#╰ → ｡ running from your history ; river. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

candycandy00 · 7 months ago

Note

congrats on 2k!! Character: Gojo AU Setting: Mascarade Level: NSFW Mood: Writer's choice Kinks: Praise and Spanking

Once Upon a Time - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! First up is Cinderella starring Gojo! You met Prince Gojo as a child and fell in love, but you’re sure he doesn’t remember you. When you’re forced to take your stepsister’s place as his “pleasure” for the evening, you’ll get your reunion, but it might not be what you hoped for.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Fairytale AU. Gojo as Prince Charming. Reader as Cinderella. Dubcon. Coercion. Oral. Spanking. Rough sex. Light bondage. Mentions of abuse by the wicked stepmother and stepsisters.

Any and all feedback would be appreciated so much! There will probably be three parts. Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear.

The crowds are bigger than usual today as you walk along the cobblestone street, carrying a bag of items you bought at the local market. You’re in a hurry to get home and start dinner before your stepmother gets angry. If you’re even a few minutes late, she’ll either take the rod to your arms or not allow you to eat.

Someone in the crowd calls out, “Look, there he is!” Another voice, feminine, excitedly yells, “Prince Gojo!”

The sound of his name stops you cold in the middle of the street. You look out across the river of people, across the roadway reserved for carriages. On the opposite street, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms, you spot him.

He’s difficult to miss. Taller than everyone else nearby, with stark white hair, flawless skin, and crystal blue eyes brighter than the sun. He’s smiling and waving at the people as he makes his way down the street.

You can’t help stopping to watch, dinner be damned, because you and the prince have history. Even if you’re certain he doesn’t remember it.

You were ten, he was twelve, and you didn’t even realize he was the prince. He’d introduced himself as Satoru when he found you ducked behind a set of stone steps leading to a flower shop in the town square. You had run away from your house after the first time your stepmother used a rod to beat welts into your arms and hands. You were crying, covered in marks and bruises, still grieving over the recent loss of your father.

That’s when a radiant boy with an angelic smile appeared, asking you what was wrong. You were embarrassed to be seen that way, so you wiped your face and said you were fine.

“You don’t look fine,” he’d said. “Want me to help you?”

You couldn’t fathom how a boy so close to your age could help you, but you were glad that someone wanted to. Soon after, you heard voices calling out the name he’d given you, and he blanched. “Ugh, that’s my nanny,” he said with a grimace. Then he looked straight at you with those beautiful clear eyes and said, “You ran away from home too, right? Let’s run away together!”

Satoru took your hand and pulled you out from behind the steps, dragging you along with him as he ran down the street. As a child, at that moment, you thought you were actually free of the abuse you endured at home. Satoru was going to take you far away, and you’d never come back.

Of course, you were both children, so running away together meant making it to the edge of the woods and playing among the trees for a few hours. You held hands and danced beneath the shade of the forest canopy, chased a rabbit that refused to let you pet it, pretended to be a princess that he rescued from an imaginary ogre, and laughed together under the setting sun.

It was the most wonderful day you’d ever had, until you both got hungry. When he suggested going back, your heart sank, but even at that age you understood the reality of your situation.

Back in town, you stopped in front of a fancy boutique and looked through the display window. It was full of dazzling dresses, hats, and jewelry. But what drew your attention most was the pair of delicate glass slippers, with their shiny inlaid stones and lovely shape.

Satoru stood beside you. “Do you like those?”

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, staring at them longingly. You’d seen them there many times before, and you spent every available moment standing in front of that window, enjoying the view.

Satoru disappeared, and a few seconds later a lady came to the other side of the window and retrieved the slippers. You watched in shock as Satoru walked out of the boutique with a package in his hands. He reached it to you. “Here. We probably won’t see each other again for a long time, but maybe these can cheer you up when I’m not around.”

You opened the package, already knowing yet not believing what was inside. Those beautiful shoes were in your hands! Even though you didn’t fully understand how valuable they were, you did grasp that not just anyone could walk in and buy them. “But… they cost a lot of money, don’t they?”

He grinned. “That’s no problem for me. And I know they’re too big for you now, so when you’re older, and they fit you, come see me. I’ll make sure you never cry again!”

You hugged the shoes to your chest as you looked up at him. “How will I find you? Do you live nearby?”

He laughed. “Oh, you’ll find me. Trust me.”

At that moment, a royal guard appeared, looking a bit frazzled. “There you are! The whole castle is in a state of panic, Your Highness! Where have you been?”

Satoru shrugged. “I was just playing with my friend.”

The guard called to another passing guard, “I found Prince Gojo!”

Your eyes went wide as you realized exactly who you’d been playing with all day. As the guards led him away, he looked back at you over his shoulder and winked.

From that moment on, you have been deeply, madly, in love with Prince Gojo.

When you got home that night, you managed to hide the shoes before your stepmother found you and punished you severely. You knew she would either take them for one of her own daughters who were slightly older than you, or sell them.

Occasionally, when you’re certain that no one will see, you pull the shoes out and admire them. They make you think of Satoru, of his beautiful crystal eyes. You’ve been trying them on for years, and now that you’ve grown up, they fit you perfectly.

He told you to find him, but you know exactly where he is. At this very moment, he’s only feet away from you. But the reality you’ve come to accept, one he probably didn’t realize himself as a child, is that someone like you could never approach the crown prince. You’re the daughter of a minor lord who died years ago, leaving his meager fortune to his wife, your stepmother, who only shares enough with you to keep you alive. You have nothing but shabby old dresses to wear, and you smell of sweat and hard work.

No, best to simply love him from afar, to long for him, ache for him, but never reach out to him.

As you watch, he disappears into a cafe, two of his guards following and the rest remaining outside to keep the crowd from storming the place. Prince Gojo is extremely popular with the common people, especially since his father has basically turned most of the ruling duties over to him. Poverty is rare, crime is even rarer. Prince Gojo’s policies have benefitted everyone. Add to that his otherworldly beauty and his friendly personality, and you have a monarch that’s beloved by all.

A few times a month, he comes to the small town surrounding his castle and spends all day and evening there. He interacts with the people, hears their concerns, and patronizes local businesses. You’ve heard whispered rumors that he invites pretty young noblewomen to his room at the inn. Your heart burns to think of him with other women, so you try not to think about it at all. You’ve also heard that he’s being encouraged to take a wife soon. You try to think even less about that.

In the end, you make it home ten minutes late, and your stepmother gives you ten lashings across your extended arms with the rod. You barely flinch when the rod connects with your skin. You’re used to it by now. Even though you’re an adult now, you have no means of surviving without her support. She controls your father’s estate after all. You have no choice but to endure her abuse.

While you cook dinner, your two stepsisters sit at the table, demanding to know when you’ll be finished.

“Just a few more minutes,” you tell them, stirring the pot of stew on the stove before checking the bread in the oven.

“It better not be longer than that,” one of them says, “or we’ll tell mother you’re slacking off!”

The other laughs loudly. “So hurry it up, Cinderella!”

You wince. Cinderella isn’t your name. It’s a cruel nickname your stepsisters gave you after you cleaned the fireplace one day and emerged covered in dirt and cinders.

Without another word to them, you finish dinner. When your stepmother joins them at the table, you serve all three of them bowls of soup, along with fresh buttered bread, and then take your much smaller serving to your tiny bedroom to eat alone.

*************************

Prince Gojo is sitting in one of the finest restaurants in town. The food doesn’t compare to the luxurious dishes he’s served at the castle, but he enjoys trying new dishes. He smiles to the cook who brought out his plate.

“It looks delicious!” he tells the elderly man.

The man beams with pride. “Thank you so much, Your Highness! We’ve prepared a special dessert for you as well. Please let us know when you’re ready to try it.”

Gojo grins at him. “That sounds great! I appreciate your kindness!”

Once the man walks away, Gojo looks across the table at his friend-turned-advisor. “So? Do you have things lined up for me tonight?”

Geto Suguru smiles as he takes a bite of his own meal and slowly chews, then wipes his mouth. “Not yet, but I will by nightfall. Just enjoy your dinner and stop being horny for five minutes.”

Prince Gojo laughs. “You know I can’t do that! I don’t know why you don’t pick a girl for yourself. I see the way they look at you. They’d probably rather sleep with you than me!”

Geto shakes his head. “You bring enough drama to my life already. I don’t need romantic entanglements making it worse.”

Gojo lowers his voice. “Romance has nothing to do with it. Just unmarried adults enjoying each other’s bodies for the evening.”

“Regardless, I’ll pass for now,” Geto says. He takes another bite, swallows, then asks, “Do you still want the lady I bring to wear a mask?”

“Of course. When I’m in town looking out over my loyal subjects, I don’t want to be recognizing faces and remembering fucking their brains out.”

Gojo says it in an airy, careless way, but it’s important to him. It would be too awkward to climb out of his carriage and see a dozen faces he’s covered in his cum.

He’s been inviting ladies from town to visit him at the inn for a few years now. When he first came of age, he started going to high end brothels. But his presence in such places caused a scene every time, and he felt too exposed to try some of the more… daring activities he was interested in. The last thing he needed was a bunch of vulgar rumors going around about him.

It had been his friend Geto’s idea to invite noble ladies to privately visit his room at the inn. Being a rich, handsome prince who is actively searching for a wife means there’s no shortage of women throwing themselves at him. But he had stipulations: no women under age twenty, no married women, and no women who were not excited to be there.

Geto does the selecting and vetting, keeping a keen eye out for any hints of someone being pressured or coerced. If he gets even the faintest whiff of something like that going on, he shuts it down immediately. That’s why Gojo can relax and enjoy himself, even if the ladies pretend to be shy or reserved at first.

Prince Gojo signals for the old man who owns the restaurant. “Sir, I’m ready for my dessert now!” he calls, then he gives Geto a sly grin. “At least my first dessert of the evening.”

*************************

Later that night, after you’ve cleaned the kitchen, tended the fireplace, and sewed a loose button back onto your stepsister’s coat, you finally sit down for the night and pull out a tattered old book to read. You’ve read it dozens of times, but it’s one of your favorites.

You only make it a few pages in before your door bursts open. Your stepmother gives you a stern look and says, “Come to the kitchen. Now.”

This is somewhat unusual for her, as the woman is normally in bed by this hour. You wonder what’s going on as you walk into the kitchen behind her and find both your stepsisters sitting at the table. One of them looks upset and the other looks worried.

Your stepmother walks over to stand behind them. She puts one hand on the shoulder of the one who looks angry. “We have a situation that needs resolving,” the older woman says, lightly rubbing her daughter’s arm. “This little fool volunteered to go see the Prince at the inn tonight.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. Your voice sounds tiny and hollow when you say, “What?”

“Obviously she’s not going,” your stepmother says, and you feel a sense of relief.

The stepsister turns to look at her mother. “But I want to go see the Prince! He’s so handsome!”

There’s fury in her eyes as your stepmother says, “No daughter of mine is going to be a whore, even for the Prince.”

Your stepsister frowns. “I’m an adult! I can do as I please!”

“Not while you live under my roof!” your stepmother says firmly. “Now we have to do something to fix this. Changing your mind suddenly would anger the Prince, and we do not want to risk his wrath.”

Without really thinking, you speak up. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person to get angry about that.”

Your stepmother glares at you. “Stupid girl! What would you know about the Prince? He’s a man, and they’re all insatiable beasts! No, the only way to salvage this night is to send someone in my daughter’s place,” she says, looking at you pointedly.

No. No no no. She can’t be thinking of sending you, can she? You don’t know which scenario is more horrific: your abusive stepsister being intimate with the man you’ve loved for most of your life, or you having to be intimate with him while he doesn’t know or care about you at all. You’ve never even been touched by a man before. “I can’t,” you say weakly. “Please don’t make me do this.”

Your stepsister looks between you and her mother. “You’re going to send her?! Cinderella?! That’s not fair! I want to be the one who goes!”

An outburst like that from you would have earned you at least fifty lashes, but your stepmother merely gives her a warning look and says, “Think about what you’re saying. The Prince will sully her, use her up, and then toss her aside. She’ll be forgotten by morning. Do you really want that for yourself?”

You feel tears in your eyes, and your heart is pounding wildly. Is that really what will happen? You’d rather die. You’ve dreamed of the Prince making love to you since you were a teenager with blossoming desires, but if it’s just hollow, loveless sex from his perspective… you can’t imagine anything more unbearable.

“I won’t do it,” you say, surprising yourself. You’ll take however many lashes you have to. You can’t endure having your heart broken in such a way.

Your stepmother looks at you with cold eyes. “You’ll do it or you’ll get out of my house. Right this minute. I’ll cut you off completely.”

You’re stunned by the threat. This is your house! You were born here, all your memories of your father are here. You sometimes go into his untouched study just to feel his lingering presence. The thought of being locked out, with nowhere to go, while these people lounge around in your family home, fills you with both sorrow and rage.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

You’re given one of your stepsister’s dresses to wear. It doesn’t fit perfectly but it looks much better than the rags you normally wear. Before dressing, you wash with rose-scented soap, fix your hair as best you can, and even dab on a bit of your stepsister’s lip color. Before leaving, you glance at the small cupboard in your room where the glass slippers are hidden in a brown cloth bag behind some books.

Would he remember you if you wear them? Would the sight of them stir some distant hazy memory of a pitiful little girl he was nice to once? You open the cupboard and pull out the bag, clutching it in your hands. If they could make him feel anything at all for you, even just a tiny spark of nostalgic affection, maybe you could endure this.

You carry the nondescript bag with you as you walk out the door, not wanting your stepmother to see them. There’s a carriage waiting for your stepsister outside, but you’re the one who climbs in. You change out your plain satin slippers for the ones made of glass, praying they will give you strength.

When the carriage arrives at the inn, a guard helps you out and directs you to go inside. Your heart is like a hammer in your chest. You’re finally going to be face to face with the man you’ve longed for all these years.

And he’s going to have no idea who you are.

The inside of the inn is cozy, not too lavish, but clean and comfortable. There’s a welcome room, with a desk set up to accept guests. There’s a set of wooden stairs going to the upper floor, which itself creates a balcony over looking the welcome area. You can see rows of doors from down here, and you wonder which one Prince Gojo is waiting in.

Another guard ushers you up the stairs. You walk very carefully, afraid of damaging the glass shoes. At the top, a door opens and you see the Prince’s advisor, Geto Suguru. You’ve seen him often in town, almost always by Prince Gojo’s side. He gestures for you to come inside, so you do, finding yourself in a room much larger than you expected. There are two chairs, and Geto takes one while telling you to take the other.

As you walk across the wooden floor, your shoes make more noise than you intended. Geto looks down at them.

“Glass slippers? How unusual,” he says before his eyes flick upwards to study your face. “What’s your name?”

You feel a stab of panic. Should you give your stepsister’s name? Or would you get in trouble for lying? “Um, would it be alright if I use a nickname?”

“Of course.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Then call me Cinderella.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, but says nothing more about it. “I’d like to discuss some rules before you go to see the Prince,” he says. When you nod, he continues. “You are not to discuss anything that happens in the Prince’s room, with anyone. Even your family. The Prince has some rather… eccentric tastes, so some of the activities he engages in might seem strange or perverse. You are welcome to refuse these activities if they make you uncomfortable. If at any time you decide you don’t want to do something, simply tell him to stop, firmly and clearly. Our Prince may be a ravenous beast, but he’s still a gentleman. He will treat you as a lady and respect your wishes.”

You feel a bit of relief to hear that, though you wonder if word would somehow get back to your stepmother if you refused to sleep with the Prince.

“Do you understand?” Geto asks, watching your face intently.

You fidget in the chair. “Yes, I understand.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at you. Then, “Did you come here by your own choice?”

You look up at him in alarm. Does he know? How could he? You have to cover for yourself somehow. “I want to see the Prince,” you say, and the honest emotion in that statement gives your voice an earnest edge.

“I see,” he says, then he stands up. He pulls something from a pouch and hands it to you. It’s a lovely silk mask in the shape of a butterfly. “The Prince insists you wear a mask to protect your own identity. It’s to help you feel less self conscious.”

You hold the mask in your hands for a moment before pulling it on, tying the ribbons behind your head to secure it. You’re not sure how you feel about it. He definitely won’t recognize you now, but there was almost zero chance of that happening anyway.

When ready, Geto opens the door and leads you out, then to the next door over. He knocks three times, then opens the door. “Go on in,” he tells you with a charming smile.

You take a deep breath, willing your hands not to shake and your heart not to race. Then you walk into the Prince’s room, Geto behind you.

Prince Gojo is sitting on the bed, but he stands up when you enter. Here in front of him, you can see just how tall he’s grown over the years. With a start, you realize this is the closest you’ve been to him since that day when two children held hands and danced in the woods. His face is even more beautiful up close, his eyes even more striking. And he’s wearing that same easy going smile you loved when you first met him.

“Allow me to present Miss Cinderella,”

Geto says.

“Cinderella? That’s a unique name,” Gojo says, those eyes you love so much looking right at you.

“Th-thank you, Your Highness,” you say, lowering your head in a tiny bow. He spoke to you! And you spoke to him!

Looking at the floor, you notice that the room is covered by an ornate rug. That’s why your shoes made no noise. You hope he notices them, but so far his eyes seem to be drawn to your chest and your hips.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cinderella,” he says, looking at your eyes through the holes in your mask. “Let’s enjoy each other’s company tonight.”

You nod, too nervous to speak again. Beside you, Geto laughs breezily. “Don’t be so shy. The Prince does bite, but I’m told it feels marvelous.”

Prince Gojo frowns at him. “Suguru! Don’t say things that might give her the wrong idea!”

Geto shrugs, then says, “I’ll take my leave now. You two have fun.”

Prince Gojo is smiling at you. “We definitely will.”

Before leaving, Geto’s eyes shift to your feet for a moment, then back to your face. He leans closer to you and says in a quiet voice, “I hope your Prince is everything you’ve dreamed of.” And then he’s gone, sweeping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

Now alone with the Prince, you feel your nerves becoming increasingly frayed. He steps closer to you, probably eager to begin. He’s a healthy man in his prime, after all. You’re still looking down, afraid to meet his gaze. His eyes are so piercing, they scare you.

Suddenly you feel his hand on your face, and he gently tilts your head up so that you have to look at him. “Are you actually frightened?” he asks, the self assured grin from before gone. “Or are you just shy?”

“I’m just shy, Your Highness,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice from quivering. “I volunteered of my own accord.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “Now just relax, and I’ll take you to heaven.”

You blink up at him, feeling heat spread over your skin. “O-okay.”

He leans forward, and you think he might kiss you, but instead his head dips and he kisses your neck. “Take off your clothes,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shiver at his touch, your nerves practically on fire now. He steps back to give you space, and begins unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. With a feeling of defeat, you step out of the glass slippers and sit them aside. You glance over to see that he didn’t even seem to notice them. He’s too busy pulling the belt off his pants.

With his shirt now open, you can see his finely toned chest and abdomen. He looks like he was carved from stone. You blush furiously as your fingers fumble with the buttons and ties on the bodice of your dress. You’ve never worn it before tonight, so you’re unfamiliar with its various closures.

Prince Gojo steps close again and helps you with the dress. You can’t help noticing that his hands seem practiced and skilled at opening women’s dresses. When he’s done, you’re left in your thin but modest slip, feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been. The fabric is white, nearly sheer, with thin straps at your shoulders. It hangs to your knees, and beneath it is only a pair of panties.

He doesn’t remove your slip right away, perhaps giving you more time due to your shyness, but his large warm hands glide over your body as he kisses your throat again.

You can’t keep yourself from trembling at the feel of his soft lips pressed against your skin. He draws back to look at you, at what’s visible of your face beneath the mask. His thumb traces over your red lips, painted with your stepsister’s lipstick.

He wears the most angelic expression as he looks down into your eyes and says, “I’m gonna cum in this pretty little mouth.”

You draw in a sharp breath, your heart pounding so hard you’re certain he can hear it. Before you can say anything in response, he’s tugging your arm to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down. He spreads his thighs apart, gives you a sultry look, and says, “Kneel for your Prince.”

Part of you wants to flee from the room and never look back. But another part wants to do literally anything he says. Caught between these two urges, you ease yourself down to your knees before him. He opens his pants and reaches one hand in to pull out his stiff, hard cock. You stare at it, comparing it to all the silly daydreams you entertained over the years, trying to imagine what it looks like. Somehow, it’s even more magnificent than you pictured in your mind. Tall and pale and beautiful, like him, with a tip flushed slightly pink. It’s much bigger than you thought it would be, though it’s also the first one you’ve ever seen outside of crude drawings.

He reaches down and takes one of your hands, then pulls it to his thick shaft. Your fingers curl around it carefully, and he moves your hand up and down. “There, just like that,” he says, releasing your hand so that you’re stroking him on your own. It feels strange. You assumed a cock would be a bit more delicate. You’d seen boys fall over in pain if they were hit there, after all. But Prince Gojo’s is sturdy, firm, strong. You notice the tip is glistening, and you lean forward slightly to get a better look.

“Why don’t you have a taste?” he asks, staring down at you, a casual smile on his lips.

Your eyes shift nervously from his beautiful face to his leaking cock. You lick the edges of your lips, forgetting the lipstick you’re not used to wearing. Then you extend your tongue and flick it lightly over his tip, smearing some of the clear fluid. It tastes different from what you expected. Not bad or gross at all. It simply tastes like him. You give another feathery lick, then another, and then you feel his hand on your head, patting it.

“You’re adorable,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. “Now open wide and take my cock down your throat.”

You flinch at the words. Hearing such vulgar things being said in his lovely, pleasant voice is making your head spin. But you do as you’re told, opening your mouth widely. And as he pulls your head forward, you feel his hard cock slide between your lips and rest on your tongue.

Yet another act you imagined countless times. And now, you have the cock of the man you love in your mouth, so instinct takes over. Your tongue moves, licking the meaty shaft and drenching it in your saliva, helping it to ease further in. Your lips finally reach the base, creating a red ring there as you struggle to breathe through your nose. He fills your whole mouth, and much of your throat. It’s uncomfortable, but you’ve dreamed of having him in your mouth for so long, you don’t mind the ache.

You feel confused as you begin bobbing your head, moving up and down his length with your lips. The Prince you’ve longed for is using your mouth for his own pleasure, not really caring who you are. But this is your only chance to touch him, to taste him. Should you just let go of your romantic dreams and let yourself enjoy the physical sensations? Can you even separate the two?

After a while, Prince Gojo takes hold of your hair and pulls your head back, not harshly but firmly. “Mouth open, tongue out,” he says, “and don’t spill any, Cinderella.”

On your knees in front of him, you open your lips and let your tongue hang partially out of your mouth as you look up at him. Your lips are quivering, your eyes glassy, as he strokes himself a few more times before shooting ropes of sticky cum onto your tongue. Most of it slides into your open mouth, but some drip down your chin. Reflexively, you catch some of it with your fingers and lick them clean.

This cum is precious to you. It’s proof you pleased him, and it comes from your beloved. You feel the need to savor it. You glance up to find the Prince staring at you with slightly widened eyes, lips parted, a pink tint to his face as he watches you enjoy his seed.

For a moment he doesn’t say a word, seeming almost transfixed, but then he laughs and says, “Oh no, you spilled a few drops. Looks like you disobeyed your Prince! How shall I punish you?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you tell him, still licking your lips to gather any cum you missed.

