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sophiethewitch1 · 3 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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autumnmobile12 · 10 months

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7 Ways to Introduce the Villain.

1. The Shadow

A lot of series go with the classic 'ominous shadowy figure in the background.' Here's Silco in Arcane. Sinister voice, sinister dude, sinister intent. Boom, you have your villain.

2. The Slow Reveal

Other variations of the 'shadowy figure' in which the series draws out the reveal of the villain. Avatar: The Last Airbender doesn't reveal the Firelord until the final season, but his presence is felt throughout the series. He's always this looming threat whose will is carried out by his underlings. (General Zhao, Azula, etc.)

3. The Fabulous Entrance!

Okay, so we do hear Ragyo on the phone a couple times before they actually show her face, but goddamn, this entrance. It is impressive and terrifying and, it perfectly suits the utter psycho that she is.

There is no normal expression this woman makes when she's 'happy.' She's always smug or angry or annoyed, but this face with her staring, manic eyes and smile still haunts me. Send help.

4. The Sudden Entrance

Shigaraki kinda comes out of nowhere in My Hero Academia. For the first few episodes, its all lighthearted and fun and dealing with Bakugo's BS and then the class heads off on a field trip and suddenly,

"Oh, shit! Plot is happening!"

This series started off with kids learning to be heroes, and now its tragedy and social upheaval and people's lives are in danger.

5. The Incognito Entrance

This is when some random nonthreatening dude/lady just kinda sidles into the plot the be the butt of a joke and later turns out to have been one of the villains.

This scene was so weird. Tyki is just minding his own business, scamming people at cards. Then Allen and Lavi show up looking for their friend (the guy currently being scammed), and even though he recognizes them as exorcists and his enemies, Tyki has to sit there and play it off like he doesn't know jack cause if he does anything, he's gonna blow his cover in front of his human buddies. And then he suffers the indignation of being stripped in a poker game in broad daylight because the main protagonist is absolutely evil with a card deck. And then he just walks away from this like it's a totally normal thing, not even really taking vengeance for it. (He went after Allen, sure, but that was more of a job than any personal vendetta.) He's not the main villain, but I couldn't resist pointing out how bizarre this is.

For those who haven't seen D. Gray Man, the guy in the center is one of the main antagonists, and though this is technically the second time you see him, the first encounter was so short it was practically a cameo and he was a Victorian-era, Dorian Gray dandy gentleman, not this hobo riding a train.

6. The Traitor

Since the Undertaker was more of a neutral party in Black Butler, I don't think he really counts as a traitor. Still, I don't think too many of us were suspecting the morbid jokester Grim Reaper was going to turn out to be a major antagonist later on.

7. The Protagonist

And sometimes the protagonist is the villain!

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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c ant stop thinking about jealous!joel miller and the way he’d react to seeing others flirt with you. just a little after your arrival to jackson, the three of you tired and just starting to socialize. you get talking with a friend of maria’s who introduced you. and joel is there watching, pretending to be interested in whatever the bored housewife hanging off his arm was even talking to him about. he burns with jealousy he doesn’t know what to do with and ends up crossing the bar to get to you where he makes some kind of show of getting his hands on you and subtly proving his protectiveness and jealousy over other men talking to you. OR he waits until you’re home to shove you up against a wall OR drags you into the bar back room to be all “what the fuck were you doing with him? and why was he touching you and laughing?” and it’s just all so hot. give it some real angst for me, please?

hehehehehe

Jealousy, Jealousy

Joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

having just settled in Jackson, she and Joel are having a hard time learning to share what's theirs.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, pretty rough sex ngl, semi-public too, joel's a teasy lil shit, a dash of angst, a hint of fluff, yeehaw

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

She can feel his eyes on her, and it’s starting to make her nervous that he’s going to make a scene. She, on the other hand, is doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing, being social, mingling with the Jackson community, proving that she isn’t a wild stray that hisses when provoked. Joel on the other hand…

He’s sulking like a damn teenager at the bar in the Tipsy Bison, and she’s been with him long enough to know that his daggered stare is pointed directly at the young man she’s talking to. Maria had introduced her to the guy, Graham, that morning when he joined their patrol shift. He was friendly and easily started cracking jokes with her, crinkly blue eyes and a sandy mop of hair topping off his downright sunshiny disposition. The polar opposite of her man who currently looks like he could moonlight as the grim reaper with the way he’s staring at them.

Joel is already on probation of sorts, after he knocked another guy’s lights out because he was getting a bit too insistent with her down at the stables. Having been on the road for so long, neither of them are used to settling things with means other than guns and fists. Ellie has jokingly begun calling them “big bitch and bigger bitch” for the way they just can’t seem to shake their standoffish nature. For the record, Joel is the bigger bitch. But she’s trying, really hard, and is going to be pissed if Joel thwarts her attempts at making a new friend.

Luckily, Graham is easy to talk to, even when her eyes keep darting over to the other end of the bar where Joel is sitting. She has to do a double take, however, when she sees that someone has joined him. She smiles politely, laughing along to Graham’s story while she racks her brain for the name of the woman who’s suddenly got a claw– hand– on Joel’s bicep where his arm is propped on the counter. Veronica? No, Vanessa. She rolls the name around in her mind, letting venom strike through each syllable.

“Hey, are you good?” She’s startled out of her imaginings of what Vanessa would look like with a bloody nose by Graham waving his hand in front of her face. She takes one more glance at Joel, whose attention has completely shifted from her to his little hanger-on. She has to practically wrench her eyes away from the sight and back to Graham, letting out a forced laugh.

“Sorry, I just– zoned out for a second. What were you saying?” The nagging voice of Maria in her head telling her to “be social” is the only thing keeping her attention on Graham. As she glances back across the bar, her stomach twists when she sees that both Joel and Vanessa are now gone from their seats, but her anxiety is short lived when a broad palm comes to rest around the curve of her hip, warmth spreading across her back that can only be coming from her radiator of a man.

“Graham.” She has to hold back a laugh at the way Joel says his name like it’s a curse, but the bite is lost on Graham who just offers him an easy smile.

“Hey, Joel, it’s good to see you, man. I was just telling her about how–”

“Actually, son. I’m gonna steal this one from you. Our kid needs us.” That makes her head whip around to look at him, but his eyes stay trained on Graham, the only acknowledgement she gets is his fingers flexing where they’re splayed on her waist. Graham’s face falls.

“Oh, um, of course. I hope everything’s alright.”

“It will be.” With those gruff few words, Joel herds her off her stool, slinging his arm over her shoulders as he guides her through the crowd and out of the bar, night already sweeping down the main drag of Jackson. He’s pushing her along at a clipped pace, but she’s having none of it, stopping dead in her tracks to look at him fully.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Ellie? What– is she ok?” He huffs, trying to get her to keep walking, but she holds her ground, not budging when he tries to shuffle her along.

“Ellie’s fine, alright? I– fuck, I made that up.”

“What? Joel, what the hell are you–” Before she can get the rest of her incredulous question out, he’s grabbing her wrist and tugging her down an alley between two storefronts, pushing her up against the brick wall as she struggles to figure out what the hell just happened. But that’s a little hard to do with the way her mind goes blank when Joel smashes his lips against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth when she gasps at the harsh squeeze of his hands groping her ass. When he pulls away with a little smack, a lewd string of spit snaps between their mouths.

“It was either this, or punching Graham’s teeth in.” Before she can respond to his breathless statement, he’s licking back into her mouth, slotting his hips with hers and grinding hard so she can feel the heat of his erection rutting into the front of her jeans. The only thing that gets him to finally let up is her harshly tugging at his hair, making him groan low as he pulls away.

“Are you telling me that all this is because you got a little jealous of Graham?” The hard set of his jaw tells her all she needs to know, and she lets out a laugh.

“Joel, I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that.” He huffs at that, his fingers flexing into the plush of her ass.

“That don’t mean a thing. Saw the way he was looking at you, darlin. Didn’t like it one bit.”

“Well that’s rich coming from you when you had that sweet little thing hanging off your arm at the bar.” She regrets it the minute it leaves her mouth, even more so when a very smug look washes over Joel’s face.

“Hmm, I’m not the only one who’s jealous, huh?” She tries to jerk away when he traces her cheek with his fingers, letting out a huff as he just crowds her further against the wall. He chuckles, the asshole.

“Don’t be like that, darlin. Ain’t nothing for you to be jealous about. Not looking at anyone else but you, you know that.”

“And you know that I’m not looking at anyone else either. I was trying to make a friend, you know, like how Maria told us to?” She jabs her finger into his chest, punctuating her words with a few prods. Joel doesn’t seem convinced.

“Can’t you make friends with someone who isn’t trying to fuck you?” That makes her scoff.

“How many times do I have to tell you? He wasn’t trying to fuck me. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve done a thorough job of letting everyone know that I’m your woman.” Joel seems to consider her words, doing something unexpectedly sweet when he trails his palm down her arm, drawing her hand up to press a kiss over her knuckles.

“That’s right, darlin. You’re mine– my woman. Same as I’m your man. But I think you could use a little reminder of that, huh?” Before she can respond to that with something snappy, he’s shutting her up with another crushing kiss, both his hands returning to her ass as he pulls her hips to slot with his. He smears his lips down her neck, nosing away the collar of her shirt before sucking harshly at the newly exposed skin, making her throw her head back against the brick wall with a sharp gasp.

“Joel– fuck– what if someone sees?” The low thrumming laugh he lets out shoots straight down her spine, pooling syrupy heat through her core.

“No one’s gonna see, not if you’re good and quiet for me. Can you do that, honey? Be so good for me, huh?” It infuriates her, really. How quickly he can melt her down, her usual bite going soft and sweet with each kiss, each squeeze of his hands, until she’s all but whimpering for him to give her more. He continues mouthing at her chest until she tugs him up by her fingers raking through his hair.

“No more fucking teasing– I–I’ll be good– just, please–” he cuts her off with a hard roll of his hips into hers, a pressure that makes her dizzy even through layers of clothes. She has to hold back a whine when he completely steps away from her, leaving her slumped against the wall as his eyes take a salacious path down her body and back up to her face.

“Turn around for me, darlin. Show me what’s mine.” Under any other circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes at that entirely pigheaded statement, but she’s got just enough warmth running through her veins from his touch and the liquor she had sipped on to comply without hesitation, turning around and splaying her palms out on the wall as she arches her back, hips shimmying slightly out.

He presses right up against her, heat grinding into her ass while his hands knead and squeeze the sides of her thighs. She yelps when his palm comes down hard on the curve of her ass and he shushes her, leaning further against her while his lips trace the shell of her ear.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me. Gotta be quiet right?” She sighs, mind a little too hazy to answer as his fingers curl around her waist to fumble with the buttons of her jeans, harshly yanking them down along with her panties until the fabric bunches just under the swell of her ass. She’s entirely unprepared when he lays another slap to now bare skin, the burn rolling and spreading through her, doing nothing to help the dampness she can feel smearing in between her thighs.

“C’mon, honey. Need you to tell me if you’re gonna be good for me. Else I can’t give you what you want.” Now he’s just being cruel, and she’s had about enough of it, huffing and craning her neck over her shoulder to glare at him.

“I already told you, you precocious asshole. Just fuck me al–” she can’t finish her sentence, not when he’s sliding into her heat in one languid stroke, his hips fitting snug against her ass. Joel groans low, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as he stills inside her.

“Precocious asshole – those are some big words, darlin. Don’t want anything in that pretty head of yours except my name by the time I’m done with you, you understand?” She tries to press her hips back, seeking anything more that he’ll give her, but his firm hold on her hips keeps her stilled, aching around his pulsing length.

“Only gonna ask one more time. Do you understand?” He punctuates his question with a deep grind of his hips, the tip of his cock nudging a spot inside her that makes her eyes scrunch tight from the prickling pleasure.

“Fuck– yes! I understand, I understand, just– please, Joel. Need it so bad.” That seems to appease him, and she sighs when he pulls his hips back, finding a slow roll back into her that makes her preen in his grip.

“That’s my good girl, huh? All mine. I’ll give you what you need, honey.” Any slowness, any gentleness, dissolves with the brutal pace he sets, fucking her up against the wall, rough palms bouncing her hips back against his as they both pant heavily into the clear night air. His one hand comes up to rest over hers where its splayed across the wall, and she imagines fleetingly that his knuckles are gonna be scraped from the way he curls his fingers between hers, twining their hands together and grazing against the rough brick with each punishing thrust.

“So perfect like this– fucking made for me, darlin– right? Just for me.” His words are a hot fog in her mind, and it takes everything in her to form a coherent reply.

“Yes, yes– s’for you– all for you– all yours, Joel– please–” A broken cry catches in her throat when his other hand snakes around her hip, pressing firm against her pelvis as his fingers drag sloppy shapes across her clit.

“That’s right, honey. My girl, my woman– no one else’s. You gonna come? Huh? Gonna come for your man?” His words are choppy, disjointed by low grunts and his hips never stutter in the relentless rhythm he keeps. It all becomes too much, her release catching her off guard as her hips jerk in his hold, the only thing she can manage is a crackled whimper of his name as he fucks her through it.

“So good for me, darlin– that’s it– shit–” She slumps against the wall when he pulls out, the ringing in her ears dissipating just enough to hear the wet glide of his hand as he finishes himself off with a few harsh strokes, warmth smudging over her low back, dripping down her ass as he sighs out her name.

They stay like that for a moment, Joel pressing his forehead into her shoulder, she barely holding herself up against the wall as they both catch their heaving breath. Finally collecting herself, she huffs at his cooling spend now smeared over her skin.

“Joel, how the fuck am I supposed to walk around with your come drying on my ass?” He grumbles at her protests, already hoisting her panties and jeans back up her hips, giving her ass a little pat once they’re back in place.

“Don’t worry, darlin. I’ll clean you up real good soon as we get home.” She finally turns around, immediately resting her back against the wall when her knees start to wobble. Joel grins at her, all wicked and smug, as he tucks himself back into his jeans. She huffs.

“You are impossible, Miller.” He hums at that, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and press a shockingly sweet kiss to her lips.

“So are you, darlin. S’why we work so good together, huh?” She has to smile at that, leaning up to steal another kiss from him, but the moment is over all too soon when someone interrupts them.

“Goddamn it. I leave you two alone for a few minutes and I find you out here necking like a pair of feral cats. This is a family community, have some decency, alright?” Tommy stands at the mouth of the alley, hands on his hips, and an entirely exasperated expression on his face. Joel steps more in front of her while she tries to subtly zip up her jeans that are still hanging unbuttoned around her hips.

“Got it, brother. Sorry– we were just headed home.” Tommy just shakes his head.

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t Maria who saw you two. Jesus– just– go home. Never wanna see y’all making out again. Fucking scarred for life now.” She’s just relieved that was all Tommy saw.

