#Villains rise and shine!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mahalachives · 3 months ago

Text

Part 2: The Reluctant Villain

TW: Mention of suicide

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

Morning came with amber light filtering through stained glass, painting warm patterns across your skin.

Your dreams had been filled with burning hands and screaming servants, but beneath the horror lurked memories of your real life—white hospital walls and the antiseptic smell of disinfectant.

"Rise and shine, my lady," Briar chirped, pulling back heavy curtains. Golden light flooded the chamber, making dust motes dance like tiny faeries. "Lord Eris sent word that the Night Court delegation arrives by midday."

You groaned softly into silk pillows scented with cinnamon and smoke. "Already?" The pillowcase felt impossibly soft against your cheek—another reminder of how different this world was from yours.

"Indeed! And he's arranged weapons training to help restore your... equilibrium." Briar's fingers trembled slightly as she laid out your clothing, though less so than yesterday.

Weapons training.

Exactly what every nursing student needed—instructions on how to efficiently disembowel magical beings. You thought of your anatomy textbooks and wondered if Fae physiology was similar enough for your knowledge to be useful. At least in a way that didn't involve killing.

"Can't I claim I'm still unwell?" you asked, your voice gentle despite your reluctance.

Briar's silence spoke volumes. When you looked up, her face was horrified, eyes wide with genuine fear.

"My lady," she whispered, glancing nervously at the door as if afraid someone might be listening, "never let Lord Beron hear you suggest weakness. Not after Lord Tallan."

You felt a chill despite the warm morning. "What happened to Lord Tallan?"

Briar shook her head minutely. "It is not spoken of. But the screaming lasted three days."

Right. The mysterious Lord Tallan. Probably set on fire for sneezing incorrectly. You made a mental note to never, ever show weakness around Beron.

"Of course not," you sighed, your lips curving into a small, wry smile. "How foolish of me."

"Lord Eris also said appearances must be maintained." Briar emphasized these words carefully, as if reciting them exactly as they had been told to her.

You noticed her fingers trembled less than yesterday as she helped you dress in supple leather training clothes that felt like a second skin. The craftsmanship was exquisite—another reminder that whatever else this world might be, its beauty was undeniable.

"What exactly happens when the Night Court arrives?" you asked, pulling on boots that laced halfway up your calves.

Briar's expression lightened slightly. "Oh, the usual diplomatic theatre. Thinly veiled threats, ancestral grudges aired like cherished heirlooms, and enough alcohol to make it slightly less excruciating."

You laughed softly, the sound surprisingly melodic in this body's throat. "You're funny."

Briar froze, her eyes widening in alarm. "I—I didn't mean—"

"Relax," you said gently, touching her shoulder with instinctive compassion. The same way you'd reassure a nervous patient. "I'm not going to hurt you for being honest. Ever."

Her expression cycled through confusion, suspicion, and cautious relief. She studied your face carefully, as if trying to read a language she only half-understood.

"You really are different," she murmured.

"Perhaps I am," you admitted. "But it'll be our secret. Otherwise..." You cast about for something appropriately menacing. "I'll turn your toes into... roasted chestnuts?"

Briar's lips twitched despite her obvious effort to remain solemn. "Not your best, my lady, but I appreciate the seasonal theme."

When her fingers brushed yours as she handed you a leather band for your hair, she didn't flinch.

Progress.

You caught your reflection in a mirror as you prepared to leave— Beautiful, but with a predatory edge that felt foreign to your gentle nature. No wonder poor Briar had been terrified of you.

The eastern courtyard blazed with autumn colors. Trees with impossibly vibrant foliage surrounded a training area of packed earth. The air smelled of woodsmoke and fallen leaves, crisp and invigorating.

Eris stood waiting, magnificent in training leathers that emphasized his lean, powerful frame. Unlike Beron's cold malevolence, Eris carried himself with calculating precision—a blade rather than a bludgeon.

"Ah, sister," he called, amber eyes assessing you with the same careful scrutiny as yesterday. "Ready to remember who you are?"

There was a double meaning in his words—a warning, perhaps, or a genuine question.

You wondered, not for the first time, how much he suspected.

"Always," you replied, approaching with graceful steps, surprising yourself with how natural it felt in this body. Your borrowed muscles moved with fluid ease, as if simply walking was a form of lethal dance.

Eris gestured to a weapon rack displaying an assortment of blades that gleamed in the autumn sunlight. "Choose."

As your eyes scanned the deadly array, one name echoed strangely in your mind.

Azriel.

An inexplicable warmth bloomed in your chest, like the golden hour of sunset captured in feeling. The sensation was so unexpected that you almost missed a step.

You selected the smallest dagger with a golden-leafed hilt, its weight unfamiliar but somehow right in your palm.

Eris raised an eyebrow. "The ceremonial dagger? Not your usual battleaxe?"

You tried not to show your alarm at the revelation that your body's previous occupant favored something as brutish as a battleaxe. It seemed fitting with everything else you'd learned about her.

"I'm focusing on precision today," you improvised, your voice soft but steady. "Sometimes the smallest wounds cut deepest."

Something flickered in Eris's eyes—not quite approval, but perhaps reassessment. "Indeed," he murmured.

Without warning, he lunged forward, his movement a blur of deadly grace.

Your body moved before your mind caught up, sidestepping with inhuman speed. The dagger felt suddenly right, an extension of your arm rather than a foreign object. Muscle memory, you realized. This body remembered what your mind did not.

For several moments, you let that memory guide you through an intricate dance of blades. Eris pushed harder, faster, and remarkably, you kept pace—until your human consciousness asserted itself, wondering at the physical impossibility of what you were doing.

The moment's hesitation cost you. You landed hard on your back, Eris's blade at your throat.

"Sloppy," he commented, though genuine confusion flickered in his amber eyes. "Your form was perfect until you... what? Forgot how to walk?"

"Momentary distraction," you murmured, accepting his outstretched hand. His grip was firm but not cruel—another small difference from what you might have expected.

"Distraction gets you killed," he replied sharply. "Especially with the Night Court. Their shadowsinger could slit your throat before you even sensed him."

Shadowsinger. The term sent another peculiar flutter through your chest, like butterfly wings against your ribs. A fleeting image flashed behind your eyes—hazel eyes flecked with gold, shadows coiling like smoke.

"Their shadowsinger," you repeated, trying for casual but hearing a note of interest in your voice. "Azriel, right?"

Eris gave you an odd look, his head tilting slightly as he studied you. "Since when do you struggle to remember the name of the male you once tried to burn alive?"

Your stomach dropped like a stone. "I—I did what?"

"During the war. You caught him alone near our borders." Eris's voice was matter-of-fact, as if recounting something unremarkable. "His wings still bear the scars where your flames touched them before Cassian intervened." He studied you, something calculating in his gaze. "You bragged about it for months. Said it was the sweetest sound you'd ever heard, his wings crackling."

Horror flooded through you, though you managed to keep your expression neutral with effort. What kind of monster had occupied this body? Your natural compassion recoiled at the thought of such deliberate cruelty.

"I just like to hear how others tell the story," you lied softly, fighting the urge to apologize for something you hadn't done.

Eris watched you for a moment longer, then stepped back into fighting stance. "Again," he commanded.

This time, you consciously surrendered to the body's instincts, letting your mind drift slightly. The result was immediate—your movements flowed like water, precise and deadly. Each strike perfectly balanced, each block timed with inhuman precision.

A small crowd of servants had gathered at a safe distance, their expressions ranging from fear to fascination. You noticed Briar among them, watching with wide eyes.

"Better," Eris conceded after a particularly complex exchange left you breathless but exhilarated. "Now, let's add fire."

His dagger erupted in golden flame that somehow didn't melt the metal or burn his hand. The heat washed over you like a physical caress, reminding you that elemental magic was as natural as breathing to these beings.

You stared at your own blade, willing flame to ignite.

Come on, fire. Burning. Heat. Nothing happened.

"Problem, sister?" Eris's voice carried an edge, but beneath it—concern?

"Just... conserving energy for the Night Court," you improvised quickly.

"Since when do you conserve anything?" Eris scoffed, though his eyes remained watchful. "You once set an entire forest ablaze because a deer startled you."

You suppressed a wince. An environmental disaster in addition to everything else. Lovely.

Closing your eyes, you searched for that wellspring of power you'd glimpsed yesterday. There—a warm current beneath your consciousness, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. But unlike yesterday, when fear had guided you, you focused on healing, on warmth that restored rather than destroyed.

Heat tingled down your arm like liquid sunlight.

When you opened your eyes, your dagger was encased in... pink fire.

Eris stared at the rosy flames as if you'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Pink? PINK?"

"It's... hotter than regular fire," you improvised, smiling sweetly. "More efficient."

The flames seemed to respond to your amusement, reshaping themselves into a small, hopping rabbit with impossibly delicate ears and a fluffy tail. It pranced along the blade before hopping onto your wrist, leaving no burns despite its fiery nature.

A serving girl giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth in horror at her own temerity. You beamed at her, making her eyes widen with shock. The pink bunny responded to your playfulness, performing a little somersault in the air.

"That's it," Eris declared, his own flames vanishing with a wave of his hand. "Training over. Go... meditate or whatever you need to do to remember how to be terrifying."