He stands up, then helps you to your feet. “To start with, let’s get rid of this,” he says, sliding your slip up your body and over your head. His eyes move to your bare breasts, making you blush again, but then he reaches forward and pulls your panties down to your ankles. You step out of them somewhat clumsily, trying to keep your legs together.

Taking his seat on the bed again, the Prince takes a moment to look you up and down. Your face is burning with embarrassment. The Prince is seeing every inch of you!

After a moment, he takes hold of your arm and pulls you toward him. He’s still wearing his unbuttoned shirt and his pants, making you feel even more exposed. You allow him to move and maneuver your body however he wants, and soon you’re in the most humiliating position of your life: lying face down, your naked body draped across his lap.

He pulls your wrists together behind your back, holding them in place with just one hand while his other hand rubs over your ass. When he squeezes the flesh there, you give a tiny squeak of surprise. You can’t see his face from this position, but you hear him laugh. It’s a sound you’ve always adored. Then you hear his smooth voice, a little deeper than usual, say, “So cute and helpless. So many things I could do to you.”

The words make you squirm a little in his lap, and to your horror you realize you’re wet. You can feel a slickness between your thighs, and you pray he doesn’t notice.

His hand leaves your ass, and then suddenly comes back down in a slap that makes you yelp and jerk. His other hand is still firmly holding your wrists, so you’re still in position as his hand comes down again, making a loud sound that reverberates around the room.

It doesn’t really hurt, just a bit of a sting. You have plenty of experience being hit by someone who actually wants to hurt you, so you can tell the difference right away. No, what makes this so bad is the embarrassment, the vulnerable position, and the fact that you can feel your arousal smearing all over your thighs. Should you tell him to stop? He would, you know that. But your heart is so conflicted. You want to be with him, in any capacity, but simply being used this way is emotionally damaging.

He gives a few more slaps to your ass, then rubs it again. When his hand slides down between your legs and his fingers reach the wetness there, you freeze, going still as a statue, barely even breathing. You feel his fingers part the damp flesh and then stroke the sensitive little nub inside.

“Ahhh!” You let out a shameful cry, trying to jerk away from him, but he’s still holding you in place.

He withdraws his hand. “You’re drenched, Cinderella. Do you like being at my mercy? Restrained and helpless?”

Your mind races. Do you enjoy it? Of all the scenarios you imagined with Prince Gojo, this one was never part of it. But you can’t deny the thrill of being held down by him.

He gives another slap, and you cry out again. There’s a pause, where he doesn’t move or say anything, then his hand releases your wrists. You feel him rub gently over one of your arms, and remember the welts covering them.

Suddenly he turns you over in his lap and pulls the both of you up. “Let’s do something else,” he says, for the first time seeming a tiny bit awkward. He directs you to lie down on your back while he pulls off his shirt and pants, finally standing fully nude in front of you.

It’s a glorious sight. Every single inch of him is truly beautiful. His clothes had made him seem thinner than he actually is, and now you can see the taut muscles along his arms and torso. He notices you staring, and grins.

You blush and look away, but it does you no good. In the next second he’s climbing onto the bed and pushing your legs widely apart. You gasp in surprise, mortified, but as he stares down at your dripping, bare pussy, there’s a hunger in his eyes.

“I told you I’d take you to heaven, remember?” he asks, and then his head lowers, and you feel his lips on your delicate flesh.

Your body jolts, but he has his arms around your thighs, holding them apart while his fingers open your folds. His tongue glides over your swollen clit, coating it in his saliva. You begin to tremble, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life as his lips close around the little bundle of nerves, suckling gently. He pulls away, only to press his tongue inside you as his thumb rubs circles into your clit.

You cry out, over and over, your back arching off the bed. You love him so much! And he’s bringing you such pleasure! You think your heart might burst.

Something is going to burst. You feel something building, like pressure inside your core. His thumb is relentless, becoming more aggressive as his tongue gathers your wetness and slurps it into his mouth. You’re so sensitive, the stimulation almost hurts.

But he keeps going, his thumb only moving faster, applying more pressure, until finally the dam breaks. Pleasure washes over you like a flood, your body twitches and shakes, and Prince Gojo’s thumb slows to languid, soft motions while you ride out your first orgasm.

You’re left panting, dizzy, your skin flushed and dewy. You look up to see the Prince raised up on his knees, staring down at your spread open body, licking his thumb.

If you can burn one image from this night into your memory forever, this is it. He’s never been more gorgeous. But then your eyes move down and you see that he’s fully erect again, his cock somehow looking even bigger than before.

He slips his hands under your ass and lifts your hips from the bed, pulling you to him. You almost panic. You almost tell him to stop. You wanted your first time to be with the Prince. But you wanted it to be romantic, full of love. Now, he’s about to take your virginity, but he doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know your name.

You close your eyes, deciding to let it happen. You suppose you should consider yourself lucky to be deflowered by the man you love.

You feel him push into you, slowly, and you’re shocked by how deep he goes. You feel yourself stretching, maybe even ripping, as a small amount of warm fluid, probably blood, leaks out around his cock. He’s clearly trying to be careful, but he’s just too big, and his fast breathing indicates he’s having a hard time holding himself back.

You feel his hand on your face. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice strained. You nod, then you hear him say, “Look at me.”

You open your eyes, only to be met with his stunning eyes boring into you. “I’m gonna start moving, okay?”

“… okay,” you say in a tiny voice, feeling like a small prey animal beneath a giant wolf.

He begins thrusting then, slowly at first but going so very deep. At some point he picks up speed, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Soon he’s practically slamming into you, grunting each time his cock buries itself to the hilt in your aching pussy.

You feel so many emotions, you can barely make sense of them.

The man you’ve loved for so long is inside you!

He doesn’t care about you at all.

He’s enjoying your body, you make him feel good!

He’s done this with countless other women.

He made your body come alive with pleasure!

He’s being too rough with you.

That roughness, that pain, is somehow turning you on. You’re practically gushing as he pounds into you! Your body is as confused as your heart. You can’t even tell what hurts or feels good anymore. Then you realize with some alarm: you don’t care. You don’t care if he hurts you. You only want to feel him.

Completely overwhelmed, you feel tears flood your eyes, and you can only hope the mask hides your face enough, that you can hold back your sobs, so that Prince Gojo doesn’t realize how you feel.

***********************

Prince Gojo grunts when he feels Cinderella clench his cock tightly, like her pussy doesn’t want to let him go. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this riled up.

At first, he thought she was just putting on a shy act to tantalize him, but when he thrust into her for the first time he realized she was a virgin. Probably not an act then.

That probably should have concerned him, but she’s so wet and so tight, the little moans and cries she makes are so sweet, that he’s losing control of himself inside her.

He hasn’t missed the way she looks at him, even through the mask he can see there’s something beyond the usual admiration or shallow crush on a popular figure. And the way she licked up his cum as if it were her last meal… he literally felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

And so he shoves into her as deeply as possible, loving the feel of her around him, and when he looks down at her face again, he realizes she’s crying. Tears are dripping down her cheeks, under the mask, and her body is shaking. It’s almost enough to make him stop. Almost.

Instead he leans down over her, pulling her upper body up and into his arms, cradling her. “You’re so pretty,” he says in his softest voice. “You feel so good. You’re taking my cock so deep…”

She sniffles, burying her face in his shoulder, her hands clutching his arms. Then he hears her voice, so quiet yet so clear, say, “Satoru…!”

He freezes, his eyes wide. Her face is hidden from him, but he heard her clearly. None of the women who visit him at the inn have ever called him by his first name. It’s always “Your Highness”, or if they’re the bold type, “Prince Gojo”.

But the way she said it, as if it was natural to her, surprised him. His name, a personal, intimate thing for him, reserved only for those closest to him, spilled from her soft ruby lips like a prayer. The sound of it, somehow familiar, sent a shiver rippling through his body.

He pushes in deeper, his fingers digging into her skin, and she cries out, clenching him even tighter. Her whole body quivers as she cums again, little sobs wracking her form. The feel of it is enough to push him to his own climax, and with a groan of pleasure he cums, realizing a moment too late that he came inside her instead of pulling out.

He holds her as they both come down from their shared high, her warm walls still clamped around his throbbing cock. After a long while, much longer than with any other woman, Gojo separates from her and they both get up from the bed.

They both dress in silence. He’s usually chatty at times like this, but his mind is elsewhere, still in those moments when he was inside her, when she said his name.

He glances over to find her back in her dress. She reaches up toward her mask, probably to remove it and wipe her eyes, but he stops her.

“Don’t take it off until you’re out of the room,” he says, though part of him wants to rip it off immediately.

She looks at him then, and gives a small, uncomfortable smile. “Of course, I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“This way is better for both of us,” he tells her, though he feels conflicted. He wants to ask her name, her real name, but that would defeat the purpose of the mask. Instead he says nothing as she gives a small bow and leaves the room.

Gojo flops across the bed and sighs, his thoughts still full of Cinderella. After a moment, he notices a sound coming from outside his room. Perhaps on the stairs?

Click, click, click.

Over and over. The sound calls to him. He stands up and crosses to his door, opening it slowly and listening.

Click, click, click.

What is that? It stops, then starts again but softer. He walks out and looks over the railing, down to the first floor. Cinderella is walking toward the door. The light glints off something on her feet, and he focuses on her shoes.

Are those… glass slippers?!

It can’t be!

Suddenly everything snaps into place. The familiar welts on her arms. The way she looked at him as if she knew him. The way she called him by his first name.

The way tears spilled from her eyes.

It’s her! The girl he’s been waiting for all these years!

He runs toward the stairs, shouting, “Wait!” but she’s already going through the door.

By the time he runs down the steps and flings the door open, she’s gone. He looks both directions on the street, but it’s dark, and there are still crowds of people moving about. She’s nowhere to be seen.

Cinderella has vanished into the night.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo smut #jjk x reader #x reader #gojo satoru x reader #candys2kevent

422 notes · View notes

pomefioredove · 2 months ago

Note

I'm not sure exactly which day counts as "weekend" bc of cultural differences lol but you can ignore this if it's not on the permitted day!!

But for the brief Rollo x reader thing that's you're doing, can I please have something with him and a reader that is generally very tactile? One day they grab his hand to pull him somewhere as they absentmindedly ramble, and they don't realize it until he speaks up about it (or not....? <w<)

hii anon!! ofc this is a very cute request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ cold hands

type of post: short fic characters: rollo additional info: platonic or romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Winter in Fleur City is as unkind as it is beautiful.

Autumn's colorful embrace was short and sweet, giving you but three weeks of cozy, lukewarm mornings before the trees were bare and bending in the breeze that carried along the Soleil.

The first snow of the winter season had completely frozen over the river.

It had also kissed everything in frost, blanketed the streets, and canceled classes at Noble Bell College for the morning. It was heavy and restless.

It became no wonder to you that the people of Fleur City were eager to put up their tinsel and candles. The smell of cinnamon and pine is an effective distraction from the icy wind, after all.

And so, without classes to attend to, you find yourself walking through the city on crushed snow, already muddy with boot prints and animal hooves, to a seasonal cafe which had just opened.

Oh, and the Student Council President has offered to escort you.

It's, apparently, quite an ordeal; the few Noble Bell students you pass by in the streets stop mid-snowball fight or nearly drop their to-go coffees from their mittens when they see you, bundled up in Rollo Flamme's scarf, walking hand-in-hand.

You honestly hadn't even noticed you had grabbed him. It had been somewhat of an impulse, your cold, undressed hands feeling out for something to hold.

And usually, that would have been a quill, or one of those artisanal wooden blocks this city so loves, just something to run your thumb over while you think, not the Student Council President's hand.

But he doesn't say anything, and, more presently, doesn't pull away.

"You really ought to have dressed warmer," Rollo says, fussing over the scarf he'd given you off his own neck. "You'll catch something, and missing class over a frivolous venture such as is unacceptable."

"I suppose I didn't think of it,"

"Then next time," he says. "I don't know what I would do with myself if you were ill. It's the busiest time of year."

Right. Finals are coming up.

"I won't do it again,"

He sighs. "I know. Now, come along. Morning classes may have been dismissed, quite unnecessarily, I might say, but we'll both be expected on campus at noon,"

His hand tightens around yours, and his pace becomes brisker, cutting through the myriad of tourists and laughing children and pigeons. He shields you from the falling snow and blistering wind, holding you behind him until you reach the cafe.

It's bustling and loud inside, busier than the annual cafes you're used to visiting, but Rollo somehow has you in and out with a warm drink and a pastry in no more than five minutes.

You have the treat outside, your hands already cracked from the dry cold in the air, and once you've finished he slips his hand into yours and begins walking again.

There's not much conversation. Rollo is a strange man; some days, he's happy to talk about the history of Fleur City or what he's studying in Noble Bell's prestigious law class, and some days he's like this. Quiet.

His hand is surprisingly warm, though, despite the cold he seems to maintain a high body temperature all on his own. He runs a thumb over the back of your hand, feeling the dry skin there.

"You're freezing,"

"I'm okay,"

"Honesty is a virtue," he snaps, his sharp way of reminding you that he can always tell when you're lying, and he doesn't like it.

"You'll catch your death of cold. And then what would I do?"

For a fleeting moment, you can swear he gets a little warmer; or, at least, his hand does. You must be imagining things.

The silence lingers like the cold in the air, but, finally, he gets you to start talking about your favorite class subject, which you do until you've reached the gates of the school.

Rollo stops you, bids you an overly formal good-bye, and takes his hand, too, leaving you with the cold.

Hm. He seemed so off today. You wonder what that could be?

You won't realize that you'd been holding his hand all morning until later, but for now, you're content with the mystery and the warm scarf he left on your shoulders.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rollo flamme x reader

208 notes · View notes

inuiiwonderland · 2 months ago

Text

Tragedy

The king sends troops after a mysterious women. After her lover was brutally killed by the king, the women had to flee before her and her newborn son were next.

Words: 1.1k

It was dark and cold. The weather was horrible as rain poured down from the sky at a rapid pace. You were cold and scared as you continued running. Not even daring to stop in fear that they will manage to catch up to you.

You looked down at the small bundle in your arms. You made sure you had the softest and warmest of blankets before leaving that hell hole. You peek into the small little breathing hole, and for a second you feel at peace until you hear the screaming of horses and men which quickly brings you back to reality.

You quickly picked up the pace as you looked behind you to see them in the distance. Torches and swords in hand as they approached rather quickly.

You gasped and quickly looked away. Tears clouding your vision as you try to get away as far as possible. You ran through the woods and clutched the bundle in your arms tighter. You felt relief wash over you as you saw the river up ahead.

“Make sure she doesn’t get away! The king wants both her and that bastard of a child alive!”

Your heart drops as you hear those faint words.

You quickly pulled out the basket that you had on you. Your heart was racing against your chest as you gently laid down the small thing in the basket. The small thing coos as you gently caressed his face.

“Shhh…there my son. You’ll be safer somewhere out there than here. I’ll pray that the river takes you somewhere safe, in a place where you’ll be safe and strong. I love you” And with a heavy heart, you push the basket onto the river and watch as the currents take the basket away.

The sound of the horses and men grew louder as you got up. You looked at the river one last time before whispering.

“Be safe…”

“Silver”

Tonight was the biggest storm that Briar Valley has ever seen in its entire history. The wind was strong, rain was pouring down like a hell storm, it was the biggest storm anyone has ever seen.

The young prince looked out his bedroom window with a frown. It’s been a while since his guardian Lilia has left the palace doors, and with the horrible weather conditions happening outside, the young prince can’t help but worry.

“My dear prince, what happens to trouble you?” One of the palace butlers asks as he watches the prince look out the window.

“Do you think Lilia is okay?” The butler was surprised by this question. But quickly responded back.

“Why of course he’s okay. Lilia is a former war general who led all of our troops to victory.” This still didn’t seem to please the young prince. He continued to look out the window and the butler knew what he said didn’t seem to calm the prince as he saw and heard a loud thunder from outside.

Rain was pouring hard as Lilia made his way back to the palace. It’s been hours since he left malleus alone in the palace and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for making him wait for that long.

He flinches as he hears a loud roar of thunder come from the path to the palace.

“He’s definitely not…happy” Lilia prepares himself for the dozens of questions the young prince will throw at him once he steps foot inside the palace.

As he continues his journey back to the palace. Lilia hears small wails coming from deep into the woods. He ignores it at first, but the weeps grow louder as the rain pours and the wind blows. He stops his horse immediately and stays silent for a moment.

A cry

He hears the small cries coming from the woods. He was skeptical at first, maybe a trick from some nearby bandits but something in his gut tells him to not ignore it.

“Huh?”

Follow the cries

Of the unfortunate

And after a long pause. Lilia goes to the direction of where the cries were coming from. He followed the cries like his life depended on it. The voice in his head getting louder and louder the more closer he was getting to where the cries were coming from.

Don’t leave him

The cries

Death

And as if he can finally breathe, Lilia finally made it to where the loud cries came from. There, floating near a log was a basket. Lilia hops off his horse as he slowly walks towards the small basket. Cries grow louder by the second and once he was knee deep into the water he opens the basket to see a small bundle of blankets.

But what catches his attention the most is what’s hidden inside the blankets.

There lay a small human child. Crying his poor eyes out as he sneezes.

Lilia stands there alarmed. Eyes wide as the child slowly opens its eyes. Teary violet iris staring back at him.

“What in the seven's name…” For the first time in centuries Lilia was speechless. He was hesitant. He didn’t know what to do.

I mean it’s a child for crying out loud! A human child nonetheless all alone in a basket floating in the river!

He stares at the child before closing the basket. He turns around and leaves the water. He gets on his horse and gets ready to leave. But something stops him before he can leave. Something tells him that he can’t.

He stares at the sky. His heart beating fast against his chest.

Don’t go

Don’t leave me

A loud cry interrupts his thoughts. He looks towards the direction of the basket and sees the waters growing a bit strong. The basket then soon starts floating away and before Lilia could think straight he jumps off his horse and to the river.

He begins to chase after the basket. Heart beating even faster as he sees the basket grow farther and farther away. With a loud grunt he goes deeper and deeper into the water and reaches his hand out to grab ahold of the tiny basket.

Don’t let go

Don’t let go father

And when he thinks he can’t make it on time. Basket out of reach. By some miracle he manages to grab ahold of the damn thing. He gasps and quickly brings it towards his chest.

It wasn’t long until he was finally able to get out of the water, thanks to his horse who pulled him out.

Lilia still holds the basket in a tight grip.

“C’mon, malleus is probably worried sick” He gets on his horse. Basket close against his chest as the tiny child inside sleeps soundly.

Be safe silver

Ermmm….its been a while☺️ it’s ass at the moment because I haven’t written anything in MONTHS!

#inuiiwonderland🤍#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst silver #twst lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #disney twst #twst x reader #twst angst #twisted wonderland malleus #twst imagines #twisted wonderland angst #twst diasomnia #angst

219 notes · View notes

aachria · 9 months ago

Text

The long awaited (maybe? Idk how many of you were waiting for this) SSSBMTY College AU!

Majors in bold

Headcanons in regular text

Notes about the art indented in orange

Luffy — Undeclared

Was forced into school by his gramps. (The university dean. The fucking dorm building all the Strawhats but Jimbei live in is named after him.)(it was this or join the navy.) Takes the most random classes he can. Some of them are advanced and require perquisites and no one knows how he keeps getting into them. Wears shorts and sandals in winter & will run any errand or do any odd job for food. He has a very nice bike he got for free from a garage sale that Franky fixed up. There's a campus wide bet on when and what he'll choose as his major. His bucket hat was a gift from Shanks, the universities World Economics prof. Has a million friendship bracelets on his ankles because Ed makes them when they're stressed. Never has a bag on him. Fights Canadian geese on the way to class, like a fucking maniac. Protected species who?

When I tell you that this drawing of Luffy is the first time I've ever drawn actual feet with toes that don't look fucking ridiculous I need to cheer for me. Why is he a different flavour of boy every time I draw him please. His ass isn't rubber in this universe, of course he's scuffed to shit. Chopper ran out of Spiderman bandaids, sorry bud. Advocate for the Single Piercing Luffy™ agenda, he went and got it done with Ed when they got their helix.

Ed — English major Psychology minor

Took History of Piracy for easy grades & a story idea. Known around campus as that asshole who'll tell you exactly which of your roommates ate your leftovers for $5. Is roommates with Luffy because of a system mix-up when they got distributed. Always wears a Burberry trench coat Nami thrifted for $3 and gave them as a bday gift. Carries everything in a ratty falling apart messenger bag. Them and Luffy filled out marriage papers on a dare, Zoro (who got legally ordained on a dare minutes before) oversaw that, Zoro and Ed filed the papers when they were drunk. So Ed and Luffy are legally married. And they don't even notice until tax season and Jonah, Ed's accounting friend, asks about it.

I need you to ignore the inconsistence with the hands in these ok? Some of them get very nice and normal hands, and others get weird shaped blobs. Sorry Ed, them's the breaks kid.

Zoro — Health and Fitness major Mathematics minor

Literally no one knows why he has a Mathematics minor, least of all him. P sure he walked into the wrong class on the first day and just stuck with it. The most terrifying captain of the kendo team the university has ever had. He's won more championships and trophies in his tenure than the school has in its history, the revenue he brings in from sponsorships and such make them turn a blind eye to his... eccentricities (three sword style. Nobody has stopped him yet, anyone who says it's illegal gets penalized). Has had campus security called on him so often from being creepy when walking home from the gym in the dark there's a poster of him in the security office that says 'NOT ACTUALLY A THREAT. JUST WEIRD AND WALKS WITH PURPOSE.'

Zoro's sword patch on his jacket was designed by Usopp, embroidered by Luffy for a class (shittily) and fixed up and sewn on by Ed. Those docs have seen war. He has put them through hell. He has walked through a fucking river with those things, he superglues them back together every time they break. Franky had to strongarm him into getting the soles professionally replaced.

Nami — Meteorology major Finance minor

All of her clothes are thrifted designer things. Regularly terrorizes Value Village employees. Anything she has that isn't thrifted she gets from the many estate sales she plagues, snatching grandma's entire Chanel collection and all her nicest jewelry. She has absolutely everything anyone could ever need in her purse. Tampons and pads? She gotchu. Extra pens? It'll cost you, but yeah. A curling iron? Sure, why the hell not. She runs the betting pool on Luffy's major with Ed. She also writes a gossip column for the school newspaper and has a podcast she uploads a new episode to every few months. Shows up to every class looking like a supermodel no matter the time. 7am? Perfect. 10pm? Fabulous. Your go-to if you get locked out of your dorm. Has a moped but barely uses it.

Nami's bag is a large Prada Gallaria Saffiano bag, which I painstaking drew to accuracy down to the colour even though it still looks ever so slightly different, because Nami is a big purse girl. The compass rose necklace was a going away gift from Nojiko when she left for uni. I think her haircut is so cute I love her sm. Don't pay any mind to how fucking disheveled half of their lineart looks next to her pls.

Usopp — Graphic Design major

Not a member of the archery club, but shows up enough he’s in all the team photos. Was originally the designated driver, had a pretty little mini van they called the Merry, had one of those fucking fuzzy dice hanging mirror things in the shape of a sheep’s head. Got in a bad car accident and she got totaled by some jackass in a red Honda Civic. Dating Kaya, who’s a nursing student. They barely see each other because she’s so fucking busy and half the students are convinced the girlfriend Usopp is always talking about and calling is fake. The Strawhats have a dnd campaign that they run every other week, Usopp DM's. On weekends he works at an axe throwing range and holds the record for most bullseyes in a row. They have his picture mounted on the wall.