They sheepishly step out of the alley, Joel tucking her under his arm as she offers Tommy an apologetic smile. Tommy shakes his head one more time before heading off toward the bar. When he’s far enough away, Joel lets out a rumbling laugh. She, however, is less than amused.

“I swear to god, Joel Miller. You are gonna get us kicked out of this damn place one of these days!” She smacks his chest, but he grabs her wrist, holding her palm there as he pulls her into him.

“Me? What about you, huh? Takes two, darlin.” She fights it, she really does, but she can’t help the smile creeping across her face with the way he quirks an eyebrow at her, both of them dissolving into breathy laughter. He sighs, squeezing her hip with his one hand.

“C’mon, trouble. We better get home before the bible brigade comes hunting for us.” She snorts at that, head tipping back in a laugh as they start walking away toward their home. He slings his arm over her shoulders, both of them stumbling along with how close they insist on staying to each other

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Just for you, darlin.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction

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milksnake-tea · 4 months

Text

━━ duty calls.

Created around the same time and having trained with one another, you and Casper have always butted heads. You'd compete over seemingly anything - how many souls one could reap, the days one could go without catching soul sickness, and the list goes on. Casper has always found you to be obnoxious, but when he sees you crying by yourself, he finds himself torn.

grim x gn!reaper!reader

contains: fluff, hurt/comfort, set before the main storyline, reader is NOT the mc, brief mentions of child death, USAGE OF GRIM'S REAL NAME, reader is a little shit

word count: 4.2k

a/n: FORGIVE ME IF THE WORLDBUILDING IS OFF I WAS TRYING MY BEST and ive only done one ending oops (finals hurts okay :((( ) also ... im not sure if reapers names are classified just to mortals and not other reapers but ykw imma take my liberties

"Seriously, do you ever get tired?"

Casper groaned irritatedly, running a hand through his snow-like hair. Blood like rust coated his scythe, spoils from his most recent hunt. The corpse still lay fresh in front of him, but their skin was cold and their eyes dead.

Boisterous laughter erupted above him. Sitting on the balcony of some person’s apartment, you grinned down at him - that infuriating, shit-eating grin that never failed to tick him off.

You kicked your legs childishly as you leaned back over the railing. Nestled against the crook of your arm was a scythe similar to his own, save for the more detailed design and color palette. Unlike him, you would constantly say, you liked to live a little.

Bold words coming from a bringer of death.

“Don’t blame me for you being slow,” you called down to him. Casper rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he glared up at you.

“I am not ‘slow’,” he grumbled. “You’re too eager. And get down from there, you’ll be spotted.”

You tilted your head. “It’s like, 3 A.M. What kind of idiot’s gonna be awake at this hour?”

“You’d be surprised. Humans will do anything but take care of themselves.”

“I guess,” you sighed, jumping down. You twirled your scythe absentmindedly, Casper leaning back to avoid getting hacked to pieces.

“Be careful with that,” he scolded. You, of course, ignored him.

“So are these the last of the guys?” you wondered, kicking at a corpse with your foot.

The alleyway was practically lined with bodies, so many that management had called upon both you and Casper to deal with the remnants of the massacre. Gang fights were a pain to deal with, second only to pandemics and war.

“It would seem so.” Casper gave you a look, to which you responded by sticking out your tongue. You were very mature, after all.

You stretched thankfully, rolling out your shoulder. “Thank God, I was starting to get depressed from all the dead people.”

“If you’re getting depressed from just this, perhaps you should consider a different career choice.”

“Nah.” You smiled. “If I left, who would I bully? You’d get all sad and lonely without me.”

“Hardly,” Casper scoffed. “If anything, I’d be relieved.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“So mean,” you pouted. Casper paid you no attention, as per usual. It didn’t matter, though, since you immediately perked back up. “Hey, boo?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“I have an idea.” And just like that, your cheshire grin returned. Casper sighed, already beginning to walk off.

“How wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “Share it with someone else.”

“Uh-uh, no.” As quick as a flash, your scythe was out, the blade curving in front of Casper to prevent his escape. “This one’s good, I swear.”

“Your definition of what is and isn’t a good idea needs some desperate fixing.” Still, he made no move to escape, instead turning around to face you.

“Let’s race.”

Casper raised a brow. “Race?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes shining like jewels. In the darkness of the alleyway, the two of you were illuminated only by the neon blue lights of the city. Yet, as that same blue was captured in your eyes, Casper was reminded of a kaleidoscope, changing and turning in a multitude of different colors.

It was… captivating.

“If I win, you have to buy me a drink.”

Casper snapped out of his daze, a light flush blooming across his fair skin. Thankfully, though, you didn’t seem to notice, too entranced by another one of your ridiculous competitions. Seriously, there had to be a limit to how unprofessional you could be.

“You assume I have the time to buy you one,” he said with faux calmness, grateful for the night’s shadows hiding his complexion. You huffed.

“You could do it while you’re rebalancing yourself,” you said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, it doesn’t have to be anything big, just a coffee or a tea would be nice.”

“Fine, let’s say I stoop down to your level and agree to this… race,” said Casper. “What do I get if I win?”

You shrugged. “Then I'll just buy you a drink.”

Casper shook his head. “I’m not like you. I don’t drink on the job.”

“But you do cuddle an axolotl plushie when you sleep,” you pointed out. Instantly, Casper flushed red.

“Wha- What does that have to do with anything?!” he protested.

"I just thought about it randomly," you shrugged. "But seriously, that thing is huge, where did you get it?"

“Never mind how I got it," Casper crossed his arms and averted his eyes, his bottom lip turning up in a pout. “We’re getting off track.”

“Oh, so now you care about my games,” you teased. “Anyways, on how I’ll reward you…”

You spun your scythe back to your side, tapping its staff against the ground as you thought of a fitting reward.

“Oh! How about this?” You snapped your fingers, a figurative light bulb lighting up next to you. “You get to cash in one favor from me.”

“Any favor?” A smirk creeped onto Casper’s face, his interest finally piqued. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, [Name].”

“As long as it’s within reason and isn’t embarrassing,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “If you make me kiss your feet or something like that, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Of course,” Casper chuckled knowingly. “So, where to and when are we racing?”

“Hey, if you weren’t paying attention to the rules, then that's your fault. As for when the race starts, how about… now.”

“Wha- Hey!” Casper barely dodged as you shot past him in a blur of black. Hooking your scythe into the walls, you stuck out your tongue at him as you propelled yourself through the night.

“So long, Casp!”

Casper cursed under his breath. Quickly, he made haste to follow you. He flew through the air like a bird, twisting around light poles, skyscrapers, and billboards alike.

You weren’t as elegant, instead jumping from building to building like a modern superhero. You’d catapult yourself through the sky using your scythe as leverage, your laughter echoing in the slumbering city - free like the wind.

Casper didn’t have to follow you long to know where you were heading towards. Invisible to the mortal eye, yet painfully obvious to the eyes of reapers, was an entrance to the Underworld, a whirlpool of black and red that led straight down to your home.

As you launched yourself into the air once again, Casper came up next to you, his hair billowing in the cold night wind like smoke.

“Nice of you to join me,” you teased, elbowing him in the side. Casper rolled his eyes once again, speeding up. “Hey!”

Smoky tendrils of crimson and ink curled around your figures as the two of you neared the portal. The center of the whirlpool was a void seemingly leading to the abyss itself, but you’ve worked in this job long enough to know just what lay beneath.

True to his character, Casper wasted no time and shot straight into the thick of it. You, on the other hand, were a little more dramatic with your landing.

You spun in a backflip off of the last of the skyscrapers before letting gravity take you for a ride. Wind whistled past your ears as you fell, yet all you could hear was the rapid thump of your own heart. Adrenaline filled your veins. Soon, black and red lined your vision as the Underworld engulfed you.

The second you saw the tips of red-stained towers, you flipped yourself to face the ground. Closer and closer, you could practically taste it. If you delayed any longer, your life as a grim reaper could end prematurely.

Like the eyes of a devil, your pupils glowed in delight, activating your abilities. But rather than slowing your descent, you sped it up, shooting towards the ground like a missile.

Black blobs, the fuzzy images of your coworkers, scrambled to move out of your way. Turning your body, you landed hard on your heels, narrowly missing a fellow reaper.

For a moment, all you could see was dust. Before the clouds could disappear, you shook off the sting in your ankles and stretched.

“Woo!” you cheered, kicking your leg. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Quiet down.” Casper grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back. “Honestly, is there ever a quiet moment with you?”

You giggled. “Boo, you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that. Oh, by the way, I’m craving some-”

“Hold it.” Casper bonked your head. “I only agreed to buy you something if you won.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No you didn’t,” Casper retorted. “Anyone with working eyes could see that I reached the ground before you did. Therefore, I won.”

“Uh, no.” You crossed your arms. “Are you gaslighting me? You’re gaslighting me. That's not very nice of you, Casp.”

“I am not gaslighting you.” Your white-haired coworker rolled his eyes. “As grim reapers, we cannot lie. Someone of your caliber should know this.”

You blinked innocently. “Did you just compliment me?”

Casper spluttered. “What in the world made you come to that conclusion?”

Taking a step forward, you leaned towards the reaper, a cheeky smile growing on your face. “You said ‘Someone of your caliber’. That means you think I’m capable.”

“You’d have to be a special kind of stupid to be incompetent after working as a reaper for so long,” Casper crossed his arms, fighting down the blush rising onto his cheeks. You were close, way too close. “Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised, seeing as how that was the only thing you heard from what I said.”

Heaving a sigh, he pushed you away with his finger.

“But don’t distract yourself from the fact that I won the race,” he said, a smug smirk replacing his exasperation.

“I was honestly trying to forget.”

Casper huffed, a pout forming on his lips. But the moment wouldn’t last long, as a ding sounded from both of your phones. When you checked it, you groaned when you saw a notification of unexpected emergency.

“Seriously?” you complained. “Overtime? Did a bunch of reapers die off or something? My soul’s going to get tainted at this rate.”

“Don’t complain.” Casper nudged you, but even you could see the irritation on his face. “It’s our job as reapers to reap souls on time, no matter what.”

“I guess. Still doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

“Agreed.” With a sigh, Casper summoned his scythe. “I must be off, now. See you on the other side, [Name].”

As he made his way back to the opening of the portal, his feet lifting off from the ground, a gloved hand reached out to grasp your chin. Gently, he guided you to look at him as he ascended.

“I look forward to cashing in on that favor.”

━

For as long as you could remember, things have always been this way.

Your earliest memory was of waking up to the crimson skies of the Underworld. Unaware and unknowing, you allowed yourself to be dragged around by older reapers, their voices blurring together in a droning buzz. Everything had gone by so quickly, and you struggled to keep up with it all.

If you were to say it bluntly, your first day felt like a fever dream.

But amidst the chaos, the tutorials, and the gifting of your first scythe, there was one thing that you remembered clearly.

“...Snow.”

Your mentor’s lecture halted at your voice, barely audible. They followed your gaze to a white-haired man, looking to be around the same age as you. Like a drowsy child, you lifted your finger and pointed at him, looking back to your mentor.

“He’s like snow.”

Their eyes softened by the tiniest bit, having seemingly realized that you were still disorientated. After all, in a sense, you had just been born.

“I suppose he is.” Putting a hand on your shoulder, they guided you away from the man. “Now, as I was saying…”

Their voice faded away into the background as the white-haired man noticed your gaze. He turned to look at you, his ruby-like eyes like blood speckles against the winter landscape. You stared at each other for only a few seconds before you turned to follow your mentor.

You quickly forgot the pretty stranger, but you would stay in his memories for quite a while before you’d cross paths again. In the darkness of the Underworld, you were like a lantern - radiating warmth and familiarity.

You were beautiful, like a flower in summer. That was, until he met you for the second time.

Swiftly and ruthlessly, holding true to your occupation as a reaper, you cut apart any premonitions he had had about you. When you were put against him to spar by your mentors, the drowsiness had worn off - instead replaced by insufferable audacity.

As your scythes clashed, sparks flying between the two of you and burning him in the process, your mouth just wouldn’t stop moving, stop talking. The innocently sleepy look on your face was replaced with a shit-eating grin as you blocked his attacks, trapping him in a frenzied dance.

“What’s wrong, boo?” you laughed, twirling your scythe to drive him back. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already.”

Casper’s eyebrow twitched at the nickname; you wouldn’t stop calling him that ever since you learned his real name. He didn’t understand where it came from, but just the way you said it was enough to annoy him.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, his boots kicking up dust as they skidded against the ground. He was quick to lunge back at you, his movements precise as he swung his blade. “If anything, I’d wager that you’re the one tiring out.”

“Ha!” You ducked under his attack and sprung forward, Casper’s hair tickling at your face as you came nose to nose with him. Startled, Casper had no time to react as you slammed the end of your scythe’s staff into his chest.

Before he knew it, Casper’s back was against the ground, your boot on his chest, and your scythe at his neck.

Your breaths were heavy as you looked down on him, but your eyes glowed with triumphant victory. The fight may have been more exhausting than you’d like to admit, but the view you had was well worth the effort.

Beneath you, Casper struggled to catch his own breath, his chest heaving under the soles of your foot. His white hair splayed around him like a halo, and his face was tickled pink from the fight.

Even in defeat, he was beautiful.

You leaned forward, putting your weight on your knee. Casper grunted as you pressed harder on him. Just for the fun of it, you pressed your scythe’s blade against his chin and guided him to look up at you and your grin.

“I win,” you sang mockingly.

Casper groaned, letting his head fall against the floor. You laughed heartily, stepping off of him and instead extending your hand to him. Without a second thought, Casper took it, allowing you to pull him to his feet and dust him off.

“That’s what, victory number twenty-one?” you asked, stretching. “That means I’m in the lead now, Casp.”

“Whatever,” Casper scoffed, dusting off his chest where your foot had been. “I’m sure the score will even out in no time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you squinted at him. Casper stuck his tongue out at you.

“I don’t know, what does it mean?”

You hit his chest playfully. Casper grunted, glaring at you from the corner of his eye.

That’s how it had always been, after all. You and Casper would go back and forth in this tantalizing dance, exchanging jabs and jokes at the same time.

To Casper, you were insufferable, but annoyingly capable. To you, Casper was way too serious and stuck up, yet had that charm about him that made you want to tease him at every possible opportunity.

But for many, many years, your relationship never went further than mere friends - if Casper even wanted to call you that.

━

The day Casper’s view of you changed was like a stormy sky - dark, yet light still managed to peek through.

You’d come back to headquarters with a solemn look upon your face. For someone who had just come back from a mission, you were oddly… clean. There wasn’t a trace of blood on your clothes, yet your eyes were dark, haunted. Even your scythe’s shine seemed dull.

For the reapers, to have someone normally so loud and full of life be reduced to this, was frightening. They’d grown used to your smile, your voice, your light. You parted crowds with your uncharacteristically serious aura; if there was anything a sensible reaper feared, it was the wrath of a joyous soul.