As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "Father would burn that creature from existence if he saw it," he warned, with strange protectiveness. "And then he'd wonder why his daughter was creating something so... whimsical."

You recognized the warning for what it was—perhaps the closest thing to brotherly concern Eris allowed himself to show. "I understand."

The pink bunny hopped up your arm to nuzzle against your neck before dissolving into sparks that drifted away like embers.

By midday, the Autumn Court was in frenzy. Hearths roared hotter, servants scurried with silver trays and decanters of amber liquid, and guards in burnished copper armor took up positions at every doorway. The air thrummed with tension and ancient power.

You paced your chambers, memorizing Briar's briefing about the Night Court while she wove actual flame into your hair—tiny tongues of fire that danced among your strands without burning.

"High Lord Rhysand," you recited for the dozenth time. "Most powerful High Lord in history. Married to Feyre, a former human."

"Excellent," Briar nodded, her fingers working with surprising confidence given that she was literally playing with fire inches from your scalp. "And his Inner Circle?"

"Cassian and Azriel—Illyrian warriors with battle wings." That flutter in your chest again at the shadowsinger's name, like recognition of something you'd never seen.

"Yes, my lady. The shadowsinger hears whispers from the shadows themselves. Some say he can step through darkness as others walk through doorways." Briar's voice had taken on a storyteller's cadence. "They say he was kept chained in darkness for the first years of his life."

Your expression softened, compassion rising unbidden. "That's horrible." No wonder you'd felt that strange pull—your nursing instinct responding to past trauma.

Briar glanced at you, surprised by your empathy. "Perhaps that's why he's so... reserved." She added softly, as she adjusted the ember-orange gown that made your skin glow like firelight, "You've always been especially hostile toward him."

"Why?" You couldn't imagine deliberately targeting someone who had already suffered so much.

"You never said. But there was an incident during the war..."

"I tried to burn his wings," you finished quietly, the words ashen in your mouth.

A horn blasted from the walls, its deep tone reverberating through stone and bone alike.

"They're here," Briar whispered, making final adjustments to your appearance. Sparks trailed behind you like a comet's tail when you moved, a dramatic effect that suited the intimidating persona you needed to project.

"How do I look?" you asked, studying your reflection. The female who gazed back was undeniably beautiful, but with a predatory edge that seemed at odds with the gentleness you felt inside.

"Terrifying, my lady," Briar assured you. After a hesitation, she added, "But... different. There's something in your eyes that wasn't there before. Something..."

"Good?" you suggested hopefully.

"Softer," she replied carefully. "Which may not serve you well today."

"What if I just... don't set anyone on fire today?" you suggested with a small smile.

Briar's eyes widened as if you'd suggested flying to the moon. "That would be... unprecedented."

"Maybe unprecedented is good."

"Lord Beron expects cruelty from you," she replied carefully. "The last time someone in this court changed unexpectedly, he had them examined by the Bone Carver for possession. And then... eliminated the problem."

Your blood ran cold. "Possessed? As in..."

"A different soul inhabiting a body." Briar's eyes searched yours with unsettling perception. "My lady, are you... are you still you?"

Before you could respond, the door swung open.

Eris entered, resplendent in formal attire of deepest burgundy that complemented his auburn hair. His gaze swept over you critically.

"It's time," he announced.

The Great Hall throbbed with ancient magic that made the very air shimmer with power. Tapestries depicting autumn hunts and conquests hung between tall windows of amber glass. Lord Beron sat on a throne that appeared to be made of living flame, your mother beside him, beautiful but tense. The tight set of her shoulders and the way her fingers gripped her armrest betrayed her anxiety.

Courtiers lined the hall in their finery, a riot of autumn colors—russet, gold, deep orange, and blood red. The anticipation was palpable, a current of nervous energy that made the flames in the massive hearths dance higher.

Eris guided you to stand at Beron's right—a position of obvious importance. You could feel your "father's" gaze on you like a physical weight, assessing and suspicious.

The enormous doors swung open with theatrical slowness. A wave of power—cool night air and starlight—washed over the assembly, so different from the fiery magic that permeated the Autumn Court.

The Night Court had arrived.

They entered like living shadows, bringing the night sky with them despite the midday hour. The very atmosphere seemed to shift in their presence, as if darkness itself had taken form and walked among you. At their head, a male of such breathtaking beauty that several courtiers gasped audibly. His power rippled before him like heat from pavement, midnight and stars and ancient secrets.

Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.

Beside him, a female of extraordinary loveliness moved with lethal grace, her eyes scanning the hall with the assessment of a predator sizing up potential threats—Feyre, his High Lady.

Behind them came the Inner Circle—two enormous warriors with folded wings shadowing their broad shoulders, and a tiny female whose delicate appearance was belied by eyes of ancient silver.

But it was one of the winged warriors who caught and held your attention like a hook through your heart. Unlike the others whose expressions ranged from diplomatic neutrality to barely concealed disgust, his face was an impassive mask. Shadows seemed to bend toward him like faithful pets, writhing around his shoulders in constant motion.

Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name echoed in your mind with peculiar resonance.

When his hazel eyes finally swept across the Autumn Court assembly, they paused imperceptibly on you. The gold flecks in them caught the firelight like tiny stars.

For a heartbeat, you felt... seen. Truly seen, beyond the body you inhabited. The connection left you breathless, a moment of recognition that made no logical sense yet felt undeniably real.

"Night Court," Beron intoned, his voice betraying no emotion despite the flames at his fingertips that betrayed his agitation. "Welcome to the Autumn Court."

"Lord Beron," Rhysand replied, his voice cultured and smooth as dark chocolate. "How gracious of you to host us. Particularly given our... colorful history."

"History written in blood rarely fades," Beron responded, malice wrapped in silk. "The Night Court has cost the Autumn Court dearly over the centuries. Or have you forgotten the Massacre at Kharos Ridge?"

Tension crackled like lightning about to strike. Every member of both courts was poised on a knife's edge of diplomatic civility, centuries of grudges barely contained beneath polite veneers.

"Ancient history," Rhysand replied with a smile that didn't reach his star-flecked eyes. "Much like your claims to the northern forests."

Small flames licked between Beron's knuckles—the only indication that the verbal barb had landed.

"We have prepared refreshments," your mother spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle—a cool stream in a burning forest. "Perhaps we might proceed to more comfortable surroundings? The treaties of old demand hospitality, regardless of... past disagreements."

"A lovely suggestion, Lady," Feyre replied, though her eyes remained watchful as a hawk's. "We come in peace, after all. At least for today."

As the assembly moved toward the adjacent dining hall, your gaze was repeatedly drawn to the shadowsinger like a magnet finding true north. He moved with predatory grace, yet there was something contained about him—tightly controlled, as if holding himself apart from everything around him. His shadows occasionally formed shapes before dissolving again, like messages written in smoke.

You couldn't help but wonder about the child who had been chained in darkness, and how he had survived to become this warrior of shadow and steel. The thought made your heart ache with a tenderness that was entirely your own, not borrowed from this body.

In the dining hall, you found yourself seated between Eris and another brother, directly across from the larger of the two winged warriors—Cassian, with his brutal grin and assessing eyes—with Azriel seated silently beside him.

The shadowsinger kept his gaze carefully averted from yours, but you couldn't help noticing how the shadows around him coiled more agitatedly whenever your eyes strayed his way.

The elaborate feast was a masterpiece of autumn bounty—roasted game glistening with honey glaze, jewel-toned fruits arranged in spirals of artful decadence, pastries that steamed with cinnamon and nutmeg. Wine flowed freely from decanters that never seemed to empty, though you noticed the Night Court members barely touched theirs.

Conversation moved like a complex dance, pleasantries exchanged with the precision of blade work, double meanings layered beneath every comment.

"I must say," Amren remarked, as she reached for her goblet, "the Autumn Court is particularly vibrant this season. Almost as if the trees themselves are putting on a show for us."

"Nature recognizes power," Beron replied coolly. "As do we all."

"Speaking of recognition," Rhysand cut in, his voice deceptively casual though his eyes missed nothing, "we've heard reports of unusual magical fluctuations from this region. Any insights you care to share, Lord Beron?"

Every head turned toward the high lord, whose expression remained impassive despite the flames that flickered brighter in the nearest hearth.

"Nothing unusual," he replied. "Just my daughter's continued explorations of her considerable gifts."

Suddenly, all attention shifted to you.

Feyre's gaze was particularly keen, as if she could see beneath your skin to the human soul residing there.

"Is that so?" she asked, one perfect eyebrow arched. "What manner of explorations, if I might ask?"

The scrutiny of so many powerful beings made your heart race, though you managed to keep your expression serene. The unfairness of your situation—trapped in a body not your own, forced to pretend to be someone terrible—suddenly felt overwhelming.

"I've been studying the relationship between elemental fire and emotional resonance," you explained, your voice soft but clear. "Intent matters as much as power."

To demonstrate, you raised your palm, concentrating on the hollow ache of homesickness in your chest. A small flame appeared, dancing above your hand—not the violent inferno your body's previous occupant might have conjured, but a gentle, wavering light tinged slightly blue around the edges.

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on your small, melancholy flame.

"How... unexpectedly poetic," Rhysand commented, genuine surprise in his violet eyes.