Usopp's necklace is the old key to the Merry, and he engraved his belt buckle for a project. I cursed his ass with the giant fuck off portfolio bag because those things are so big and unwieldy. The people in his program's studio never clean their paint up properly, that's why he's covered in it. Advocate for the Usopp With Gages™ agenda. God he is such a cutie patootie.

Sanji — Business degree

Literally grew up working in a restaurant, he’s only going to school to get the degree so he can open his own and also because Zeff threated to castrate him if he didn't get a higher education. Cooks basically every single meal for the dorm, since it’s just the Strawhats (it's a new (old it's old and was refurbished. Everyone assumed it was haunted.) building that they just dedicated to Garp. Has no other residents yet). Him and Zoro fight so much in their shared room half the time he ends up kicking him out and making him sleep in the community room lmao. He just shows up in half the culinary classes because he hates the business ones so much, the one time someone tried to tell him to leave he cussed them out for a full ten minutes while gesticulating wildly with a knife in hand. They never tried that again. Saw one of the profs berate a young lady for wearing a dress shirt to class because it’s impractical and proceeded to take that personally. Yeah he wears three piece suits to all his classes, he could still kick you ass in ‘em. Shut up. Volunteers to show around foreign exchange students because he can speak at least 4 foreign languages fluently. Is it to woo pretty French girls with his charm? Wouldn't you like to know.

I could not draw Sanji in a decent pose for the life of me, his ass was just not having it. He's got one of them really nice leather messenger bags with the lined pockets and filigree, he's very proud of it.

Chopper — PreMed

One of the few Strawhats who regularly sees Usopp’s reclusive girlfriend, and is very confused as to why people think she isn’t real. Still a literal child (is 15 still a child? Yeah that's like barely a teenager), a goddamn prodigy and got in with an incredibly good recommendation from the best doctor in the country, who just so happens to be his adoptive mother. He’s literally too cute for anyone to question that, plus he’s the sharpest tack in the damn class. He knocked his front tooth out ages ago (it was an adult tooth) but he's too fucking busy to get an appointment to get it fixed, just adds another layer to his babyface. Nice girls keep asking him if he's here to go see his parents or older siblings, he's endlessly infuriated by it and Sanji is endlessly jealous. Saved Ed from choking to death in a Domino's parking lot the first time they met, he dropped his pizza doing it so they bought him another. The rest is history. Does not feel cold, wears chunky boots year round. Got them reflective ass eyes like a deer, no one has ever taken a good picture of this child. He looks fucking possessed in his school ID.

TELL ME WHY I ALMOST FORGOT TO DRAW CHOPPER. I finished drawing Franky and was like "gee, only Brook and Jimbei to go! Good for me," and then I had to pause while looking as the picture of the group I was semi-referencing for heights n shit and was like "OH FUCK THE CHILD—" He's so cute tho. He's giving lil baby Goro Akechi. The argyle sweater vest and Timbs were a must, so was his hockey boy haircut. Matching backpack and tie for the win. Oh and the freckles, Chopper with freckles is everything to me.

Robin — Has a million hyper specific degrees. Currently earning her third doctorate.

Very mysterious and sexy. Mature student who occasionally gives lectures in the archeology program when she has free time. Owns a motorcycle but barely rides it. How is she not in debt after so much schooling? Don't fucking ask if you want to live. Is that why she lives in the dorm building? Do. Not. Ask. She and Luffy attend the same Theology class, no one knows how Luffy is passing with such good grades, but Robin is adamant that he doesn't take notes or borrow hers, and takes to having the same scores as him with grace. Child actor on one of those show like Barney (but not Barney dear lord) or Reading Rainbow and people only knew her as 'that kid with the creepy fuckin stare.' She was a meme a few years back, they called her the devil child. Every time someone asks her about it she just says she has no idea what they're talking about while giving them the creepy stare.

Women with Big Bags truther, right here. Robin deserves to be put in a suit. Goddamnit, get that woman in a suit!

Franky — Has a bachelors of Engineering, a bachelors of Architecture, and is earning his (water specific) Architecture degree

Currently the groups designated driver (after the tragic death of the poor Merry) with his supped up SUV, the Sunny. How do all the Strawhats fit inside? The power of love, obviously. That car will NOT fucking move if even one of the seatbelts is undone. Made Ed and Luffy wedding rings after he found out they accidentally got married. (Only after laughing for a half our straight, almost passing out, and laughing again. Then he cried for another hour about how beautiful it was.) He sometimes works as a nude model for life drawing classes on campus. Half of the the Strawhats have, in one way or another, seen him in the buck. Has knee braces from an... incident... with a train when he was younger. Now he volunteers at KidsAbility and has a shift on the campus crisis/suicide hotline. Huge advocate for mental health services at the school. He lives in the dorms for the ✨experience✨. Even worse than Luffy, mf wears booty shorts in the dead of winter. He's constantly dressed like It's laundry day. One of those guys from a famous Vine when he was younger that just gets stopped while he's walking so people can go "TRAMPOLINE VASE GUY??" (Iceberg was recording. I love Iceberg.)

Yes Franky is wearing an I ♥ MILFs shirt, what of it? It was a gift. Drawing him was an exercise in struggling with the pompadour and getting uncomfortably close to drawing Syndrome. Yes, he's cold all the time. No, he will not stop.

Brook — Literally no one knows. Something music related probably.

Fucker has been around forever, there’s old ass profs who swear to god they went to school with him and he hasn’t aged a day. Regularly plays local bars and cafes. Doesn't own a cellphone, he can literally only operate rotary phones. Computers confuse the shit out of him. Knows nothing about pop culture or recent events, but is up to date on everything in the music industry. He sometimes helps organize the old library archives because he's somehow the only person who understands the system they're organized in. Sometimes he'll just namedrop a famous singer/band he's either played with, done karaoke with, or done background vocals/instrumentals for and you have to guess whether he's telling the truth or just saying shit. There's a campus wide betting pool (run by Nami and Ed, go figure) on whether he's a vampire, ghost, time traveler, or Dorian Gray in disguise. Prepares the questions for 70s night pub trivia. Every time the Strawhats plan a ghost hunt he's busy, then at the end they find out that all the paranormal shit they've been experiencing is just him running his errands. It's happened at least four times.

Is Brook off-putting enough? I was trying to make him off-putting. He swears up and down the neck tattoo was gotten on a dare by Elton John, what, you gonna question a man who looks like he stepped out of Coraline? The skeleton gloves were a gift from Ed.

Jimbei — Has already graduated as a Marine Biology major Political Science minor and is taking both a Gender Studies course and a Peace and Conflict Studies course years later.

Teaches martial arts at a local dojo on weekends and volunteers with the martial arts team on campus. Robin helps him organize protests on weekends. He's good buds with a lot of the faculty and gets invited to after work drinks regularly. He helped establish a program that walks people who stay late at the library to their dorms when he was first a student that's still going strong to this day. Lives off campus and has the Strawhats over for BBQ on long weekends. Literally the only time the Strawhats eat food not made by Sanji. The Grill Master™. Somehow holds some kind of record or high score at every single bar/pub in town. Knows every single mailman and janitor by name. MVP of the catch and release fishing club, helps plan all of their trips.

I struggled with him. I struggled hard. That's a man who went his whole childhood with a horrendous underbite and only got it fixed once he was an adult. Ed gave him the fishing lure earrings out of guilt after he brought them on one of his fishing trips and they fell in and nearly capsized their boat. IT'S A REUSED PLASTIC BAG JIMBEI IS RESPONSIBLE ABOUT THE ENVIRONMENT—

438 notes · View notes

borathae · 4 months ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 06 - Medical Play]

Pairing: Bratty Good Boy!Seokjin x Hard Domme!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU

Kinks: Doctor & patient role play, brat taming, use of a stethoscope, examination play, anal play, use of a thermostate, use of a prostate vibrator, prostate milking, thigh fucking, impact play with a leather paddle, masochist!Seokjin, subby boy tears, overstimulation, thigh fucking, hips guiding, pissing from too much stimulation, multiple orgasms (m.receiving), he stands against a wall first then lies over her lap, he fakes being sick to get babyboy treatment by her, she finds out and punishes him, they talk about it at first though, cuddly aftercare with lots of praises

Wordcount: 6.8k

a/n: some of you just have such good ideas istfg *kisses anon's mind* this is so hOT JFAJSDFJ

With his schedule being tightly packed, your boyfriend has been practically missing from your life for more than two weeks at this point. You would be lying if you said that you didn't miss him. He leaves when you are still sleeping and comes home when you are already sleeping. It is a lonely life when he is busy. So when you got a call from Seokjin a few days ago, telling you that he would be coming home earlier, you felt delighted. It had been five days since that call and you painfully had to come to term with the fact that the reason for his earlier arrival was a nasty cold. Just like this, went your plans for some nice alone time with him.

You don’t mind caring for him because you wanted to see him better. He always cares for you as well when you are sick or on your period, so you aren’t grumpy about this. You are grumpy because he is the whiniest baby in the history of sick people.

Ever since he came home, he has been complaining about his aching head and stuffy nose non-stop. He even begged you not to leave him, which lead to you calling your workplace to tell them you had to take some time off for nursing-care. A mistake, you later realised. Seokjin acted like a complete baby, whining and asking you to do the most ridiculous things for him. One time you even had to help him pee, as he was too weak to hold Seokjin Junior (his words not yours).

Eventhough reluctantly, you still did everything he asked of you. He was sick after all and given the many times Seokjin took care of you when your period cramps became unbearable, it was only fair to do the same for him.

That is until Friday came. You had been out shopping for groceries and some dearly needed toiletries when you spotted Seokjin running along the Han River. He looked perfectly healthy, mouth-watering even if you wouldn’t have been that angry. Despite your annoyance, you didn’t say anything to him when you came home. He looked terrible when you came running into his bedroom, his eyes hollow and his skin as pale as his walls. Maybe you had mistaken him for a stranger?

You hadn’t. So Jimin accidentally dropped the bomb to you today, Saturday, one day after you saw your sick boyfriend running along Han River. Apparently he and Jimin met up for a quick jog and chat. You thanked Jimin for telling you the truth and ended the call.

“When I catch you, Kim Seokjin”, you mumble, stirring the soup for your oh-so-sick boyfriend with the biggest frown on your face.

“Babyyy, please save me”, you suddenly hear him shout from his bedroom. He sounds actually hurt and like the caring girlfriend you are, you waste no time to rush to him as quickly as possible, leaving the steaming soup on the kitchen counter.

“What happened? Are you okay?” you ask concerned. He has his eyebrows furrowed and a pained expression on his face.

“No I’m not. My pillow is too hot, can you please turn it for me?” he whines.

You sigh loudly, nope, he is just his annoying lazy self. You clench your jaw, your desire to whack his butt with the soft pillow growing in your stomach.

“You’re disrupting my cooking for this? I was making soup for you. Couldn’t you have turned it yourself?” you ask with crossed arms.

Seokjin shakes his head, wincing in pain afterwards as if the small gesture was too much for him.

“No, my arms are too weak”, he whines looking at you with big puppy eyes. Oh, how you wanted to wipe the pout off of his face. “Please baby help me, I’m so uncomfortable”, he whines even more miserably when you show no signs of moving.

You let out an annoyed sigh before walking to his bedside and pulling the pillow from below his head, making him fall onto the mattress. He groans in pain, rubbing the back of his neck, which hadn’t been ready for the sudden movement before looking up at you with big eyes. You don’t break eye contact with him, your jaw clenched and your fingers clutching onto the white pillow until your knuckles turn white. You could throw the pillow at his head, just once, it would serve him right. You stop shaking it out for a moment, contemplating if you should do it or not. You decide against it, you weren’t raised like that. You still practically throw the pillow at Seokjin’s chest, not even caring how rough your movement was.

“There. Enjoy it”, you growl, already turning around before Seokjin’s hand clutching onto your apron stops you.

“Baby, are you mad at me? You are acting weird ever since Friday”, he asks with worried eyes.

His question makes you stop and turn around

“I just find it weird that you are down with a cold for more than five days now, when normally you are running around healthy again after two days. Don’t you think it’s a little bit out of character?”

Let’s see if he gets the hint.

Seokjin glances sideways for a moment before he looks back at you. He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into his pillow.

“It’s because of the AC on the airplane. It made everything so much worse”, he fake coughs, “See? My lungs are practically oozing out of me.”

You grimace at his use of words, making a sound of disgust, “that was rancid.”

Seokjin coughs again, harder than before. You have to give it to him, this man knows how to act.

“I, know, it’s, so, bad”, he chokes out between coughs.

It’s getting ridiculous at this point. You roll your eyes at him before turning your back to him.

“Sure keep telling yourself that”, you grumble before walking out of his bedroom and returning to your task of serving him his highly-requested soup. “You know, I talked to Jimin on the phone.”

“Wha-”

You close the door. You know for a fact that he understood what you were implying. You hope that he boils in his soup of guilt just as wildly as the vegetables in his stupid food do.

You return to him with a bowl of said soup and a glass of orange juice on a wooden tray. Seokjin is sitting on the edge of the bed, head lowered in shame.

“I’m sorry”, he murmurs.

“For what?” you ask him because you want to hear him admit it. You walk to the bed, putting the tray on the bedside table. You straighten up, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I lied to you. I haven’t felt sick since yesterday.”

“I know. I saw you run along Han River.”

“You did?!” he gawks up at you with widened eyes.

“I did. But then I came home to you looking like a pale ghost so I thought that I was mistaken. Until Jimin accidentally dropped the truth. I’m disappointed in you, Seokjin. Why are you lying to me? I took days off work to take care of you and you take advantage of me.”

“It’s not that. I have good reasons why I’m still pretending.”

“They must be mighty good reasons because I don’t see any appeal in making your partner dedicate their entire day to health care when it’s not even necessary.”

“I felt good yesterday and, and I took that run with Jimin and I wanted to tell you when you were home, but then on my way home I tripped on the sidewalk and twisted my ankle and now it hurts and I feel shitty again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah seriously. Look”, he pulls the pants leg up, showing you his slightly swollen ankle.

“Oh my god Seokjin, are you okay? That doesn’t look healthy.”

“I can move it”, he demonstrates it with a hiss of pain, “it’s just twisted and my pride is broken. And I need you to take care of me because I’m just an infant in pain.”

You laugh, picking up his pillow to slap his chest with it.

“Shut up you idiot. Only you can manage to get healthy only to blow it by twisting your ankle.”

“I know, I’m stupid and I’m sorry”, he takes your hands, pulling you onto his lap like this. “I shouldn’t have lied. I thought if I kept quiet, I can heal without having to admit my stupid accident. If I knew that you saw me, I would have confessed. I’m sorry.”

You give up with a sigh, “apology accepted I guess. I still think you’re an idiot.”

“I know, that’s your right.”

You snicker, he smiles at the sound of it, rubbing your thighs innocently. You look into his eyes, heart fluttering. With another sigh of defeat, you swing your legs over his lap so you were facing him. His hands touch your lower back, you play with his messy hair.

“I missed you lately, you know?” you tell him.

“I missed you too. Maybe that’s why I don’t wanna get healthy either. If I’m healthy, I gotta leave you for work. I don’t want that.”

“Yeah, I get that”, you say, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He chases the affection, squeezing your butt.

“Hey, hands off.”

“Oop, sorry”, he gasps, pulling them away.

You click your tongue, giving his chest a soft slap.

“Only good boys get to touch my butt. You’ve been a naughty boy, so no butt or boobs for you.”

He pouts.

“Pout all you want. That’s what you get”, you say and get off his lap.

Seokjin drops into the pillow with a loud groan, rolling his head to the side.

“You’re both making me horny and breaking my heart.”

You chuckle, “good. The soup’s on the table, eat it while it’s still warm.”

“Wait.” He sits up. “Can’t you feed me?”

“You’re alright.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a weak boy”, he pouts cutely, “please?”

“Fine. You big baby.”

You sit down on the edge of his bed and take the silver spoon between your fingers. Seokjin opens his mouth as widely as possible when you come close to him with a filled spoon. Once inside he closes it, pouting out his lips whilst looking at you through his lashes.

“Wow baby, the soup is amazing”, he gasps, grinning at you.

“Thanks”, you mumble, eyes glued to his lips.

“More”, he tells you already opening his mouth for you.

Look at his ready mouth, his pink lips wet from him licking them and his eyes looking at you expectantly. A dark thought flashes through your mind. Oh how you would love to see that face in any other situation than him begging for soup. Like him begging for release, all sweaty and sticky from the lube tripping onto the carpet out of his beautiful ass, his hands folded on his thighs as he is kneeling on the floor, all whilst pretty flocking marks spread all over his skin. It would serve him right for lying to you.

Being lost in your own little fantasy, you don’t even notice your hand had moved on its own until you can hear Seokjin yell out in pain.

“Please blow on it, it’s too hot”, he says eyeing the soup in pain.

“You are a huge baby you know that? Can’t you blow on it yourself?” you whine, still fulfilling his wish.

Seokjin shakes his head, “it’s so much better if you do it. You are so much more skilled with blowing stuff”, he says, his lips twitching up into a small smirk.

You stop blowing. He wiggles his brows.

“Urgh shut up, your flirts are not gonna work on me.”

“I think they are.”

“No, they’re not.” You shove the soup into his mouth. “Shut up and eat your soup.”

Seokjin mewls, looking into your eyes as deeply as possible. You gulp. Look at him. His eyes beg you silently to keep the spoon inside. His lips engulf the metal shaft. They look so plumb, so pink and soft, oh how amazing they would probably feel sucking on your fingers.

You blink, quickly looking away. Your mind had wandered off again, god damnit.

You pull your hand back and stand up, “I’m cleaning the kitchen.”

Seokjin nods his head, humming obediently.

It is a fair bit cooler in your living room than it was in your bedroom. Exactly what you needed right now. You let yourself fall down on your big couch and close your eyes. Why did your mind have to betray you like that? Yes, he was flirting but you thought of the nastiest of things. But then. Who could blame you? It has been too long since you have been intimate with him. The last two weeks he was never home and before that, he was too busy with practicing and recording new songs and far too tired for sex whenever he came home. It wasn’t a big deal to you at first, it’s not like you can’t survive without sex, but as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into a month, you slowly felt yourself grow desperate. Sure you still had your hands and a big collection of toys to keep you entertained. And oh boy, entertained you were. But you still missed the feeling of his hot skin pressed against yours, the feeling of his soft hands exploring your body and the feeling of his skilled tongue eating you out until you saw stars.

And Seokjin, he for sure didn’t help at all. Of course you were still a little frustrated with him, but to be honest right now you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones and ride him until both of you lose your ability to speak. Frustrated or not, you were horny and desperate to feel him again. So why not combine both of your current emotions and make it all the more exciting?

You smirk at your idea, jumping up from the sofa to run into your hobby room. You pull open the uppermost drawer of your dark wooden dresser, in which you store a big portion of your sex toy collection. With a few reaches into the drawer, everything you needed was laid out neatly in front of you. A pair of black stockings as well as a pair of red stockings, you will decide later which one would be more fitting. Next to them was a pair of your favourite latex gloves and a bottle of cherry lube, not your favourite but Seokjin has a thing for it so if it makes him happy you won’t complain, and last but not least, you put down a small bag of medical tools and a variety of toys.

With your tools being ready, now all you needed to do was to get ready yourself. You walk to your closet and open the left door, revealing a row full of costumes from a police officer uniform all the way to a doctor’s uniform. You and Seokjin have a slight thing for role plays. It might actually be a little obsession between you and him. Sometimes you both dress up, sometimes it’s just you and sometimes it’s just him.

Your fingers brush over the costume you were looking for, “there you are.”

It is a short, white nurse dress with a red cross on your left breast pocket and a matching hat. Exactly what you needed for the little idea you had in your mind. You slip into the costume and pull the red net stockings with lace on the top up your legs before slipping into red lacquer heels. You finish off your look with a deep red lip and take the big doctor's bag with your toys.

You knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in!” Seokjin calls out.

You slip inside the room. He is sitting up, playing a game on the TV. Now that you found out about his lie, he feels comfortable in doing what he wants.

“Hello there.”

“Hey baby, I finished the soup. It was so good. Thank you for cooking.”

“Seokjin, look at me.”

He obeys and gasps. His jaw goes slack, eyes drinking in every little inch of your body. He instantly presses pause on the game. You smirk at his expression pulling a little pose in front of him.

“I am here to care for you, patient Kim”, you say, your voice sultry.

“Baby!” he exclaims, throwing the control to the side, “what do you mean? Are you serious?”

You hum, putting your hand on one of his thighs. You can feel his muscles tense from your touch and watch his throat move as he gulps hard.

“I’m very serious and you very sick. I need to take care of you, don’t I?” you coo, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Are you…” he gulps and almost whimpers the words, “…gonna be rough with me ‘cause I lied?”

“Do you think that I should be rough with you?” you ask, masking your question for his consent this way.

He licks his lips, whispering a weak, “yeah.”

“Yes? Well if that’s so.” You give his cheek a little slap, making him moan and close his eyes. “I will choose my treatment accordingly.”

“Oh god”, he gets out, ears slowly turning red in giddiness.

You straighten up and place the bag on the bedside table.

“Turn off the TV, I want silence when I work.”

“Yes Miss Nurse.”

“It’s Doctor for you, understood?”

“Y-yes, Doctor ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now that we have talked about that, can I care for you patient Kim?” you ask, taking out the pair of latex gloves.

He ogles them, gulping once again.

“Yes please”, he begs, nodding his head vigorously.

“Good.” You take out a douche and lube, putting both on his lap. “You know what to do.”

Seokjin takes the tools and rolls out of bed. He limbs to the bathroom as quickly as his twisted ankle allows him.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna get it checked out?” you ask him.

“I have you, haven’t I?” he flirts and disappears in the bathroom.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “he’s such a brat.” Afterwards you turn to your doctor’s bag, preparing the scene while Seokjin cleans out.

It isn’t long until Seokjin limps back to you. You study him while he is busy looking at what you laid out. He seems very excited already, eyes widening in anticipation. He is still in his PJs but brushed his hair. It’s very attractive that he made an effort.

“Okay, stop.”

He obeys, waiting patiently for you. You let him wait for a little, circling him without touching him. He tries his very hardest not to follow you with his eyes, keeping his head as still as possible.

“Mhm.”

You are in front of him again, writing into your notepad. Seokjin tries to steal a glance but gets caught by you right away. He fixes his head, gulping nervously.

“Hm.”

More writing. He shifts from one foot to the other, flexing and relaxing his hands. He can’t bear the silence and the unknown.

“Mh-hm.”

You finally finish writing by slamming your pen down on the paper to make an aggressiv dot. You did it on purpose, of course, to make Seokjin jump a little. He is so adorable when he startles.

You place the notepad into your chest pocket and turn to get your first tool. Seokjin might need to say something. He can’t handle the silence. It’s riling him up way too much.

With your back still turned to him, you finally break the silence.

“Get naked. My examination requires nudity.”

He follows your orders gladly. Finally. Oh, he is so happy. Finally something is happening. He swears that his cock is already getting harder just from the thrill of doing something.

