~Your POV~
I'm on a walk in the park, looking for something to draw, sketchbook and pencil bag in hand. I see a man with black hair, a black t-shirt, jeans, and black converse standing by a beautiful cherry blossom tree. I sit on a bench, eager to draw the sakura flowers. I let my pencil glide along the paper, drawing every little detail. It's not long before I notice that the figure is watching me draw. He comes and sits next to me so that he can see what I'm drawing, but I don't let him distract me. When I finish and start to walk back home, I trip on one of the sakura tree's roots and start to fall, pain shooting up my ankle. Before I can hit the ground, the figure from earlier rushes over at inhuman speed and catches me. I look up and, realizing who-or rather, what-he is, struggle to get away. His grip refuses to loosed, so I swing a fist at him, punching him square in the jaw. He grabs the arm I used to hit himand twists it around my back, making me inhale sharply in pain. I thought I saw something in his eyes, something like guilt, but it was only there for a millisecond, and I write it off as my overactive imagination. "Let go of me!" I shout, arm still twisted at a painful angle. I struggle until he finally gives in, letting go of my arm and then of me. I stand on my own, putting my weight on my uninjured leg, and glare at him. I shout, "I know who you are, or what you are, or whatever! What are you doing here? How are you even real?" He smirks and says, "No wonder you were so scared. I've always been real, darling. I come to this park often, actually, to get some peace and quiet." I try to back away, but yelp as I put pressure on my twisted ankle. His face softens as he gives me a caring smile. "Would you like some help getting home?" he asks. I scowl at him as I reply, "Thanks, but no thanks." I try to walk away again, but this time my injured ankle buckles under the weight and I fall into his arms again. I scoff and push him away. "I don't need your help," I sneer. His gaze hardens into a small glare as he says, "Well at least let me do something." He picks up a small branch and, with magic that's as dark as space, turns it into a sturdy walking stick. I take it from him begrudgingly and walk away with it, not bothering to thank him. I walk the two blocks back to my house, making as little contact as possible with the branch. I continue using for support as I unlock the door to my small house, then toss the stick on the ground. The stick turns to liquid and is absorbed into the ground, a black rose taking it's place. Tentatively, I pluck the rose from the ground, and head inside with it. I get my crutches from when I broke my knee as a teenager and find a vase for the rose which reminds me of the demon who helped me. Why, in the wide world of mine, would he be nice to me?
YOU ARE READING
Darkiplier X Reader
De Todo[Discontinued] You saw a strange figure who looked similar to a youtuber you watch in the park one day. That was about a month ago, and you couldn't help but wonder about the stranger.
