Fairy Tail One-Shots (xReader)

Gajeel x Reader~ Roses in the Wind

"Broken Hearts are Fatal" prompt.
Slight gore? ... ✔️
(Staged) hostage scene? ... ✔️
These are trigger warnings, so stay safe and don't read if you don't want to!
~~
Blood.

The red liquid coated my white dress, splattering it in brilliant crimson. A frown crested my lipstick-ridden lips. It was; after all, my favorite dress. Made my job much easier at times. And he just ruined it!

"(Y-Y/n)," the man wheezed, desperately reaching towards me with one feeble hand. "Tell me it isn't true."

An innocent smile broke out on my face. I elevated my pitch into a sweet, sheepish little whisper. Hope glimmered in his eyes. The same hope they all had- their last. I almost hate to see it go, I thought ruthlessly.

"But why would I?" I pouted, pressing a finger to my lips. "I never loved you, and that's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you, dear."

A cough wracked his body. Blood began to drip from the corner of his mouth, ruining his nice mauve suit. To think he had tried so hard to impress me. It was pathetic; really, for him to think he could have. Not somebody like him. He was another notch in my belt, another tally to my board.

I gently wrapped my fingers around his chin. He allowed me to tilt his face up to meet my own. His eyes were losing luster now, but I had to make sure. My client wouldn't be satisfied if he made it out alive. The man's pupils lulled back in his head. A shuddering gasp raked through his lungs.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," I cooed. "You weren't the first, and won't be the last."

His body hit the tiles like a ton of bricks. The air fled his lungs, and I stood up once more. My eyes looked towards my dress with a scowl. Blood had splashed over the white. There would be quite the number of stains. I sighed, eyes rolling. Oh well.

I crawled behind his lifeless corpse, raking my fingers through my hair until it was messed. The sleeve of my light dress had been shrugged down. For an added touch, I dipped my fingers in the blood pooling on the floor and lightly splattered it over my collar bone. Good enough. Now, the stage was set.

An ear-piercing scream erupted from my throat. Pregnant silence ensued, followed shortly by panic and numerous footsteps. Crocodile tears- utterly fake, of course- flowed down my cheeks. The door to the closet flung open. Men and women alike stood at ready.

"Ma'am, what happened?" One ask, obviously horrified.

"We-We snuck away for some privacy, but he started to-to talk about his ex-wife," I sobbed, coddling my victim. "He started to cry, and-" a sob rasped from my throat.

The restaurant patrons drug me away from the closet. They whispered pity and encouragement, utterly blind to the less-than-obvious truth. As they always were. I had been in this line of business for years. There was nobody above me, not competition. When it came to heart-breaking and assassination, I was the best there was.

The flames hungrily consumed my white dress. I watched as the fibers unraveled one by one before my very eyes. A troubled sigh escaped my lungs. To my left, my client sat in a fold-out chair. Black limousines full of personal body guards lined the deserted forest road.

"A fine job as always, Mrs. (L/n)," my client laughed jovially. I molded my face into one of offended confusion. Did he expect any less?