Immediately after turning in your report to headquarters, you disappeared from the public eye.

When Casper first heard the news, he had brushed it off. You were probably just having a bad day, he tried to assure himself. Maybe you’d finally realized the grimness that came with your profession. Maybe the soul you’d reaped was especially troublesome and gave you a run for your money.

Despite his attempts to make up explanations for your behavior, he couldn’t stop the worry from gnawing at his heart. It twisted in his chest like soul sickness, an ailment that he wasn’t used to nor did he understand. It even followed him into his work, plaguing his mind and distracting him as he reaped soul after soul.

He’d made haste to return home, knowing that this illness would only worsen if he stayed out.

The Underworld was always dark, but that day, the sky was pitch black. Eager to return to the comfort of his bed, he quickly made his way to one of the many apartment complexes in which reapers resided.

However, just before he opened the door to his room, his hand stilled at the sound of crying.

Now, sadness wasn’t an uncommon emotion in the Underworld. Ghosts, sinners, and demons alike wailed and screamed their woes into the night. Their cries were as common as the sound of rushing cars in a human city.

But not for reapers, especially in their home. Reapers, at their core, were cold, emotionless, and ruthless - they needed to be, in order to do their jobs properly. A reaper’s tears were rare, almost taboo.

The more Casper listened, he soon recognized a familiar voice among those sniffles: yours.

Could it be? He looked up to the rooftop, his hand wavering. His soul pulsed in his chest, warning him to ignore you and focus on himself. But his heart argued back.

Casper glanced once more at the doorknob to his room. Cursing himself, he heaved a sigh and walked away - moving towards the staircase leading to the rooftop.

As he emerged onto the rooftop, the first thing he noticed was how clear the sky was. Its crimson blanket was more like that of a rose’s rather than bloodstains, and if he squinted, he could perhaps delude himself into seeing a few stars.

Then came you.

Casper’s heart plummeted in his chest when he saw your form curled into itself. You sat at the edge of the rooftop, your knees pulled up to your chest and your face buried in your arms. Your back was to him, but Casper saw the way your shoulders trembled.

He tried to take a step towards you, tried to reach to you with his hand, but hesitated. What would he even say? What could he say? What could he do?

His thoughts halted when you took a deep, shuddered breath, your voice raw from cry.

“What do you want, Casper.”

Casper. Not Casp, not boo, not any of the annoying nicknames that you called him by.

“I…”

He stepped back, feeling fear for perhaps the first time in his life. For the first time, he was unsure of what to do.

You couldn’t see him, but you heard him walk away and descend the staircase. You laughed hollowly, wiping at your face with your hand.

“What was I even expecting…” you muttered bitterly, gripping at your own arms for support. “Why would he of all people…”

You shut your eyes tighter. Without the company of the sky and the city, you were left alone with your thoughts. Memories of what you had witnessed laughed in your mind, latching onto you like a parasite and refusing to let go.

You were never afraid of blood, nor of death, but today, just the thought of it made you nauseous.

Something soft nudged at your elbow. Blinking your eyes open, you warily looked to your side.

However, instead of seeing a person, you came face to face with a bright pink axolotl plushie.

You and the plushie stared at each other for a good minute, neither of you knowing what to make of the other. It wasn’t until you heard a familiar, exasperated sigh from behind the plushie that you realized what it was.

“Don’t just stare at him,” Casper mumbled, pushing the plushie against you. You blinked owlishly, before hesitantly taking the plushie into your arms.

Hugging it against your chest, you rested your chin on top of its head. The plushie was oddly warm, yet comforting. Casper sat beside you, silent and gazing up towards the sky. For a while, the two of you simply sat in this silence, with the only thing breaking it being your quiet sniffles.

“...She was just a kid,” you finally spoke, catching Casper’s attention and making him look at you. You, however, kept your gaze straight ahead to the city lines, refusing to meet his gaze. “She was just a little girl, and yet they… they…”

You hugged the plushie a little tighter.

“I just can’t understand how humans can be so cruel to each other.”

Casper’s gaze turned downcast. “That’s how they’ve always been. Life is cruel, even to the purest of souls.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Hardly anything is.”

“It shouldn’t have been her. It should’ve been that bastard that murdered her.”

“He’ll get what he deserves. Karma will catch up to him.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if he gets let off?”

“He won’t.”

Unexpectedly, you let out a snort at Casper’s deadpanned voice - so assured and serious. Casper raised a brow, looking at you inquisitively.

“You know,” you said, raising your head. “You’re somehow really bad and really good at comforting people.”

“What?” Casper wrinkled his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Actually, that’s one of the things I like about you.”

“That I’m apparently a bad comforter?”

“No, silly.” You leaned your head on the plushie again, only this time you were looking at your coworker. “Your seriousness. How you’re always so confident in yourself. How even if you don’t know what you’re doing, you still try.”

Red bloomed across Casper’s face like a flowering blossom, reaching from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“It’s not fair when you start saying things like that,” he mumbled. You giggled a little, leaning onto his shoulder with his plushie still in your arms.

“I’m just being honest,” you hummed. “Or maybe I’m coping. I dunno.”

Casper chuckled, but made no move to push you off him. You closed your eyes. The turmoil in your heart was still there, of course, but with Casper against you, it eased up just a little.

“Seriously though, thank you,” you said. “For coming up here for me and, well, everything.”

“It was nothing,” Casper replied. “You were looking pretty pathetic, all depressed and all.”

You huffed. “Just admit you care about me, Casp. Is that so hard?”

Casper grumbled something unintelligible, before lifting his arm. You squeaked as he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you closer against him. With your head laid against his collarbone, you could feel every breath he took as well as the rapid beat of his heart.

“[Name],” he said quietly. “Remember the favor you promised me? For winning the race?”

“Mm… yeah. What about it?”

“I’d like to cash it in right now.”

“Oh lord,” you chuckled. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Whatever happens next, don’t tell anyone,” Casper whispered.

Your lips curled into a smile. “You know, Casp, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were about to do something weird.”

You couldn’t see him, but you knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Be quiet for a moment, will you?”

You grinned. “Ah, but that’s two favors, not-”

Casper shut you up with a soft kiss to your head. It was brief, so quick that for a second you almost thought you had dreamed it.

In your stunned silence, Casper spoke again.

“Forgive me if I’m being greedy, but I’ll ask for a third favor,” he said. “No matter what happens, promise me you won’t deal with it by yourself.”

His grip around you tightened.

“Please.”

You nuzzled closer into the crook of his neck.

“...I promise.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#a date with death #a date with death x reader #adwd #adwd x reader #adwd casper #adwd casper x reader #casper x reader #casper #x reader #y/n #reader insert #grim reaper #grim reaper x reader #archives 🏵️

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midnightarcheress · 5 days

Text

Simon thinks he could live like this.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: nothing he's just down bad 7 | gold rush masterlist.

“are you insane?!” Daniel shouts, slamming the door behind him and stomping his feet towards Simon with a menacing look, “you think you can just move her around like this?”

“she wasn’t safe in that house, this is for her protection,” he answers promptly, crossing his arms and taking a step in front of you, covering your frame from the irate man. if he could, he’d land a punch on his face in no time, not caring that technically he’s his boss.

“yeah? and you simply have to be here with her, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. you watch the scene unfold from behind Simon, brows knitted together and bottom lip nearly bleeding from biting too much. he’d managed to momentarily tranquillize you, bring you back to earth after the terrifying panic state, but the anxiety kept simmering underneath your skin, just waiting for another chance to take over your body.

“the shitty security system you put in her house wasn’t enough to prevent the bastard from intrudin’, the bloody alarm didn’t even go off,” he retorts, eyes shooting daggers straight ahead, “so yeah, i’m gonna stay with her for as long as it’s necessary. contract says to protect her, doesn’t it?”

the two of them stay quiet, a silent staring competition on Daniel’s side, a mere warning on Simon’s side. he won’t budge, won’t allow you to go back to that house, hand you on a silver platter to the grim reaper hiding behind letters and eerie messages.

Dan leans on his side to look at you, ignoring the mass of a man in front of him. “are you sure about this?” his tone is strangely soft, like a switch flipped in his mind, all anger vanishing. you nod, offering him a small smile that does a poor job of concealing how nervous you are about the situation. he purses his lips, taking one last glance at Simon’s unwavering posture before sighing in defeat.

it’s been two weeks since the mirror message that led Simon into comforting you, and two weeks since he had to control his own panic, trying his best not to spiral. it had been a while since he shared a living space, so staying with you feels like a dream that he’s constantly afraid of turning into a nightmare by saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, or even thinking about what’s happening.

the safe house Price arranged is far from the size you’re used to, being at least three times smaller than your own house. but to his surprise, again, your reaction to it contradicts his expectations. it could just be you being a phenomenal actress, covering your resentment behind a beaming smile, but you seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence easily, didn’t protest once, never lamented the loss of luxury and privacy.

he wanted to deny the feeling, shove it deep down in his brain and lock the safe, but it was nice, the domesticity of it all. it was nice learning little details about your routine; how you only get out of bed the second time your alarm rings; how you’re definitely not a morning person, judging by the gruff good morning you mumble when you slide to the counter stool; how you love trying new recipes and quietly dance in the kitchen, freezing when you notice him watching you; or how you’re always carrying something to read, it being a book or a script.

it was nice making you coffee in the morning and seeing you rub your sleepy eyes, nice hearing you humming a song in the shower, nice catching a glimpse of you in lingerie when you forget to lock your bedroom door, nearly making him choke in his own spit by the sight of the small tattoo on your hip. is it a star? a flower?

he felt like he was playing house with you. a game where you’re his loving wife and he’s a devoted husband, where he could feed his delusions, live everything he was convinced he’d never have in this lifetime. inside those walls, he could do it all, except the one thing he longed the most – touch you. kiss the top of your head when you’re baking in the kitchen, run his fingers through your hair when you’re curled up on the couch, feel your soft skin under his fingertips when you lay in bed, bend you over the table when you pass by him in skimpy pyjama shorts.

“do you... wanna watch a movie?” you ask, remote in hand and head leaned back on the sofa, chewing the inside of your cheek and attentively glaring at the television. he tilts to the side, stirring his thoughts away and taking in the view of your features illuminated by the bright lights coming from the screen. it was easy to get lost in how beautiful you were, a magical creature brought to earth to bewitch him.

your head suddenly shifts to where he’s sitting, and it hits him that you’re still expecting an answer. fuck. “uh, yeah, sure.” he mumbles, snapping back to the telly, swallowing the desires his throat dared to spill.

later that day, Simon steps onto the front porch for a much-needed nicotine fix, dark blues painting the sky as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the horizon. he hates the burning sensation of the smoke in his lungs, but always craves the lightheadedness and dopamine flush in his veins, no matter how many years it takes from his life.

“god!” you jump, looking behind you and putting a hand over your chest to steady your rapid heartbeat, “you really are a ghost, aren’t you?” a chuckle falls from your lips after the startle, travelling the air like a lullaby, and he ignores the flutter in his chest that happens whenever you laugh.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you shrug and turn back to your initial position, sitting on the steps and watching the crunchy tree leaves dancing in the breeze. he follows your gaze to the front lawn, bringing a cigarette from the pack to his lips, debating if he should truly smoke with you in there. you never complained, but he’s caught you frowning at the thin cardboard a few times around the house, so he decides not to light it.

“can i ask you something?” you blurt out, lifting your chin to face him, eyes searching for his, and his head dips, irises focusing on yours. one brow raises at your sudden curiosity and he nods, back propped against the column, waiting, “why Ghost?”

his jaw tenses, gaze shifting from you to the carton in his hands. the ever-dreaded question. “dunno. just a nickname.” lie. he couldn’t tell you how everything was taken from him and he faked his death years ago; how he truly became the ghost of man. you don’t deserve to be burdened with that knowledge, so it is just a nickname.

he looks back to you, gauging if you bought his deflection or not. you’re still focused on him, vision flicking at every crease of his expression, waiting for any falter, but it doesn’t come. “you can call me Simon.”

the thin line of your lips breaks into a smile, cheeks rising and making his heart skip a beat. so much for easy detachment, “okay, Simon.”

the way i still have at least ten parts of this story in my outline but i'm so unmotivated to write it :(

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zooone · 8 months

Text

as above, so below

╰┈➤ a grumpy grim reaper falls in love with an optimistic angel.

one sided hatred to lovers; grim reaper!wilbur x angel!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - here it is, my magnum opus. even tho its not done! i had to split this fic in half, so unfortunately there will have to be a part two :( very sorry. but on a lighter note, HUGE HUGEEE thank you to @harbingerofheartbreak. as per usual, she helped me visualized the entire thing and even made some of the plots and ideas that i used. in fact, the original fic was supposed to be a grim reaper x human, but it was florence who thought of the grim reaper x angel prompt and i could not thank her enough. furthermore, she helped keep this fic going and constantly pushed me beyond my limits to do so. the fic was started july 21st and it was supposed to be shelved after a couple weeks, but she made me keep going. she is the best forever and ever go read ynaf. additionally, another big thanks to @starsyoubreaklikesugardust for being another little beta reader for this fic. she always has the greatest ideas known to man and i wanted to run everything by her bcuz it was like having van gogh rate my painting. i had to share this with her earlier than i thought cuz she was threatening me but we dont have to talk about that smile. both of these people helped me so much, and i will forever be in debt to them.

all in all, please please enjoy and give this your love pretty please <3

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of death, religious aspects, and swearing

she had a lot of questions about wilbur.

not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "on a scale of one to ten, how much does being a murderer really affect your mood?"

all of these questions would go unanswered. including "what's your favorite band?" no matter what, she just could not crack the code of wilbur soot.

to say he was intricate would be an understatement, and her ongoing curiosity would surely be the death of her.

unless he had something to do about it.

he stomped away from her on the rooftop as she followed after him.

"i told you to leave me alone," wilbur grunted, trying to speed walk past her with his long scythe trailing behind him. "is that so difficult to understand?"

"i just- i just wanna talk-" she panted, trying to catch up to him. her white dress flowed beneath her, but wilbur tried not to think about it too much.

"no." he made a sharp turn to fully face her, making her nearly bump into him.

her frown was illuminated by her golden halo, making her hair look almost cloud-like. her eyes glimmered like the entire sun was like a clown nose on her face, despite them arguing in the cold of night.

she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. her halo also lit his face up, and she saw the permanent frown and scrunched up eyebrows under his dark hood.

"why not, wilbur?"

he looked at her like she asked if the moon was real.

"you ruined my job. again." he punctuated his sentence with her name, saying it like he was curling at the nasty taste of it.

he always hated her. there was no mistaking it. he hated the way she giggled and danced around just because she could. he hated the way she spoke, always sounding so bright and happy and fucking naive. he hated her big white wings and her shiny halo.