"And unlike you," Cassian added bluntly, suspicion evident in the set of his shoulders.

You managed a small, enigmatic smile in response, though your heart raced beneath your calm exterior. "Perhaps we all contain unexpected depths."

"Forgive my sister's sentimentality," Eris interjected smoothly. "Her recent... incident has left her somewhat philosophical."

Your eyes accidentally locked with Azriel's across the table. His hazel gaze had been studying you with subtle intensity, shadows writhing around his shoulders, reaching toward you before pulling back like waves uncertain of the shore.

Then it happened.

A golden cord snapped into place between you—a connection so powerful it physically rocked you backward in your chair. A rush of sensation flooded through you—warmth, recognition, belonging—followed immediately by confusion and alarm.

Azriel flinched visibly, his wings flaring slightly, shadows coiling in chaotic patterns. His normally impassive face registered naked shock for a split second before shuttering into cold neutrality. But not before you glimpsed something else—confusion, perhaps even fear.

The entire table had gone deathly still.

"Well," Rhysand said into the silence, his voice dangerously soft. "This is unexpected."

"What just happened?" you asked, managing to keep your voice steady despite the strange sensation pulsing between you and the shadowsinger like a living thing.

"The mating bond," Amren said, "It just snapped into place."

"This is some trick," Beron snarled, rising from his seat. Small flames erupted around his clenched fists, dancing in disturbing patterns. "Some Night Court deception."

"I assure you," Rhysand replied, his own voice tight as a bowstring, "this is not our doing. The mating bond cannot be manufactured or falsified. It is the Cauldron's will, not ours."

"Mating bond?" you repeated, a slight tremble in your voice the only indication of your shock. The term meant nothing to you, yet the golden cord between you and Azriel pulsed with undeniable reality.

"How convenient," Beron hissed, flames now dripping from his fingertips onto the priceless tablecloth, "that my only daughter should suddenly be bound to one of yours. What better way to infiltrate my court?"

"Father," Eris began carefully, "perhaps we should—"

"Silence!" Beron's command cracked like a whip. "I will not have centuries of careful diplomacy undone by... by whatever this is." His burning gaze fixed on you with terrible intensity. "First the strange behavior, now this. Perhaps we need to discover what exactly has happened to my daughter."

Your blood ran cold.

Azriel spoke then, his deep voice cutting through the chaos with quiet authority that commanded attention despite its softness. His face was completely closed off, his eyes cold as winter frost.

"There's nothing to worry about," he said, addressing Rhysand rather than you. "A mating bond can be rejected." He turned that cold hazel gaze to you, and the dismissal in his eyes made your chest ache anew. "I have no interest in the Lady of the Autumn Court. I want nothing to do with her. Not after what she's done. No bond can erase that history."

His words struck like physical blows. The connection between you—the mating bond, apparently—throbbed with pain at the rejection. You breathed deeply, fighting the urge to show how deeply his words cut.

Yet beneath that mask of cold indifference, something in his eyes flickered—a moment of doubt, perhaps. His shadows, despite his rigid control, stretched slightly toward you before he harshly pulled them back.

"I said, I want nothing to do with you," Azriel repeated, each word precise and final. "This changes nothing."

You rose with quiet dignity, despite the ache in your chest. "Please excuse me," you managed, and slipped from the hall with as much grace as you could muster.

"Stop her," you heard Beron command behind you. "Something is not right."

You moved quickly through the corridors, your mind racing.

The mating bond. Rejection.

Beron's suspicious anger. All of it spelled danger, but you had no idea how to navigate any of it.

You found refuge in a small garden courtyard, enclosed by trees whose leaves burned like living flame in the afternoon light. The beauty of it momentarily took your breath away, despite your distress.

A tiny pink flame flickered to life in your palm unbidden, forming a miniature bunny that hopped up your arm. The fearsome Lady of Autumn, reduced to creating cuteness while nursing a broken heart over a male who despised her.

The irony wasn't lost on you.

"My lady?"

Briar stood at the entrance, concern evident in her expression.

"What's a mating bond?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled.

"Oh... My lady..." Briar approached without her usual hesitation and sat beside you. "It's rarest and most sacred connection between Fae. It's said to be the Cauldron's way of identifying your perfect match. Two halves of a whole soul." She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with gentle fingers. "It can't be forced or faked. It simply... is."

"But he rejected it," you said softly, feeling the golden thread still pulsing between you despite his denial.

"The shadowsinger?" Briar asked, surprise evident in her voice. "Your reputation with the Night Court is..."

"Terrible," you finished for her. "I tried to burn his wings off."

"The bond doesn't consider past actions," Briar offered hesitantly. "It sees something deeper, something true. Perhaps your recent changes..."

You laughed softly, without humor. "My 'changes' are more significant than anyone realizes."

Briar studied you for a long moment. "You truly are different, aren't you? Not just acting differently, but... something fundamental has changed."

Your breath caught. Was it possible to confide in her? To tell someone the impossible truth?

"Briar," you began cautiously, "what if I told you I'm not who everyone thinks I am?"

Before you could continue, footsteps approached—measured, deliberate. Eris appeared at the courtyard entrance, his expression thunderous.

"Leave us," he commanded Briar, who squeezed your hand once before scurrying away.

For a long moment, Eris simply stared at you, as if trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle.

"A mating bond," he finally said, the words falling like stones. "With the Night Court's shadowsinger." He shook his head in disbelief. "Of all the ways you could have disrupted negotiations, this is... creative, I'll give you that."

"I didn't do it on purpose," you protested, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

"Obviously not. The bond cannot be faked." He paced before you, agitation evident in every movement. "But why now? Why him? And why are you... different? You've never cared what anyone thought of you."

"Maybe I'm changing," you whispered.

"People don't change their fundamental nature overnight," he countered, echoing words you'd heard before.

"What if I'm not who you think I am?" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Eris went still, his amber eyes narrowing. "Explain."

You hesitated. Beyond the courtyard, guards' footsteps approached. Your time was running out.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted behind you. Two guards appeared at the courtyard entrance, their faces tight with tension.

"My lady, Lord Beron demands your presence immediately. The Night Court delegation—"

Before the guard could finish, a flash of movement caught your eye. An assassin—dressed in nondescript leather—appeared on the garden wall, bow drawn.

The arrow flew—not at you, but at Eris.

Without thinking, you moved, pushing your "brother" aside. The arrow found your chest instead.

Pain—bright, burning pain—bloomed between your ribs. You gasped, falling to your knees.

"Sister!" Eris caught you, lowering you to the ground. His face, normally so controlled, twisted with shock and something that looked remarkably like genuine concern. "Guards! Healers!"

Commotion erupted around you.

Shouts, running footsteps, the rush of wings. Through blurring vision, you saw the courtyard suddenly fill with figures from both courts—Beron rushing forward with unexpected speed, Rhysand and his Inner Circle appearing as if from thin air.

"What happened?" Beron demanded, his power flooding the courtyard like midnight tide.

"Assassin," Eris growled, still cradling your head with surprising gentleness. "The arrow was meant for me."

A healer knelt beside you, hands glowing with golden light. But you could feel something already—the magic of this body failing, your grip on this world loosening. The arrow had struck true, poisoned perhaps, or enchanted.

Darkness swept in from the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw was Azriel pushing through the crowd, hazel eyes wide with alarm—alarm that belied his earlier rejection—as shadows coiled frantically around him. Then nothing.

Beeping. Rhythmic, electronic beeping.

Your eyes flew open.

White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell of hospital disinfectant.

You gasped, trying to sit up, but pain flared in your chest—an echo of the arrow wound, though when you looked down, all you saw was a hospital gown and bandages wrapped around your torso.

"She's awake!" A voice—familiar, human. Your roommate from nursing school. "Doctor! She's awake!"

"What happened?" you croaked, your voice rusty from disuse.

"You were stabbed." Your roommate's eyes filled with tears. "You've been in a coma for three days. The doctors weren't sure if you'd wake up—the knife nearly hit your heart."

A coma. A dream. Relief washed over you despite the pain. The magical world, the borrowed body—it had all been some elaborate fantasy while your brain healed from the trauma.

"I had the strangest dream," you told your roommate. "I was in another body, in a magical world with fire magic and winged warriors."

Your roommate squeezed your hand. "The doctors said you might have vivid dreams. Just rest now. You're back. You're safe."

The stab wound ached whenever you moved, a constant reminder of your mortality. Yet you reveled in the normalcy of hospital routines, fluorescent lights, cell phones, and the absence of magic fire. The steady parade of modern technology—IV pumps, vital monitors, tablets with medical charts—all reassured you that you were home.

It had all been a dream. A vivid, incredible dream.

Until, It wasn't.

A strange warmth in your chest, radiating from your wound. A pulling sensation, like a golden thread tugging at your very soul.

"No," you whispered. "No, I'm home. I'm where I belong."

The warmth intensified, spreading through your limbs. You could almost hear voices—unfamiliar and familiar at once. Feel hands—not human hands—working over your body.

"Stop it," you murmured, then louder. "Stop it!"

The hospital room wavered around you, reality thinning like mist under strong sunlight. The monitors, the IV stand, the sterile white walls—all began to fade, replaced by a strange golden light that seemed to flow through your very veins.

"No! Please—"

"—don't take me back!"

