𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ; striker x reader

𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙙𝙚𝙬.

the collective gasp of awe that swept through the crowd was mirrored in your own awestruck expression. the sight before you was nothing short of breathtaking—a testament to the boundless power and beauty that existed within the depths of hell itself. for a fleeting moment, you were transported away from your worries and insecurities, fully immersed in the splendor of this celestial spectacle.

as the crowd oohed and aahed in wonder, you couldn't help but join in, overcome by the sheer magnificence of the scene unfolding before your eyes.

so there you stood, beneath the comforting shade, a spectator in this grand theater of the damned. the harvest moon's radiant glow washed over you.

you lingered beneath the comforting shade, savoring the lingering warmth and tranquility that enveloped you. as the crowd gradually dispersed, the once-thriving space transformed into a quiet oasis, with only a few stragglers remaining. eventually, the solitude pulled you back to reality, prompting you to rise from your reverie.

the weariness that permeated your bones became all too apparent as you contemplated the long journey home. the thought of trudging through the darkness, navigating winding paths and treacherous terrain, weighed heavily on your fatigued form. seeking respite, you decided to opt for a nearby motel instead.

arriving at the motel, you approached the front desk, the scent of stale air and worn carpet mingling in the dimly lit space. weary eyes met yours as the receptionist acknowledged your presence, and with a simple exchange, you obtained the key to your room. climbing the worn staircase to the second floor, each step resonated with a soft creak, echoing the weariness that burdened your every move.

as you pushed open the door, the odor of neglect and mustiness greeted your senses. the room had certainly seen better days, with worn-out furniture and faded wallpaper that seemed to match your own sense of weariness. you discarded your belongings, allowing your body to collapse onto the bed, its lumpy mattress providing little respite for your tired frame. the pervasive smell threatened to invade your senses, but you resolved to ignore it, reminding yourself that this was just a temporary stop along your journey.

lying on your back, you found yourself staring up at the cracked ceiling, lost in your own thoughts. the weariness that had consumed you earlier began to morph into hunger pangs, gnawing at your stomach with an insistent intensity. you knew you should eat, nourish yourself after a long day, but the guilt and self-doubt that plagued your mind made it difficult to muster the will.

with a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed and shuffled towards the small bathroom, where a modest mirror hung on the wall. as you gazed at your reflection, a mix of disappointment and resignation washed over you. the reflection staring back seemed unfamiliar, a mere shadow of what you believed yourself to be. how had things come to this? did you even deserve to be seen, to be real?

you brought your hands to your face, feeling the roughness of your skin beneath your fingertips. it was a tactile reminder of your own existence, grounding you in the reality of your flawed and worn-out form. with a lingering frown, you turned away from the mirror, convinced that you didn't deserve the nourishment your body craved.

but then, your stomach rumbled with a newfound insistence. the hunger persisted. maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself have a small snack.

a small snack.

as you stepped out of the bathroom, and into your room, you opened the door and your eyes caught sight of a figure across the dimly lit hallway. it took a moment for your mind to process what you were seeing, but the shock that rippled through you was undeniable—it was striker, turning the doorknob and casually strolling into a room adjacent to yours.