"there you go talking about your job! like its all that matters to you," she yelled over the continuous honking cars beneath them. "do you even care about anything else in life?"

they weren't even supposed to interact, her being an angel and him being the prince of death. but he was always out doing his grim reaper duties, and she couldn't help but stop him.

he just wanted to follow orders from mumza- the queen of death. every single day that he existed, he had to take the lives of those who were ready. it ate him alive, but it was his only purpose.

"i can't care about everything else in life if i have to care about everything else in death," he grumbled under his breath, making her go silent. he liked her silence, loved it even, because that meant she couldn't criticize him for everything he did.

he would tell her about how angry the job made him. that if he could just switch spots with his brother, the stork, he would be the happiest being in hell. that he hated being the grim reaper almost as much as she hated him.

but if there was anything he really hated, it was opening up to people. and vice versa.

the last time he remotely opened up to someone, it was his mother, and he barely remembered the conversation. it was all the way back when he was welcome to smile. all he could recall was it being something about love, whatever it meant.

"will you please leave me alone now?" he sighed, rubbing his hand in his eye. he watched her eyes go from their usual large state to becoming droopy. she silently nodded her head.

"sorry. goodbye, mr. grim reaper," and the title tore him to shreds. it angered him, over everything else, that all he would be to her was an evil being.

yet, he watched as she jumped from the rooftop, fluttering her wings until she flew away. as she looked back over at him, he couldn't place the odd feeling left in his stomach. if it was guilt or hatred, he would never know.

he would continue to travel, picking up the souls on his way. she always thought he was lucky for being able to travel wherever he wanted. she always wanted to befriend the humans- in fact, she wanted to befriend everyone, but she found it impossible when she was constantly being held back.

he arrived back to hell's palace, a bag in one hand, and his scythe in the other. his head drooped down, avoiding any unnecessary eye contact with the other demons.

that hope would be short lived, however, as a demon took his shoulder as he walked.

"wilbur!" he spoke cheerfully, as if he wasn't living among lava pools and ash.

"quackity," wilbur responded in the same, monotone voice. it made the demon groan.

"quackity-" he mocked, changing his shape to an exact replica of wilbur's. mimic demons, they were called, and they were able to take form of any other being, even adorning their voice. it came in handy for most demon's entertainment, but it certainly didn't faze wilbur.

he stared into the mimic of his face, hating what stared back at him.

"oh come on. that usually works on people," quackity frowned as he twisted himself back to his natural state. he began poking wilbur with his blackened hands. "just give me a little giggle, wilbur."

"no." he'd said the word so much that it rolled perfectly off his tongue. "and for fucks sake, please put on a shirt."

quackity laughed loudly. "we're in hell, wilbur! its hot as- well, hell down here. don't tell me you haven't thought about walking around shirtless either." he paused, putting his hands on wilbur's dark outfit, "or.. hoodless.."

wilbur glared with an unamused look on his face, shrugging quackity's touch off of him and trying to continue walking along his path. walking away from conversations never worked to end them, yet he still tried it.

it would be the second example today that his tactic never worked, because quackity continued to walk along with him into the palace.

"what's the catch today?" he said it like it was a cheer. "did you get the big numbers? beat your high score yet?"

he would say he could feel his blood boil, but the flames in hell already did that.

"no. i don't keep track," he explained simply, pouring his bag's content into the soul sorter. it went to the fates to decide whether the soul was good or bad. simply enough, the good souls would be transported to heaven and the bad ones would stay. sometimes he imagined them debating over a soul's purity. the sound of screams every time he opened the bag would never become easier to stomach.

"bummer," quackity hummed. "why don't you try to make the job a little fun?"

"because i don't want to, okay?" he raised his voice. this time, quackity caught the memo and stayed quiet, except for a "shit, okay." under his breath.

wilbur walked along the palace's stairs, leaving quackity alone in the lobby without another word. this time, walking away from the situation made it stop. the third time really was the charm.

he set his hood down to his shoulders with a sigh, being able to fully see the gold and red palace for what it was. all of the vibrant and bright colors that quite literally clashed with the flames. it was scary and huge, but it was home to him. it was all he'd really known.

he went up to his room, laying on his bed with a groan. sometimes he wished his bed was quite literally made out of feathers, because his back always ached. tommy always said it was because of his "fucking posture", but wilbur knew he had no room to talk. just the thought of him jumping into a big pile of fluffy feathers made his bones ease a little more.

he would spend the night rolling around in his not-feather bed, having issues with his sleep. it was such a frequent problem for him that it was barely even a problem. just how he existed.

and, meanwhile, she would spend her "night" (in quotations. it never got dark in heaven.) staring up at the sun, wondering what sort of buttons she could've possibly pushed with wilbur to make him hate her. it was a recurring thought, but it kept her up too frequently.

the worst part about waking up was simply that. waking up. wilbur would roll out of bed, fluff up his hair a little bit, put on the same clothes, and be going. he went through the same routine every day and he hated it. but at the same time, if anyone disrupted his routine, he'd be angered.

"wilbur!"

and his routine was ruined.

"morning, tommy," he muttered, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a yawn. he couldn't be bothered to be angry this early, and definitely not to tommy. "aren't you supposed to be in heaven right now?"

"i'm on break," tommy said in a matter-of-fact tone. he stretched his arms and his wings with a groan, leaving some stray yellowed feathers behind. "delivering babies to peoples' doors is quite the workout."

wilbur barely registered his words, staring idly past tommy. his eyes wandered more on a decoration on a table behind him. he didn't even notice that tommy had continued speaking until he put his hands on his hips and sighed.

"yeah. both mum and dad really like me!" tommy spoke, ruffling his hands through his hair until he realized his goggles were in the way. the mention of phil darkened his mood.

"mum told you to stop calling him 'dad'," wilbur spoke monotone and simple, as usual.

and as usual, tommy groaned at wilbur's monotone voice and simple words, slouching down. "she also told you to stop being so fucking gloomy."

wilbur felt the need to do a lot of things; one- hit tommy with his scythe, two- tell tommy what a privileged asshole he sounded like, and three- do both at the same time. but wilbur had an okay-ish perception of tommy, growing up alongside the boy took a lot. but as annoying as the boy was, he was wilbur's company. even if he would rather swallow his scythe than to admit it aloud.

instead of acting on his mental list of intrusive thoughts, wilbur only sighed. he didn't bother to pick the conversation back up, his eyes wandering to the decoration again. had they always had that there? it looks off-centered.

"well," tommy noticed wilbur's spacing and patted his shoulder as he walked towards the stairs. "good luck today."

wilbur stared blankly through the fringe of sweaty hair on his forehead. inside, he was trying to form whatever a smile was. "thank you, tommy."

he watched as tommy jumped down the stairway, yellow tufts of hair flying with him. he heard a shout from down below, "and don't forget to fix your posture!"

wilbur scoffed in response, sounding more uninterested than he intended to, but ultimately pulling his shoulders back. a new day! a new window of opportunity! is what wilbur would think, if he wasn't wilbur.

he grabbed the railing of the stairway, his pale thin hand contrasting with the gold. he stared at his feet the entire time stepping down. he'd already forgotten about "fixing his posture".

he made his way down the lobby, not getting a chance to speak to his mother due to the abundance of demons lined up, trying to tell her that she was making a mistake. it was typical, but it still left bags under her eyes. wilbur only gave her a timid wave as a greeting before exiting through the palace's doors.

he dragged his tacky shoes through the red dirt beneath him, watching as tiny rocks rolled along his feet before stopping. he almost ran head first into the elevator due to how long he kept his gaze down, but luckily he saved himself from the mental embarrassment.

he stepped inside, proving his identity to the machine far more times than he needed to. mimic demons would always try to steal his finger print to use the elevator and get themselves back onto earth, but it was never successful. he had a keycard, just in case the identity proving didn't work. tommy had the same.

as the doors parted and he made a careful step out, he did his daily greeting to the guard (his daily greeting being a casual glare and a furrow of his eyebrows) and used his scythe to poke himself out.

from the surface, it would simply look like a boulder being turned over. but as wilbur stepped onto the grass, he took a moment to breathe. the air on earth was far better than the smoke in hell. he would spend a great deal of time taking a couple deep breaths, appreciating the silence, oh the lovely sound of absolutely nothing-

"wilbur! there you are!"

he almost screamed. instead, he only turned to the source of the way-too-cheerful voice, saying her name in utter disbelief. "what are you doing here?"

he didn't speak as if he were asking a question. he wasn't actually interested in why she was here in the grass with her elegant white dress and her annoyingly wide smile, using her wings to shield herself from the sun, even if they were translucent.

"i was waiting for you!" she squeaked, getting up from her spot in the grass and practically skipping up towards him. she had what looked to be a gardener's nightmare in her hands. "this is for you!"

before he could say another word, she pushed his hood off of his head. she had to use her wings to reach the top of his hair, but she was still able to run her hand through his brown waves. and as she giggled, she placed her makeshift flower crown on his head.

she pushed herself away- still hovering on her wings, and took a long, meaningful look at him. "you look great!"

"i feel disgusting," he said with anger, taking the weeds out of his hair and stuffing them sloppily into his bag. "why did you do that."

she looked at him with a frown, but still tried to make herself sound happy. her halo flickered softly. "it.. it was supposed to be a gift for you."

"yeah? well i hated it," he squinted his gaze down at her, and she could feel herself shrinking the more and more he looked.

she stayed quiet, the halo above her head still flicked on and off. she looked at him with nothing but a frown, lowering herself so that her feet hit the ground.

what she failed to notice was that he unfurrowed his brows ever so slightly upon seeing her upset.

"let me just get going, okay?" he spoke, trying to make his voice a little bit softer but still keeping the agonizing punch in there.

she spoke quieter now. "i have one more thing for you."

wilbur flinched, fully expecting a glitter bomb to come out of her pocket. but to his surprise, it wasn't.

she pulled out a pack of gummy worms, handing it to him with a pitiful smile on her face. he took it, examining it slowly.

"why is it open?" he took another look at it and realized it was almost half empty.

"umm.. i got a little hungry waiting for you," she mumbled, playing with the hem of her dress. "you were taking a little bit long."

"and speaking of which, i've been talking to you for a little bit too long," he retorted, crumpling up the bag of gummy worms in his palm. the sides of the bagging were practically fighting with the cage he made out of his fingers.

he began to walk in the opposite direction, debating in his mind exactly how long it would take to make his way out of the field and to the nearest trash can. she quickly followed behind him, almost tripping on herself in the process.

"hey- i didn't expect a hello from you, but a thank you would at least be nice!" she yelled as he speed-walked away with his grumpy walk and stone shoulders. "i'm talking to you!"

"and i'm not," he grumbled, fiddling to put his hood back onto his head as a way of closing himself off.

"just-" she flapped her wings, trying to be alongside him. "just have some gummy worms, please?"

he glared, slightly squinting from the piercing light of her halo. "maybe later."

"right now."

as much as he didn't want to, he stopped dead in his tracks. his stare was hurtful and his hand clenched onto his scythe. that was the most demanding he'd ever heard of her.

there was a voice in his head telling him to leave, to just let her have the last word and be gone. but he felt like he couldn't move.

"excuse me?" he only said, scrunching his eyebrows up.

"i want you to have them right now," she enunciated her words, crossing her arms and trying to copy his expression. she was fighting her usual bright smile under her pursed lips. "in front of me."

he blinked, almost starstruck. "why?"

she seemed nearly surprised at his one word question, her stern voice softening slightly. "you look like you haven't been taking care of yourself," as she spoke through a pout, he could feel his face warming up, like tiny little punching bags beneath his skin. "i wanna make sure you're eating."

he hated the feeling of his cheeks going warm. he slept in hell, obviously he knew what warmth was. but for some reason it felt even weirder when it was behind his skin. he cleared his throat with a cough.

"this? you think this is healthy?" he held up the crumpled, half-empty bag, speaking with his forceful actions.

she went quiet again, only speaking loud enough for him to hear. "i couldn't afford anything else at the gas station."

the feeling of warmth in his cheeks soon boiled over into anger. "you couldn't afford anything else?" he repeated in disbelief, "you are quite literally an angel! you're invisible to the human eye! it is so easy for you to steal."

"but i don't wanna be a bad person!" she copied his raised voice, standing on her tiptoes as almost a challenge. "i leave money in the cash register for the man. you know, he's really struggling. he could use the money. his name is robert, i think-"

"i don't care!" wilbur screamed, cutting her off completely. she flinched at his voice, feeling overwhelmed tears start to prickle from her eyes. she hid behind her wings, afraid that he might do something drastic.

he felt his shoulders shrink at her reaction, but ultimately grumbled and opened the pack of gummy worms. he hesitated, holding out the candy in front of him.

she opened her eyes from her flinch, and saw him sniffing the gummy worm. a smile spread across her face. "you just.. take a bite out of it."

"i know," he muttered. he was already mad enough that he had to eat it, he didn't want to be instructed on how.

"oh.. okay. i mean- i just kinda assumed that you didn't know because i don't think there are gummy worms in hell. they'd get all sticky and stuff. at least, that's what i've heard. are there really no gummy worms in hell?"

he looked at her with no amusement on his face. she looked right back at him, however, wanting an answer to her long winded question that was somehow said in a singular breath.

"no… no there aren't," he spoke slowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "are there gummy worms in heaven?"

why was he making conversation with her? he should be out collecting souls right now, not talking about stupid little gummy worms with this stupid little angel. he mentally slapped himself in the face, cringing with a shake of his head.

"no, there aren't," she batted her eyelashes like she was trying to think for a moment. "but phil sometimes gives me money for gummy worms. i share it with the others!"

he was barely registering her words, his mind still clouded with the mental boxing match he was having with himself. he was being stupid. not even the mention of phil was able to knock him from his thoughts.

"hey," she waved her hand in his face, acting as the referee and stopping his boxing match. he was almost at a knockout. "you've been making that face for a while. do you not like gummy worms?"

wilbur didn't know how to really respond to the question, having never even tried gummy worms before. he looked back at her. she had her full attention on him, waiting for another answer that he would hopefully not blunder.

"it's.. it's fine."

he definitely blundered.

he ignored it, not ready for a round two fight, and put the gummy worm in his mouth.

she leaned forward. "how is it?"

it was about the best damn thing he's ever had.

"it's.. okay, i guess."

"great!" she jumped- fucking jumped. "im sure you have to be on your way for your very important job-"

he completely forgot about his being the grim reaper, straightening up suddenly with widened eyes and tightening his grip on his scythe. he cursed under his breath, running towards the direction of the city.

"hey, i didn't finish!" she called out, catching up to him once more with flaps of her wings.