He stands with his head held high once he is undressed, only his red ears and flushed chest are indicators of his shyness upon being looked at in such a state. He is breathing heavily, nipples erect and cock just hardened enough to look tempting. Not that his cock looks any less tempting when soft. He has the prettiest cock ever.

“Look at you”, you murmur, feeling delirious in need for a moment. It has been too long since you last saw him like this. You missed him and if you weren’t currently lost in a roleplay, you would tell him so. “Your body is very pleasing to look at.”

“Thank you.”

“Quiet. I need absolute silence when I work.”

Seokjin mewls softly, biting down on his lower lip. The inner corners of his eyebrow lift as he gives you the sweetest puppy eyes. You ignore them of course, despite wanting to squish his cheeks and kiss every single inch of his handsome face. You cannot give in.

You roll your shoulders back and clear your throat.

“Well then, sit down.”

Seokjin obeys. His back is perfectly straight, his hands are presented on his thighs with his palms up. He looks up at you, eyes still so perfectly cute and lips parted slightly. You let him, but do nothing about it. Your heart is secretly racing however and your mind keeps racing with thoughts of how cute he is.

You pick up the stethoscope and put it into your ears.

“Stay still and quiet.”

He nods his head in obedience, holding his breath as you listen to his pulse. You feel tingly. His heart is racing so much. You touch his shoulder, taking in how his pulse flutters and then beats even faster.

“Mhm I see”, you murmur and put the stethoscope on his back. Like this, your breasts are mere inches away from his face and judging by the sharp intake of breathe, he is aware of that. “Breathe in for me.”

Seokjinobeys. His breath fills his lungs. His heart races.

“Breathe out.”

The air leaves him again, but his racingheart remains.

“One more time. In”, you rasp, stepping closer so your breasts would brush against his face.

He obeys your order, but does it very shakily, thighs squeezing together. Through the fabric of your dress you can feel his lips mouth at your breasts and as you glance down, you notice his eyes fell closed.

“Hold it in.”

He obeys while you look at him. He is so handsome when he is lost in you. You shake your head to get rid of your feelings. Do not give in to temptations.

“Breathe out.”

He obeys, hot breath swirling over your clothed chest. It feels so warm and nice. Do not give in to temptations.

“Good”, you say and step back, leaving him to gasp as his heaven gets taken away.

His reaction was definitely worth staying stronger than the temptations. He is so adorable when he realises how easily you can take away his heaven.

“My assumptions were sadly correct”, you say as you write into your notepad.

Seokjin looks at you nervously and beyond turned on.

“You are officially suffering with brattiness. It’s a very serious illness, but don’t worry. I can heal it very easily.”

He mewls, biting his lower lip.

“I will have to make one more examination however to determine the correct treatment”, you say and shove the notepad into your chest pocket.

You place the stethoscope aside and round the bed to look for your next tool. You act as if you can’t find it because you know that Seokjin gets desperate between long waits.

“What are you doing next?” he asks just as expected. He is so predictable. How wonderful.

“Next I will…hm…” you trail off as you look for your tool. “Mhmm…”

Seokjin shifts, trying to sneak a glance. He is such a delight.

“Ah there!”

He exhales shakily, squeezing his thighs together.

“There you are, little thing was hiding”, you say and pick up the thermostat.

Seokjin ogles it, straightening his back and gulping heavily in preparation. You walk back to him, heart fluttering when he tilts his head back and opens his mouth.

“Oh you sweet innocent boy”, you taunt him, closing his mouth with a press to his chin.

He furrows his brows in confusion, puffy lips pouting.

“That’s not how you take a brat’s temperature, you little thing”, you coo and boop his nose.

He gulps, cock twitching because of your words. It twitches again when you dance your gloved hand to his neck and down to his chest. With a gentle nudge, you make him fall into the sheets. He moans loudly, legs hanging off the edge and cock twitching between them.

You inspect him for a moment, let him get desperate again. There is two ways you could go about this. Using the thin neck of the thermostat to sound his cock or stick it up his ass. He would most definitely lose his sanity with both options. The deciding factor is your own greed for seeing him with his legs up. You hook your hands under his knees and lift them, bending them so you can press them into the sheets on each side of his body.

Seokjin moans, gripping his own thighs instantly so he can stay in position.

“You’re getting an idea, aren’t you?” you ask him, preparing the thermostat.

“Yes, Doctor”, he breathes, eyes gawking at the ceiling nervously.

“You know, this isn’t how I normally take my patient’s temperature, but I make exceptions for bratty boys”, you say, wiping the access lube on the laid out towel. You don’t want to put it on his hole because he is supposed to take the thermostat raw. Just the lube on the shaft should make it easier for him. He deserves a little pinch.

You put your left hand on his lower stomach and apply pressure, thrusting the thermostat into his hole at the same time.

“Ah!” Seokjin flinches, toes curling and head lifting off the sheets. His neck is tense and his eyes are widened.

You wiggle the thermostat inside him for a little, rubbing circles into his stomach.

“God hmmm”, he lets out, dimpling his thighs.

“Almost done, I just need to angle it properly otherwise the results could be flawed”, you explain and slide it out just to thrust it back inside again.

Seokjin drops his head, but arches his back. He is so sexy, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“This is such a thin tool and yet you are arching your back. I should put your eagerness for anal stimulation into my notes.”

“Fuck”, he curses under his breath, tensing up in an attempt to come off as uninterested.

You chuckle, shifting your eyes to the thermostat. You press on the button.

“Now we have to wait.”

Seokjin breathes quickly, biting his lower lip. You let him agonise in the silence at first before you break it with a question.

“It is eagerness, isn’t it?”

He nods his head.

“What was that?”

“Yes”, he croaks.

“Yes? So you’re a brat and, forgive my wording, an anal whore?”

“Yes”, he mewls, tensing his neck as your words sink into the deepest fibers of his body. The way you degrade him will always ruin him. You don’t do it so obvious and straight forward like others do, you hide it behind a sweet voice and tender words. You make it sound as if you were being kind to him while in reality you called him the most degrading things. Seokjin swears he could orgasm just from that.

The thermostat beeps.

“Oh? Already done?” you gasp and pull it out quickly, ignoring the needy mewl he lets out. You step back, inspecting the result for a while so he can get impatient again. He shifts, lifting his head. Got him. You smirk, reading the results out loud, “thirty eight point three. Your temperature is a little raised, but I’m sure it’s because of our, well, current situation.”

You obviously made up the result. He has a very healthy temperature right now.

“Holy fucking shit, ___”, he gets out breathily, dropping his head into the sheets in utter defeat.

“I’m sorry? What did you just call me?” you hiss.

“Doctor!”

“No no, I think you were being a rude brat again. How fucking dare you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s a little too late for that. You are a lost cause, patient Kim. I thought that I could heal you with natural medicine, but it seems that you need stronger drugs to get good again.”

You walk back to your tools. Wait. Seokjin shows his impatience by dropping his legs so he could crane his neck and look. When all he meets are your darkened, knowing eyes, he tenses up and looks away, gulping nervously.

You sigh, “how disappointing”, you say quietly but loud enough that he can hear.

Seokjin keens, biting down on his lower lip. He doesn’t dare to move, listening to the clicking of your heels as you round the bed again. Whatever you are carrying is going to go inside or on his body, but he doesn’t dare to move.

“You know, I don’t like using such methods to treat my patients, so this is very difficult for me to do”, you talk to him as you prepare the anal plug.

It is curved and vibrates and it will give him the most delicious prostate stimulations ever.

“I’ll be good, I swear”, Seokjin croaks.

“Of course you will be. Once I’m finished with you”, you say, pushing the plug inside without warning.

“Ah!” Seokjin yelps, closing his legs instinctively.

“Nuh-uh, take it”, you force them apart again, wiggling the toy deep inside him.

“Ahmmmmm”, Seokjin lets out, twisting his own hair. He expected something to go up his ass, but not his favourite vibrator. Anything but this. It feels so good and it isn’t even turned on yet.

A faint click lets him know that you connected the bluetooth with the remote. He lifts his head, having to still his impatience. You aren’t holding the control, instead a leather paddle is tangling from your finger. You meet his eyes, keeping him captive with nothing but a playful smirk.

“Fifteen spanks. That’s all you need to bear and then you should be cured.”

Seokjin gulps, clenching around the toy. He is already dizzy and you haven’t even started yet.

“It will hurt me more than it will hurt you. I hate having to cure boys like this, but your case of bratiness is too strong. It can only be healed like this.”

“Please”, Seokjin croaks, eyes widened pleadingly.

You twirl the paddle.

“Stand up.”

Seokjin obeys instantly, chest heaving up and down quickly and eyes following you as you come closer.

You connect the paddle with his chest, guiding it over his skin as you round him. Goosebumps follow the touch, he is chasing you with tenses of his muscles.

“Can you stand?” you ask him and the sound of your voice is enough to let him know that you are being serious right now.

“It doesn’t hurt right now.”

“Good. Tell me if it starts to.”

“Okay.”

“Now”, you give his buttocks a gentle spank to pull him back into the scene.

He gasps, tensing his buttocks.

“Against the wall and put your hands up.”

Seokjin obeys, barely breathing. This is so exciting to him. And so incredibly hot.

“Legs further apart”, you order, spanking his inner thighs gently.

He obeys, fingers twitching on the wall. He is in a dream. You literally own him.

“Very good. We can begin.”

The vibrator springs to life, dragging a yelp of pleasure from his lips. He throws his head back, knees buckling and buckling again as you land your first spank before he could even recover from the surprise.

“One.”

The second spank knocks him into the wall. Not because you were so rough with it, but rather because Seokjin is weakened. His legs are shaking because of the toy. It feels so good, pressing right against his prostate and stimulating his rim as well. You chose his favourite setting. Everything about the toy is currently ruining him and then you come along and spank him. Of course he ends up falling against the wall. He can only handle that much.

You care rather little about his struggles, lifting your arm for yet another spank. You count loudly, striking his tender skin at the same time. His left buttocks jiggles and reddens. You give him no break, landing the forth strike on his right buttocks to even it out.

“Mistress”, Seokjin whimpers, clawing at the wall as he tries to drag himself up. His cheek is squished against it, eyes squeezed shut.

“I appreciate the manners, but that’s not what I told you to call me. Two more spanks are needed. Five, six.”

He flinches with each impact, legs shaking and cock throbbing. It is rubbing against the wall, leaving wet imprints of his pleasure. He can’t help himself. The vibrator feels so good on his prostate that he keeps leaking.

“Seven”, you make it sting especially well by striking him across both buttocks. The impact pushes the toy deeper.

“A-ah wait”, Seokjin stumbles, convulsing. He reaches behind himself, “hurts. Ankle hurts.”

You stop the vibrator, letting the paddle tangle on your wrist for now. You hold his waist.

“Sit down, baby. Careful, okay?”

“I’m okay, just felt my ankle pinch.”

“That’s alright. Just sit down and get comfy.”

He does so with a hiss, shifting and wiggling as the toy presses deeper into him.

“Oh god”, he gets out, pressing his hand to his lower stomach. He rolls his eyes back, folding himself in half. “Doctor I can’t. More please.”

You chuckle, relaxing. What a relief to see him so desperate for more.

“I think the question of if you wanna continue is useless?”

“Please Doctor, I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Fine. You still have eight spanks left anyway. It wouldn’t be wise to stop in the middle of your treatment. Just know that I will find no pleasure in hurting you”, you say and sit down on bed next to him.

Seokjin falls over your lap without having to be ordered to. He sticks his ass into the air, burying his face in the sheets. His eagerness melts you.

You chuckle, rubbing his heated butt.

“If you’re being such a good boy, I feel like I’m giving you the wrong treatment.”

“No please. No, i-i-it’s only because it’s working. Please I need more, it’s not enough you, you champignon.”

“Champignon?” you chuckle.

“Yes, that was an insult. The brattiness is coming back.”

You laugh. He is such a goof sometimes.

“It seems like it does”, you play along, “very well then, more treatment is necessary”, you conclude and turn on the vibrator.

Seokjin moans, cock twitching on your lap and thighs shaking. He is back in heaven. It is so intense, so electric, so warm. The vibrations ebb and rise in intensity, making it feel as if you were moving the toy in and out of him.

“Where were we?”

“Seven”, he croaks

“Ah yeah and what comes after that?”

“Eight-ah!”

“Good job. Oh that felt good. I can really leave an imprint in this position. Nine.”

Seokjin can feel it as well that you are having a lot more impact in your spanks. They burn, hitting him sharply. No words can describe how much he needed that. He twists the sheets, arching his back.

“Ten.”

Pain. So sharp. So deep. So good. Seokjin trembles on your lap, toes curling and cock leaking uncontrollably. As a matter of fact, he managed to smear your thighs with so much of his excitement that his cock manages to slip between them.

He feels it instantly, spilling tears and sobbing your name.

“Wrong name. You’ve brought the next two on yourself”, you say and strike him with such vigour it echoes for a second.

Seokjin takes them happily, fucking his sensitive cock with your thighs as his prostate throbs and his ass burns.

You noticed his cock between your thighs as well. Of course you did. It is so hard and wet. You should stop him, but you don’t want to. He looks so good when he is humping you like a stupid puppy. Especially when he humps even harder each time you strike his reddened buttocks.

You only have three more to go and you really want to make them count. The first you land on the lower area of his right buttocks. It’s especially sensitive, resulting in Seokjin to squeak and sob into the sheets.

“Don’t cry. It’s only for your best. You’re almost done, I promise.”

The second spank you land on his other buttock, wanting to make it equal. Seokjin twitches and writhes, fucking your thighs sloppily. There is no rhythm behind his movements, just utter and pure desperation. His noises let you know of it as well. He is squeaking so much. It is so honest, so utterly submissive and perfect.

“Last one. I’ll make it hurt, I don’t want to, but I have to”, you say and lift the paddle. You aim it to the middle of his ass, across his flushed buttocks.

Seokjin takes it with a scream, orgasming against his will.

“I’m sorry”, he sobs into the mattress, shaking uncontrollably.

“Nono, don’t apologise. This is perfect”, you say and grab his hips to guide their movements. You force him to fuck your thighs quickly, despite the overstimulation that causes.

Seokjin wails up, muffling himself a second later by biting the sheets. You speak of perfection while your hands torture him. You aren’t happy about his unwanted orgasm, you are happy that you can overstimulate him because of it. That you can force him to pound your creamed thighs and take the vibrations until he can’t help but squirt all over himself.

He gags and cries, trying to flee you but you only press him tighter to your lap as you laugh menacingly. The floor gets dirty. You hear it. How wonderful. He is so big and strong and yet right now, he is the smallest and weakest person to have ever existed. And you did that. By spanking his ass to the point of bruising and overstimulating every single one of his pleasure spots, you reduced him to your little bitch.

“Yellow, red, I don’t know, just no more please”, Seokjin begs after he finally stopped fucking squirting all over himself.

“Good boy”, you praise, releasing his hips. You turn off the toy and tug it out carefully, discarding it on the towel.

Seokjin sits up and climbs on your lap, hugging you tightly.

“Oh you sweetie, come here you”, you say, hugging him back, “you did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Seokjin whimpers, hiding away in the safety of your neck. His lips nib on it slowly, his breathing is shaky, but calms down the longer he is in your embrace.

“That was pretty intense and you handled it so well. God, I’m so proud of you, sweetie. I have the best boy ever”, you praise him, playing with his hair. You have your left hand on his lower body, massaging whatever sensitive spot of his butt is exposed. It is hot to the touch.

He chases your hand, which lets you know that he likes it. You still want to hear it from him.

“Is this nice for you?”

“Yes, really.”

“Then I’ll keep doing this. My good boy, you took me so well. Was it good for you?”

He nods his head vigorously, “it was perfect. Everything was perfect. You are perfect.”

You smile, hugging him closer.

“This feels good to hear. I love you, Jinnie baby.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your shoulder. “So much, it’s insane”, he whispers, making your heart flutter.

He lifts his head, meeting your love-filled eyes. He mirrors your state with flushed cheeks and puffy, bitten lips.

“You look ruined”, you chuckle, wiping the tears from his lashes.

“I am ruined. I pissed myself because you wouldn’t slow down.”

“I know. That’s why I did it. You’re so pretty when you lose control over yourself.”

His ears turn red, his eyes can’t seem to meet yours anymore. You chuckle, rubbing his buttocks.

“Does your butt hurt lots?”

“It’s definitely sore, but I don’t mind. You spanked me perfectly.”

“I did?”

“Yeah”, he hugs you, “I love being your sub, ___.”

“Oh wow, you say the sweetest stuff, my baby”, you gasp and cradle him as tightly as possible, “my sweet sub, I love having you too.”

Seokjin melts into you with a sigh, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“I’ll still be sick for the rest of the week.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm, at least to the public. We have so much catching up to do.”

“I can get behind this plan”, you say in a smile.

“Good, then tomorrow you’re getting breakfast in bed.”

185 notes · View notes

xjulixred45x · 8 months ago

Text

Zagreus (Hades) x Albino! Mortal!Reader

Imagine that the reader is a mortal who lives (unknowingly) near the gates of the Underworld (perhaps near one of the temples in honor of Hades next to the Cocytus River), and not only that, but she was born with ALBINISM.

I mean, skin very sensitive to sunlight, eyes just as sensitive, hair without color, etc.

Thanks to this, she gained a certain reputation in her hometown, both good and bad, but the general consensus was that her "exotic" appearance would make a good trophy wife.

So the reader resorted to an old Greek custom, covering herself as much as possible with veils and cloth, not only to protect herself from the sun, but to give the illusion that she was married to someone important, someone her suitors were afraid of.

and it works, sort of, but unwanted attention one way or another appears, so she decides to take a break from the people at the temple in honor of Hades, knowing that no one would dare go there.

What she didn't expect was to have company at some point.

Let's say this is for when Persephone returns to the Underworld and Zagreus goes to the surface at first just to tend to his mother garden, but eventually wants to wander, which leads to him stumbling upon the temple to Hades.

which leads to him running into reader.

Even if he dies before talking to her, curiosity is quite powerful, Zagreus knows that his father has very little culture (and understands VERY well why) so seeing a mortal for the first time and on top of that one who adored his father ? unusual.

The next time he surfaces he goes directly to the temple, and there is the reader, taking care of the almost abandoned place a little.

Definitely both at first are a bit wary of each other, mainly reader to Zag because of her bad experiences with men, but once she sees that he is a friendly guy (I say "see" as a way of saying because with all the veils that she wears she doesn't see shit) starts having a conversation with him.

Zagreus thinks that Reader surely uses the veils as a way to cover herself from the cold at first, but since Demeter has softened towards mortals and better times are coming and Reader continues wearing veils, Zag is confused. Isn't she roasting in there?

At the same time, as reader also covers her eyes to protect them, She probably does not know or realize at the beginning that Zagreus is a god, simply because she does not see the need to remove the veil to find out what this friendly person looks like. although she definitely thinks it's strange that be disappears after a couple of hours out of nowhere. rude.

It takes several trips to the surface for both to open up, which causes both to begin to generate a certain playful dynamic taking advantage of the circumstances. It's something...tender.

Zagreus learns more about mortal customs and their history thanks to the reader, how they see the gods, how they differ, in general, it is something quite important for Zagreus, being more empathetic than his relatives, he wants to be aware of how the gods live, as well mortals. After all, without them the gods have no work, right?

Reader definitely didn't buy Zagreus about being the son of Hades at first, and it will take a little time for her to believe it, but I think the most important step for both of them would be to know why Reader is always covered and her condition.

Let's say that one day while being outside (reader in the shade and Zagreus in the sun) Zagreus accidentally pulled a bit of the reader's lower veil while playing and that generated a HORRIBLE burn on her arm, poor boy felt so guilty :(

Although it also helped him to start connecting the dots for him because she was always so covered, and he just started asking about her condition in order to help her.

The reader would tell him some basics of her condition and how it affected her life in many ways. Coming to the topic of suitors. and I imagined something like this:

"So you wear your veils to protect yourself from the sun?"

"not only that...women in my city usually cover themselves when they get married"

"(between berserk and heartbroken mode) are you...married?"

"Oh no! Gods no! It's just a move I made to protect myself from both the sun and the men who won't leave me alone!"

"Are they that bad? Do you think that will stop them for long?"

"The worst... and the more covered the woman is, the more powerful the husband is. What do you think these men think when they see a woman covered from head to toe?"

"that you must be married to the king of Olympus himself"

when the reader finally decides to show Zagreus her face and as you can see, boy is so ANXIOUS, because well, he was already quite in love with this girl just with her personality and her attitude, so being able to put a face to the name was simply exciting . And when she takes it off? he dies (figuratively).

And for her part, the reader is quite surprised to see that INDEED her recent friend not only has a strange divine aura but also fucking BURNING FEET and begins to believe his anecdotes much more 😅

Zagreus getting her Ambrosia 🥺 I have the hc that in normal living humans the ambrosia of Hades has a certain healing effect (as ambrosia had a rejuvenating effect in mythology) and perhaps thanks to this reader can walk in the sun without getting hurt.

Zagreus definitely dislikes reader's suitors as much (or even more) than she does. If she wants him to scare them, he'll be happy to do it :)

(It goes without saying, if the reader ends up in the Underworld suddenly, er, because of the suitors, Zagreus is DEFINITELY going to retaliate by giving them a direct step to Tartarus).

If reader could somehow go to the house of Hades (maybe for Charon) she would be SO HAPPY that finally there is no sun damaging her skin or stupid men harassing her, being able to move freely is so.. MAGICAL! Her joy is contagious to Zagreus, who had already gotten used to seeing her always confined by her clothes and veils, but this is not bad at all.

Overall, I think it's a cute concept😚

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Soon i may or may not post something about Achilles! So, stay tuned.

#drabble #fem reader #supergiant hades #hades supergiant #hades spoilers #hades zagreus x reader #zagreus x reader #hades zagreus #zagreus #albino #hades defo does the thing of “you(the Reader) deserve better”#just a thought #lol #hades 2 #hades ii #hades game

315 notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 4 months ago

Text

A Doe in Fall (part 11)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught 📍 (this bitch is getting long) Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Horny? Not this story yet but….Don’t worry, just wait a couple days… 👀 💦

Part 11 Caught

Taking time to cast out the line and wait for the big one to take the bait.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, jaws theme plays, fishing, sweet as fuck, and then not sweet, prostitution yelled into a crowd, rough hands, I won’t say the word ‘paddy wagon’ because the history seems to be targeted at the Irish in America so it’s called a wagon here」

Minors if you violate the MDNI I will toss you back into the river lie the pinfish you are 💥 🎣

Peaceful. Your head on his chest. Even breathes, strong heart. Corporeal. Real. There with you. A ritual to whoever brought you into his embrace, every morning you lied against him and you stared out the window. Past the greenhouse, where the woods were allowed to run wild and you knew the animals therein were safe to exist as they were meant to. Everything and everyone in their element.

His fingers would make little circles and pattern eights along your shoulder blade. Your gaze out and forward, his intently focused on the ceiling fan; then and there.

Occasionally he’d spell a word across your skin to see if you were paying attention. Today: B R E A K F A S T ?

He didn’t want to interrupt the sounds of the radio on the dresser with the half hearted question.

He carried your plate out onto the front porch, the swinging bench as much a perfectly suitable place to eat as anywhere else. You both tended to enjoy the back porch, but he felt an urge for novelty.

As you nibbled, he stared at the car. He didn’t really want to leave, but he wanted to go somewhere with you.

