news source, know about an indie coffee shop if they weren't also from Inazuma..?

And once he came to that conclusion as the cup was near his lips ponderingly, a feminine voice called, "I didn't think you'd be early."

His heart dropped to his stomach in an instant, his eyes slowly lifting up to meet the woman's voice. There, standing before him, was a sight that he never thought he'd be able to see again in his entire lifetime. Time stopped for him, and he slowly began to look mortified once he realized...

"What the fuck, Makoto." Scaramouche's voice cut through the air, sharp and accusatory. He almost lost it, if it weren't for her softer expression evening out.

"Hey, Kuzu." Makoto said with a softer tone, sitting down in front of him hesitantly. "I thought I wouldn't feel anything out of this, but...it's different when it's you."

"Fuck you." He snapped, his eye almost twitching from how many emotions were going through him in the moment. "Ei said you left us. You made that decision on your own."

"You're missing a lot of the story."

"And even with that in mind, I didn't do shit to you for you to play fake fucking journalist." He pointed. "Yeah, forgot about that little detail? The lie you capitalized off in humor of both of our downfalls? They're scattering to find a way for me to clear the controversy right now because of you."

"Is that not what Ei wanted? Controversy all of the time?" Makoto raised an eyebrow, sitting back in the chair. "It wasn't my desired effect, trust me."

"Yeah? That wasn't what you wanted to happen? I thought you were the one to always think about what you do before you do it. I guess. Fucking. Wrong." He seethed, his teeth grinding into each other. "I should narc on you right now."

Makoto's expression softened, and she reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the air. "Please, just listen to me for a second."

"Why should I?" He recoiled. "I'm not even mad about what you did to me. But you had no place bringing other people into this. You don't get to waltz back in to my life after doing all of this and act like what you did was some sort of poetic justice. That's not how this works."

"I had no intention on it." Makoto sighed, her shoulders slumped as her eyes narrowed away from him. "Listen...Ei and I had a bad argument before I left. I felt like she was starting to change after all of this and she denied all of it and threatened me. I can't save a dying group if its leader isn't open to criticism."

He scoffed, bitterness tainting his tone. "And you only decided to tell me about this after you left me clueless? About where you were after you fucked off and went off the radar without a word? Are you not essentially just doing what she did?"

"I never said that what I did was okay!" Makoto frowned. "This meeting is harder than I thought it'd be...I wanted to figure out a way I could get you out of there as quick as possible, but I didn't have a way at that time. I was reckless...and it lead to this. If I had the ability to rally up more capable people for the job, I would. But this is all I've got. And you shouldn't be okay with how you're being treated there just because of what I did."

He knew that he wanted to clap back at her again, but he knew she was right in that accord. He chewed at the inners of his mouth, staring at her with an intense gaze.

"You lost the spark in your eyes, Kuzu." She said, "I've seen your streams. You're not even happy doing it, it's like there's nothing there. Why do you do them, in that case?"

"I didn't lose it." He corrected.

"Every time your stream, it feels like you're not passing time. You don't want to be there, and not many people can see it, but you used to look different...more lively." Makoto observed, "It feels like I'm looking at a carcass of what that used to be. You don't eat much, you don't sleep with what I've seen. You always seem like you're worried about something. It's disheartening. Excuse me for thinking of a way out for you."

He sighed fiercely at her, "What do you want from me? What do you want me to do about it?" He had trouble looking into her eyes. "You really...really fucked with me, Makoto."

Makoto sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air. But amidst her own regrets, she stood up after a second and gave a small smile. "You should stop, this isn't good for you. You're...like, deep frying your own brain at this point."

"How do you know what's good for me?" He bit back one last time before feeling his confidence weaken. "You don't even know a thing about me these days."

Her smile didn't waver at his words anymore, she gave him a light pat on his head in mild comfort before stepping back. "Stop streaming, Kuzu." She said, "And if it makes you feel better, air everything out. It's the least you could do for all that she made you do, right? I'm sorry I won't be there beside you to see it."

That light pat was something that he hated, but at the same time, haven't gotten the chance to be granted in ages. He never gave people the chance to get too close to him after all of this, nor even give them the reason to in the first place. It was bittersweet, his heart swelled with the same confusion and kindness Makoto gave him back them.

He wanted to prove her wrong, but he knew it was beyond his pride to keep her by his side. Even with how aware she was that she was right about him. Looking at her after a while, she could tell from his eyes that he was hurt. "I'll see you again sometime, okay? Reconcile with that (Y/N) if you ever get the chance; you seem to like them anyway beyond all the fake news."

She left as quick as she came, and with Scaramouche's previous arrogance and general disposition. He didn't know what to do anymore.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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