"i can't talk. you've already made me late enough," his hood almost fell off in the wind with how quickly he was running. "fuck, mum's gonna be pissed."

she would, in fact, not be pissed. she was always far too busy to even greet wilbur or tommy, and they hadn't done any sort of domestic activity in what felt like an eternity. he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that she was just busy with being the queen of death, but it was extremely lonely.

there wasn't any time for them to really speak. they were both always busy and family meals were long forgotten. in fact, wilbur had never eaten in front of another person before. the most he'd done was eat some boring, rotten food while sitting on his floor with tommy- and even then, he was only picking at it idly with his fork.

he found comfort in eating alone. there was no one there to judge him or to argue. it was just him, his thoughts, and the literal grayed out food they had in hell. but there was something always so reminiscent about having food with another person, even if it was just something like dessert.

"oh," she sighed, moving her wings idly. she watched as he ran away without another look. her arms swung at her sides in an almost confused fashion. "okay. um- hope you like your gummy worms! bye wilbur!"

at least she didn't call him mr. grim reaper again.

he didn't care, anyway, just trying to get to work on the job he obviously hated. but when he stopped to catch his breath, he couldn't help but stare at the pack of gummy worms in his sweaty palms, the colorful designs contrasting his dull looking hand.

he looked around. it looked like there were no cheerful angels in sight, so he figured himself to be safe. he popped another gummy worm into his mouth, scrunching his nose at the taste of something so impossibly sweet. it was a pleasant change from the tasteless foods in hell, and the addictive sweetness coated his tongue for a while.

he stuffed the rest of the pack into his bag, appreciating how empty it was without the souls inside it- a temporary feeling.

wilbur already felt like he'd wasted enough time, and got to work. bringing people to death's door wasn't exactly the easiest job.

he started with a car crash, wincing at the amount of shattered glass and blood everywhere. he fell sick to his stomach with a nasty feeling bubbling up in his throat. all those years dealing with death and it still never got easier to see the causes.

he held his scythe up slowly, shutting his eyes in a flinch. he thought of a thousand things all at once, trying to focus on one. they have to die. i have to put them out of their misery. they're dying because they have to, not because i chose to.

he took a breath, feeling like needles were going up his nose and into his lungs, and swung the weapon down.

it sunk through the person's body without struggle, opening up a passageway for him. he removed his scythe carefully, as if it would hurt them.

he sat on his knees next to the car. although his body was phantom-like against the gravel, he could still feel the roughness under him.

he held a cold hand to the person's back, trying to ignore how it looked to see the life drain from under their eyelids and filter out onto his palm. as soon as he could no longer feel a nauseating pull on his hand, he lifted it gently. he watched as the soul threaded directly off the person, catching onto his fingertips.

he didn't bother to take a closer look at it. the last thing he wanted was to remind himself that these people were actually human. he only took it in his palms, mushing it until it turned into a small circular shape. he put it in his bag, not caring to look at what else was in it.

wilbur would continue to follow through with that sequence throughout the day, as he usually did. scythe, hand, soul, bag. when he was growing up, mumza told him that he would be used to it in no time. but as "no time" passed, he still felt like throwing up after each day.

he made his way down the elevator, his shoulders stinging with the weight of his bag. the souls were practically weightless, but gathering so many into his bag made it sag down. he held his scythe with two hands, his arms being too sore to function properly on their own.

tommy was waiting for him at the steps of the palace, ignoring everyone lined up at the doors. his elbow was on his knee, and his face was being held up in his palm. he had been playing with a stone, trying to break it with his fingertips.

"wilbur," he automatically sprung up upon seeing his brother. he used to go in for hugs, however stopped shortly after wilbur started discussing how much he hated them. "mum wants to see you. says its important."

wilbur took time to react to his words, feeling like his bones weren't his. he only hummed an, "oh. okay," as he made his way up the steps, his feet barely dragging behind him.

"wait-" tommy called out, making wilbur almost freeze on cue. "i was.. i was wondering if you wanted to hang out by the fountain.. of wishes. the one up there. like- like we used to..?"

wilbur's breath stalled, stopping in his lungs. he'd barely even remembered it, but was holding back a smile at the memory.

that smile became easy to suppress as it slowly disappeared. he remembered all of it.

"mum doesn't want us talking to phil," was all wilbur muttered. he finally took a breath, his chest rising and falling with a sigh. "sorry."

"its not like that anymore!" tommy tried, throwing his hands up in the air in an almost child-like fashion. "they've changed, phil especially! i talked to him the other day, and-"

"mum doesn't want us talking to phil, tommy," he enunciated it slower this time. watching tommy's shoulders shrink, a sinking grayness fell over his face like a cloud was above him.

"yeah. okay," tommy sighed with a shake of his head. he played with the calloused skin on his fingers. "you're right."

wilbur stood there for a great deal of time. as much as it physically pained him, he felt a trapped sensation in his chest.

"tommy?" he spoke softly, barely enough for the both of them to hear. "you're a good kid."

he left before tommy could respond, expecting the boy to make some stupid remark about how soft he was turning. tommy didn't react that way, however. he stood alone on the steps, taking breaths watching as wilbur walked away.

wilbur made his way past the screaming, impatient people. he was always hateful towards loud noises as they made his skin crawl. he thought maybe that was the reason he hated the angel's voice so much.

there he went again thinking of that stupid angel. if he'd given her any more room in his mind, she'd have to pay the rent.

shaking his head from stupid thoughts, he called his mother's name, gaining her attention.

"wilbur," she spoke softly, her voice too tired from all the demons and ghosts she spoke to. her black hair hung over her face messily, but it was covered by a large lacy hat. "how are you?"

wilbur knew she wasn't actually curious about how he was feeling. it was just a filler for the missing years of his childhood.

"i'm doing well," a lie, "tommy said you wanted to talk to me?"

he saw his mother's face light up, as if she'd just remembered something blatantly obvious. wilbur could imagine her thoughts- "oh, thats my son, i forgot."

she fished for something on a table near her large throne. it looked more shiny than any angel's halo. damn it, why was he thinking about her again?

"here," she handed an envelope to him with her large hand. he hesitated in taking it. "the messenger said it was for you. you don't usually get mail, so i figured it was important."

wilbur stared at the wax seal, the intricate pattern almost painful to stare at for too long. "are you sure this is for me? im not-"

"im so sorry, wilbur," her eyebrows disappeared into the shape of her hat as she put a hand to her black gown. "i have to get going talking to these people," she motioned to the line in front of her. "i also have a super busy day. i have to-"

"its fine, mum," he cut her off just as she did to him. he couldn't feel any remorse for his lack of formality. "you're.. doing great."

he spared himself from the long speech his mother always gave about how busy she was. it was always a drag to hear. tommy said it was her way of indirectly apologizing for not giving him family meals- but wilbur always thought that if he was right, she would directly say it.

in all honesty, however, he missed being able to sit next to someone and eat something.

the black lipstick on her face formed into a smile. "thank you, wilbur," she sighed, her body already facing the demon she was talking to last. "and tell me what the letter is!"

"i will," another lie. he was really great at them because she could barely ever hear them.

as he was going to the soul sorter, he turned the letter over in his hand, squinting at the written address. it read, "hell's palace (if it's real! i've never been there but i've heard about it!) for wilbur!" with a bunch of hearts and smiley faces. wilbur felt himself go sick to the stomach, nearly tripping on himself.

it was probably that stupid angel trying to give him a pity letter that he didn't want. he scowled at the thought as he emptied his bag into the soul sorter.

that dumb little angel, who did she think she was? did she genuinely think that wilbur would soften up to her because of a little letter with hearts all over it?

but as wilbur was coming up with more mean adjectives, items had been rejected from the soul sorter, and fell out.

it was her flower crown and gummy worms.

wilbur felt his angered expression slowly fade away like sand in an hourglass. he stared at the objects on the ground by his feet.

he was reminded of her soft smile as she put the flower crown on his head, her gentle touches to his hair like he was delicate. or how she forced him to eat fucking gummy worms because of his health.

he could feel the tiniest sliver of a smile peeking out from the corners of his lips. no, what was he doing? that angel was always so judgemental of him. from the moment they first met, she was always criticizing his job and she was always being rude to him.

but, she still cared about him.

wilbur didn't know how to react to that thought. his stomach felt like it was clawing its way out of him, and that weird, warm feeling came back to his face. he hated it.

he bent over, picking up the flowers and gummy worms. he held them in his hands and under his robe, just in case someone saw him holding them.

he quickly went up the stairs, cutting the corner to his room so that no one saw him. he set the flowers, gummy worms, and letter on his desk, his hands propping him up. he stared, yet again, at the objects until he realized- he hadn't even opened her letter yet.

he took a sharp inhale, his fist pressed so hard against the table that he didn't even register the fact that his hands were shaking. he leaned back, taking the envelope with him.

sure enough, it was from her.

"dear wilbur!

hi! i hope this delivered to the right address. i thought mail would be easier in the afterlife, but it really isn't. i hope you're okay!! i hope you didn't hate the gummy worms too much and that you are taking care of yourself! get plenty of sleep please.

i was writing to ask if you wanted to meet me for ice cream! i asked phil, and he said that ice cream would melt in hell too, so i wanted to have some with you. i can show you all the good flavors and everything.

it would be tomorrow, i've listed the time and address below. i hope to see you there!

ps. you better come with a full eight hours of sleep!"

he read over the letter at least a thousand times, his eyes glazing all over the hearts and smiley faces that she used to punctuate each sentence. he felt like he was going to throw up his ugly, beating heart. he didn't know if he should write back or even show up.

it would be his first time properly eating in front of someone in a while, and the thought made him nervous, almost.

as if to taunt him, tommy burst into the room, the sudden loud noise making wilbur scream. he hid the letter on his desk behind him.

"woah," tommy put his hand up to almost shush wilbur, as if he were some wild tiger. "calm down, man."

"sorry-" wilbur straightened himself up, coughing out of awkwardness. he felt his skin melting off of him, and he wanted something to make the tense air easier. "tommy, can you cover for me tomorrow?"

oh god. was he really that desperate to start a conversation?

tommy's eyebrows disappeared into his golden tufts of hair, a confused look grazing his face. "you want me to what?"

"cover.. for me?" he couldn't even believe the words he was saying. "i have a.. thing tomorrow-" no he didn't. he wasn't gonna go. "and.. i need someone to do my job."

"what thing? its not like you have a.." tommy's words trailed off as he stared at his brother in terror. "do you?"

"do i have a what..?" wilbur spoke with confusion as tommy gawked at him. he stage whispered, as if someone were watching.

"do you have a date?"

wilbur's chest bloomed with an awful sensation, his heartbeat picking up and pounding against his ribs. "what? no, i-" he felt like his mouth was stuffed with tar and feathers. "no, of course not, tommy."

"okay! okay," the boy held his gloved hands up in defense, backing away from a powder keg in the form of his brother. "but, whatever it is, how do i cover for you?"

wilbur dropped his tensed shoulders. "you always talk about how easy my job seems, right?"

"what?" tommy screeched, his gold wings flinching with him. "but- but you're the prince of death and i'm the prince of life! how am i supposed to do that?"

wilbur felt his stomach churn at the comparison. he hated the way people would always say "the prince of death" like it would curse the next seven generations of life. his eyebrows furrowed like caterpillars above his eyes.

"then at least pretend that i'm working," he muttered. "it's gonna be easy. i'm sure mum won't even notice."

tommy's lips shifted as he bit the inside of his cheek. he knew wilbur was right. mumza barely said hi to him too.

"okay," tommy sighed as his shoulders fell in defeat. he pointed a finger at wilbur, "but you owe me big time!"

wilbur nodded in response, shooing tommy away with a flick of his hand. tommy listened (although not shutting the door properly), and left his brother alone in his room. the letter was still hidden behind him.

he sighed, feeling his lungs shrink intensely. he had no clue what to do or how to pull it off.

wilbur went to sleep earlier that night, trying to fulfill her promise to get eight hours of sleep. when he woke up, he could feel his bones almost moving on their own. it felt odd to not have the burden of being the soul taking grim reaper.

he looked at himself in the mirror. he looked nothing short of depressing.

he walked over to his closet, sighing as he was face to face with the same rotten black robes he wore. people always trashed on tommy for owning the same white, red sleeved shirt, but wilbur wasn't any better with his duplicates.

he groaned, his head falling in a near defeat. though, he could see a small glint of yellow. hesitating, he picked it up, taking off his cloak to put it on.

it was a really old sweater that phil got him many years ago. back before everything went down the gutter. he ran his thumb down the frayed material. by some miracle, it still fit him.

he looked at himself in his mirror, scowling when he saw who stared back. he looked nothing like how he usually did, and that slight bit of color changed him. the yellow fabric, even when old, still popped out more than his pale skin did.

still, something felt like it was missing. his glasses, maybe? he set the frames on his scrunched face, pushing it up his nose with the back of his hand. that didn't seem to work.

he looked over at his desk, his bottom lip plumped out as he thought. he gave a long stare to the flower crown, feeling his chest tighten and warm with a disgusting feeling. he picked up the flower crown- more delicately than he'd like to admit, and placed it on his tufts of brown as he stared at his reflection.

his mouth hung open. he looked completely different now. there were so many colors and shapes for him to process. and were the dark spots under his eyes really that prominent?

although, even with the wave of confusion, it felt almost comforting. he tried his best at a smile, but shook his head. too far.

wilbur shuffled through the underworld quickly, trying his best not to be seen- and especially not by quackity.

"tommy," quackity stage whispered, gaining the boy's attention. "what the hell's he doing?"

tommy took his place beside quackity, looking to where he was pointing. he scowled. "dude, i kid you not, he's got a fucking date."

quackity scoffed a laugh before looking at tommy. his face was still scrunched in disapproval, his wings idle behind him. quackity’s expression dropped. “wait- you’re serious? he’s actually got a date?”

“that’s what i’m thinking!” tommy’s voice screeched suddenly. he looked and sounded like a bird. “i’ve never seen him wearing something so.. colorful. and look at his fucking posture!”

they watched in amusement as wilbur jammed his finger on the elevator button, trying to get the doors open as he looked around frantically. he hadn’t even noticed, but his shoulders were in fact more pushed back.

he stared at his reflection in front of him, bringing a hand into his hair to even it out. flowers were still scattered around in his hair and it was as if he were producing a trail of petals behind him. he let out a groan as the doors finally parted, and he stepped in.

“who is it with?” quackity asked, holding his chin. his other hand was dug into his pocket. a small, rectangular figure lining the fabric. “do you know?”

tommy turned to quackity with a serious look on his face, as if he were speaking about a universe killing secret rather than who wilbur was eating ice cream with. “you didn’t hear it from me,” he emphasized his words, “but i keep overhearing this angel talking to phil about wilbur. its weird- especially when you think about how phil and wilbur think about each other.”

tommy grimaced at his own words. he could tell how much it cut the mood. it was practically taboo to say wilbur and phil’s name in the same sentence- let alone even mention phil in the underworld. even with tommy trying to get them to forgive each other, the thought of them ever eating at the same dinner table was unfathomable.

quackity interrupted the tension filled silence by asking the angel’s name. tommy gave it without a second thought, but eventually had to repeat it for quackity to properly hear. they were stood outside the pit of lost souls, a place that the forgotten demons would go. they served no purpose in hell as long as they were somehow remembered by someone on earth. it was always a loud area, having literal burning souls inside.