“Can I take you to the water? We could fish. I’m in no rush today.” You were unsure, tilting your head a little when he asked. He had offered before but you admitted you didn’t know how. “You’ll have time to shower before work.” His index finger came over and waited for yours to hook into his.

Alastor was beyond smitten watching you and your trousers bound down his steps. Hand in hand, in the early morning breeze of the impending fall, he led you through his property to the water’s edge.

A small cup of earthworms he scrounged up while you changed, two poles from the shed, and a bucket he hoped would have fish soon enough.

As a child he often ran through the woods of his home and played pretend, and as he got older and his imagination shifted he would fish for his mother. When his friends began to date and pair off, he’d hunt animals in a parallel kind of chase.

They took home gals, he dragged in rabbits.

And when his mother died, and the food he brought home was more than he needed, he stopped venturing past the clearing. That trek home to a bright house, his mother waiting on the back porch surrounded by the chirps of crickets was something he cherished.

But then her silhouette was gone. And the cricket’s song became one of loneliness. The walk to the house now a chore, a thing he had to do to get from Point A to Point B.

Pulling you by the hand past the field and its tall grass, into the shade of the trees where the air was so cool it bordered on wet, he wasn’t so worried about the return trip. No tedium in the navigation now.

Alastor wasn’t loquacious as it were, but when he did feel like talking he talked. He could, and did, name every species of fish that lived in the river. The ones he liked to eat, the ones he liked to look at, and the fish he didn’t care for much at all. His mother’s favorite was bluegill, and he said it was the scariest fish when he was young.

“The fucker has spikes!” He said it like he was introducing a villain, “I grabbed one once and it flexed these spines and I dropped it. I broke a pole trying to beat one to death once because I was too scared to pick it up again.”

You’d never fished. Not because you didn’t care for it, it just wasn’t what you did. Your mother didn’t take you to rivers or the sea. You stayed in buildings and parks near people. You could see the water, just never really interacted with it. Luckily, Alastor was ecstatic to teach you.

He saddled up behind you and explained how to cast out. It took a few tries to get it right, the release of the line a little tricky to get down at first. You could see the shine of the reels and could tell they were expensive and unused. Easily they were worth more than three dollars a piece. He bought two of them… when? The thought brought a silly, crooked smile you couldn’t contain.

“A friend accidentally hooked his own back once.” You watched the way his gaze seemed to soften as he was looking into the distant past.

“I hope he’s gotten better at it.”

Alastor shrugged.

Oh, right… Alastor had friends in a sense, but never had he really introduced you to someone that was remotely important. No one he lit up for, no one he invited over, no one he completely relaxed his put-on smile for. You had to wonder where they'd all gone.

“Do you ever see him?”

He shook his head, “He has a life now.”

Your chuckle wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it came off a little too incredulous, “Do you not have a life?”

He didn't look at you, which was the loudest indicator he wasn’t fond of the question. He cast out his own line, waiting to reply until he could settle, “Sweetheart, do you really think I’ve been living a life compatible with his? Or any of them?” He pulled back on the line a little to feel the tension, “Wives get uncomfortable inviting over single 40 somethings like myself. And I can only stomach so many surprise female dinner guests at such things.”

You felt like an ass.

Being a single man at his age, with a good job, a car, and land, made people uncomfortable. A lifelong chosen bachelor is fine, a rake is expected, but someone who seemed to be disinterested in dating and in fooling around? You could imagine the looks on their wive’s faces, asking questions that were thinly veiled insults.

What do you do for fun?

Is it difficult to find respectable dates when you work in jazz?

So, you’ve never been married, is that right? Not even close?

A mood change. You waited a moment to let silence kill the topic and asked, “What is the catch you’re most proud of?”

He thought for a second before a lopsided grin spread and you felt your heartbeat relax. “A gull.”

“A gull?!”

Alastor cackled, doubling over at the memory. “I threw out my line and as it flew through the air, a gull passing by grabbed the worm. It fought me for a minute before managing to get loose.” He ended up squating, blue jeans rolled up at the ankles and covered in spurs you just now noticed. “It looked as confused as I was.”

The morning was spent reveling in new and useless information about each other. Your fear of dogs, his fear of armadillos (someone told them they had the plague). The time you accidentally walked into a stranger’s home, the time he startled an old woman because he was standing too still in a store and she thought he was a mannequin.

Moments of intimacy intermittently interrupted by a tugging of the fishing line and excited easing in of the prize.

The fuckers did have spikes. You reached out for your first successful catch and the barbs pricked you. With a hurried step back, your short heel sank into the dirt and you lost your balance. Your ass hit the ground hard, and you needed a breath before you could reply to Alastor’s worried questions.

“I’m fine”, just embarrassed, you assured him before picking up your shoe and throwing it, “I have to go home and change out these shoes.” Leftie smacked against the tree with a soft pop.

“Bring over a few pairs, if you have them. I’m sure a pair of mom’s could fit you, you can wear them home. We could toss these into the river. Shoot ‘em. Run em over.” He retrieved the thrown shoe before kneeling to remove the other one. He touched your ankle, eyes shooting up to monitor your face for any pained expressions. “Burn ‘em.”

“First my stockings last week and now my shoes? You’ve gone fire-happy.” You wiggled your toes for his peace of mind, “It’s okay, I don’t have many shoes. We’ll reconcile someday.”

Alastor sat down properly on the grass and dirt of the river’s edge and took off his shoes and socks. You thought maybe he was trying to commiserate somehow, until he shoved the socks into the toe box and slipped one onto your foot.

You warned he didn’t have to do that and he flashed you a look, his smirk alone called you a hypocrite and made you go silent. “You can’t perform with tattered feet or a rolled ankle.” He laced them tightly, “I know where the stickers and ant hills are, I’ll be fine.”

Your eyes wandered over the bucket of water and fish, the worms in their cup, and his bare feet on the grass.

“Who taught you to be such a well rounded gentleman?” A rhetorical question, mostly.

“My mother, of course.”

“Your father didn’t worry you’d be too soft?”

“Ah, apparently not. He left before I was born,” Alaster fidgeted with the straps of your shoes. “He hadn’t considered,” every word was measured, “the realities of,” you could see him searching for the words in real time; this was a conversation he had never had before, “of being with my mother before knocking her up.”

The ‘family planning’ conversation on the kitchen table fluttered back to you.

“Oh, can I have permission to hate him?” Always the easiest emotion.

He clicked his tongue, hands busy looping your shoes together by their straps and then attaching them to his belt loop.

“He left her the house and the land before going. Kept his promise to help take care of me, in that sense. So, no. I think indifference is fair enough.” He grabbed your fish by the tail and placed it into the bucket. “Kinda funny though, had he stuck around he’d have seen how the only thing I got from him was his biggest worry: my complexion!” A joyless laugh, “But I’m just like her in all the ways that matter.”

It came out before you could think it through, “He didn’t love your mother?”

He winced. “Cowards can love just fine, I think. Maybe they love the hardest actually.” You nodded, knowing this wasn’t a philosophical debate where your opinion was needed. “I mean, what kind of man just gives away his only assets?” Alastor leaned over to fix the collar of your blouse, “A scared idiot in love, of course.”

You wondered about ‘family planning’. In their age it was nothing short of guessing and lamb innards. It was impossible to pretend you knew what his father would have lived through had he stayed. But you knew very well what Alastor lived through because he left. New Orleans was different than many other parts of the country when it came to mixed children, but the attitude was less acceptance and more a baseline tolerance for their existence.

The conversation, and shoe change, brought a natural end to the morning. Alastor helped you up, taking the opportunity to brush off your backside.

He led you until the clearing, he knew the land was flat there, and slowed down to let you walk a little bit ahead. The view of the house was much more inviting with you in it.

As promised, a shower. Originally alone, Alastor sitting on the toilet seat talking to you about dinner. Then he got quiet. He startled you a little when he peeked behind the curtain but everything settled when he got inside and his hands wrapped around your waist. Kisses for kiss’s sake. Skin on skin just to feel closer than you were before. A hum buzzing his chest as you hugged him tightly and wasted some water. Well, ‘wasted’ is subjective. The warmth radiating off his stomach rivaled the shower’s spray. You knew there wasn’t time for a nap, but the comfort was so deeply rooted you worried you’d fall asleep in his arms then and there.

His mothers shoes did fit, a pair of her black double straps with a nice wide heel replaced your T-straps and their damned thin one. The offer and action of presenting them to you was bigger than could be acknowledged. It was clear in how he wiped them clean with drilled in focus and set them in front of the bed for you like the main course of a fancy meal. The way they’d been kept packaged and neat in the guest closet.

“Throwing them away seemed a waste. Glad they could be of use.” He said it so casually but it was more than that. When she died he packed away her items and forgot about them. He couldn’t throw them away. It still felt like her house, after all. Who was he to change anything?

It was a little surprise to himself when he offered them to you. It seemed natural at the moment but as he said it his calm heart backtracked. Was that okay to do? Was it disrespectful to his mother? Was it rude to offer you a dead woman’s things? Would you be uncomfortable?

The little strings of worry all cut loose though when you did the straps and said, “I’ll return them in perfect condition.”

He had thought you’d take them forever. But no, that was better. “I’ll buy you your own just like them.”

You quickly buried the sincere sweetness of the moment with a joke, “Finally this long con is paying off!” What else could you do, threading the strap of your beau’s dead, dearly loved mother’s heels? It was like being on cloud nine with lead shoes. Confusingly wonderful and supremely daunting. You were literally walking in her shoes. The irony made you squeeze your arms to your sides to make sure your sweat pads were in their place.

Alastor thought if all you were getting out of this was a pair of shoes, you were definitely coming up in the red.

Negative.

Losing out.

He knew it was a joke, but had it been true he’d build a home on his land and fill it with shoes and dresses and whatever else you asked for. A stage all your own if you wanted. He’d clap and throw flowers at your feet nightly. If you’d let him.

Maybe he could do that anyway. Every night, praise you with his mouth in all the ways he could imagine you’d enjoy.

The analogy carried through as he drove you to work. What was the price of admission and had he managed to afford it yet? Again, he fretted over what he was giving you in all of… whatever exactly this was.

He knew exactly what he wanted it to be and knew very well what you didn’t want. So, letting sleeping dogs lie, he instead considered what you were actually getting out of the arrangement as it stood now.

He’d met women who just wanted a home to pretty up. You had your own space you seemed keen on so he doubted that was it. Sometimes women pursued him for his obvious disposable income. Images of you swiping the hundred off the hotel bar played across his thoughts. No, you seemed capable enough to earn more than your job paid. If anything you seemed to enjoy chasing down marks.

You’d made it clear your thoughts on marriage (“I won’t be bought by jewelry and promises of a pretty cage.”) though he did consider what could ever make you want that legal lock. He’d had friends who would have liked the safety a husband lended their image. Women who didn’t have any need or want for men in general. But things like banking and ownership were easier with a husband. And if he was aware of their preferences, they could still enjoy their love lives as they always had tried to before marriage. Alastor had considered such an offer before. Seriously considered it. It seemed to solve all of the problems he and his lady friend had.

His hands twisted around the steering wheel. He knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, he was always going to be alone. But the tiniest speck of desire to have someone love him and share his life remained buried in the viscera of his reality. So he turned down the sham marriage. What if he met someone inconceivable? Suddenly he would be an adulterer. Which was just hilarious to him. Such a thing could lead to a loss of employment and social shunning.

Plus, his mother would shake her head if he opened her very deserved home to someone purely existing to make a pleasant lie for the world. Disappointment could leak straight from her grave and into the floorboards.

Everyone wants something, though. He wanted to be seen in his entirety and accepted as he was.

You?

Well. All the things you seemed to want you had. Autonomy. Adoration. Attention.

His mind conjured images of you sitting pretty in your trousers in Beth’s. Moments like those, before he knew you, you had all of the things you wanted and seemingly needed. It made you upsettingly attractive to him.

Alastor didn’t want to be needed by someone, he wanted to be wanted by someone who already had everything.

As the car rolled over the bridge and you both made your way into the city proper, his thoughts wandered back to the notion of rings. His mother never had one, so he had nothing to hand down. Would you wear gold, like the necklace you hung on the mirror in the guest room? Or silver?

He suppressed an embarrassed chuckle, he was getting ahead of himself again. Daydreaming while he drove like he always did. But this time you were in the car with him.

You caught him blushing, asking if he got too much sun by the water earlier. Alastor’s eyes went wide and he laughed a forced ‘ha ha ha!’, punctuated by a flat and low “No!”

All you could do was laugh in return when he didn’t elaborate. The way he was gripping the steering wheel made his knuckles go pale through the thin skin of his hands. But the wonky smile he had told you he wasn’t angry.

He gave you a peck outside the theater’s side door, promised to swing by yours after work so you could grab some shoes, and drove off.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Excuse you, you’re not welcome here.”

You heard it but didn’t really register what that implied. Sometimes people tried to sneak in who’d been banned, but it was…not common. The list of people was quite short. You didn’t stop to think of them all, regardless.

You made a habit of calling Ruth by her stage name as early in the work day as you could remember, to avoid any slip ups. So when you called out to her as you worked the room after your performance, she knew to answer.

“Skye, could you bring me some water?” Leaning on the bar you watched her make her own drink, flashing you a wink. She always got tipsy and ended up behind the bar when she was in a good mood. Which was most nights. The staff didn’t mind, the real money to be made was in liquor and whatever could be passed off as beer. So the extra pair of hands was appreciated.

“You’ve been especially happy lately. Good sex?” The glass was slid to you. All you could do was nod. You’d hadn’t actually had sex in awhile, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Your smile barely had a chance to slip off your face, your senses too quick for your body to keep up. The awareness that something was wrong hit you fast and hard, but only milliseconds before you felt someone grab you.

Brady’s hand gripped your shoulder and pulled you backwards, something slipping around your wrists as a uniformed cop came around the corner of the atrium. You struggled to get away from him, shouting general protests to being suddenly manhandled. Your voice erupted, the first cannon shot of the war as women and men began to swarm and berate the detective.

Barely a shocked laugh could be choked out from your tightening throat.

“You’re under arrest!” He yelled it, looking at you for just a moment before announcing it to the audience. An actor to his crowd.

“For what?!” Johnny pushed Brady with two fingers to the chest.

“Prostitution.”

A beat of silence as the room collectively gasped. Ruth was the first one to truly lay her hands on him, snatching his hat off and smacking him across the head. The other dancers moved like a school of fish, tucking Ruth into the safety of their numbers with a simultaneous jostling of the detective.

The cop leading you away stopped, “Just her? I thought-,”

Detective Brady dusted his hat off with the back of his hand and shooed the man away. “Just her.”

Before you had reached the glass doors of the theater, you tensed and pulled back. “What the fuck are you doing, Mr. Brady?”

But Brady wasn’t looking at you. He was scanning the room. Staring into the small but fierce roiling mass of regulars, dancers, and staff filling up the doorway in front him and flooding the atrium.

Johnny sized up Brady, getting nose to nose with him, “Show your face here again and we’ll need an ambulance, not a wagon!”

Brady leaned into the confrontation, “Now sir I’d be careful. That almost sounds like a threat.”

“Sure as shit is!” Someone hissed.

“Hey! Brady!” You tried again in vain to get his attention.

“Hush. You confessed to it already, no point crying now.” The cop’s voice was harsh, his disgust barely hidden. His palms were calloused and scratched at the exposed skin of your arms.

“Someone! Someone call-,” Ruth snapped her fingers as the syllables teetered on the tip of her tongue.

Goosebumps rose across your shoulders like little tombstones. Your autonomic nervous system came to a crawl. The grip on your arm tightened as you had to be wretched forward and out of the front doors.

Her eyes lit up, “Alastor! Does anyone have Alastor’s work number?!” Ruth was met with confused faces and shrugs from the others.

You didn’t feel yourself begin to cry, it was a reaction to the fact you hadn’t blinked since you became aware Brady didn’t seem too interested in your reaction to this.

This wasn’t an arrest. It was a trap.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:��

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

#hazbin hotel #Alastor #human Alastor #alastor x reader #human Alastor x reader #ADIF #a doe in fall

145 notes · View notes

noctivagant-corvid · 5 months ago

Text

yet another pd dash simulator (pt one pt two pt four pt five)

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow INSULIN IS 40 DOLLARS! YOU COULD HAVE JUST TOLD ME TO KILL MYSELF.

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow please buy commisions so i can afford my insulin!!!!

🎱 flamefestonsixthst Follow this is incredibly fucking depressing. FUCK belltech and FUCK anyone who tolerates them. buisnesses aren't people, they're demons.

🫀livingonasin Follow also they have human experimentation allegations against them!!!

🎮 wheezerunofficial Follow I BEG YOUR PARDON????????????

2,761 notes

🪶 ASHES2ASHES Follow stream at 6 pm cst, playing resident evil. stream sponsored by trix !!

34,512 notes

🤺 tearfulatthefalling Follow hey do you all remember the ghost emo who haunts my college and his purple haired boyfriend. well the boyfriend has been lighting candles without a lighter and either is really good at getting his roots done on time or has naturally purple hair. so. what else is new

🍋 forscoreandsixyearsago Follow this is the deadwood of college dorms.

167 notes

🌳 terabitchia Follow 5k notes by the end of the month and i'll ask the really hot roller derby lady who takes the same train as me on a date. spam allowed .

🌳 terabitchia Follow we reached the goal in two weeks! i hate all of you.

🌳 terabitchia Follow UPDATE: SHE SAID YES WE'RE GETTING ICE CREAM NEXT WEEK!!! EVERYBODY CHEER

7,043 notes

☐ hero-updates Follow Hero "Lightspeed" spotted at an ice cream parlor by the name of "Andy's"! More updates as they arrive!

21 notes

🪼 mackleless Follow i have,,, 506 new followers,,, where did you all come from,, the fucking tidalwave void??????

🔥 killmedead Follow yes

🪼 mackleless Follow Fucking Fair Enough I Guess

8,654 notes

🕰 cringcrong Follow bitches love me for my complex of lightning like scars that stretch across my entire body from when i was possesed by a demon

🕰 cringcrong Follow anyways be sympathetic with chaos demon/trickster survivors, nobody tried to cause the harm they did they were simply thrown in the way

🕰 cringcrong Follow [ ALT TEXT: a screenshot of a notification reading "ASHES2ASHES reblogged your post: "bitches love me fo..." ". End id.] he's got that trix sponsorship!!!!!!!

27,653 notes

👁‍🗨 darlingsos Follow [ALT TEXT: a photo of the sword in central new haven with the sunset in the backround. End id.] my friends are contemplating if they could climb up it, and i'm getting a free homework pass for my photography course with this shot 😎

155 notes

🐦‍⬛ noctivagant-notcorvid Follow weare living through a Really Fucking Annoying Chapter of someone's history class btw. trickster AND belltech controversy AND hero criticism AND meatball from space AND villian sympathy at an all time high AND all of the diff chaos demon incidents AND whatever the FUCk is going on with deadwood at All Times AND-

420 notes

☄ tapedtogetherhope Follow more Concerning Things lethe has said: "oh, you don't eat deer if they have more than two eyes. then you'll see it. duh." "the hard part of dead things is making sure they stay dead." "you know, how if you run away from home too many times the forest starts to think you belong to it." "anybody can make a star if they explode enough." "why the hell would you go to a river alone? do you want to be soap?"

🌀 goncharovenoveout Follow see most of this can be brushed off as midwest gothic esque from pre-powered era but. what do you mean do i want to be soap.

18,564 notes

#jrwi #jrwi prime defenders #jrwi pd #jrwi tidalwave #jrwi belltech #ashe winters #vyncent sol #jrwi lightspeed #fake dashboard #fake post #unreality #nocspeaks

161 notes · View notes

kedsandtubesocks · 6 months ago

Text

blood on your name

Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: Texas 1885 - the town’s ranching competition brings in new souls out from the desert, one unfortunately happens to be a ghost haunting you & he’s still as handsome and dangerous as ever

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY. MDNI, old Wild West AU, slight enemies to lovers, very morally!gray Ezra, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy pronouns, one moment of spit kink, allusions to p in v, scoundrel but soft!Ezra, themes of violence & reader enacting violence on another, use of guns, blood & injury, morally!gray reader, time period views of marriage & shaming women (brief use of derogatory terms against reader), minor character deaths, light gender language usage, use of nicknames

word count: 7.2k

a/n: here’s to finally putting my 7th grade tx history lessons to some use plus I’ve been really missing west texas so here we are lol! Fun history fact - Pecos prides itself as the birth place of the rodeo so this competition is the inception of that! It took me a while to get here & this truly wouldn’t be here without @gasolinerainbowpuddles @julesonrecord & @perotovar i can’t thank you babes enough, and to you, if you decide to read this too, thank you so much ♡

The newcomers that blew into town stand around the edge of the fence.

Pecos had become famous for hosting this rope wrangling event, and you’re not surprised it’s brought others in to observe the spectacle. Just last week it seemed like more wagons wandered into the edge of town.

You’ve been living here among the desert’s harsh eyes with your aunt for a few years now. When your mother unleashed her wrath after she found you with an unmarried man who had drifted into town, you fled with the caravan heading out west. So far west it brought you to the Pecos River. You’re thankful your aunt welcomed you with open arms. The desert proved to be a harsh host. But you’ve managed.

The actual event in town wasn’t taking place until the end of the week. Except so many already want to see the cowboys proudly warming up, showing off.

It’s why you even stop on your way home from the tailor shop.

Duke Williams currently tries his hand at practicing. The handsome young star all the way from Austin shows promise while he maneuvers his threadbare rope with ease.

He lands a solid catch against one of the practice sheep running around, and the crowd claps already impressed.

His bright face, angelic almost, brightens when he smiles triumphantly. When he spots you among the on looks, he beams even wider. You smile back politely.

However, Martha, the mayor’s youngest daughter, nudges you.

“I don’t know why you haven’t let that man swoop you up yet?” She giggles with a slight tease however, her words sting.

Duke’s been pursuing you ever since he came into town last spring. He reminds you of a newly built chapel, lovely coated in pristine and full of holy hope.

Yet, you don’t care for him.

You understand you should be married by now. Especially at your age, you’re becoming a dusting antique on the shelf by the town’s whispers. You even understood your mothers anger after discovering the man she caught you with had simply scurried away without another word.

Everyone in town seems to see Duke almost as your god blessed savior on a white horse sent to rescue you from a desolate destitution.

But you don’t hold any sense of attraction towards Duke. Even as you watch how handsome and sturdy he looks, a fierce cowboy among the other competitors, you simply admire his skills. And that’s it.

You wonder if you’re simply destined to the life of a happily secluded cactus like creature.

Something tickles against your skin, a sensation of being hyper aware of being caught in another’s gaze. Living in the desert has brought you a heightened awareness to make sure no critters lurking among can strike you.

So your eyes flicker around and find the crowd still enthralled by the sight of the cowboys.

Until you find one man isn’t.

One of the newcomers.

Sun kissed skin, an absolutely striking hawkish nose, sparse facial hair and then, the deepest dark earth eyes you’ve ever seen stare straight at you. The dusty black cowboy hat he wears casts a strange shadow across his features, cloaking him almost sinister.

Your breath hitches fast like it’s stolen from you.

You know this stranger.

One of the other newcomers nudges against him drawing his attention away from you. But your face stays stuck on him.