Your eyes flew open to find yourself in a healing chamber rather than the courtyard where you'd been struck. Fiery amber light poured through stained glass windows, casting jeweled patterns across stone walls lined with shelves of potions and dried herbs. The air smelled of cinnamon and strange medicinal scents you couldn't identify.

You lay on a raised stone platform covered with soft furs, your chest burning with half-healed pain. Around you stood members of both courts, watching with varying degrees of concern and suspicion.

A healer—one of the Autumn Court's—pulled back her glowing hands from your wound, startled by your outburst. The magic hummed in the air, warm and tingling against your skin.

"My lady?" she questioned, confusion evident.

"I was home," you whispered, disoriented by the sudden transition. "There were beeping machines and fluorescent lights and doctors and—" You looked around wildly, finding both Eris and Beron nearby, along with the entire Night Court delegation.

Azriel stood in the shadows near the arched doorway, his darkness seeming to blend with the corners of the room as his hazel eyes fixed on you with unreadable intensity.

"Why did you bring me back?" you asked, tears welling in your eyes despite your effort to remain composed. "I was in a hospital. I was stabbed during a robbery. My roommate was there—"

"She's delirious," the healer said quickly, adjusting the bandages wrapped around your torso with gentle fingers. "The poison from the arrow—"

"I'm not delirious!" you insisted, struggling to sit up despite the pain that lanced through your chest. "I was home! In my world! With cell phones and subway trains and—and no magic! I was a nursing student, not... not this!" You gestured weakly at your borrowed body.

Beron's expression darkened dangerously, the flames in the room's central brazier leaping higher in response to his mood. "What nonsense is this?"

"I was there," you insisted, tears now streaming down your face.

Your distress triggered your unpredictable magic.

Small pink flames flickered around your fingers, forming tiny dancing animals—rabbits, deer, little birds—that hopped and flew in circles above your healing platform. They cast soft rosy light across the stone ceiling, making the runes carved there seem to dance.

Beron looked absolutely appalled. Eris seemed caught between concern and mortification.

"This is... unprecedented," the healer murmured, backing away slightly as one of the flame rabbits hopped curiously toward her herb basket.

"I think," Feyre said cautiously, "that the trauma of the attack may have affected her mind."

"Oh, Cauldron," Cassian muttered from where he leaned against a pillar, barely suppressing a grin despite the tension. "She's gone from terrifying to adorable. The little pink bunny things are actually... cute."

"It was real," you insisted, your voice growing smaller as reality reasserted itself. The pink creatures multiplied with your distress, creating a small menagerie of flame animals that darted between hanging bundles of herbs and crystal bottles. "There were cars and buses and no one had pointed ears or wings and—"

"Shh," Eris said, surprising everyone by approaching your platform and awkwardly patting your hand. "The arrow was poisoned. These... delusions will pass."

"They're not delusions," you whispered, looking directly at Azriel, whose stoic expression had slipped just enough to reveal confusion. "When I died, the mating bond took me home."

A collective intake of breath swept through the gathered Fae, the sound echoing against the stone walls.

"She probably lost the will to live after you rejected her," Cassian remarked to Azriel, whose face suddenly paled.

The shadowsinger's eyes widened fractionally, his shadows swirling in agitated patterns around the healing chamber, momentarily dimming the brazier's flames. For a brief moment, genuine alarm flashed across his features before he controlled it.

"I didn't," you started to protest, then faltered. "I mean... I did, but..."

Azriel stepped forward, his shadows reaching toward you before he visibly reined them in. "You should rest," he said stiffly, though his eyes betrayed something more complex than indifference.

Beron's patience finally snapped.

The brazier flames roared suddenly, casting the room in harsh orange light and sending your pink creatures scattering in alarm.

"Enough of this," he snarled, rising to his full height. The temperature in the healing chamber rose several degrees. "I believe it's time for the Night Court to take their leave."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly. "Is that so? When your daughter has just revealed such... interesting information?"

"My daughter," Beron emphasized coldly, "has been poisoned and requires rest. Whatever delusions the venom has caused can be dealt with by Autumn Court healers."

"Lord Beron," Feyre began, stepping forward with diplomatic grace, "perhaps under the circumstances—"

"The circumstances," Beron cut in, "are that my only daughter has been injured saving her brother's life, and now requires peace to recover." His amber eyes glittered dangerously. "Or perhaps the Night Court would like to explain why an assassin penetrated our borders during your diplomatic visit?"

The accusation hung in the air like smoke.

Rhysand's expression cooled several degrees. "A baseless accusation, but not an unexpected one." He turned to his delegation with calculated casualness. "We'll take our leave. For now."

Your eyes found Azriel's across the room.

The shadowsinger stood motionless, his face once again a perfect mask of indifference. But his shadows betrayed him, twisting restlessly as they reached toward you before being sharply pulled back.

Something in your chest ached at the sight—a hollow feeling that didn't entirely belong to you. The golden thread of the mating bond seemed to stretch painfully as he moved toward the door with the others.

Azriel hesitated a moment, then gave Rhysand a single, tight nod. With one last unfathomable look at you, he turned and followed his High Lord.

You watched them go, your pink flame creatures dimming slightly as the Night Court delegation filed through the arched doorway. The last glimpse you caught was of Azriel's wings disappearing into the corridor's shadows.

Your heart felt strangely fractured, torn between relief at their departure and an inexplicable sense of loss. The bond pulled like a physical weight, making your healing wound throb in sympathetic pain.

Then, abruptly, a realization struck you.

A terrible, perfect clarity.

A small, broken giggle escaped your lips.

Eris and Beron both turned to stare at you, identical expressions of alarm on their faces.

"Sister?" Eris questioned cautiously.

The giggle blossomed into full laughter, slightly hysterical. The pink flame creatures danced faster around you, reflecting your manic energy.

"I know how to get home," you whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. Your eyes met Beron's, then Eris's, a strange smile spreading across your face.

Beron took a step toward you, suspicion darkening his features. "What did you say?"

But you just smiled wider, the revelation burning in your mind like the clearest truth you'd ever known.

I just need to die.

The thought should have terrified you, but instead, it filled you with a twisted sort of hope.

Die here, wake up there. So simple. So perfect.

You lay back against the furs, smile still fixed on your face, as one of your flame bunnies settled onto your chest directly above your wound.

"Nothing, Father," you said sweetly. "Just a passing thought."

Eris's eyes narrowed, as if he could somehow read the dangerous idea forming in your mind. "Perhaps the healer should administer a sleeping draught," he suggested carefully.

"An excellent idea," Beron agreed, still watching you with open suspicion.

As the healer approached with a vial of amber liquid, your gaze drifted to the doorway where the shadowsinger had disappeared.

If he didn't want you, and you didn't belong here anyway, what was there to lose?

The mating bond tugged painfully in your chest, as if in protest.

Just one more death, you thought as the sleeping draught was pressed to your lips. And then I'll be home for good.

Author’s Note:

This chapter had it all: fire bunnies, accidental war crimes, surprise soul-bonding, and one (1) medically inadvisable resurrection. Shoutout to Azriel for rejecting his mate like a dramatic Victorian ghost. See you next chapter—bring snacks and emotional support. 💀🔥🐇💘

Taglist: @circe143 @lunarxcity @willowpains @messageforthesmallestman @lreadsstuff

#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre acotar #eris vanserra

392 notes · View notes

slut4thebroken · 3 months ago

Text

baby bat - pt. 2

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Scarecrow x Batgirl!reader

Summary | “You need to learn not to trust a villain, baby bat.”

Warnings | NON CON, physical abuse, coercion, kissing, praise, humiliation, lotsa pain, more noncon recording, crying, manipulation, ionno.

Words | 3.6 k

Notes | I know his mask doesn’t have a voice modulator but that’s what I wrote in part 1 and I like the reveal😔🤚 sue me

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The physical abuse is at the end of the chapter, however if you want to skip that brief section, I added “———” above and below it <3 Please read safely, I’m not responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Part 1

“Rise and shine, sleepy head!” He called out, jolting you out of your restless slumber. He set his briefcase down on the desk and walked over to you, making you tense up. You tried not to flinch when he reached up to gently caress your cheek, making your breathing pick up as your heart pounded in your chest. “How was your night?” He asked softly, with just a hint of teasing in his tone. In response, you clenched your jaw and looked away from him, making him hum in disappointment. When he stepped back, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

“I have something special planned for you today.” He walked back over to the desk and picked up the camera, then turned it on and set it on the desk angled off to the side before returning to you, now holding handcuffs. You watched nervously as he released your wrists from the exam chair, then pulled you up into a seated position to restrain them behind your back. After that he freed your ankles and grabbed your arm, pulling you off of the chair, making you stumble into him when your weak legs buckled under your weight.

He caught you with a sigh and held you up. When you tilted your head to look up at him, you realized just how much taller he was than you— how much bigger he was than you.

He stared down at you for a moment and you almost got lost in the pale blue eyes hiding within the mask, but he quickly snapped out of it and continued dragging you somewhere.

You could see now that the camera on the desk was angled toward a couch. It was dirty and torn, practically covered in stains, and you all but breathed a sigh of relief when he sat down on it instead of placing you onto the couch. That relief was cut short though by him pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling his legs. You turned to look at the camera nervously, wondering what he had planned.