“huh..” quackity hummed, repeating the angel’s name again. “you think they’ll become a thing?”

“no, definitely not,” tommy huffed, laughing as if quackity was telling a knock-knock joke. “he’s too grumpy to actually function around another being.”

“i say give the guy some slack! he deserves at least a chance," quackity protested. "twenty bucks."

"you're betting on his love life?" tommy asked, but quackity stood still with a smirk on his face with his hand out. "fine. deal."

as they shook on their bet, tommy grumbled, his wings tensing up with him. a plan was forming itself in quackity’s mind, his hand patting the lining of his shorts.

“he’s probably up there making out with her right now.”

wilbur, in fact, was not. he was standing on the distant sidewalk, watching her from afar. she sat on the concrete with her legs crossed, looking like her mind was in another galaxy. wilbur on the other hand, stood with his clammy hands at his sides. his palms never sweat as badly as this, and it was making him unsettled. he tried his best to wipe his hands off on his sleeve, but it only made them damp and warm. he sucked in a breath, ignoring it and walking up towards her.

when he caught her eye, her never-ending smile only widened. she stood up to properly face him, looking at him from the top of his flower-ridden hair down to his shoes. “wilbur?”

“hi.. hi-” his voice cracked, and he tried to cover it up with a fake cough. now his throat wasn’t working. “um, i didn’t know.. i wasn’t sure if.. i-”

“you look really nice!” she interrupted, saving him the embarrassment. he let out a mix of a smile and a relieved sigh, muttering his thanks. “and it looks like you actually slept.”

“i did,” he mumbled, adjusting the collar of his bunchy sweater. suddenly, he could feel every texture touching his body. “eight hours.. just like you asked..”

“it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she giggled, and the noise stabbed wilbur a thousand times in the stomach.

“actually, it was,” he bit the inside of his cheek, rocking back and forth on his heels with nervousness. “my bed is a literal stone. i wish it were made out of feathers.”

“maybe your dream will come true some time! come on, let’s make a wish,” she tilted her head, closing her eyes and putting her palms together. “i wish wilbur’s bed was made out of feathers!”

“..is that gonna work?” he tilted his head in her direction.

“hm.. i don’t know. but i always like to try it,” she hummed with satisfaction, putting her hands back at her sides. “can i tell you a secret? i’ve always wanted to visit the fountain of wishes.”

the name rung a bell all the way in the back of wilbur’s mind. he remembered his father telling him stories every night about the fountain of wishes. he scowled at the thought of hin. phil would tell wilbur that his only wish was to meet a beautiful woman, but look where that got him.

“what would you wish for?” he asked, trying to shift the gears of his mind.

“i don’t know,” she said, contently, leaning forward to grab his hand. “maybe i’ll think of something later.”

wilbur flinched, something she didn’t see because she was dragging him into the store. he wondered if she could feel how damp and warm his palms were, but it looked like she didn’t mind. for some reason, their hands seemed to magically fit together like puzzle pieces.

his mind was churning again, thinking about the unknown feeling running through him. he felt suddenly aware of everything around him, and it was awful. yet, she kept giggling and smiling like it was just another day. he envied her power of optimism, even if it was the same thing he disliked about her.

uncomfortably, his mind felt as if he was put in a room of a thousand people, contributing and understanding each one of their conversations. as overwhelming as it was, it was how his brain regularly worked. how he somehow managed to get even an ounce of sleep every night, he'll never know.

his thoughts were unraveling before he could roll them back up, feeling tired of aimlessly following the long film of this and that and-

"do you have a favorite flavor?"

it all snapped away.

"uh- um, well, um-"

how was she able to do that?

"oh, right," she giggled. somehow, in the thousand person room that took place in his mind, her small laugh was the only thing bouncing off his skull. "you've never had ice cream before."

unable to process the sudden quiet of his mind, he simply shook his head. "n-no, i haven't."

"try this!" she held out a scoop of her favorite flavor and wilbur stared at it like it was a cure to the common cold.

shakily, he took it. even if it only existed as a transparent-phantom thing, he was surprised that it didn't slip out of his sweaty hands.

"do.. do i bite-"

"just give it a small lick. i know it'll be cold, but it'll taste good," her words felt like a small promise to him, the most comforting thing he'd heard in a while. yet, it was like talking about the weather to her.

god, what was the feeling? he couldn't exactly pinpoint it at all.

he followed her directions, scrunching his brows in a slight concern as he stuck his tongue out. she was right, it was cold. terribly cold. he thought his tongue would get stuck to it like in the old christmas movies tommy forced him to watch.

and yet, it tasted terribly good. it was such an unfamiliar feeling on his tongue, but it somehow had a certain kick that he enjoyed.

he smacked his lips a couple times, and nodded slightly, mumbling his words. "y-yeah, i like that one."

"great!" she spoke, going over to grab the ice cream scooper. the real thing stood still on the table, but the translucent version was in her hands as she scooped up some of the flavor. as long as she put it back in the right place, nothing would be messed up too badly.

as she finished up scooping her cone, she sighed dramatically. "oh gods, i forgot to get cash."

"you don't need to give him cash, angel, he won't even notice."

his tongue went numb- not from the ice cream, but from the small nickname he'd given her.

it was a small gesture, and he could probably play it off, but it stirred his intestines until he felt like throwing them up. he'd never willingly give someone a nickname. ever.

and the worst part? she noticed.

"did you call me angel?" she stopped her fit of panic over invisible cash to look at him, the corner of her mouth lifting in an asymmetrical smile.

"well- yeah, because you're.. you're an angel," wilbur stumbled, unable to pull something out of thin air. he's lied many times. to his mom, to tommy, to quackity. but for some reason lying to her didn't feel right on his tongue. "a-and you.. have a halo.. and stuff.."

she noticed how he fiddled with his fingers, and decided to spare him of the embarrassment by switching the topic to her day. she seemed passionate with talking about every small thing she'd done, and wilbur admired her attitude.

wilbur prided himself in his writing. his pen and paper were like a magical escape from his burdens. he had a specific way with words that would always get him praised by his parents when he was younger. but despite that, he was completely lost on a word to describe his feelings.

she dragged him back outside without a care in the world, looking around like she owned the place. she pointed to a bench, talking about how it was her favorite bench (to which wilbur began to wonder how one could have a favorite bench), and began guiding them towards it.

in the midst of her excitement, however, she made a wrong step on the curb and yelped. wilbur noticed this quickly, bringing a quick hand to her waist to catch her.

"woah, are you alright-?" he brought her back up carefully, checking to make sure that her and her ice cream were still intact. he checked both off in his mind.

"yeah- yeah i'm fine-" she muttered, and it was the first time he'd ever seen a glint of gloominess on her face. "sorry- that was embarrassing-"

"no need to be embarrassed," wilbur's tone was calm. not a monotone calm, but an assuring calm. one that was stranger to her too.

his hand remained still on her waist, his fingers trembling in such small beats. “wilbur?” her gaze slowly met his, and she could see a small droplet of worry beneath the pools of his irises. “can i tell you something?”

he nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing in such a concerned manner that it almost cut his forehead in half. with his hand still on her waist, he guided her carefully to the bench.

she looked at the pavement, her words coming out in a string of small mumbles that made him feel like they were the only two beings ever. just him, an angel, and a bench. “i don’t.. i don’t usually tell people this,” she fiddled with the hem of her dress, her wings draping over the back of the bench. “but.. the- the way i-i d..”

wilbur stared at the angel- the carefree, optimistic, happy angel; while she broke down bit by bit. he felt like he was almost breaking the law, that he wasn’t allowed to see such a sight. but most importantly, he felt like he needed to help.

he was always gentle, there was no denying it. he spent a lot of time as a child examining bugs (which he called “friends”) and making sure they were okay. and the urge to care for anything in need grew with him, even as everything else changed.

he noticed that his hand was still on her hip, and he drew her closer to his body. the small gesture made her startled, but she quickly grew accustomed to his touch. she felt safe, and wilbur knew that.

she took a deep breath, and spoke. “we were playing a game of hide-and-seek,” she whispered, “i-i was always clumsy, everyone made fun of me.. nobody..”

her words trailed off again, and wilbur felt his heart aching. “nobody..?”

“nobody really.. liked.. me,” she huffed, her face turning away from him. he could tell that she didn’t speak about this much. “everyone hated me, actually. like you do..”

his heart was wrapped in thorns.

it was the clearest thing she’d said. like she had so much time to think about it and deduct it. he wanted to say something, wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and scream at her. but he didn’t. he couldn’t- he felt paralyzed.

“i guess i tripped and fell or something, a-and i-” a bile swelled her throat. “it hurt. a lot. i was- i was screaming and crying for help b-but everyone ignored me. except for..”

her head lifted as she looked at him. it was the type of look in which he could study each pigment on her face, and he’d be able to use the rosiness of her cheeks to paint a breathtaking portrait.

“except for you.”

she smiled. and even through tears, her expression lit up the earth.

“me?” he whispered softly.

immediately, she nodded. she was so close to his face that she could see a tiny cut to the right of his adam’s apple. she suppressed a giggle as she thought about him struggling to shave, making all sorts of faces into his mirror.

“i was so scared and alone.. and then you came along with your big scythe and your scary hood. and you plunged your scythe into me chest- gods, i was so scared,” she giggled briefly at the thought, but her expression was genuine. “but you gave me peace.”

she leaned closer, wanting to wrap her arms around him and die a second time like that. but she knew he’d hate it.

“it was all i wanted in that moment.”

his eyes were droopy, staring from her left eye, to her right, and down at her parted lips. she was nothing short of beautiful. looking at her for that long felt like a mere privilege, forcing him to be speechless.. he squeezed her hip tighter just to hold her.

“i.. i wanted to thank you..” she whispered, so quiet that her vocal chords barely buzzed.

in his peripheral vision, he noticed how her eyelids fluttered softly. his sight blurred as she leaned in closer, and-

“but you always hated me.”

she leaned back in the seat, and wilbur’s disappointment split him in two. she was right there- right fucking there, but she was so out of reach. the only barrier? his own loathing. the irony of hating his hatred felt like a stab wound to his thorn-crowned heart.

and the worst part; she was unphased.

wilbur gulped as a stack of words piled themselves in his throat. that nasty, overwhelming feeling running through him again. “angel, i-”

“so, what’s your favorite color?” she asked in a light tone, licking at her ice cream.

a wave of dismay washed over his face. he couldn’t think. “t-teal?”

“really? i wouldn’t have guessed that,” she swung her legs beneath the bench, clearly unbothered by wilbur’s confusion. “you don’t really dress like a teal-lover. do you think the moon is real?"

what?

"no, bad question. hmm. what’s your favorite band?”

his heart fell into the pit of his stomach, thorns poking at his sides creating a terrible sting on his abdomen. he opened his mouth to speak- maybe cry and release his feelings; but nothing came up. not even an answer to her stupid question. it was nauseating.

she began talking about the sort of music she liked, but none of it struck his brain. he felt sick. he wanted to scream and sob and punch something. but he sat still like he was posing for a renaissance painting.

“hey, that reminds me,” she stood up abruptly, pointing her finger upwards, despite going unnoticed by wilbur. “i gotta get cash for the ice cream man! i’ll be right back.”

he didn’t even realize she spoke, even when she was repeating his name and trying to get his attention.

why was he disappointed at the lost opportunity? why did he want to curl up in a ball and tug his hair out? what was that stupid feeling that was haunting him all afternoon? it was tearing him apart limb by limb. what was the word, what was-

oh.

it was love. he loved her. it was as simple as a four letter word.

the last time he told someone he loved them, he was begging his father not to leave. as he watched the man- the god- his father walk away, he realized that the word meant nothing. it only brought him pain; and if he didn't love, he didn't have to feel that agony.

his stomach turned, breathing becoming alarmingly shallow. too many memories flushed his mind, and his throat tightened.

"hello? wilbur?"

"don't come back." he stood up suddenly, ice cream falling to the ground next to him.

"what?" she flinched, staring up at him with terror on her face that he didn't even read. he was so blinded by his anger. the light of her halo flickered.

"i said, don't come back." it was almost a subconscious thing, how he lifted his hand into his hair and threw the flower crown onto the sidewalk. right next to his ice cream.

his throat burned harshly. all of his muscles tensed up in such a way that definitely wasn't healthy. he could barely even hear his own words through the pounding in his ears, and he most importantly couldn't hear her heart ripping in two.

"wilbur-"

"stop. stop this. stop following me everywhere, stop- stop acting like you care-" his hands balled up into fists at his sides, "stop everything! i never want to see you again!"

and that was all that was needed for her to turn around and fly off, and that was all that he needed for him to realize what a complete moron he was.

his walk home was nothing short of shameful. and this time he walked through hell with messy flower petals in his hair and a stupid yellow sweater and dumb tears in his eyes.

he didn't realize that quackity, a man who was about to lose twenty dollars, was watching him from afar. he cursed under his breath, biting his bottom lip until his hand brushed against his pocket.

tommy's keycard.

he looked at himself in the reflection of a lava pool, making all sorts of scrunchy and over dramatic faces. he experimented with the way the hood fell over his hair and how it made his furrowed eyebrows look.

he made his way to the elevator, admiring how the scythe looked when he tossed it around in his hands. and when it asked for a confirmation of identity, he pulled out the keycard, swiping it before anyone could see.

he'd continue to try to do tricks with the scythe until he got to the top, waving a hand to the guard until he realized he had to stay in character. his lips suddenly pursed and his eyes became hooded.

to his delight, an angel was there waiting for him.

"wilbur-" she stood up suddenly, her hands shaking at her sides. the light in her tear filled eyes was nearly gone, the glow of her halo barely there. "i wanted to a-apologize-"

"come with me," he spoke, as monotone as he could. his hand reached out towards her, and she hesitantly took it.

with uncertainty written all over her face, she spoke nervously. "where.. where are we going-?"

"i want to make up for what.. happened.. last night.." he muttered, dragging her underground.

she held her flickering halo carefully as they zoomed to the elevator, watching him jam the buttons with his finger. she'd never seen someone so eager.

as soon as the doors parted, he forced her inside with such an anticipation she couldn't pinpoint. it made her feel uneasy, how weird he had been acting.

"wilbur?" her voice came out as more of a squeak, taking his other hand in hers. she looked right at him with swelled eyelids. "this.. this isn't a trick, is it?"

his eyes widened, eyebrows unknotting a crease on his forehead. "what?" he practically laughed, "why- why would it be a trick?"