The men discuss with each other low and close, clustered together like a pack of desert weeds sprouting fast.

Except after the mystery outsider relays something back to the group, his eyes flicker back to you.

There’s a simmered wildness to him.

The commotion of spurs clinking comes and so many giggle around you, drawing your attention away.

Duke moves towards you with a shining grin on his face.

A desire to scurry away tugs at you. So with a polite smile, you silently duck away and decide to head home.

“Hey! Why ya leaving so soon?” He calls out. “Did you see me?”

His voice is so bright but also, so slightly arrogant, as if he can maybe keep you from leaving.

“Yes, you were incredible.” You’re truthful in your words.

Thankfully the others all around begin greedily vying for his attention.

As you turn to head home, that strange itch crawls over you again. Someone’s watching you.

So glancing around you think it must be Duke, but his attention is preoccupied.

However, it’s the handsome black cowboy hat stranger who again blatantly stares so direct at you.

A moment passes of you simply staring back at him.

However you break the contact first, needing to head home. But the entire way you sense his eyes blazing a hole on your back.

By the time you hit the edge of town towards your aunt’s cabin, the day creeps into early evening.

Above, vultures circle around high. However… there isn’t any sign of decay nearby.

- ☾𖤓 -

Your walk towards the tailor shop passes by the large stretch of land where the cowboys practice. Duke cries out your name excited. Politely you turn to greet him good morning only to find he’s not alone.

Other cowboys of course have come to wrestle in their skills. One of them surprises you.

The man you saw a few days ago is here.

His deep midnight eyes flicker to you immediately. That handsome face of his stays entirely composed.

Duke rattles on about his day. Yet you pay no attention as the new cowboy has stolen all your focus. The black cowboy hat he wears is dusty, weathered, and for some reason, you feel as if it both does and doesn’t suit him.

Duke chirps out your name again. Apologizing, you blame your dazed attention on lack of sleep.

Your night has been restless

“Hope ol’ lady Julie isn’t working y’too hard at the tailor shop.” He grins boyish and charming.

“Oh, Duke.” A smooth twang of a voice floats out. Waltzing in besides the cowboy, the newcomer arrives.

“You didn’t tell me your bird was so lovely.” His voice is curled with a smile and his voice, a deep drawl, draws an acidic venom in your mouth.

“I’m not his bird.” You politely reply.

“Not yet.” Duke adds warm, shy. But that only causes your stomach to squirm even more.

“Name’s Ezra, dear honeysuckle.” The newcomer introduces himself with a tip of his hat.

You nod back quietly giving him your name.

“Ezra came for the competition, traveled all this way just to try his hand at it!” Duke, ever the competitor, explains excited for the new competition.

Your eyes unfortunately stay on the newcomer rider.

Compared to Duke, Ezra’s frame is lithe. Then again, Duke with his incredibly tall stature is built like a terrifying boulder. Ezra’s broad shoulders and his striking sleek build makes you think of a river, fluid yet quietly powerful.

As unfortunately handsome as he is, his frame does not seem like a cowboy’s build.

Instead he reminds you of the traveling con man you once knew.

Duke continues rattling on and on about how proud he is to show off the town and this event.

You however hate the way Ezra’s eyes still on you make your skin tighten.

Excusing yourself with a soft nod, wishing them both well, you return on your way to the seamstress. Your body burns the entire way.

The day goes by slowly at the shop. After working on a few ruined blouses, Julie, the elderly shop owner, keeps you busy with tidying up. When the sun starts setting, the door clings open, and you wonder who’s coming in so late.

Ezra saunters in, and your throat tightens.

“Welcome in, newcomer!” Julie greets with a grandmotherly grace. “What can we do for you, good sir?”

Ezra smiles with all the charm of a gilded cactus.

“Seems I am in need of a new stitch for these gloves of mine.” Ezra explains pulling out worn gloves.

Leather frayed along the straps speak of the weathered and worn attention they’ve been given. But they seem too big for his hands. You even swear you’ve seen them before on his old business partner. But you don’t want to think too much on it.

Good dear sweet Julie chatters with the man. You simply stay quiet, not even turning to greet or address him.

You don’t even work on his gloves, deciding to let Julie handle them.

You even hide out in the back room, not even listening to when Ezra leaves.

Julie ends up heading home, and you’re left to close up. The sun sets a dusty fading apricot against the shadow of the tailor shop.

As you pass by the alleyway, suddenly you’re handed into the dark shadows. You’re about to scream, maybe even yelp, until a hand goes flying across your face, silencing you.

“Now now, pidge, don’t need you making too much of a holler.” Ezra.

Anger seethes in you, boiling. Violently and with a harsh yank, you tear yourself away from his grasp. You’re almost tempted to storm away.

“Didn’t think I’d ever be graced by your beauty again. That mother of yours still got that shotgun she threatened me with?” He smoothly asks with the amount of dangerous charm a rattlesnake would carry.

“What? This your last attempt at selling that watered down snake oil you call elixirs and tonics?” You snap back razor sharp.

When you first met Ezra, which now feels like lifetimes ago, he was a smooth talking traveling salesman. A drifter, as your mother so harshly called him.

Instead of the cowboy hat he wears now, he looked more stately in his bowler type cap.

He charmed so many of the women in town, trying to sell them the secrets to youth, vitality, beauty, and anything else he could promise in his elixir vials. You however, were not interested, saw right through his ruse.

Though, you realize now you were just as foolish as the others in town rapidly buying his lies. Because you had been just as charmed and fooled as they were.

This man, who’s sharp wit intrigued you, who spoke to you as an equal, became so dangerous because you were willing to give him everything.

Your heart, your body - all of you should have been reserved for your husband. Instead you freely gave everything to this thief.

The swindler swore he would take you with him, make you his wife. But when your mother’s fury came, he fled like a petrified jackrabbit.

You suppose he is more coyote than jackrabbit, greedily stealing anything he can then sneakily moving on.

Ezra’s composed grin on his face flickers, like all the history resting between you and him resurfaces within him.

“Didn’t you hear, pidgeon? My elixirs were plundered. Even my poor partner, god rest his dear soul, was shot down in cold blood!” Ezra explains with sorrow.

You had heard about that. At the edge of town, on the dirt road leading out into the hills, one of the sheriff’s found the large carriage and Ezra’s associate dead. The carriage crashed, run off the road. The damage screamed of the work of bandits. However, Ezra was nowhere to be found.

“I’m just supposed to believe you miraculously made it out of there alive?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

You don’t want to say it, but your instincts twist dangerously in your stomach. You wonder if Ezra did the deed himself, killed his partner and took the valuables.

Ezra shrugs sheepishly.

“That’s the way the desert works, honeysuckle. It’s a harsh landscape that only protects those who can survive its wrath.”

You forgot how much he spoke like a preacher sometimes, so elevated and otherworldly. You hate how badly your heart races just being this close to him again, hearing his voice again.

“So you’re telling me you came all the way here just to try your hand at the competition? Never even seen you ride, much less thrown a rope. Can’t imagine a con-man like you being a cowboy.” You reply skeptical.

He barks a laugh. “You'd be surprised. I’m a man composed of many unrevealed talents.”

You knew that very well.

Cautiously, treading like he’s approaching a mountain lion, Ezra steps closer to you. Out of instinct you step backwards closer to the other shop beside the tailors.

“Now don’t tell me you’re pondering the idea of telling everyone about my past life, pidge?” His voice is low, calm but brewing like an approaching storm.

“Because it pains me just imagining the repercussions that could arise if ya did.” He mutters, and your throat gets tight.

There's an underlying threat below his words.

Fiercely, stubbornly, you glare at him, refusing to speak. But you know you won’t say anything. He must know it too. You’ve left your past far back at home. And you don’t want him reviving your ghosts either.

Suddenly the back of Ezra’s hand gingerly, barely touching your skin, grazes against your cheek. He whispers out your name.

“The years out here have made you bloom, like a beautiful desert petal.” He mumbles with hazed eyes.

Out of spite you snap your face away and scowl even harder at him.

“I have to get home.” You snap angrily, managing to finally remove yourself from him.

“The motel houses me for the time being,” he declares from behind in the shadows.

“Unless that blonde Galahad cowboy of yours is keeping your bed warm now?” Ezra adds almost amused.

Rage bursts a furious fire in you, and it consumes you in its heated path.

“Rot in hell.” You snarl whipping back to him.

“As long as you keep me company, beautiful.” Ezra replies coy.

You’re about to curse his soul when he stomps towards you, fast and steady. His hand flings to your face, pulls you back to the shadow of the tailor shop.

He kisses you with the fierce intensity of a sudden dust storm. It even shakes your soul, spins you around, as if you were caught in an actual twister.

He tastes like the faint hints of a cigar, but something still so deliciously sinful and him. Your knees want to buckle when he easily slips his tongue inside and immediately coaxes his against yours.

You whimper, don’t even realize he’s maneuvered you to the wall of the shop, until your back gently hits the cool wood building.

It’s like your body is imprinted to his, completely answering his call, willingly and wanting to be closer to him while your hands clutch at his broad shoulders.

His body pins you firm against the building, and already he grinds his hips into you.

Then the laughter nearby bursts the bubble, snaps your attention clear.

You scramble and rapidly shove Ezra away. You don’t say another word and simply walk away.

However your lips continue to sting, as if bitten by a bee. Your hands ache empty like they’re missing the presence of his body in their grasp.

You can’t fall for this trap again.

But by the time you arrive back home, greet your aunt warmly, the lie spills from your lips before you can stop it.

“Julie wants to start the inventory sooner. So I’ll be heading back and staying over at the shop.”

Your aunt doesn’t question you, simply grins sweet and wishes you a safe trip back to town.

The sun barely sets in for the night over the horizon. The sky is a dusty blue, the softest color before bleeding into a dark midnight. The desert at night is another creature entirely. Even as you walk into town, you try to stay aware and low from any curious eyes.

The motel approaches fast. The caretaker gives you a curious look but before he can, he’s called away.

Ezra already waits for you at the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows but still so distinct among them.

He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t even greet you. His presence seems so different with how intense he stares at you. Simply moving to intertwine his hand with yours, he guides you to his room. Inside it’s like the world melts away. It’s only you and him.

He devours you, ravenous, like trying to both make up for lost time and also feel like not a day has passed. Your hands run through his hair, knock off his cowboy hat.

You hate how badly you’ve missed this, missed him. He’s the only man your body has known, and the nights you’ve ached for him your fingers never did him justice.

When you’re bare among his bed, and his fingers slide into your wet core, you whine against his lips.

“This cunt still mine, pretty girl?” He asks mutter.

You wearily nod then all thoughts shatter when he rubs against that certain spot you can never reach. Your body crashes in a climax so shakily fast you have to catch your breath against him.

Ezra kisses the top of your head over and over.

“That’s my sweet peach,” he says in awe.

You greedily now pull him towards you, aching even more for him to be inside.

But he’s not finished with you. Ezra greed swallows your sigh before his lips move down your bare body to your core and kisses you with reverent devotion.

Your body melts into the sheets feeling his tongue trace paths among your wet cunt.

Ezra firmly calls your name. It sounds like your soul is being brought back. Wearily you sit up to see him peering up at you between your legs. Slowly he lifts himself away from your cunt, his face glistening with your arousal.

Those obsidian eyes of his blazing in the candlelight lock you in their gaze. Keeping eye contact with you he suddenly spits down to your wet aching sex, and your mind spins.

It’s obscene, you should be disgusted and horrified. You even wonder if you’ve been transported to the brothel a few ways down the road. But it feels absolutely divine especially when he does it again.

“Oh she likes this.” Ezra coo’s then presses ever the softest kiss against your soaked throbbing pearl. “This pretty little cunt, my lovely lady, ache for me huh?”

You don’t argue with him. You don’t want to. He makes you come again and a creature raw and hungry awakens in you. You claw at him, now needing him inside.

It’s like a piece of yourself returns when Ezra slides into you. It’s hot, heavy, frantic but feels sacred.

Ezra must sense it too, because he doesn’t last long. When he spills over your tummy, his hands become claws and keep you caged in his grasp. Your con artist kisses every inch of you he can.

Sweaty and tangled in him, you still feel a tinge of sadness creep in.

“You left me.” You whimper against his lips.

“And it will haunt me until my dying breath.” Ezra sighs back, his voice weighing heavy. “I was planning to come back for you, my bird. But your mother…”

She had put a bounty out on your drifter, managed to get the sheriff on her side. You knew even in your anger at Ezra leaving, it was smart of him to escape.

His hand cradles your face, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. Those endless eyes shimmer in the low light.

“But I’m here now, pidge.” Sincerity radiates from him.

You’re now able to bask in his beauty - his gorgeous jaw, his beautiful nose, the striking streak of blonde hair that has been hidden under his hat and you’ve been dying to see.

You nuzzle your face into his palm.

“What are you doing here? Truly?” You ask.

“I told you,” Ezra says, drawing your face towards him to kiss you tender again. “I’m here to try and prove myself victorious.”

You’re not sure you believe his words.

But you end up staying with him. Early morning, before the sun reaches over the desert, his fingers trace your face waking you up.

“Dawn bathes you in her glory.” He mutters. Embarrassed at his words you burrow your face into the pillow.

He doesn’t chase you, but instead lets his fingers draw aimless shapes against your shoulder.

“There wasn’t a day where you did not occupy my mind, even after all these years.” Ezra admits low, as if he didn’t realize those words escaped him.

Slowly you turn towards him and discover those deep eyes hazed over staring at you.

“I hate you.” You tell him without any malice. In fact an emotion something very opposite of hatred soaks your words.

“I know. I’d hate me too.” Ezra agrees muttering then leans down to kiss you gingerly.

You have to leave before the town wakes up, and to seal your alibi.

With a final kiss goodbye, you head to the tailor shop.

Julie finds you in the shop when she arrives and applauds you for your diligence and wanting to get a jump start on inventory. You’re thankful the lie worked out this way. You even manage to convince her to let you finish inventory the rest of the week. Of course she happily agrees.

Ezra drops by to pick up his riding gloves and winks at you shamelessly. You roll your eyes but hate how badly you fight against a grin.

The next few days are spent between the shop and the motel. You already brace your heart for Ezra’s departure approaching once the tournament is over, but you try not to face that.

“You’ve been in a rather good mood.” Your aunt notices when you stop by to drop off goods for her.

“Thought you hated inventory.” She comments.

“Guess not.” You reply with a shrug.

This blissful cloud you’re walking in however does cloud your mind. It makes you sloppy. Instead of taking the longer path to the motel, the one that kept you away from the views of the main road and town, you walk straight into town.

Running right into Duke Williams.

He says your name bright and clear. Dread dawns on you fast.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round. Heard Julie’s got ya working extra hard.” Duke smiles.

You hate this small town and the small whispers that spread like wildfire.

You reassure Duke you’re fine and are even glad you can help Julie.

All his friends, in their sleek cowboy hats, and dusty spurs, stand off to the side snicker. They crowd around each other like an ominous pack of wolves.

One of them even calls your name.

“Might wanna enjoy this freedom while it last!” He proclaims, and your stomach twists.

The other guys snickers, shushing him playfull, and even Duke turns around to reprimand him.

“What does he mean by that?” You cautiously question.

Duke simply waves the conversation off instead offering to walk you to the tailors.

You politely decline.

“Aw come on, sweet thing like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” Duke smiles but even with his sweet eyes you’re reminded of a crocodile now.

“Well gentleman, that’s why i’ll accompany this lovely bird to her destination.” Emerging from the shadows Ezra grins warm.

He must have come to find you after you hadn’t shown up at the motel.

The men including Duke go eerily silent. Ezra is older than Duke and the younger men. So he holds seniority now. But besides that, Duke now seems wary, and you don’t blame him. Ezra is a man that radiates a sort of unpredictable energy.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk ya back now?” You almost appreciate the slight genuine worry leaking into Duke’s voice. But shaking your head you move to walk with Ezra by your side.

You do hate how all eyes are on you, even walking away from Duke and his mindless followers.

“Just remain calm.” Ezra mutters.

You do especially with him by your side. By the time you open the tailors you thank Ezra, worried Duke and his men are still watching.

You whisper for him to meet you behind the shop, and he does. Your swindler willingly steps into the back room with you.

“Not my ideal choice for our evening, but I do love a good change of scenery.” Ezra comments amused browsing around the storage. Playfully, you throw a ball of yarn at him.

You’re surprised he even helps you with the small bit of inventory you do.

“That young buck…” until his voice comes out low. “He’s fond of you.”

“Unfortunately.” You reply back unamused.

“Earlier at the saloon…he was boasting.” Ezra continues with the same serious tone.

“About enjoying the last days of being an unmarried man.”

That causes you to pause.

“Must mean he’s gotten over me.” You sigh, thank goodness.

“No pidge…” Ezra stops to turn towards you. “He was proclaiming how you were to be his bride.”

Your stomach drops.

You think of the way the boys just now snickered almost knowingly, and that strange comment one of themselves said -

All of it makes your stomach sick, and you have to sit down.

No. There was just no way.

“I’d never accept his proposal.” You snap out hating how badly your body feels frantic, almost skittish like a cornered road runner.

Ezra kneels before you rubbing your hand with his, a strange solid comfort.

Eventually he gathers you into his arms and calms you with soothing soft words.

“We’ll figure out a solution.”

You still don’t know if you can trust his words. But that's all you have. Your drifter stays with you overnight in the tailor shop. You even feel sinful fucking him in the back room but it’s deliciously sinfull all the same.

Sitting and resting against the work desk you fade in and out of sleep. Tender fingers brush against your fingers, ghost like. Ezra is gone by the time you wake up and Julie’s entering the shop jolts you awake.

Her eyes are frazzled.

“Did you hear? Mister Johnston’s eldest son was shot down early this morning.”

You hadn’t heard. Dread fills you fast when you realize Johnston's boy was the one who had made the joking comment to you last night.

There’s talk about postponing the competition. But others in town, especially Duke, argue to continue the tradition in a way to honor the fallen young man.

An ominous terror looms in you.

Later that night, you return to the motel. Too many thoughts swarm in your head, and Ezra even seems distant. He even slides his duster jacket one before kissing you.

“I have some personal matters to attend to, pidge. Get some respite here.”

His boots echo down the hall and then down the stairs.

You can’t sleep. So you move to slide open the window and let some of the night air in.

The faint mutter of discussion very close outside in the alleyway floats into the room.

It’s muffled at first, but once you step closer and concentrate, you pick up the very familiar cadence of a certain drifter.

“No no, I have it covered. As long as you make sure to double the bets on me tomorrow.” Ezra explains in a hush.

The others with him explain the different amounts they’ve collected, and it hits you.

He’s gambling on the competition.

That’s why he’s here.

You knew the men at the saloon often bet, but this feels heavier.

A new clicking of spurs arrives.

“Y’know, you fellas look like a dangerous bunch all here hidden in the shadows.” Duke.

Panic prickles all over your body.

“Now young buck, we’re just here partaking in a fun and friendly wager.” Ezra with his smooth talking skills deflates the tension easily.

“Waggerin’ on what?” You’re surprised Duke immediately quickly jumps in to gamble.

Ezra and the other men begin conspiring on how to make sure Duke wins to favor the odds of their bets.

“I like the sound of that.” Duke grins.

He makes a hefty wager on himself to win, the price even makes someone whistle.

They offer to place their wagers on him as well and with Ezra even in the competition, he’s argued to be an even better reassurance that the outcome falls in their favor.

Ezra even swears by this.

They’re fixing the match, going to cheat. You don’t know how to feel about any of this.

They end their discussion, and you quietly slide back into bed. Before long Ezra returns, the smell of tobacco and the cold air lingers in the room.

His fingers dance against your shoulders while your back stays to him.

“You’re only here… to make money, and cheat.” You mutter hollow.

His fingers stop.

“You overheard.”

You don’t reply to him. Ezra sighs.

“Indeed I am. But I’m no different than the gentlemen that place simple wagers on a game of horseshoe.” He explains low, under the whisper of the candle flicker.

“But it’s like you’re wanting to play with a weighted or lighter horseshoe.” You argue back.

“Is it not in our best natures to make sure Lady Luck favors us by any means possible?”

You don’t know how to reply to him.

“…I’m doing this for you, for us.” He adds.

You turn to him, your face scrunching up in fury.

“Bullshit.” You tell him.

“Believe me a liar, but I’m honest in my endeavor.” His face becomes a firm steeled frown.

You can’t look at him anymore, turning your back again to Erza in bed.

“My hope was to gain enough funds to pay for the bounty your mother placed on me, return for your hand, and make our way into a new life together.” His voice is steady.

“Unless you wish to stay here and wed that Duke.” He offers.

You whip back to glare harsh at Ezra.

There’s a silence heavy and ancient like the desert that settles between you. But it doesn’t last long before Ezra leans down and sweeps in to capture your lips

The discussion dies immediately as passion burns in its place.

You don’t think of gambling cowboys, or of your mysterious drifter, only of the moment consuming you now, and you almost pray you never leave it.

- ☾𖤓 -

Late in the night, wearily half sleep, the bed shifting jolts you awake, and you even hear the door creak open. Before you can ask Ezra if he’s alright, your eyes so sleepy flutter close for a moment. Then he’s sliding back into the warmth pulling you close into his arms. You fall right back to your dreams.

In the early hours of the morning, Ezra kisses your jaw.

“My lucky charm, are you going to observe our tournament today?” He mutters.

The competition was today.

“You nervous?” You had never seen him ride much less try ranch hand work.

“Never.” He says smoothly.

Eventually he slides out of bed and lets you get ready. But soon Ezra walks over and places something in your hands.

The pistol weighs heavy, cold. And your eyes snap open wide now fully awake.

“Why-”

He cuts you off gently. “You know how to fire, yes?”

You nod weakly.

A small smirk tugs at his handsome lips. “Figured as much, after seeing your mother.”

It’s an attempt to tease, but too much terror bubbles in you.

“I just need to know you’re protected.” Ezra reveals, but with a croak you ask why.

“Cause unfortunate as it might be, it’s even more dangerous for a criminal like me to cherish something.”

Your eyes water. There are too many questions in your head, but the day will be starting soon. You need to leave before you’re spotted.

“Tell me you have another gun.” You snap at him.

Ezra simply taps the side of his head. “Don’t need another firearm when I have this weapon.”

You angrily throw the pistol down back to the bed, refusing to take it. That’s when he snaps your name, hard and serious.

You’ve never heard his voice raise like that.

“Take it.” He grabs the firearm and hands it back to you. His midnight eyes are ominously serious with no room for argument.

His hand grabs your face firm in his hand. Your eyes search his endless midnight lake eyes.

“I call you pidge, my little pigeon bird. But I’ve known right from the start you’re a fierce creature. Don’t ever forget that.”

Ezra’s words are beautiful but barbed. They rip up tracks in your heart. He kisses you quick, fierce and short. You hate how it feels like a goodbye.

With shaking hands and confusion, you slide the gun into your satchel. You walk back to your aunt's cabin in a daze. So much so that you barely notice she’s already awake when you sneak back in.

“You have fun at the motel again?” She asks, and fear freezes you.

“I wasn’t-”

“Mac, your uncle’s good friend, gave me the heads up.” She cuts you off softly.

Mac, the innkeeper. God damn this small town. Venom, anger, indignation, they all swirl violently in you.

“Whatever you’re doing there, you’re only gonna find danger.” She says somber, and you stay quiet.

Your aunt sighs.