“You’re so small… So fragile.” He said quietly, placing his hands on your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly. “Batman was a fool for not keeping a pretty thing like you locked away, safe from the world.” Even through the modulator, his voice was so tender and warm, but rather than calming you, it just made you even more anxious. “But it’s okay, I’ll keep you safe now. My baby bat.” He sighed, almost dreamily.

“Stop calling me that.” You protested weakly, making him chuckle.

“Why would I do that when I know how much you love it?”

“I don’t.”

“No?” He tilted his head slightly and you gritted your teeth, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. “Hm… That’s a shame. You’ll get used to it though.” His hands moved to your hips, then stayed there, gripping gently.

“I’m willing to make you a deal… If you tell me how much you love the way I treat you, how much you love when I call you baby bat… then I’ll let you go.” He said simply, making your breath catch in your throat.

“You will?”

“Yes. But you have to mean it.” You could do that. All you had to do was lie and tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I- I love the way you treat me… I love being your— your baby bat.” You choked out, the last words barely louder than a whisper.

“Very good. But I couldn’t quite hear you. Try again, louder this time.” You did your best not to audibly huff in response.

“I love the way you treat me.” You repeated, louder and more firmly. “I love being your baby bat.” You held your breath as you waited, when he didn’t respond right away, you added on more. “I love being yours...” You said breathily. He let out a low groan and squeezed your hips.

“Good girl… Such a good girl for your Scarecrow, hm?” He reached up and brushed your hair behind your ear, making you flinch a little.

“I did what you said, now let me go.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice was embarrassingly shaky.

“No so fast, darling. There’s still something I want from you.”

“You promised.” You frowned, making him chuckle at your petulance.

“Did I?” He asked rhetorically. No, he didn’t. “Just one more thing, then I promise I’ll let you go.”

“Okay… one more.” You agreed, even though your heart was pounding and your stomach was churning.

“That’s my good girl.” He cooed, making you scowl as your cheeks heated up. He reached up and slowly started removing his mask— what the hell did he want you to do that would require him to remove his mask?

First you saw his lips— full, pink, and pouty with a softness you would’ve found alluring on anyone else. They also looked young. The only knowledge you had about him was what Bruce told you— he never actually showed you a picture of his face— so part of you was hoping he’d be some old, gross pervert…

Next were his nose and cheeks. Faint freckles dusted across his pale skin, subtle but noticeable, and his cheekbones were sharp— almost unnaturally so. But instead of looking odd, they seemed to suit him perfectly, like he'd been carved from stone and not a product of nature.

You were completely dreading seeing his eyes. You’ve seen them through the small holes in his mask, but you didn’t want to see the pretty blue with the rest of his pretty face. You didn’t have much of a choice though. Your gaze trailed over his long lashes and full brows, taking him in.

Lastly you saw his hair. It was brown and fluffy and looked so incredibly soft. Your fingers twitched behind your back when you thought about running them through the soft locks— or pulling on them. He set the mask on the couch, then put his hand back on your hip.

“Darling, please close your mouth before you start drooling everywhere.” He said teasingly, and his voice— oh god his voice. It was just the right amount of raspy, and it was low and soothing, so much so that it could probably lull you to sleep if you were under different circumstances.

He lifted his hand to gently push your chin up, closing your parted lips, making you finally realize what he said. The fact that you were practically gawking at him made your cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame— hopefully the camera couldn’t pick it up.

“Not what you were expecting?” His lips were curled up into a pleased smirk, clearly very satisfied by your reaction. You didn’t know how to reply— you could barely even think. “Is this really all it takes to empty that pretty head of yours?” His smirk widened, his ego only growing bigger by your silence.

“What-” you had to clear your throat before continuing, “what did you want me to do?”

“Ah yes… In exchange for your freedom.” You gave him a small nod, waiting for him to just say it. “Kiss me.” You choked on your spit as your eyes widened.

“What?”

“Kiss me and I’ll let you go.” He all but shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.” Just a kiss? That wasn’t too bad. At least he wasn’t asking you to do anything else with your mouth… “And not on the cheek. You’re going to give me a real kiss and you’re going to convince me that you mean it. Then I’ll let you go… I promise.” You stared at him with furrowed brows, full of apprehension as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, debating what to do. Eventually you just leaned forward slowly, making him smirk again.

“Prove to me how much you love being my baby bat.” He said quietly, his voice low and almost sultry. You leaned forward even more, staring at his lips, not allowing yourself to imagine how they might feel or what they might taste like…

Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.

Not giving yourself a second longer to overthink, you let your eyes flutter shut as you closed the gap, pressing your lips to his. His hold on your hips tightened and he released a low moan as you kissed him. You were trying to just pretend this was someone else so you could make it seem convincing, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that your captor was your first kiss.

One of his hands snaked around to your ass, making you stiffen, but he lifted it to your lower back a moment later to pull you against his body. You gasped into the kiss and he took that as an opportunity to start using his tongue, licking into your mouth and groaning at your whines of discomfort. When he finally pulled back, a trail of saliva connected your lips to his and you panted quietly, trying to catch your breath.

“Good girl.” He murmured, making your stomach flutter. “Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?”

Just say yes. Just say yes and he’ll let you go.

“Yes…” You said quietly, averting your gaze. “Now— let me go... please.”

“Oh, baby bat… How could I possibly let you go after that?” Your face fell and he cooed with fake sympathy as he cupped your cheek.

“You promised.” You whimpered.

“I know… I know I did, darling. And that’s why you’re here right now, isn’t it? You still think I’ll play by these silly rules Batman taught you.” He chuckled softly, as if he was both amused and endeared by your naivety. All you could do was stare at him, taking in his words as tears brimmed in your eyes. “You need to learn not to trust a villain, baby bat.”

You couldn’t help it when your tears started to fall. You felt disappointed and hopeless, but you mostly just felt stupid. You should’ve known better than to believe anything coming from him.

“You look so beautiful when you cry…” He cooed, only making you feel worse. He grabbed your hair and turned your head so you were facing the camera. “Doesn’t she just look so pretty like this, Batman?” Your stomach dropped instantly— How could you forget this was all being recorded? When you let out another loud sob in response to the reminder, he chuckled quietly and roughly turned you back to him, making you hiss at the pain on your scalp.

“Did Batman not teach you any manners? What do you say when I compliment you, hm?” You closed your eyes and shook your head as much as you could in his grip. “Go on, little bat. Say it.” You could tell his tone was a warning, but all you were able to do was whimper and bite your bottom lip when it started trembling.

His hand connected with your cheek in a forceful slap that had you crying out, sobbing harder as he pulled your head straight again with his grip on your hair.

“Insolent brat.” He spat viciously, making your whole body start trembling. “Some father figure you had… Is this all you can do? Cry?” He scoffed, his voice cruel and mocking. “I’m disappointed, darling.” Scarecrow pushed you off of him suddenly and you landed on the ground with a pained whimper. When you started crying harder, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Even as you heard his steps you kept them closed.

“If you’re just going to keep crying, then you need to take some accountability.” You looked up at him, not understanding. He was holding the camera now, pointing it directly at you, so you tried to appear at least a little strong… “On your knees.” He ordered. Your gaze fell to his crotch and your stomach churned when you saw the bulge in his pants, bile rising in your throat at the sight.

“N-No…” You whimpered. “No— please.”

“On your knees. Now.” He growled. “Or I’ll break them.”

“No- please... I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment.” You rushed out, trying to scramble away from him and gain some distance.

“Sweetheart…” he chuckled darkly, sending a shiver down your spine, “we’re well past that now.”

“Please. I- I’ll stop crying. I’ll stop.” You whimpered, but even you weren’t convinced you could actually do it.

“But I want you to keep crying. And I’m going to do that one of two ways; You’ll either choke on my cock, or I’ll break your pretty little legs and then you’ll choke on my cock.” You let out a loud sob and closed your eyes, trying uselessly to steady your breathing. Obviously you were completely at his mercy… If you wouldn’t be able to prevent this though, maybe you could at least make it a little less humiliating.

“I… I’ll do it. If you don’t record, I’ll do it.” You tried, amusing him.

“Why? You don’t want papa bat to see you with a cock down your throat?” He cooed mockingly.

“Please,”

“Stupid girl…” He spat bitterly. “Don’t you get it yet? This isn’t about you sucking me off or kissing me… this is all about Batman. It always has been. He’s the reason you're here, baby bat. He’s the reason this is happening to you.” You whimpered at the admission. It was almost worse that none of what he was doing was for his own personal satisfaction. “So, you have five seconds to decide. After that, I’m choosing.”

Even though you wanted to resist, you had no reason to believe that he wouldn't break your legs… So with a stifled sob, you lifted yourself up and kneeled at his feet.

“Maybe you’re not so dumb after all, hm?” He leaned down and grabbed your cheeks in one hand, tilting your head up to face the camera. You just hoped that once Bruce realized what he was watching, he’d turn it off. Kissing Scarecrow was already embarrassing enough, you didn’t know what you'd do if he watched this. Would it even matter though? You were starting to lose hope that he’d find you— that you’d see him again.

The sound of his belt being unbuckled pulled you from your thoughts and you tried to think of anything else you could do or say to keep this from happening.