"i don't know.. you just seem.." her voice wavered, eye contact faltering. "nevermind, it's stupid."

"look at me, love," the nickname was.. new. "i don't want to hurt you. i'm gonna make everything up, okay?"

she hummed an agreement, eyes fluttering to make contact with his. his face was soft, just like the other night. but something seemed missing.

"i wanna show you everything about my home," the excitement in his voice was almost raw. "i live in a palace, did you know that?"

"i didn't," she smiled, a forced one. "are you gonna show me around?"

at that, the elevator's doors opened, and she was hit with a sudden wave of heat that nearly made her fall over.

and he almost didn't catch her.

tears started to swell up her eyes as she clung onto his arm, nails digging into broken fabric. soft yelps came out of her mouth.

"love, are you alright?" he spoke worriedly, and the amount of emotion in his voice made her even more lightheaded.

"i-i am-" she whispered, getting back onto her feet. "its just- y'know- what.. what i told you last night..?"

he nodded his head, a soft "oh" coming out of his mouth. but it didn't seem like an ounce of actual empathy lied behind his eyes. a tint of red glazed it instead. she felt odd.

did he not remember? or did he choose not to?

when she was able to walk properly, he led her around. if it wasn't for the burning pit in her stomach, she'd be extremely excited. but she had a feeling that something deeper was lying under the lava pools.

"this is the palace," he sighed, gesturing to the building. "isn't it cool?"

"it is.." she muttered. this awe, she could not fake. the large, intricate structures of gold and red and the occasional fire bounced off her glassy eyes. "can we go inside? maybe you can show me your room-"

"i.." he stiffened up suddenly. "i don't think that's a good idea."

"oh.." she muttered, trying to read his firm facial expression. but she couldn't.

a thick silence fell upon them. the only noticeable thing was how her halo flicked on and off with inconsistent beats.

"hey, i have to.. do something.. how about you stay here until i'm finished, okay? maybe you can talk to my mom or.. or talk to the hellhounds," his voice was unconvincing, but she still nodded, even as disappointed as she was.

and she watched him walk away, turning the corner away from her. she couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of disgust rummaging through her. the constant stares of demons around her didn't make anything better.

her feelings were mixed. maybe he's having a good day or- or maybe he's really considering peace between them.

but what if it really was a trick?

her soft facial expressions fell into her lap, weighing her options. she always sought to find the good in people, always trying and trying to think positive. but even after she revealed everything- everything she couldn't admit out loud, he turned her away. and there was no right explanation for that, no matter how beautiful his palace was.

she straightened up, fists clenched at her sides. she wasn't going to take it. after going through so much of his hatred for so long, she didn't like him practically making fun of her death. she hated it.

she was going to look for him and tell him all of her raw feelings.

as he rounded the corner, his back hit the wall and his knees failed. his breathing was labored as he ran a blackened hand through his changing hair. he could feel the skin literally crawl off of him, and he was delighted to have his normal look back.

quackity sighed against the wall, catching up to his quickened breath. "now all he has to do is find her. and they're forced to make up. and i win my twenty bucks," he muttered under his lips. "god, quackity, you genius."

his laughs felt amazing to churn out. pretending to be wilbur was exhausting him to the core, but it was worth each and every penny of the twenty dollars he'd be receiving soon.

but, through all of his buzzing victory, he didn't notice an angry little angel looking for a certain grim reaper. he didn't notice her stomping around with her fists clenched at her sides.

and he definitely didn't notice her tripping and falling into the pit of lost souls.

wilbur's day went on horribly.

he didn't get any sleep. not that this was any different from usual; but this time his night was spent tossing and turning in his stone bed trying to think of how he was going to talk to her.

his bones ached when he got up, and no amount of stretches could heal the knot in his neck.

work was even worse. especially considering the fact that everytime he heard some sort of high pitched noise, he'd think it was a little angel fluttering her wings at him, and then he'd be able say the speech he had written up in his mind.

he was regretting his word choice of "i never want to see you again" on top of his regret for the rest of his blown out word vomit.

but as he walked from the elevator to his palace, he couldn't help but hear a sort of cry for help. and it sounded oddly similar to the angel's.

"wilbur? w-wilbur.. i know- i know you hate me but this- this hurts -"

was it?

"its not fffunny anymore- i know you got your kick out of tricking- me- but this is- ow!"

it couldn't be.

"i won't bother you again! i promise! just please- let- let me out of here- help me.. please..? it's- it's -"

he'd been hearing her voice in his head all day in somewhat intervals. but this felt more real, more raw.

he stumbled on his feet. he knew where it was coming from. he heard noises of desperate cries from it everyday, but the thought that this might be real? it scared him to his core.

worry rushed over him quicker than second thought, and he rushed over to the pit of lost souls in a panic. hoarse, raspy screams of "angel!" flew out of his throat as he scrambled to climb the volcano-like structure.

she still had a lot of questions for wilbur.

not the type of, "what's your favorite color?" or "what's your favorite band?" questions. more like, "wilbur? hello? please help- this hurts- are you still there?"

and she was starting to lose hope in the fact that those questions might be answered.

one things for sure; her curiosity will be the death of her.

unless he's got the courage to do something about it.

11.4k || 8.12.23 || masterlist here!

taglist (dm or send an ask to be added!) — @sixofshadowandbone @theoneandonlyyeti @harbingerofheartbreak @starsyoubreaklikesugardust @mcr-pr-fob @sapphic-soot @flynn-thebin @puppyburbites @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @merakiaes @aimi-chann @axthrial @lololol00 @deadphantomsociety @hometown-smile @qweengigi @kisstheskin

thank you so much for your read, i appreciate all of the support <33 a part two is indeed coming soon!! stay tuned

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kadextra · 5 months

Text

There is lots of qsmp lore current unknowns/loose ends, but tonight I ended up thinking about the things that aren’t

So! this is a list of qsmp resolved lore plot points, answers & things we have learned :D

More than one island exists

Quesadilla island is in point nemo

There are multiple factions present on quesadilla island - federation, rebellion, capybaras

The duck is the federation manager

There are multiple different cucuruchos - cucurucho, osito, ourson, oscurucho(?)

Elquackity and q!Quackity are different people

The nether is capable of exploring, and the federation goes there. but the portal technology is not stabilized (pluto’s gate, also what walter bob & the rebellion said)

Federation workers have a hierarchy of ranks and different specializations

The federation ran tests/experiments on the eggs and also people

The federation did lots of hybrid experiments

There is more unnamed eggs out there (egg A1, hope egg)

There is more named eggs out there (sunny, empanada, pepito)

The resistance/rebellion faction has been doing hidden operations on quesadilla island, the codes and masked guy who gave sofia’s blueprints are a part of it

Many workers of the federation are secretly a part of the rebellion too (like walter bob)

The rebellion was who helped q!Bagi and q!Cellbit recover their memories of being twins who lived on quesadilla island before

Codes can shapeshift into eggs

Codes are able to go rogue and develop individuality (codeflippa)

Code infection is a thing

There is at least two abnormal unaffiliated entities that exist- oscurucho and the eye guy

The eye guy took over “egg island” and renamed it to purgatory, using it to make the islanders suffer. you can take a train there and also sail on a boat

The wheel spins & dice rolls were all related to purgatory and the eggs

Little eye cyclops creature species exists on egg island

Shadow virus infection is a thing

The effects of the happy pills/risus potion and how to create the antidote

q!Dan, q!Spreen & q!Max are canonically dead

Spirits can return on día de los muertos

q!Bad is a demon and grim reaper

Ron did not get eaten, he lives on beautiful real estate with a cat

Soul infection is a thing

q!Baghera is a hybrid created by the federation

q!Fit was sent to quesadilla island from 2b2t on a mission

q!Wilbur when he’s gone performs with q!Lovejoy off the island to collect funds for the federation

Mr. Mustard was alive just invisible

q!Cellbit was the worker murderer

q!Cellbit and f!Cell are still the same person

q!Jaiden worked with the cucuruchos before

q!Slime can canonically shapeshift bc he’s slime

q!Pol worked with the federation to produce videos in the past

Cucurucho has a house

those are just all the ones off the top of my head, feel free to add what you remember too ^^

#qsmp #qsmp lore #so much of this was theories but we got the answers #there is a lot unknown but I also think it’s important to remember the stuff that Was unknown but is now… known #if you get what I mean #we’ve come a long way #qsmp summary

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twisted-tales-of-all · 6 months

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First and Last Dance

Summary: After dying, you refuse to follow your reaper into the afterlife before experiencing what sex feels like. Pairing: Park Seonghwa x afab!Reader Genre: Smut, Horror, One-Shot Tropes: virgin!reader, grim reaper!AU, first and last time Word Count: 2.4K Contains: mild corruption kink, mentions of alcohol and drugs, discussion of dying in a fire, waking up disoriented, memory loss, cursing, pet names (sweetheart, love, baby girl, sir), unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), marking, praise, multiple orgasms, fingering (f. receiving)

"Ugh," you groan as you wake up, gripping your head tight thanks to your hangover. "Fuck, did I really do that much last night?"

Looking around with squinting eyes, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. The dark grey walls and black-out curtains certainly help your headache, but you can't remember how you got here or where here even is.

The creak of the door draws your attention. In walks a beautiful man with hair like raven feathers and an outfit matching the dark room. Quickly, your brain runs through an empty shelf of memories, trying to figure out whether you did something with this gorgeous man and forgot. Patting your body, you find all your clothes on your body, but not quite intact. Noticing holes in the fabric, you push down the covers to figure out the damage. Strangely, you find scorch marks all over your shirt - a burned hem cutting its original length, small holes with blackened edges from sparks flying onto the flammable fabric, even a full sleeve missing.

Before you can ask about the night prior, the stranger speaks, "You probably don't remember. That tends to happen." He pulls a chair closer to the bed, sitting back and relaxing. As if running on a script, he rallies off information, "Last night, you were at a party. An accident happened, where someone dropped a lit cigarette into some spilled alcohol. Not very many people survived, as the alcohol fire spread quickly and most of the party goers were impaired by the various drugs and alcoholic drinks."

A fire? You remember everyone's screams shifting from excited to terrified, but can't remember the flames themselves. With that big of a disaster, you wouldn't have expected to forget, even under the influence.

"At least I made it out safe."

"You didn't, Y/N." The man reveals with a look of boredom on his face, "That's why I'm here. My name is Seonghwa, and I'm a reaper. It is my job to collect the newly deceased and lead you into the afterlife."

"No."

Finally showing emotion in his reaction, Seonghwa doesn't know what to say, frozen in shock. Nobody has outright denied him like this. They've fought, cried, cursed him, and even struck him, but nobody has had your composure to simply say no.

"I can't die yet. I haven't done so many things. I've barely even hugged people I found attractive. What about my first kiss, my first time? Or traveling with someone I love? I can't die when I haven't done any of that. Send me back."

There it is. A line Seonghwa's heard time and time again. But this time, it's framed differently. No first kiss? Seonghwa empathizes with you, as a reaper who often wonders of the joys of living. Reapers, of course, weren't granted that chance; forged by the gods of death with the sole purpose of easing their jobs, reapers often face a tedious, repetitive life. Most were okay with it, as that is all they ever knew, but everyone hears stories of those driven crazy after too many interactions with humans.

"I cannot send you back. You're already dead, and that's out of my powers. I simply lead you to the proper afterlife."

Your posture drops as he explains this. All you ever wanted was a sweet love story in your life, and now it won't happen. Despite this, your urge to at least try something still rages within you. So much so that you don't even try to stop yourself from asking Seonghwa a desperate question.

"Could you show me what love is like? Or at least let me feel what it's like to kiss and touch someone?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected request, Seonghwa forgets his words for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly. You look at him, anticipating his answer and hoping he'll give in.

"You want to kiss me? To touch me?"

"Why not? You have a pretty face, a nice voice, and probably a body sculpted by gods. Why wouldn't I? You seem nice, too."

Something in the naivety of your words pulls at him. Urges he didn't know he held surface as you pout at him, and he can't stop himself from wanting to show you everything he can before leading you to your final resting place. Here, in the confines of these smoke-colored walls where time stands still and everything lies in limbo, Seonghwa breaks his personal protocol to indulge in something dark bubbling inside him. Without saying another word, he pushes himself off the chair and kisses you. He moves so fast that you can't catch your breath before his lips are mingling roughly with yours. Your hands find their way to his chest while his snake behind you, one on your upper back and the other resting on your hip.

He brings you closer, tightening the gap. As you both pant out in breaks from the sloppy kiss, your body heats up. Although you're certain you can't be kissing very well based on how much more work he's doing, he doesn't seem to pay it any mind. His luscious lips overtake yours with ease, you feel every movement amplified. The moment his cold hands slide under the remaining fabric covering you, it feels so enticing against your hot body, cooling your back down with a simple touch. Slowly, you find him guiding you to lie on the bed. He hovers above you, looking down on you as he appreciates the look on your face - a look begging for more but not knowing what that might entail; a mix of fear and longing.

Your innocence spurs him on more than he thought possible; even just seeing you looking at him and trying to steady your breathing drives him insane. His usually loose pants much more snug thanks to his erection, Seonghwa refuses to hold himself back. With a quick swipe of his hand, your shirt rips apart, revealing your bare stomach and beautifully adorned chest. With a deep growl and another swipe, your pants fall to the sides of your legs, leaving you lying under him in your matching bra and panty set.

"What a wonderful color on you." His hand lingers on your waist as he admires how well the color of your underwear suits your skin tone, "I almost don't want to rip it off of you. Almost."

Leaning in, Seonghwa leaves kisses all over your uncovered body, marking you in places he knows will feel best for you - under your ear, along your collarbone, on both hips, right above the covered portion of your chest. Although his kisses are soft, his marks turn aggressive as he sucks hard and even bites down on some spots.

Along with the rough marking, his hands make quick work of the little remaining fabric on your body. When his lips reach fabric, he quickly works to remove it. Unlike before, he takes care not to rip apart your undergarments, bringing a temporary sense of kindness to his actions. Unbeknownst to you, he's careful with them so he can hold onto them after you leave him - a souvenir of sorts. That kindness doesn't last long, not when your naked body is on full display for him. Looking down at you, he can feel himself salivate at your inexperience as it leaves you slightly covering yourself in nervousness. His eyes darken before he moves further down the bed, spreading your legs to place his face snuggly between them.

"Y-You don't have to-"

"Sweetheart," he growls as he peeks up at you, "What fun would it be if I didn't show you everything?"

Kissing and nibbling the skin on your inner thigh, his silky black hair prickles against your other leg. The closeness of the sensations to your throbbing core makes you squirm involuntarily. Feeling him chuckle against your thigh, your hands fly to your face as it heats up from the embarrassment. After giving both thighs plenty of attention, he centers himself, proud to see you soaking already. Running a finger through your folds, he uses your arousal to coat his fingers before sliding them inside you, one at a time. At the first insertion, your body tenses in response to the newfound sensation. You expected that you'd feel similar to when you do it, but the angle, the size, the speed - everything feels so different. He moves the finger in and out before adding his second one, stretching your tense body out some more.