“You’re lucky this hasn’t gotten out yet. What would young Duke say if he found out?”

Frustration bursts in you, and you snap furious about why would you even need to care about that man’s opinion of you.

“Because he plans on weddin’ you, and I plan on letting him.” Your aunt fires back and her words shoot right through you.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, even have to steady yourself against the nearby chair.

You thought your aunt understood. She’s been alone, a widow since she was around your age, longer than your mother had been a widow. You thought she’d never fall into the trap of forcing marriage.

“It’s for your own good.” She argues, watery urgent m. “You need protection, a home, a husband to provide for you.”

You rush out of the house even ignoring the screams from your aunt.

You’d have to think of a plan fast. Maybe leave with Ezra once the competition ends today. It’s all too much. You swallow back a sob and walk back into town.

The competition was today after all.

The day at the shop is very short. Julie doesn’t even notice your somber atmosphere as she’s completely caught up in the excitement of this day. So many more wagons stretch around the edge of town.

Pecos flutters alive with life.

But there’s already commotion, a dangerous kind that chokes the competition tense.

Duke yells loud and furious. The sheriff along with his deputies are nearby. Thankfully you spot Martha and quickly move to ask her what’s going on.

“Duke’s horse is missing.” She whispers.

From what Martha says, when Duke went to the stables this morning the gate was open and his horse was nowhere to be seen. His trusty companion, you even knew how serious an issue this is.

“Well young buck, if you’re that upset then maybe you shouldn’t partake in the festivities.” Ezra, out of thin air, offers.

He looks confident as he strolls up.

“Or you simply ride with another mare?” He proposes with a coy optimism.

“Fuck you!” Duke snaps at Ezra and even looks as if he’s going to lunge.

Your heart hammers hard in your chest. Thankfully the sheriff settles the commotion down.

Angered but stubborn, Duke declares he’s staying to compete and will simply use another horse. He is favored to win after all.

Other cowboys from out of town have blown in like packs of tumbleweed. So many of them are excited to participate and try their hand at showing off their rancher skills

Some are good.

But it is Ezra who proves to be the dark horse, the surprise underdog.

Watching him on his stallion, your throat goes dry seeing how effortless and strong he manages his horse. You never knew he could ride. The way he maneuvers and stays a quiet presence, he reminds you of an outlaw.

“Moves like a bandit.” Someone in the crowd even whispers.

His rope throwing skills however surprise everyone, including yourself. The calf he manages to wrangle takes you by shock. A dangerous lust slithers over your body watching him wrangle the animal with his strength and sturdy form.

But you realize -

This wasn’t what had been planned. From the discussion given last night, Ezra was meant to perform poorly to make sure Duke did better.

But this is exactly the opposite.

He’s the lead runner for champion of the competition.

And then Duke’s turn arrives. The crowd mummers curious, on edge waiting for the favored cowboy to make his move.

The horse he uses is not cooperative. Duke screams, unable to hide his frustration in wrangling the creature.

But once he stabilizes a manageable ride, he goes to lasso the calf. His rope lands and the crowd cheers. He’s already faster than Ezra.

Until the frayed rope snaps and the calf yanks itself free.

The crowd gasps.

It’s not an immediate disqualification, but it doesn’t look good. Duke argues that his rope was frayed and that someone must have slowly started cutting at it. However it’s a long shot argument. There’s no way to prove that and even the sheriff seems a little wary of the accusation.

“That’s just the way rope is son, you just gotta keep an eye on it.”

Duke screams in anguish canyon splitting anger. You’ve never once seen him like this. It’s like it’s a whole new man, or maybe, his true self being revealed.

He’s offered another rope, but it’s almost horrifying to watch that one as well snap. The crowd again gasps.

This wasn’t the outcome meant to happen.

“Duke’s cursed.” Someone mumbles.

The crowd is in disbelief, you even are. The last remaining competitors try their luck, but none can beat Ezra’s speed.

You can’t believe it. But he won.

And Duke is livid. The crowd tentatively applauds Ezra’s win because of the somber mood clashing.

“You bastard! You goddamn cheated!” Duke screams at Ezra while the deputies try settling him down.

“Poor boy,” Ezra says sympathetically before turning to find you in the crowd.

There’s a gleam of something proud shimmering in his dark eyes.

You don’t question it, don’t want to.

Ezra truly is a man of many facets, dangerous ones, like looking at a raw gemstone that could cut your fingers.

The competition spills into the nearby saloons, and the festivities only seem to intensify as the sun starts setting. You can’t even reach Ezra from the groups swirling around him and want to get as far away from Duke as possible.

So you return back to the tailor shop. Julie urges you to join her and the other women at the mayor’s large property, but you decline.

You simply sit in the store trying to muster up a plan. But in a blink, the night arrives and you have to find Ezra.

So after locking up the shop, you head to the motel.

Until the sound of Duke’s screaming and the rage of violence roars nearby.

You freeze, terrified.

Until someone wearily coughs. “That’s what ya get for gamblin’ with bandits, boy.”

Your swindler’s distinct twang drawls smug and now your body rushes to the secluded alleyway.

You swallow back a scream at the sight you stumble upon. Duke with blood fists has Ezra pinned against the wall, like a mythological creature, terrifying and large looking over with violence in his wake.

Ezra’s face is bloody and one of his arms even hangs limp.

“Pidge.” He coughs, and your heart aches.

Duke whips around to see you and barks for you to leave.

Shakily you snatch down to your bag, and whip out the gun to point it to him. Duke’s face falls a bit confused.

“Honey this man wronged me, I’m only enacting my justice.” He argues.

You snap at him to let Ezra go or else.

That’s when a sinister evil darkens Duke’s golden boy face.

“So, ya little god damn whore…you’re workin’ with this man aren’t ya? I knew I should’ve listened to all the rumors about a slut like you.” He spits with venom leaking from his voice.

“Don’t you touch her.” Ezra snarls, but Duke pays him no mind keeping his sinister eyes on you.

“What?” Duke slowly mutters. “Do ya really think you’re gonna shoot me?”

Tears fill your eyes. You don’t want to, but the way your heart races like a terrified Jack rabbit it screams at you to flee. But… you also wonder if your heart races because it’s urging you to attack, to bare your fangs.

Instead of releasing Ezra, Duke moves to grip his coat harder. He slams your drifter hard and fast against the wall. A painful crack-like smack comes, and you scream.

You fire the gun instantly.

Duke blinks, you even wonder if you landed a hit.

Until deep dark crimson, almost the color of dark sludge, leaks across Duke’s side. He crumbles like a fall leaf.

You cry scrambling to Ezra who thankfully is still standing. Duke wheezes out obscenities and even tries hollering for help. You’re however too worried about Ezra.

“M’fine,” your drifter reassures with a wheeze.

“Hand me the gun, dearest.” Ezra somberly mutters. When you do, without hesitation Ezra fires the gun point black down at Duke. And your eyes shut hearing the pistol strike. Duke goes quiet and stays silent.

“Come on, we gotta hurry.” Ezra urges.

Supporting his body, you manage to get him into the tailor shop to tend to his wounds.

Ezra coughs out your name. “M’dearest, I need to make my escape out of town once more.” His breathing his heaved, he needs to rest.

“Don’t leave me.” You cry sharp, unable to focus on anything now.

His hand slides to your face and he cradles you tenderly. You clutch at his wrist as you blink back tears starting at him now.

“It will not be a pleasant life, staying with a devil like me.” He mumbles.

Doesn't he realize, you’re just as tarnished as him now? Blood is on your hands. You simply turn to kiss the palm of his hand feeling more reassured than ever.

“I’d rather be with the devil than live without him.” You speak soft into his skin while tears dry on your cheeks.

He barks a hollow but watery thick laugh as he says your name. “You foolish bird, my lovely dangerous creature.”

The desert is unforgiving to those who do now learn to grow fangs or become just as fierce as its landscape. You wonder if that’s what has become of you. But you don’t question it. You simply gather all you can, steal one of the horses from the saloon and keep Ezra close to you on the saddle.

If Ezra is a devil, then you’re grateful he saved you from your hell. And for him, you will gladly stain your soul.

Under the eternal eyes of the desert, you wander into the night keeping your bandit close to you.

In the distance a lone coyote howls aching at the moon.

You don’t look back once.

#hi howdy yeehaw if you’re reading this cowboy Ezra & I think you’re the bees knees and I thank you truly!!#cowboy!ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra x you #prospect fanfic #Ezra 🤎#pedrostories

150 notes · View notes

iovebarca · 9 months ago

Note

hiii I love your fanfics!! Could I request one with gavi where he takes you to la feria de Sevilla. And she isn’t from Spain so he shows her around la Féria and teaches her how to dance and maybe also he is starstruck seeing her in the flamenco dress. Pleaseee

La Feria De Seville - Pablo Gavi

WC: 700+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

Quick explanation of La Feria De Seville:

The Feria de Seville started in 1846 as a livestock fair. It was organized by two councillors, Basque José María Ybarra and Catalan Narciso Bonaplata. The fair was held at the Prado de San Sebastian, on the outskirts of the city. Over time, the festival evolved into the lively and colorful event that it is today.

The fair generally begins two weeks after the Semana Santa, or Easter Holy Week. It officially begins at midnight on Saturday, and runs 7 days, ending on the following Saturday

send me requests!! ❤️

As you step off the bustling streets of Seville, Spain, into the vibrant chaos of La Feria de Seville, Pablo takes your hand, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You can feel the energy pulsating through the air, the sound of flamenco music mingling with the chatter of the crowd. This is a world unlike any other, and Pablo is your guide.

"Welcome to La Feria, mi amor," he says, his voice warm with affection.

You follow Pablo through the maze of colorful tents and bustling crowds, your senses overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the festival. Everywhere you look, there are people laughing, dancing, and indulging in the joy of the moment.

Pablo leads you to a clearing in the center of the fairgrounds, where a makeshift dance floor has been set up beneath a canopy of twinkling lights. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, his movements fluid and confident as he guides you through the steps of the traditional Sevillanas dance.

At first, you stumble and falter, your feet awkward and unsure. But with Pablo's patient guidance, you soon find your rhythm, your body moving in harmony with his. Together, you whirl and spin across the dance floor, lost in the magic of the moment.

As the night wears on, Pablo takes you on a whirlwind tour of La Feria, introducing you to his friends and family, and sharing with you the rich history and traditions of the festival. You listen intently, hanging on his every word, captivated by the passion and pride in his voice.

Pablo's sister, Aurora, appears beside you with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Come, mi amiga," she says, her voice filled with excitement. "I have something for you."

Curious, you follow Aurora through the throngs of people, until you reach a small tent adorned with colorful fabrics and sparkling trinkets. Inside, she rummages through a pile of dresses until she emerges triumphant, holding out a flamenco dress with a flourish.

"It's for you," Aurora declares, her smile infectious. "Try it on."

You hesitate, feeling a rush of nerves at the thought of wearing such a beautiful garment. But Aurora's encouragement is infectious, and before you know it, you find yourself slipping into the dress, the fabric cool against your skin as it cascades down your body in a riot of ruffles and lace.

As you step out of the dressing tent, Aurora's eyes widen in delight, her applause mingling with the cheers of the crowd. "You look stunning!" she exclaims, her voice ringing out over the music. "Like a true Sevillana!"

Pablo appears at your side, his gaze soft with admiration as he takes in the sight of you in the flamenco dress. "You are even more beautiful than I imagined," he whispers, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

As the night at La Feria de Sevilla begins to wind down, Pablo suggests taking a stroll along the banks of the Guadalquivir River. The air is filled with the sweet scent of orange blossoms, and the distant sound of music drifts through the night, creating a dreamlike atmosphere.

Hand in hand, you follow Pablo as he leads you away from the fairgrounds and towards the river, the cobblestone streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The twinkling lights reflected in the waters of the Guadalquivir create a mesmerizing sight, casting a magical spell over the night.

As you walk, you share intimate conversations about your hopes, dreams, and aspirations, each word spoken with a tenderness that fills the air with warmth. Pablo listens attentively as you speak, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

With a tender smile, Pablo takes your hands in his, his gaze filled with warmth and affection.

"I love you," Pablo whispers, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

Tears well up in your eyes at his confession, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in his words. Without hesitation, you throw your arms around him, pulling him close as you press your lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss.

In that moment, surrounded by the magic of La Feria and the soft embrace of the night, you know that you have found something truly special—a love that transcends time and distance, a love that fills your heart to overflowing.

"I love you too, Pablo," you whisper against his lips, your voice filled with tenderness and joy. "More than words can say."

#pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #fc barcelona

204 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Rejection

Rejection is part of a writer's life. Anyone who wants to make it as a writer needs to learn to face rejection bravely, gracefully, and frequently.

3 tips for coping with rejection

Laugh at your rejections.

Learn from your rejections.

Always have a new project underway, something that will give you hope no matter how many rejections come your way for the previous project.

You may take some consolation in knowing the rejection history of these writers and works:

Dune by Frank Herbert – 13 rejections

Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis – 17 rejections

Jonathan Livingston Seagull – 18 rejections

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle – 29 rejections

Carrie by Stephen King – over 30 rejections

Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell – 38 rejections

A Time to Kill by John Grisham – 45 rejections

Louis L'Amour, author of over 100 western novels – over 300 rejections before publishing his first book

John Creasy, author of 564 mystery novels – 743 rejections before publishing his first book

Ray Bradbury, author of over 100 science fiction novels and stories – around 800 rejections before selling his first story

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter – rejected so universally the author decided to self-publish the book

From rejection slip for George Orwell's Animal Farm:

“It is impossible to sell animal stories in the U.S.A."

From rejection slip for Norman MacLean's A River Runs Through It:

“These stories have trees in them."

From rejection slip for article sent to the San Francisco Examiner to Rudyard Kipling:

“I'm sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don't know how to use the English language."

From rejection slip for The Diary of Anne Frank:

“The girl doesn't, it seems to me, have a special perception or feeling which would lift that book above the curiosity level."

Rejection slip for Dr. Seuss's And To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street:

“Too different from other juveniles on the market to warrant its selling."

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

#norman rockwell #on writing #writing inspiration #writing motivation #writing reference #spilled ink #dark academia #writeblr #writing tips #writing advice #creative writing #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writing prompt #poetry #light academia #writing resources

106 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 months ago

Text

Wild Flowers: Alden Parker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog @toheavenwmydrm

Companion piece to:

Pillow Talk - Alden realises he's a shitty husband.

Two Points For Honesty - Alden makes a confession about his time on the run with Viv.

Sometimes you smoke, it’s a habit you’ve indulged on and off over the years, often when you were in crisis. It helps you vent the stress, take a time out from whatever it is that’s sending you into a spiral.

That’s the reason you’re currently sitting on a bench outside of work, watching the clouds go by over the river as you take another drag of your cigarette. You’re in another spiral. You have been since you took a trip to the breakroom and found Viv sitting at your husband’s desk. The two of them are working a case together, he tells you when he catches sight of you. It’s something he couldn’t avoid.

You don’t say a fucking word, you just walk out because your terrified that you’re about to do something you’ll both regret.

Viv's in your office when you get back inside, she’s placing a neatly arranged bouquet of wildflowers on your desk and you have to congratulate the audacity of this woman.

“I didn’t know ‘I’m sorry I tried to fuck your husband’ flowers were a thing.” You tell her as you step into the room, taking up residency in your seat.

“They’re not.” Viv tells you as she slips into the guest chair across from you. “I can see how agitated Parker’s getting up there and I thought it was time to clear the air between the two of us and flowers were the closest thing to an olive branch I could think of.”

“So you��re doing this for him?” You ask for clarification. “Not because you actually feel bad about what happened or the fact the two of us were kind of friends but because you want to get back in Alden’s good graces?”

“Lisa…” She says in that airy voice of hers as she leans forward, meeting your gaze. “You know it’s not as simple as that, Parker and me, we have history, unresolved history. Our daughter died so we broke up. It wasn’t because we didn’t love each other, it was because we couldn’t cope. ”

“Are you trying to tell me you think that he’s still in love with you?” You ask her bluntly and she sighs, settling back into her seat.

“I think if he hadn’t married you, then the two of us would have found our way back to one another.” Viv tells you frankly. “I think we still will once the two of you are over.”

You want to hit her then, the impulse it courses through your veins like a narcotic as you clench your fist, resisting the urge to lash out.

“Viv.” You say, your voice eerily calm. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

Viv sighs as she raises her feet, tucking her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket before she lingers in the doorway.

“What do I tell Parker about how this went?” She asks you as you pick up the wildflowers and toss them into the trash.

“The truth.” You say distractedly as you sit back down and begin to flick through the casefiles on your desk. “I’m sure he’ll find it just as laughable as I do.”

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#alden parker #alden parker x reader #ncis #gary cole

54 notes · View notes

ao3-shenanigans · 10 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope you don't mind me asking this -

I saw a post recently suggesting that one shouldn't donate to Ao3 because the people who run it are heavily anti-Palestine; however examining the post more it came from someone who is pretty staunchly against Ao3 because it doesn't moderate the content on it (and is supposedly therefore pro-racism and several worse things) which is a take that misses the entire point of Ao3 in the first place.

I was wondering whether you, as someone in the space far more than I, know whether these are substantiated claims and if so whether you had any steps you would recommend the community take other than not donating on their drives?

Hello! Good question!

Ao3 is a non for profit, meaning they don’t have adds on the site and as such fundraise twice a year (April and October) to keep the servers running, home fires burning, ect

To my understanding, this is all the money goes to. The team is not payed- even OTW’s legal team which has gone to congress before is all volunteer.

I did see there was one such incident wherein a user was asked to remove the phrase “From the river to the sea Palestine will be free” from their bio, as the “from the river to the sea” part has a bit of a complicated history that is sometimes taken to be ment as a call to eradicate all the Jewish individuals in the area. The email then politely asked the user to change their bio to “I stand with Palestine” or “🇵🇸” instead.

Ultimately it is your choice to decide whether to donate or not

I hope this helps!

#very good question!#thanks for asking!#if I’ve said anything incorrectly- feel free to let me know!#ao3 #fanfiction #archive of our own #fanfic #fandom #ao3 shenanigans ask #otw

166 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

Text

BLOOD ALONG THE MOON

➛ 04. ECHOES OF MADNESS

a/n: for some unknown reason, this man has decided to invade my thoughts again. between watching the batman again with @soulores and just fall making me long for this man again, this was bound to happen. i've been working on this chapter for months now, having started it well into april. but i'm actually feeling good about continuing. i've created a graphic for this story which i will add at the end of this chapter. hopefully this inspo sticks around for a bit because i'm excited for what's to come.

summary: funerals were a rarity in gotham, yet there you were at the most notable event of the year. few could truly get in...yet everyone was invited.

word count: 6.2k+

pairing: bruce wayne x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, violence, blood, angst, rescue mission, canon compliant sorta, danger, tensions running high, bruce doesn't know how to interact socially, our favorite reporter is an idiot when it comes to safety.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Death seemed to shape the city of Gotham as the currents of a river would a stone. Wherever you looked, in every alleyway and around each street corner there was the stench of it. The way it seeped up from the cracked asphalt, spilled into the gutters, and leaked into the sewer lines. Tainting what good might have remained.

You couldn't remember the last time you attended a funeral. Yet people still kept dying. The call came early in the morning; Henry informing you—with a hoarse whisper of someone suffering a hangover—that you were to attend the biggest event in Gotham. Few could truly get in, yet everyone was invited.

The irony of the situation lingered like shitty burnt coffee on the back of your tongue.

From what Bruce Wayne told you briefly in his short but right to the point interview, this city once aspired to be something great. A beacon of hope for all those who needed it. But the only hint of that you could see echoed in the symbol that hung in the sky. You watched last night, a glass of wine in front of you and a scowl painted across your face, as dawn began to rise and the signal flicked off. Bringing another night of petty crime to a close.

Of course, you believed in what The Bat was doing; what he stood for. A call of vengeance to any piece of shit who tried to go against him. But at the end of the day you still witnessed the disaster that was left behind. The tarnished cold aftermath of all that he could not save.

The madness that stirred beneath the surface.

The click of your boots on the damp pavement was drowned out by the nonsensical chatter of the crowd. Reporters, photographers, anyone to capture this moment were corralled like cattle behind varying gates of different sizes. You almost wished you had a camera to solidify this moment in Gotham's history books. There you were, standing on the steps of a cathedral, a funeral for the mayor about to occur, and all people wanted was to see who attended. Who was on his personal friends list.

The bile slid up the back of your throat, burning your esophagus on the way. There had to be some irony to this situation. Some dark humor yet to be exposed. Maybe if you dug far enough...you'd find it.

"Daywalker!" You jumped at the nickname, your body on edge after the past two nights reporting. Flicking your gaze to the side, you caught sight of Martinez waving at you with a grin plastered across his face.

He took your grin as an invitation to join you on the steps.

"Quite an event huh."

Tugging your coat closer, you did what you could to wash away the chill of the morning air. "Anyone who's anyone is here."

He chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Who'd have thought they all knew the mayor."

"I guess he had friends in low places," you muttered, the wry smile on your face seemed to be all you could muster at this point.

The idea of the mayor being involved with Gotham's crime bosses didn't surprise you. In fact you probably would have been shocked if they didn't turn up. Dressed to the nines, dripping in jewels, and wearing grief as if it were stripped right off the runway.

Citizens lined the streets, their heads bowed in respect and in your mind's eye, they were the embodiment of a Baroque painting. Except they weren't worshiping the mayor as king. No, their eyes were cast to the cars that just pulled up. Mouths gaping in awe as none other than Carmine Falcone stepped out of his car, suit pressed and glasses hiding the truth.

You almost wanted to laugh.

A sleek black car pulled up to the line of cars, the rumble of the engine familiar to your ears. You turned, the collar of your coat blocking half your face against the cold air. Only to meet the gaze of Gotham's very own Prince. Bruce Wayne was dressed in a perfectly pressed suit with not a single hair out of place. Yet you could see the way he hid beneath the facade of wealth, how his eyes refused to meet anyone else's other than yours. His lips curled into a small hint of a smile, but people were starting to block you from sight, pulling his attention away to something far more important.

"I've got to help Gordon inside," Martinez said, pressing a soft hand to your arm. "Let's get out of the cold, yeah?"

Nodding, you climbed the remainder of the steps and followed him into the cathedral. The high ceilings casted shadows amongst them of people on the balcony level. Gotham's very own ghosts attending the funeral of a man who promised to save them. The architecture reminded you of prisons, of cells built specifically to drive men insane.

Maybe that was the point of Gotham to begin with.

To drive the people within it mad.

"Miss Day," Gordon greeted you with a gruff murmur, the exhaustion painted clear across his face.

As usual the detective who had The Bat in his pocket refused to find time to sleep. Especially on days like today.

"Detective." You glanced up, eyes tracing the silhouettes of Gotham's people as they gathered to the edge. Hungry for what might happen next—for the demise of those in power. "Busy day?"

He scoffed. "You got no idea."

"Trust me. I think I do," you murmured.

"Where's the big guy?"

Your eyes caught his briefly. "Henry Goldfinch doesn't attend the funerals of men he didn't believe in."

For the first time that morning, Gordon cracked a smile. "Harsh review."

You shrugged. "Or honest."

"Henry isn't one to make brash statements unless he knows something." Gordon's eyes narrowed slightly and suddenly you felt like you were the one being interviewed. "Does he know something?"