“Please, I- I’m a..” You bit your lip and looked away as your whole face flushed. His curiosity was piqued though.

“You’re what?”

“I… I haven’t done this before.” You said timidly, looking at him again.

“No? Not even with little boy wonder?” You tried not to visibly cringe in disgust at the thought of doing this with your brother-figure.

“No.” You muttered.

“Good. I didn’t think you could get any more perfect, but you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Of course your confession only encouraged him…

He finished unbuckling his belt, then opened his pants enough to free his cock and you gasped before you could hold it in. You tried to hide your shock and fear, but based on his quiet chuckle, you didn’t do a very good job. He took it in his hand and stroked slowly, bringing himself to full hardness.

“If I feel any teeth, I’ll pull all of them out and we’ll try this again. Do you understand?” You bit your trembling lip and nodded. He suddenly reeled his hand back and struck you across the cheek again, this time with the back of his hand. “Words.” He growled, making your body shake even more as your crying intensified.

“I- I understand.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. When you felt his fingers on your sore cheek, you flinched back a little.

“Thank you. I don’t like punishing you, darling, so please stop making me.” You clenched your jaw and kept trying to subtly lean away from his touch. “Open your eyes.” He said softly. You knew he’d hit you again if you didn’t, so you let your eyes flutter open. He lifted your head with a finger under your chin and brought the camera closer, but you kept your eyes down. “Look at me.” He demanded.

You took in a shaky breath and forced yourself to look up at him. As soon as he saw your tears, he groaned softly and you watched his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye.

“You look so pretty like this. Should I take off the mask? See your pretty eyes a little better?” Both of you knew that taking the mask off would not help him see your eyes better— he was just being sly about it. “It’s only fair, right?” When his hand moved toward the mask, you flinched back so hard that you fell on your butt again.

“It’s just us and dear old papa bat. There’s no need to be shy.” You couldn’t let him see because it felt like once he saw your whole face, your fate would be sealed. And you still had a little bit of hope that Batman would find you. So you shook your head and scrambled away from him, struggling with your bound arms.

He just sighed and squatted down, then grabbed your ankle to roughly pull you back to him. But he suddenly stopped and let go.

“You know what?” When he stood up again, tucking his cock back in his pants but leaving them open, you instantly felt both skeptical, and even more nervous. “Why fight you when I don’t have to?” He walked over to the desk, opening a drawer to grab something. Once he was walking toward you again, you saw that he was holding a hammer and you resumed moving away from him, trying to stay out of reach.

“No— no, please,” You whimpered, gaze shifting between his eyes and the hammer.

“You did this to yourself.” He said simply, then stopped walking and leaned down to set the camera on the floor, still pointed at you. Continuing to back away, you were a good distance from him, but with his long stride, he reached you in just two steps, then grabbed your ankle and dragged you back closer to the camera.

“Please— please, I’m sorry,” You cried. “Y-You can take the mask off. I’ll even tell you my name if that’s what you want— just please don’t,” despite your desperation, there was a nagging thought in the back of your head, reminding you that Bruce was going to see you like this— at your lowest, crumbling so easily after the slightest threat. When he didn’t respond and just released your ankle, you quickly sat up and got onto your knees, getting ready to beg again.

“Really?” He sneered. “Are you sure you worked with the Batman? I figured he would have trained you better than this. After all, I’ve only threatened to hurt you and you’re already eager to tell me your secret identity.” You blushed in embarrassment when he chuckled cruelly.

“Please, I- I’ll do... what you wanted… and you can take off the mask. I’m sorry for fighting you.” You whimpered, trying one last time, making him sigh heavily in disappointment.

“I’ll have to train that out of you, get you willing to die for me before giving anything up.” He said plainly, making you avert your gaze. “You don’t want me to use this?” He cooed mockingly and you shook your head with a whimper. “Fine.” You flinched at the loud sound of it dropping onto the concrete next to you. “But you still need to be punished.”

——————————

This time when he hit your cheek, it was with his fist. You fell onto your hip with a pained cry, your vision immediately getting dizzy as blood filled your mouth. You cried out again when he roughly grabbed your hair and pulled you back up.

“What do you say to me for being so nice and sparing you the hammer?” He sneered, forcing a choked sob out of you.

“T-Thank you.” You whimpered pathetically. He hit you again, harder this time, but you couldn’t even fall to the side with the force because of his grip on your hair.

“Try again.” He gritted, yanking your head back painfully to look at up him.

“Thank you... Scarecrow.” You said, but it sounded like a question rather than a statement.

“At least you’re not completely useless at following orders.” He scoffed, then let go of your hair and punched you again, making you fall to the side with a loud cry of pain. Your jaw was aching, blood was pooling in your mouth, your scalp was throbbing— you just wanted this to be over already, but of course, it wasn’t yet. Not even close.

When he kicked your stomach, it knocked the breath out of you and you curled in on yourself, trying to shield your body as you gasped for air. In response, he put his foot on your shoulder and pushed you back open so he could kick you again, harder this time. At least it’s not the hammer, you kept reminding yourself. You tried to lean up a little as you turned your head toward the ground to spit out some of the blood in your mouth.

“I bring you here, promise to keep you safe and fed,” he punctuated the words with another kick, “and all you are is an ungrateful little brat.” He hissed viciously, landing one last kick on your stomach, this one making your crying turn into loud sobbing. Kneeling down next to you, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back so you were looking up at him.

——————————

“No wonder Batman isn’t looking for you.” He spat viciously, making you whimper and shake your head to disagree. He’s looking. He'll find me. You kept repeating to yourself. However, it just made you feel worse when you realized you barely believed it.

Part 3

I had to cut it cause 7.7k words is too long for one part imo, especially since the other parts are 2-4k words. Sawryyy 💔

Taglist (join here)

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader smut #scarecrow x reader smut #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #baby bat

262 notes · View notes

brokenpinballmachine · 4 months ago

Text

✶ moon rising at 12 o'clock

yan batfam x gn neglected reader

masterlist ch0 ch2 (coming....)

a/n: heehee

TW: GN reader, mention of death/death itself, blood, implications of criminals planning on doing something, monsters, insanity (Alternate versions of you are insane), probably ooc, slight crack, english not my first lang.

word count: 1,952 words (short chapter rip)

summary: Magical/name focused chapter + very chaotic. Beginning is set before the alternate versions came into y/ns dimension.

chapter 1: How I Became A Magical Hero After Finding a Magical Ring and Befriending a Magical Pet After I Was Neglected By My Superhero Family

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

The moon looked pretty.

Or, well, to M/n, the moon always looked pretty.

How many stories, how many lives, has it watched from up there? Each star seemed to twinkle differently every night. Some would shine brighter than others, but that was just how life worked, right? Just as some people shine brighter than others.

And to M/n, they seemed to shine the brightest.

"UWAA!! M/n, you can't just run off like that!!" Kiyoko, the magical talking fox, had large comical tears streaming from his beady eyes.

The magical person wasn't hard to spot. With their pure white costume luminescent under the glowing moonlight, they stood out like a sore thumb wherever they went, especially under the dim, decaying alleyways of Gotham at midnight.

"Kiyoko, I can take care of myself!"

"B-but, b-but! Gotham is so scary and so, so dangerous! What if you got hurt, or worse?"

M/n tilted their head to the side, placing a finger on their chin and thinking for a moment.

What would they do if they got hurt? They didn't exactly have a team. Not to mention, the Bats always seemed to be hot on their tail wherever they appeared, especially since they were now labeled a 'metahuman' due to the abilities gained from the ring.

How ironic was it that the world's greatest detectives couldn't even find someone right under their noses?

Alfred, of course, was the only one who showed any semblance of care for them, so he was the only one who knew of M/n's escapades.

He agreed to keep it a secret, but if it ever resulted in M/n's near-death or a fatal injury, he would be compelled to inform the Bats about their little cosplay heroism. Lets hope that never happens.

Suddenly, a loud scream was heard nearby, making both M/n and Kiyoko swivel their heads in the direction of the noise that echoed off the walls of the area they were in and ricocheted into their ears. "It seems we're not finished with our jobs yet, Kiyo!"

With a charge, the two of them ran towards the sound, running on top of the roofs before jumping off one and landing gracefully near two criminals and a woman. Oh dear.

"Hands off her, monsters!" M/n yelled, pointing the staff in their hands at them. It wasn't the most intimidating look, no, but still put their point across.

The woman next to them cried out louder as the two criminals looked at each other before pushing her to the ground, ripping off the expensive purse from her arm, and towering over her. "Fuck, dude, who the hell is this kid?"

"Just kill them, then we go for the girl." The other offender rolled his eyes before jumping in front of M/n.

These scum... How could they possibly think of doing such things to other humans? It didn't make sense! These actions could only be explained by the fact that they were actually monsters! Thats right, monsters! The two figures began to shapeshift into grotesque, fleshy creatures that would win an audition to be nightmare fuel for little children.

A small gasp escapes from the magical person before they turn to Kiyoko. "I knew it! Both of them are monsters!" they exclaim, pointing their staff at the two. One of the monster's eyes darts toward M/n as he rushes in from the side with a knife.

"Are you ready, M/n?" Kiyoko yells from above.

"Of course! Kiyo, lend me your strength; help me defeat these villains!"