He kisses your thigh as his fingers curl inside of you, "Relax, sweetheart. Believe me, it'll feel so much better when you untense yourself. Breathe. Enjoy it."

At his coaxing, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Letting yourself relax, you notice the knots in your body fading, replaced with the intense warmth of your core and the slow, intoxicating movement of his fingers inside you. Noticing this, Seonghwa leans in, swirling his tongue around your folds and quickly finding your clit. He's careful and calculated in his movements here, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet. But he knows exactly how to work you up, and you feel something build inside you. You recognize this feeling and let your hips grind against him as you chase after the high you desire. He flattens his tongue against your clit, the roughness and pressure sending you over the edge. He continues curling his fingers perfectly inside you as you ride through your orgasm, the feeling rippling through you.

Slowly removing his fingers from you, you wince at the emptiness, but he caresses your cheek and shushes you as he lifts himself again. Dragging his shirt over his head, you gawk at his torso. He's slim but well-built. Not quite six-pack well, but the soft lines running down his abs look better without the added dimension. You lift your hand to drag your fingertips over his body, but he's too busy tearing his pants down to give you a chance. Your gaze drops as he moves, drawn to his cock standing tall and proud. You were right - he's definitely sculpted by gods, and whoever made him needed to be worshipped even more. How could a dick be good-looking? Everything you'd seen before was not for looking, but his looked delicious, curving upward slightly and built to spread someone open in the best ways.

While you're busy gawking at him, he climbs above you again. Grabbing your jaw roughly and forcing your gaze back to his face, he smirks.

"My face is up here, love. What could possibly be better to look at than this face?"

Crashing his lips against yours again, he doesn't need to hear an answer. Holding himself up with one arm, he moves a hand between his legs. Grabbing himself, he coats his length in your fluids by rubbing himself between your folds. The small touches leave you begging for more as he pulls his lips off of yours.

"Please... I need it."

"Oh? You need it? What a gorgeous sentence to fall from your breathless lips. Well, let me oblige."

Lining his tip up with your entrance, he slowly pushes in, stretching you out even with such a small amount. Growling with a clenched jaw, he manages to keep his pace despite wanting to bury himself entirely inside you. After a painfully long wait, he bottoms out inside of you. His length brings tears to your eyes, but they don't overflow. The burning stretch shifts away after a while, but your breath remains caught in your throat.

Pecking your lips and rubbing your cheek with his knuckles, he praises you, "You're doing so well. You can take all of me. Good job, baby girl. Let me know when you're ready."

His kind words calm you down, allowing your breathing to return to you. when the burn fades completely and your body adjusts to his size, you wiggle a bit, urging movement.

"Use your words, sweetheart. Are you ready?"

"Yessir. Please move."

Once again, your innocence feeds his urge to ruin you entirely. With your sweet voice and naivety of what it'll feel like when he moves, he throws out his plan to ease you into everything. Pulling back slowly, he slams into you, his hips hitting your thighs on impact. He keeps going at this pace, roughly slamming into you again and again. Your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth falls open, noises messily leaving your lips as your brain muddles. His hands grip your thighs, fingernails digging into your flesh as he uses his grip to pull you into him. Filling the room with the sounds of sex, Seonghwa's head falls back for a moment as he enjoys the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

"Seonghwa," his name falls softly from your lips, "I'm gonna-"

Unable to finish your sentence as your orgasm crashes upon you, Seonghwa groans at the sensation of you finishing around him. He picks up his pace, sloppily pounding into you as he chases his own high. Leaning forward into you, his head falls into the crook of your neck, teeth gripping onto your skin as he finishes inside you. Feeling the warm liquid shooting into you, you feel strangely complete, as if all you needed to feel alive again was a grim reaper's cum.

As Seonghwa lies on top of you, your collective pants now the only sounds in the small room, you thank him for obliging in your silly request. The embarrassment of begging a total stranger to take your virginity finally hits you, so you add a small apology at the end.

Brushing your hair with his fingertips, he replies, "Don't apologize. Thank you for letting me be your experience, it awakened and quelled a desire I didn't realize I had."

"'Your experience,' that's funny. Since it's my first and last, right? You'll be all I know." You poke fun at the situation in front of you, trying to relieve the nerves slowly gathering about the afterlife.

"Good." He growls out deeply. "Keep it that way. It makes me so happy knowing that you really are all mine."

Tags: @dimpledsatan-recs @mo0nbeams

#cultofdionysusnet #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop smut #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut

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deathbxnny · 13 hours

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Alrighty cool, thank you for clearing that up (and in such a timely manner too)!

So, lemme cook here... with some Angst + Hurt/Comfort >:D

Arlecchino with a Fem!S/O who's the "Mother" to the children of the House. She was among the survivors of the previous Knave's regime over the House of Hearth. With her and Arle having had perhaps a kind of mutual crush that was only truly pursued after Arle killed "mother".

Basically, the scenario for the request is when Arlecchino' and her's S/O are taking care of one of the kids of the House after they're badly injured after a mission, and... needles to say... they don't make it. And during when Arle and S/O are visiting the kid's grave to pay their respect's, S/O begins to muse "you'd think I'd be used to having to bury children, after..." before starting to break down.

Ooooh, I love your brain, Anon!! Thank you so much for this great request!! I have to admit that whilst writing this, I actually liked the idea of making this super angsty and kind of bitter (like most of my fics lmao-) so I hope you like it despite the lack of comfort anyway-

Content: Heavy angst, vague mentions of past child abuse, murder, death, reader is Female and referred to as "Mother/wife", mentions of heavy injuries and blood, controlling behavior from/ooc Arlecchino?, kind of bitter ending, children dying, grief Reader has she/her pronouns ((Not proofread!!!))

Buried angels and that odd wish to live. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

In a way, you often wondered why the young ones often wished to live when they knew that their end was nearing. Their eyes would widen, breaths becoming sharper and shorter, mouths closing and opening in panic before they'd whisper those words you had heard so many times. Their deaths always followed closely after, eyes dimming, their soul finally disappearing with the blown out candles, the sweet scent mingling with the smell of blood and burnt flesh. In the light of the moon filtering through an open window, you'd see the grim reaper staring at you in mirrors and your crimson stained palms, a thoughtful look on her face, one asking a simple question she might forever ask you.

"What did you expect?"

And you'd reply by looking away from your own image, away from the guilt and self-doubt and into the eyes of the woman who made all these children utter that odd wish in the first place.

Your hands shook, held up high as you peered into the crime of a mother who couldn't save her child, raised as though pleading for the forgivness of a god that was mightier than the one you worked for. One that was less cruel, despite the heart everyone claimed she had. And yet, they were enveloped by a towel instead, that wiped away the sins and hurt, even if just for a moment. "There is... nothing we could have done to save her, Mother." Lyney whispered quietly to you, perhaps afraid of being too loud and disturbing someone who couldn't even ever bother to hear him anymore. He tried to be reassuring, but it did little when you just couldn't look away from your wife.

Arlecchino. The Knave. A highly ranked harbinger, whose heart always belonged to you from the start, although with great difficulties that took you years to overcome.

The first time she made you stain your hands with blood was when she killed the woman that raised you two, the first and only woman you ever called "Mother." Although the gentleness and nurturing part of her title was just a simple facade, it still shaped you both greately. You had sworn to do better, to become a better mother to all the children you both took in after marriage and Arlecchino... she seemed to have trned against that title. She believed that being a "father" was more fitting. The right way to raise the children of the Hearth family. Cold and detached, yet firm and guiding.

It made you opposites at times. Painfully different opposites. You became a secret haven of safety for the children, a place they can hide away in, whenever their "Father's" wrath came after them. And you've fought so hard to be this gentle. You killed, murdered, slaughtered your way out of fate. You dragged yourself out of hell, you bled, you cried endless tears. You wanted to prove that you could do better and you ultimately did now... or so you thought. You began doubting it years ago, and it's what made you find their wish to live so odd. Was it an instinct, or did they actually view their life's with you two as desirable, something to live for, when all they did in the end was suffer?

"Mother." Lyney said again, this time a little louder, this time enough to make you glance up at him. His face was a blurry shadow, the light falling over his shoulders and illuminating his head like a halo, as he pushed the towel rather hastily into a nearby laundry basket. You'd never get the stains out, and so it would most likely be thrown away, perhaps burried with the young girl. "Let's... get you cleaned up, okay? I... we will take care of the rest." The change in his wording made you press your lips together. It wasn't anyone's job to do this except your own, and for a moment, you imagined yourself curling up next to the child that died crying and begging for you to save it.

You stood up only barely on shaking knees, trembling hand reaching out to close the small girls eyes, and you could feel the cold tears and skin stinging your palm. "It is alright, Lyney. Your father and I will take care of her ourselves..." You looked over your shoulder at the woman who had yet to move or say anything ever since she silently entered the room a while ago. You could see the cold glint of her eyes in the dark, her face otherwise covered by the shadows as she sat calmy and collected in her chair. She knew it was over the moment the girl was brought in by a couple of Fatui agents, th failure of her mission being crystal clear by the deep wounds and burns on her body. She never stood a chance. She wasn't experienced enough, not skilled enough. But the weak get eaten, as the Knave would often say.

Lyney gave you a hesitant look, his mouth opening to protest before he stilled at his Father crossing his legs expectantly. He understood the silent order. "... Ofcourse, Mother. Call my name if there is anything I can do for you." He said, a hand on his chest as he bowed before quickly taking his leave. When the door creaked open, you could have sworn to see the flickers of Lynette and Freminet staring back at you solemnly before they disappeared in the presence of their brother. You stared at the closed door for an unknown while, nearly zoning out, until you let out a shaky sigh. "Make her grave beautiful, perhaps with a blue ribbon attached to it. She loved those." You muttered, the exhaustion finally hitting you full force and making you feel faint. Your body felt heavy, feet dragging across the floor as you also made your exit, the only awknowledgement you received being in the form of the woman leaning her head against her palm idly whilst she closed those cursed eyes of hers.

---

There wasn't much of a funeral for the child.

A couple Fatui agents simply made a hole in the ground like they did with all the others and then lowered the small casket into it, before tossing dirt back in until it disappeared and only the stone with her was left as proof that the child ever even existed. It was a routine at this point, one everyone was used to. Everyone but you. Perhaps the years had made you soft. Perhaps the love and gentleness you gave these children had made you weak. But here you were, standing under the rain and staring at the grave for hours now, unmoving. The water had drenched through your clothes, ran down your face, made you shiver from the cold, despite feeling too numb to fully realise that. Arlecchino stood at your side, an umbrella laying in the wet dirt by her heeled feet from when you pushed it out of her hands and away from you defiantly.

The silence was deafening, filled with the constant tapping of water against your clothes, the metal on the Knave's uniform, and the stone of the sea of graves around you. "How many..." You whispered weakly, trying to form words through incoherent thoughts and the lack of sleep you've had lately. "... do I have to see die before it's enough?" Arlecchino said nothing, and you were nearly convinced that she didn't hear you if it wasn't for her hand twitching.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, a hand covering your face, trying to ease the pain that plagued you deeply. "You'd think that I'd be used to burying children by now... but I... it hurts me." You didn't want to break. In fact, you had never broken before. But as you stood there amongst the many angels that you burried, the many angels that had all once stained your hands red, you began to wonder why you ever even agreed to this. You weren't like your wife. You couldn't be a "Father". You just didn't want to be one.

You buried your face into your hands, imagining the suffocating feeling of their final wish being the same as the pain of strangulation. They reached for the skies and reached for freedom they could only brush shortly with their fingertips before they were covered in dirt to never see what they desperately yearned for again.

"We always took pride in having become something better, different than her... and yet look at us, Peruere! We just became exact copies of her instead! Oh, the shame!" You whispered through strained sobs, voice distorted as you crumbled to the ground in guilt. You had been defeated, and yet Arlecchino still stood so tall, her eyes staring at your shivering and trembling form. She didn't say a word, or perhaps she didn't know what to say. "How many children will you make me stain my hands for?" You asked finally, but the silence told you all.

Peruere loved the children you raised together. But Arlecchino, the Knave, had an objective, a mission. Eat or be eaten, a reality that even hurt her deep down. And yet the curse she had since birth prevented her from feeling it any further than a passing acknowledgement.

"... Stand up, (Y/N). We need to get home... our children await us." She simply responded after your heavy breaths became shallow, and you simply laid there limply at the foot of the grave. But her voice conveyed a certain gentleness she only ever extends to you. It was like the warmth of a summer rain, refreshing and light as it rippled through your heart. With swollen eyes, you watched her reach an ungloved hand out to you, her gaze expectant and yet so unreadable. You felt like a child that powered itself out after a tantrum, the exhaustion and defeat crippling your soul, when you finally just took her hand after what felt like a long moment of consideration.

She hummed a gentle praise against your ear as you slumped against her, face pressed to her shoulder whilst you trembled now from the cold that nipped at your skin through your drenched clothes. Arlecchino wrapped an arm around you, her pensive and yet still so stern gaze drifting through the graveyard filled with those buried angels, as you often called them. Perhaps it was a moment of calm reflection, that made her grab onto your face and wipe away a tear.

"You are nothing like her." And yet, the Knave didn't deny that she might have fallen to her fate herself. Just not you. Never you. "These tears, this hurt you speak of, they are all proof of it. You shed tears for them, for us. Only a good mother could do such a thing." The words she spoke had a deep meaning, one only you two understood, and that made your heart flutter. You looked away, trying your best not to burst into tears again at the tragedy of the situation, but it was so hard when Arlecchino got like this. She only rarely showcased such blatant affection, such blatant declaration of her deep yet rather complicated love for you as her wife. "Please... Let's go home..." You simply whispered, which made her nod in approval.

You gazed up at the skies as you walked away, sunlight beginning to filter through the thick clouds and making you frown bitterly as it warmed your face. Arlecchino's hand meanwhile rested against your back, her watchful eyes gliding across the endless meadows you passed by, and for a moment, she could hear her children laughing, squealing and frolicking through the tall grass. They chased each other in a game of tag, running as fast as they could away from the two of you, over a hill and into what the Knave imagined to be their freedom far from her cold and stern ways. She cracked a bitter smile, one of acceptance as she glanced down at your tired, silently crying and trembling form.

Arlecchino was perhaps wrong after all. Maybe in the end the children did need a loving, nurturing mother instead.

What a shame, that it was too late to go back now.

Alright, so this took me all day to write, and I'm not sure if it's good, because I'm still very sick... but I still hope you liked this, Anon, and thank you again for the request!!!<33

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin arlecchino #genshin arlecchino x reader #arleccino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin

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