The familiar figure of a man you couldn't seem to dispel from your mind creeped past slowly, his head bowed and eyes cast to the floor. Yet he seemed to grow in height as he heard your voice. Even completely lost within his own mind, Bruce Wayne still searched for you wherever he went. How he managed to get under your skin alluded you. But the same could surprisingly be said for him as well.

"If he knew something he wouldn't tell me." You shifted the second Bruce's head rose, blue eyes fixing directly on you. "But you can't honestly stand there and tell me The Riddler or whatever the fuck he calls himself didn't target our mayor for a reason."

"You think the mayor was dirty?"

You scoffed. "I'm not saying that, but given the audience that's accrued in this building today...it wouldn't surprise me if he was."

"Day–" Gordon's words were cut off as Martinez loudly greeted someone behind you.

"Detective."

You were nearly ashamed of yourself at how quickly you recognized his raspy voice. The time you spent in the diner together played on a loop in the back of your mind. Admitting it weighed on your heart, but denying the truth felt inconceivable.

For that small amount of time as rain pelted the windows and music played softly in the background, you felt like a person again. Not a reporter sent out into the fray of Gotham, but you. The person buried beneath the trench coat you wore; the person who only seemed to come out on days when the sun shone over this dark city.

"Mr. Wayne." Gordon's eyes widened slightly, disbelief smeared across his face. It seemed the funeral dragged out even the most reclusive of souls. "I didn't expect..."

"Could I steal Miss. Day from you for a moment?" Even you could tell he was fighting against the uncomfortable nature of being out in public.

The thought nearly made you smile.

"Of course."

Gordon's attention was called away as Bruce's hand brushed your arm. You wondered if you were in a private setting, would he act differently? Would he touch you? Lead you himself? Or would he remain detached?

"I saw you arrive," you said, clasping your hands together and glancing at the throng of people that meandered through the doors. "Sorry I didn't say hello."

His mouth curled, eyes lighter than you'd seen them. If you squinted you might have seen the small glint of delight hidden in the blue of his iris. He hid the sight of joy well—a secret you weren't allowed to view yet. But for a split second...his mask slipped. You caught what might have been the Bruce Wayne of the past; the man that could still exist to this day.

"Quite an event to run into each other again."

You bit on the inside of your cheek to stop your grin. Flirting at a funeral reeked of inappropriate behavior. And yet you couldn't find it in your heart to care much, given the audience.

"And here I thought I'd have to pry you out of your tower to see you again," you joked, wishing he might gift you another small glimpse of that smile you knew existed.

His head ducked, lips pulling up, and your heart effectively stopped. "Am I that difficult?"

"Oh no," you said, breathing out a laugh. "Difficult is too generous. Now arduous or laborious or onerous–" He laughed, his eyes crinkling and oh how you longed to kiss him, to taste him on your tongue. "Those are a better fit in your case."

"Noted." He stepped closer as people shifted behind him, squeezing through the crowd for a seat. "Some days I'm more shadow than man. I'll make sure to be more available to you."

There were no rules or regulations about dating someone you'd interviewed. Henry seemed all for it—Alfred even more so—but you felt the nausea begin to eat at your stomach. The wariness of something to come. The truth wasn't out yet about all of this, why the mayor was killed, and until you felt comfortable again in Gotham...you weren't sure you wanted to start something with Bruce Wayne.

A relationship with him would bring you into the spotlight.

For a reporter, that was dangerous enough. For the ones you loved...it was lethal.

"Bruce...I–"

His eyes went blank, body moving away as he caught the conflict that flashed across your face. You didn't want him to get hurt. Refused to be the reason that the Wayne family no longer had someone to carry the name forward. Perhaps that's why you cut off your feelings and stowed them away in your heart. Or maybe you were simply terrified of someone finally knowing you.

After all...it had been awhile.

You longed to say all of this and more out loud, but whether or not he'd listen was a different story entirely.

"Were you at the scene?"

His question caught you off guard. "What? Oh...um...yes. I was."

He nodded. "Are you okay?"

If you had to count on one hand how many times Bruce Wayne left you speechless, floundering for coherent words, you'd run out of fingers. Rather than seek information and dig out every detail from your mind as others already had. He wanted to know if what you saw, the horror that still stuck to your skin, left scars of their own.

He wanted to make sure every part of you remained safe. Not simply your ability to do your job.

"Yes," you breathed, the rip in your chest—that inconsolable ache—suddenly too much to bear. "Thank you."

The conversation came to a natural conclusion when the procession began, the soft tinkle of a piano echoing off the stone walls. His lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue, but the sound of his name caused him to stiffen. Within seconds you watched the man you'd come to know vanish. Until the recluse Gotham recognized resurfaced.

"It was nice to see you," you said softly with a smile, leaving him to speak with others as you sought your standing place beside Martinez.

People diverted their attention as Falcone stepped into the building, his aura enough to fill the cathedral with fear and the distant tang of blood. You wondered if he ever felt it on his skin. The phantom warmth of someone else's life slipping through his fingers. Did the ghosts of his past haunt him as they did others? Or was he immune to their effect?

A villain with the eyes of a friend.

"Gordon would love to put that asshole behind bars," Martinez muttered, leaning on the wall beside you. "Walks in here like he owns the fuckin' place."

You sighed, unable to ignore the way Gordon glared at the man from across the room. The promise of death—or a fate worse—alight in his eyes.

Months ago, when rumors about Falcone began to spill into the Gazette's back doors, you attempted to write a story. To put a face of truth to the man pulling all the strings. Before you could even blink, Henry killed it with ease. Practically burning your files right in front of you and barring you from returning for a whole week.

You never understood what power Carmine Falcone held over people before that day. Only when you saw true fear in Henry's eyes at the thought of reporting your death, did you finally grasp the scope of this man's hold.

The reality of Gotham's darkness.

"Maybe he does," you mused, sipping on the coffee he brought you. "Maybe he owns every person in this room. We just don't know it yet."

"Wouldn't that be something," Martinez scoffed, tucking a hand into his front pocket. "Definitely somethin' to make the front page."

You grinned although no ounce of humor could be found in your otherwise solemn facade. The mayor was dirty. Everyone within a five foot radius could see that with a clarity that rarely befell a gloomy Gotham. But saying it out loud felt as if you were partaking in a misdeed that would get you burnt at the stake; no doubt turning you into the first killed witch in this damn city.

Of course news like that would make the front page. It would be slapped on every newspaper and magazine that was published only to seep through the streets and find the path to other cities beyond the outskirts. The blood of Gotham wouldn't merely affect the people here. It would lead to catastrophic downfalls in places you'd never been to, spots that would take this as a lesson to learn from—to do what this city could not.

You lost yourself in the chatter. The monotonous conversations of people attempting to pry at the personal life of a man no one truly knew. Although if you were the one being asked you wouldn't say that exactly.

There was only one man in this cathedral who truly knew the mayor and he was currently being regarded as the King of Gotham.

Disgust simmered low in your belly, mixing brutally with the tepid coffee you still sipped at. Carmine Falcone always knew when to stick his hand in something that might bring him power. Fucking with the mayor was a one way ticket into an office of some prestige.

Not even you would put it past him.

The choir began to sing while the remainder of the crowd shuffled inside, swarming their way to what chairs still remained. You leaned against the wall, feet crossed at the ankles and eyes tracking every slight movement over the rim of your cup. Martinez chatted with a cop to his right, giving you the space he so obviously thought you needed. Maybe he believed you were actually mourning the man in the coffin. The savior of Gotham.

You didn't have the heart to tell you were stuck in a long line of people waiting to speak their truth about who that man really was.

An alto reached a pitch that grated on your ears. The cold air from outside brushing across your face and stinging your nose. This would be a long procession. You could tell from the way people never quite sat down—ambling between rows of chairs, each of them clamoring to talk to the next. You spotted Bruce stuck in a conversation of his own, head ducked and back stiff. It wouldn't take a genius to figure that he loathed being out in the open—a feral animal who continuously looked to see if someone was attempting to back him into a corner.

One day he might snap, bite the hand of Gotham for the shitty circumstances it gave him.

For now he seemed desperate to slip away and hide in the shadows just as you were doing.

The echo of music came to an abrupt halt, people stopping instantaneously as a roar sounded from outside. You heard the screams before you saw the car. The piercing wail of someone getting hurt, of others running for their lives. Your coffee tumbled out of your hands, splattering to the ground as someone shoved past you in an attempt to get to the front of the cathedral.

The situation at hand isn't what surprised you; it was the horror on their face at the thought they might die.

How strange that you chose to fixate on something so minimal when you should have feared for your own safety too.

"Day!" Martinez shouted, his arms wrapping around your waist and body pinning you to the wall when the other shoe finally dropped.

The car breached the entrance like a bullet being fired from a pistol. With enough speed to kill those close by with a swift and executing blow. People screamed while they ran. Some heading for the entrance, others cowering in fear along the wall. You tried to suck in a breath, but the impact of too many people crowded around became a punch to your lungs with each movement.

You never thought you were claustrophobic, but suddenly you began to consider the prospect as Martinez mumbled into your shoulder asking if you were okay. His hands pressed flat to the wall to keep the others from crushing you.

"We gotta get everyone out of here," he muttered under his breath.

You sucked in a breath despite the weight. "Where's Gordon?"

"By the front."

"Get over there. I'm fine here."

Another shove and your head rammed into the stone wall, splitting pain cresting over your right eye as you clamped down hard on the inside of your cheek to stifle the groan. That would come to bite you in the ass later—destroying any sense of calm you could harbor in your body. But at this very moment worrying about a small injury was the least of your worries.

"Are you sure?" The hesitation practically bled into his voice. Which only served to piss you off despite his courteous manners of sticking close to keep you safe.

"Go," you snapped.

Through the bustle of people clamoring to get out, you made a choice. One that placed your date of death higher up on a list than you might have liked. Sliding along the wall, you crept towards the barred staircase—the balcony cleared of anyone that crammed their way in to watch the funeral procession. Gordon's voice echoed above the disarray, directing the flow of panic as you sunk into the shadows bathed along the far right side.

No one would bother to check for civilians up here. Not after everyone sprinted for the exit; safety the only thing on their minds. Your boots were silent against the stone staircase, body hunched to avoid detection from the mountain of cops spilling in through the front. A man stood by the car door, hands raised and mouth taped over to muffle the sounds of his cries for help.

"Shit," you breathed, chancing a quick moment to lean over the railing. "That's the fucking D.A."

"Everyone out!" Gordon shouted.

He was the last one through the doors. You fished the black notebook out of your pocket and scribbled down two words.

D.A.

Corrupt

The two most notable suspects in a case gone wrong stared you directly in the face. The Riddler. The man who orchestrated this entire affair was finally making his presence known to the people of this disfigured city. Whoever hid behind that mask seemed desperate enough to string along as many corrupt men as possible. Which only made your suspicions grow—the list of people you often figured were too clean, too good, now falling to the forefront of your mind.

He wanted to unearth the truth.

He wanted to bring Gotham to its knees.

You ducked into a corner of the balcony, pen scratching along the page in a stream of consciousness that you'd later dissect for the paper. Henry would demand every finite detail you were able to collect. Which made staying up here your top priority.

A familiar thump resounded in the cathedral, bouncing off stone walls and filling the large vacant space. He walked in with purpose, bleeding a tremor of dominance in the still air that rumbled at the base of your chest. You shrunk against the small pillars, eyes trained on the figure in black as he moved towards the D.A. unafraid of the contraption strapped to the man's chest.

Even you had to hand it to The Bat. He clearly didn't fear what consequences might one day befall his own being.

He wasn't scared of the one thing all humankind shared amongst themselves. Death.

The shrill ring of a phone forced terror to claw up your throat. Whatever breath existed in your lungs vanished within a second. The Bat held himself in his usual tall stature of resilience. A man who looked like he could take the blast from whatever explosion The Riddler set out for him. That didn't stop the fear from nearly crippling whatever bravery you managed to cling to.

He could die today.

You didn't want to be the only one to witness this loss.

Their voices rang in the air, riddles spewing from the phone with a rancid air of madness you tasted at the back of your throat. And you wrote down each one. You put pen to the page and let the ink bleed the truth—your job taking precedence over your life. The people of this city had to know what happened, they deserved this much given the hell they fought through day and night.

"He's asking how much it costs for you to turn your back."

The pen nearly slipped from your hand at the gruff echo of his voice spilling what everyone wanted to know. Your head shot up, attention solely focused on what might very well be the biggest story The Gotham Gazette would ever see slapped across their front page.

"Ten G's a month. Ten grand. That's my answer."

You sucked in a shaky breath, fingers clutching the pen tight enough for pain to flare up your wrist.

"Please...tell us which vermin you're paid to protect."

"Holy shit," you whispered, sweat prickling along the back of your neck.

"The rat. The informant you're all protecting from the Salvatore Maroni case," The Bat urged, his voice thick with urgency. "What's his name?"

"No."

You scrambled to your feet, The Riddler's voice counting the seconds down in glee as The Batman did what he could to save a corrupt man's life. Your chest heaved with each breath, silence flooding the space until you had to lean over the railing just to hear their voices above your own heart beat.

"You're talking to a dead man," he whispered, eyes wide with a terror you'd never seen before.

"What's the name?"

He shook his head, trembling where he stood. "It's so much bigger than you could imagine. It's the whole system."

Your pen barely scratched the surface of the crinkled paper before the time ran out. The blast ricocheted off the walls, slamming into you with a force that crushed everything inside to the very back of your body. You cried out as it flung you into the wall with a loud crack, your skull hitting stone. Pain filled every sense, a faint high pitched ring overwhelmed whatever you could hear and suddenly you were back on that street as your blood stained the sidewalk.

Gasping wetly for a steady breath, you felt warmth trickle down your forehead, spilling onto the cold skin of your cheek. You reached for it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Only for your vision to blur—the steady beat of your heart now pounding heavily within your chest.

"No," you breathed, rolling onto your back. "Not again."

Everything else cut out—each means of escape vanishing within a moment—and suddenly...the world went dark.

"You could have at least pulled that punch, man." The squeak of the elevator broke through the smoggy air atop the building as Gordon stepped out with a wince.

"I did."

"Bock put out an APB on you." Gordon sighed, his brows furrowed and his patience wore thin. "You really think he's in on this?"

"I don't trust any of 'em. Do you?"

Gordon shook his head subtly. "I only trust you."

The information was strewn about, traded in hoarse whispers as the city lights flickered on, night taking over Gotham once more. Pain lingered in his chest from the explosion but he could ignore it for the time being. This remained the most important thing in his life. The vital piece of a puzzle that slowly unfurled before his very eyes—reasons why The Riddler felt it necessary to target certain corrupt men.

"You got hit by the blast dead on. I don't know how you're still standing," Gordon stated plainly, his eyes flickering to the center of the plated armor on his chest—the symbol of a bat staring back.

"I'll live."

He nodded. "We felt it from outside. Had people dropping to the floor from the echoes."

Something burrowed its way to the front of his mind, trickling down into fear receptors that rarely triggered the longer he remained in his position. The people there were put in danger. They were hurt by what game The Riddler chose to play. But that's not what concerned him the most.

You were there amidst the crowd, lost to a sea of madness the second that car broke through the front gates.

"There's a reporter," he said, voice catching on the back of his throat. "Goes by Daywalker."

Gordon hummed. "Yeah I saw her there. One of the only good ones in the city if I'm honest."

"Did she make it out?"

The pause of silence gripped his heart in a way he didn't like. It filled his stomach with bile, sent it careening up his throat, and suddenly he was a child again in that alleyway. His eyes fixed on the only two people who were placed on this Earth to love him. To give him a life of joy and days overflowing with laughter. Not a bitter heartache that clung to the inside of his chest—digging claws into soft tissue simply to watch him bleed.

Gordon mulled over the question, racking his mind for the answer. "I didn't see her in the crowd." Was all he could come up with.

"You know anyone who can contact her?"

"She an informant?" When he was faced with a wall of hollow air, he dug for the phone in his jacket pocket, slamming down the number of the only man in Gotham who could locate a reporter. "Henry. Need a lead on one of your reporters. Goes by Daywalker."

A mumble of information filtered through the phone's speaker, barely loud enough for him to hear through the mask, but one word caught his attention like lightning cracking across the night sky. Missing. You were gone. Unheard of. His teeth clenched, fingers curling into fists as the patter of his heart quickened the longer he stood there unable to help.

"Thanks." Gordon pocketed his phone, rubbing a hand across his face. "No one's heard from her. Henry called it into the station, but they've pushed it off for now."

"What about Martinez?" He recalled the bitterness that soured his stomach at the sight of your smile given to someone who could offer you a sense of normalcy. "They seem friendly."

"He's been with me since the attack."

Prying the memories from his mind, he tried to place where he'd last seen you. Only to come up with an image of you leaning against the wall—a coffee in your hand and a frown painted across your lips. The wall...closest to the staircase. No other person would have made that choice—put themselves in that kind of danger. But the best reporter in Gotham wouldn't hesitate—they'd barely give themselves time to mull over the consequences.

"She never left," he muttered.

"What?"

He was striding towards the elevator before a response could leave his mouth. Gordon trailed after him, yanking the keys out of his coat with an urgency that nearly dropped them to the floor. You were still trapped within the walls of that cathedral, but that's not what made a cold chill curl at the base of his spine. Wherever you were remained within the blast radius of that explosion.

Which meant you were hurt.

The car roared to life with an anger that blasted in the night air. He slammed on the gas, swerving onto the street as Gordon drove behind—their urgency bleeding into every action. The state you were in is what gnawed at him the most.

The balcony wasn't far enough away, but he would have seen you standing there when he entered the building. He would have known you were there by your presence alone, even if his eyes were unable to pinpoint where exactly that happened to be.

He sucked in a breath, stopping in the alleyway beside the cathedral, before rushing towards the side entrance. The acrid scent of burnt flesh still permeated the air when he swung open the door. It slammed into his chest like before, marring his otherwise cool exterior. Anger seared up his chest, forcing itself to be known as he took the stairs two at a time.

Only to see a limp figure curled in on itself by the wall—a pool of dried crimson beneath them.

"No," he breathed, dropping to his knees. "C'mon. Wake up."

Your face was coated in a thick layer of dried blood, matting down your hair against your forehead. The shallow rise and fall of your chest gave him an indication on how long you'd been up here. Several hours without help. Hours spent alone floating between the states of conscious and unconscious. Your body had gone into shock long before he woke up in the police station, the injuries sustained far too much for your system to handle.

"Day," he muttered, cupping your face with a gloved hand. "Day wake up. Don't do this to me."

A weak gasp slipped past your chapped lips—eyes weakly fluttering against tear stained cheeks. "V-Vengeance?"

"Gordon!" Lifting you to his chest, he rose on his knees. "I'm here. I've got you."

"He's dead," you coughed, fingers scrambling to clutch onto his cape. "T-The D.A. he's–"

"I know."

"Victim," you mumbled, eyes rolling back as he got you to the stairs.

Knocking his forehead on yours softly, he dragged in another harsh breath. "Wake up. You hear me Day? Stay awake."

"F-Falcone–" A cough rattled your chest, body shivering at the harsh physical exertion. He clutched you tighter, hand gripping the back of your neck to raise your head. "Thomas...Wayne."

He froze, boots nearly tripping on the last step. "What did you say?"

The dead weight against his arms was all you offered in response. The fatigue and blood loss finally taking its toll on a body that had endured far too much—the explosion ripping everything from you. He held you close enough to feel the beat of your heart through your back, the soft breaths you managed became a warm wash of air along his chin. If this were a different time, if he was Bruce instead of The Bat he might have chanced an embrace like this.

But that amount of luck would never remain in the cards for a man like himself.

He'd forever be the savior, the man this city needed. Never the man you wanted.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he stated, laying you in the backseat of Gordon's car with a gentleness that startled him to his very core. "Trauma to the head from the blast."

"I'll get her to the hospital."

He chanced one last look at your peaceful face—fingers trailing lightly along your chin before retreating with a sigh. "Ask for Elain."

"And you?"

"The Penguin," he replied calmly. "We need to have a talk."

Chaos erupted in the hallway of the hospital, shouts heard left and right as two men were dragged out by security, their voices loud enough to rouse you from an excruciating sleep. Jolting in the shitty bed, you felt the prick of needles against the juncture of your forearm, a cold wash of liquid spreading up into your veins. The light pierced your eyes, blinding you for a moment as you came to with a searing headache.

A soft monotonous beep echoed beside you monitoring your heart rate—the hills and bumps of your life mapped out for you to see on a screen for the first time. You hated the hospital. Loathed the antiseptic smell that burned your nose, struggled to maintain a grasp on what the fuck happened to land you here.

And only when you fought to sit up—a pained shout wrenching from your chest—did it all come rushing back to you. The explosion. The D.A. The Ridder's whole reason for striking the way he did. He wanted to know about the rat, the man who every higher up in Gotham vowed to protect with their lives. You just never thought you would be included in that list—yet another victim to the grief that plagued this godforsaken city.

"You're awake." The door shut with a soft thud, Elain clicking her pen as she flipped through the keyboard at the end of the bed. "You suffered a blow to the head. Concussion. A detective brought you in, told me a mutual friend found you in the cathedral."

"Elain–" Your voice cracked in the small attempt of words, but her fury clamped your jaw shut instantly.

"Are you fucking insane? Or are you simply trying to die?" She huffed, setting the board back in its rightful spot. "I patch you up in your apartment while your shadow glares at me the whole time. But this? Found at the very scene where the D.A. just got blown to pieces. What the fuck Day?"

"I know–"

She sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No you don't know. I've got people here who would love to know why you're here. People who don't work for Gotham P.D."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"I'm not about to attend a funeral for you Day. That can't happen."

Shame hung heavy atop your shoulders. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have stayed."

"Yeah. You did a whole lot more than that." Settling in the chair propped beside your bed, she clasped her hands together tight enough to turn her knuckles white. "There were witnesses when that detective brought you in. People who are now walking the halls outside this room because of it."

"They don't know anything."

"And if they do?"

You sucked in a shaky breath. "He wouldn't let that happen."

Her eyes sunk into the depths of your soul, prying out what you weren't telling her—what you kept close to your chest. "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing–"

She grinned, lifeless and full of mirth—her eyes echoing with a dull exhaustion that came with working long hours in a ruthless city. "He cares about you Day."

"He doesn't care–"

"Yes. He does." Rising to her feet, she dug out your phone. "He wouldn't have searched for you if he didn't care."

The brightness of your screen burned your still bleary eyes—the notifications rolling in as the power started back up. Elain mumbled about grabbing food in the cafeteria, her body hunched forward when she left—head ducked to avoid the sight of whoever paced the halls. You couldn't stay here long if that was the case. Especially given the notes housed in your small notebook tucked into your hospital gown.

A message from Gordon caught your attention, the words short and simple. Yet filled with enough to send a flutter through your chest.

Hope you're okay. With your guy. Will be in touch soon.

–Gordon

You glanced at the message beneath it. A myriad of questions from Henry asking if you were at the funeral, if you caught any good interviews, if you were alive. You swallowed thickly at the last one—fingers clenching around your phone as the words blurred in front of you.

BRUCE WAYNE: OUT OF THE SHADOWS is a front page story set for publication in two days. Congrats kid.

–Henry Goldfinch

#bruce wayne x f!reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne #battinson x reader #battinson x you #my writing

61 notes · View notes