A symbol glows beneath M/n, making the monsters halt, watching in confusion at the light. Incoherent gurgles and blabbering come from the creatures as they turn toward each other, uncertainty etched on their faces. They should probably take a few steps back if they don't want to turn blind.

With a swift flick of the wrist, M/n stabs the staff into one of the monster's chests. It enters easily through the layers of flesh that seem to melt around the area of the magical wand. The monster appears to open its mouth to scream, but no sound comes as it explodes the moment M/n pulls the staff out of its chest, glittery effulgent rainbow liquid spilling everywhere. One monster down; this was like a piece of cake!

A piece of magical cake!

The other flesh-like beast can only watch in wide-eyed horror as it steps back. Then it takes a few more. And before M/n knew it, it was running away. What a coward. Wanting to commit crime yet can't face the consequences. Before it could run far off, M/n leaps into the air and stabs its chest, the monster exploding shortly afterwards.

Both creatures convulse on the ground and two little chibi angels start floating out of them, rising into the air.

"Goodnight, little angels!" M/n cheers, turning their attention toward the trembling woman who seems to be holding her breath. It is a pity, really. So many monsters roam the world; M/n has to stop all of these transformations himself! Not even the bat and his family could grasp the duty laid upon M/n's shoulders.

A small chirp from your fox mascot pops your thought bubble. "M/n! M/n! It's Batman! And, uh, night thing, red thing, other red thing, and smaller thing…" Oh dear. How did they even find where they were? M/n had sworn they had kept their tracks hidden—maybe except for the glittery rainbow liquid covering the alleyways.

Tim looks around. It seems as if someone pulled a scene from an extremely gory video game, the kind Bruce would probably scold him for playing. If only it truly were a video game.

Bruce holds his calculated, analytical gaze, turning cold as it locks eyes with M/n. What the hell happened here? The bodies of the two criminals are not precisely a welcoming sight either. Damian can only scoff at the image.

"Kiyo!!" M/n blurts out, putting a hand over their mouth as their eyes widen. "You should've warned me earlier!!"

Kiyoko glides down toward the white-clothed figure, perching atop their head before jumping down and hiding behind the magical person. "I tried to warn you, but you were too distracted by the criminals!"

"Is that a fucking fox??" Jason asks in disbelief before turning to the rest of his family. "This is what we're worried about?"

Suddenly, the scenery shifts, the walls turning a lighter shade, and the rainbow liquid vanishes. One blink, and it seems M/n finds themselves in a new location.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

"Stop!!" You managed to weasel your way into the middle of them and separate them both before things got too out of hand.

"Y.. Y..n.. /n"

"It's Y/N." You cringed at how Bruce forgot your name but pushed the thought to the back of your mind.

"Y/n, do you know these people?" Bruce finished his sentence, while the rest of the family waited for you to respond.

You turned toward the alternate versions of yourself, Vg/n eyeing you as if urging you to make the situation better. "Well, uh. They're... they're..." Shit, think of an excuse, quick! "They're... um... superhero friends visiting me! Yeah!"

Vg/n facepalmed, and V/n giggled. Well, okay, sorry, that was the best excuse you could muster right now. You don't work well under pressure! They should know that better than anyone else since they were technically still you!

Jason raised a brow at your statements.

"If they are your friends, why don't we know them?" Bruce asked.

Damian interrupted Bruce, opening his mouth to voice his own opinions. "You honestly don't believe Y/n, do you, Father? That was such an obvious lie; I could have figured that out in my sleep."

Bruce rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of everything.

"Well, what do you know about Y/n?" M/n asked, placing the staff in their hand behind them and a finger on their chin.

Then silence fell.

The family pondered. What did they know about Y/n? Their likes? Dislikes? What they did yesterday?—What have they done at all? It was a question that seemed to stop the whole family in their tracks.

"Well, I mean, I know their name is Y/n." Dick says, being the first to respond, which only earned him a small "Shut up" from Tim before awkward silence pursued once more.

Another person speaks up, this time it was you. "And if you're worried about them knowing, they already know. And, uh—it's not because I told them or anything; they're just super smart, and, um, they figured it out on their own! Yeah."

Vg/n sighed, facepalming once more for what felt like the umpteenth time. "You saying that just makes it sound like you did tell us."

"Oh, what's this? It's hangout time-o'clock!" you suddenly yelled, pushing the three versions of you outside of the manor and waving goodbye to the Bat-family. "I'll be back in an hour, uh, bye!!"

The rest only watched before chaos ensued.

"Really, Grayson, was that the best you could come up with?"

"Jeez, I don't see you saying anything better!"

"How the hell did they enter the manor?? The cameras didn't pick up any movement at the front door?"

"Well then, they obviously snuck in,"

Bruce silences his children before turning to Alfred. "Did you know about any of this?"

"I can say, Master Bruce, that I did not, in fact, know of this sort. But I can say with full confidence that I don't think you would have known either, sir."

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

"So how the hell are we going to get you guys out of here?" You place a hand on your hip.

"Jeez, we just arrived, and you want to get rid of us now? I'm hurt," V/n teases, earning a glare from you.

You were going to go insane; they needed to get out NOW. Who knows what else could happen? If they died here, then a whole universe would fall apart or something, right? Regardless, what would the rest of the family say after they found out about them? God, you were getting a headache.

M/n fiddles with the ring in their hand, pressing it a few times. "Waah!! Maybe I could call Kiyo; they could summon us a magical portal…"

V/n deadpans at the magic user before opening their mouth to speak.

"Okay, first of all, who the hell is 'Kiyo,' and second of all, do you really think that you could contact whoever the hell this is in an alternate universe?"

A disappointed sigh escapes M/n as they put a hand on the back of their neck, their eyes scanning everywhere as if trying to find some escape. Of course, there wasn't any, so their gaze eventually landed on yours.

It was a look that searched for some kind of answer in your eyes, an answer you couldn't give them. You weren't nearly as awesome as them, nor could you barely pack a punch. What were you supposed to do?

You were just a lost 18-year-old.

"Hey, don't be so harsh on M/n. We could at least try before we cross it off our list of options," Vg/n says as the three of you stop at a local Batburger.

With a wave of their thumb, a sparkle emits from the ring in M/n's hand as they spin around, their magical clothes disappearing with a flick of their hand, and a uniform replacing them instead. Once finished, they strike a pose, a blast of glitter escaping from behind them, which makes the you and your other two alternate selves eye each other before a fit of giggles escape your lips.

Yet despite the lightheartedness of the moment, the three variants could always feel eyes watching the back of their heads like a hawk.

────── ₊˚⊹ ᰔ ──────

GUYS LOWK I KNOW THIS WAS LIKE FILLER and im so SORRY gaaaaah!!!!! next chapter. next chapter guys. dont worry. NEXT CHAPTER. taglist: @cosmosluckycharms @the-dumber-scaramouche @lilithskywalker @senhoritaapple @aetheriis @euphoria-looney @depressed--therapist @chericia @mybones537 !!

#batfamily x male reader #batfam x batbro #x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #batfamily x gn reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x neglected reader #batfamily x reader #batfam x male reader #batfam x gn reader #batbro reader #batsib reader #moonlight rising at 12 o'clock #batfamily x neglected male reader #brokenpinballmachine

240 notes · View notes

prlssprfctn · 3 months ago

Note

Do you ever wonder why Jason wears a domino under his helmet? Well, it's to hide his eyes, obviously. They shine an unnatural green but not with anger and hatred as so many of those around him come to believe. Rather, something much more shameful, envy.

When he looks at Bruce he sees a man who has turned one of his greatest fears into a symbol people see hope in. Millions know it and so many wear it with pride, including the man himself. But when he wears it, it is a poor attempt to be one of those people. He will never be one of them, and so when he dons the bat it is an imitation of the man himself who wants to rip it off his chest himself.

With Dick it started when he was young and has only grown exponentially. Of course, he was the first Robin and son of Bruce, setting a standard the likes of Jason could never reach. But then as Nightwing he has become a role model that everyone, heroes including Batman himself, can look up to. He can lead like no other and he's left chasing his shadow.

Barbara was able to rise above the Joker, not letting her trauma define her future. As Oracle, she has reached so much further than she did as Batgirl. Her efforts going far beyond the walls of Gotham, which only ever seem to trap him. She never needed Bruce to do what she does but every action of his is defined by him.

Then there is Cass. She has so much raw talent, skill, and training. How is anyone ever meant to compete? And she is so empathetic. After her first kill and her "death" she vowed never to do that again. You would think someone who has actually died could feel the same, but he doesn't. She embodies the Bat while he seems to only defile it.

Next is Stephanie, who, much like him had a criminal father, but she chose to do whatever she could to stop him. While he seems to only follow in his footsteps. She also "died" but got to come back publicly and live life as Stephanie Brown. She gets to go to college and fight crime, something he once was able to do a lifetime ago.

His successor Tim, who took up the mantle with a noble cause, to save not only the city but to save Batman, someone no one thinks to save. A better Robin they he ever could be whose intellect is rivaled only by Bruce. He was also a boy who was simply enough to earn the love and respect from his older brother when he was and will never be worthy enough for it.

The newest member Duke, who is still able to stand on his own within a family of so many outstanding individuals, creating a niche no one can take from him. He comes from the same crime ridden streets as him but feels much more connected to them than he does. It's been so long since he had to live there. He's losing his roots. How can he say he fights for them when he can't even remember what it was like?

And the youngest of them all Damian. Who came from a life of assassins but has begun to move past it. To forgo killing and to even forgo the vigilante life, something that is killing him but something he doesn't know how to live without. But most importantly, he is the son of Bruce. Who has become a man willing to do anything and everything to bring him back from death. Why couldn't he do the same for him?

So he wears a mask to hide this shame he feels when he looks at his family. They manage to soar above it all together while he is sinking deeper and deeper into the pits alone.

And some bonus ones is the damn case where he sees the Jason everyone wants. No one really remembers who that was but they know its not like the one they have. He will never be like him and so he wonders if he should have ever come back in the first place if everyone wants the dead boy. As well as all the villains, rogues, and goons they face every night. How are they given more grace then him? Why are the Bats willing to give them chance after chance when they've shown no desire to change? But when he tries and fails thats it. Why do they treat someone they are supposed to love worse than his own murderer?

-🐳

------

Am I sorry for sending angst after angst? No because if I have to be sad about this man I'm making it everyone's problem.

"Maybe it would be better if we never came back" / "Yeah, maybe" — these lines from Outlaws still hurt me so much. because that's really the only conclusion a one could come up with given everything, isn't it?

and this, mixed with a headcanon that Jason is an easy crier, so domino mask conceal if his eyes eventually start to glisten from upcoming tears every time he catches a pure realisation of how his situation in the family in the midst of patrols—

/never apologise! i love your asks so much :3

#— lie answering #jason todd #red hood #batman #dcu #dcu comics #dc universe

184 notes · View notes

yvesssssssss · 3 months ago

Note

hiii lovely yvvesss!! always love loveee all the new fics you’ve been pumping out KYAAAAHH><!!! can i request nagumo as a dad headcanons? i think he’ll be very silly(read: annoying LMAO) and cool…. and I KNOW his dad lore goes crazy when he tells stories to his kid TvT tyssm!!! also can i be added in the taglist ><!!!

NAGUMO AS A DAD — Headcanons

HIIII BB!! YOU'RE SO CUTEEE I CAN'T>⩊<!! Your energy is EVERYTHING and your love means the world TYSM!!>⩊<

1. The Silly (Annoying) Dad

He wakes his kid up with a trumpet (that he definitely doesn’t know how to play). “RISE AND SHINE, FUTURE HERO!”

Pretends to faint dramatically every time his kid beats him at a game. “My strength... it’s... fading… you’ve surpassed me…”

Has no idea how to baby-proof the house, so he just tapes pool noodles to sharp corners and calls it “tactical reinforcement.”

2. Cool Dad Energy (but not on purpose)

Pulls up to parent-teacher conferences in his uniform, shades on, spinning his keys on one finger. “So... who needs extra credit?”

Teaches his kid self-defense with over-the-top anime references. “Remember, it’s not about strength—it’s about style.”

Somehow always wins at claw machines. The local arcade workers suspect he rigs them. He does not. He just believes.

3. Storytelling KING

Tells bedtime stories like they’re ancient legends. “And then, the brave, dashingly handsome hero—ME—faced the giant crab!”

Dramatizes every memory like it’s a movie. “So there I was, surrounded by three villains, my back against the wall, and then—”

His kid repeats these stories at school, and the teachers now believe Nagumo singlehandedly saved the city five times. Maybe he did??

4. Secretly Soft Dad

Keeps every crayon drawing in a folder labeled “Important Documents.”

Cries when his kid does literally anything: first steps, first words, first villain punch—he’s sobing.

Holds them like they’re made of glass but teaches them like they’re made of fire. He wants them to be strong, but safe, always.

5. Ultimate Cheerleader Dad

Front row at school events, screaming louder than any other parent.

Makes handmade signs. “GO [KID’S NAME]!!! DESTINY IS YOURS!!!”

If his kid loses, he kneels beside them, gives them a pep talk like he’s in a sports anime, and then treats them to their favorite meal.

Taglist:@shenwi @astronomyloveraster @yokaistirfry @shineinouzen15 @cjafjatkstke @starizzm @imightgoinsane @istillremembermissamericana @ilovewhattatops @elorajelaaa @takenbyacircle @ilylmwwifys @empty-void-of-dreams @reomikas

Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

#sakamoto days nagumo yoichi #sakadays #sakamoto days #sakamoto days x reader #nagumo yoichi #nagumo x reader #nagumo yoichi x reader #sakamoto days nagumo

161 notes · View notes

writeriguess · 3 months ago

Note

omg more katsukis sister x villain dabi, i love the way you write and describe things

Falling Into the Flames

"You can't be serious."

Katsuki's voice is low, strained, like he can't even process what you're saying. He paces, running a hand through his hair, the other clenched at his side, sparks dancing along his fingertips.

You stand your ground. "I am."

His red eyes snap to you, disbelief written across his face. "Tell me you're not actually serious about this."

Your heart pounds, but your voice is steady. "I love him, Katsuki."

The words drop like a bomb between you.

Katsuki stops dead, staring like you just told him the sky was green. His mouth opens, then snaps shut, jaw flexing as if he's physically biting back whatever the hell he wants to say. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight, controlled.

"No. No, you don’t." His hands clench into fists. "That bastard—he’s just messed with your head. He’s—"

"He’s what?" you challenge, stepping closer. "A villain? A murderer? Yeah, I know. I know exactly who he is, and I still love him."

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, his entire body tense like a coiled spring. "What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice rises, frustration spilling over. "You have a family. A life. And you're throwing it away for him?!"

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. "You don’t understand."

"Then make me understand!" he snaps, taking a step forward. "Because from where I’m standing, you’ve lost your goddamn mind!"

Your hands tremble, but you lift your chin. "He’s the first person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. Not as your sister. Not as some extra in your damn life—just me."

Katsuki stares at you like you've just slapped him. "Bullshit," he spits. "You're my sister. You matter."

"Not like that," you bite back. "Do you know what it's like to be in someone's shadow your whole life? To never be enough, no matter how hard you try? You shine, Katsuki. You always have. But me? I was always just ‘Bakugo’s sister.’ The extra. The afterthought. And then I met him."

His brows furrow, fists trembling. "So what? He gave you some sob story about how no one understands him, and you fell for it?"

"It wasn't a sob story," you snap. "He saw me. He listened. He didn’t just hear what I said—he understood. He never asked me to be something I’m not. He never made me feel like I had to fight for a place in his life."

Katsuki lets out a hollow laugh. "Of course he didn’t. Because he doesn’t give a shit about you!" He gestures wildly, his face twisted in fury. "He’s using you, dumbass! You're just another thing for him to take from people like us!"

"You don’t know him," you say, voice shaking.

"And you do?" Katsuki's eyes are wild, blazing. "He's a villain. He kills people, for fuck’s sake!"

"He’s more than that," you say quietly.

Katsuki reels back, staring at you like you’re a stranger. "You think that, but he’s not. He’s a manipulative, selfish, murdering piece of shit."

Your breath catches. "He’s broken, Katsuki."

"We’re all broken! That doesn't mean you go and fall in love with the first fucking psycho who pays attention to you!"

"You think I wanted this?!" The words rip from your throat before you can stop them. "You think I planned to fall for someone like him? It just—happened."

Katsuki drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "You can’t actually be choosing him over us."

"I'm not choosing anyone," you say, shaking your head. "You're the one making it a choice."

"Bullshit," he spits. "You’re standing here, defending him. You’re acting like he’s some misunderstood victim instead of the villain he is." His voice turns sharp, cutting. "Tell me something. When he’s done with you, what happens then?"

Your stomach twists, but before you can respond, a new voice cuts through the night.

"Careful there, princess. You might make me blush."

Your blood runs cold.

Katsuki stiffens, every muscle locking up. His hands ignite on instinct, explosive heat radiating off him.

You turn just in time to see Dabi step out of the shadows, his hands in his pockets, that lazy, smug smirk playing on his lips. But his eyes—icy, unreadable—are locked onto Katsuki.

Katsuki's body reacts before his brain does.

"You son of a—!"

Heat flares, and he’s moving, ready to lunge, but you don’t think—you react.

You step in front of Dabi, arms out, shielding him.

"Don’t."

Katsuki stops so suddenly it looks like it physically hurts him to hold back. His eyes flick between you and Dabi, furious, disbelieving. "Move," he growls.

"No."

"Move!"

"I said no!"

His hands are still sparking, his breathing heavy, like he might explode just from the sheer rage burning inside him. "You're protecting him?" His voice cracks.

You nod, slow, deliberate. "Yes."

The way he looks at you—it makes your chest ache. It's not just anger. It’s hurt, betrayal, something deeper that cuts through both of you like a knife.

"You’re choosing him over your own damn family?" His voice is hoarse, raw.

A quiet chuckle rumbles behind you. "Guess that makes me the favorite, huh?"

You shoot Dabi a warning glance, but he just smirks, unbothered.

Katsuki breathes hard through his nose, his jaw locked so tight you swear you hear his teeth grind.

Then, just like that, the fire in his hands fizzles out.

He takes a step back, exhaling sharply. "Fine," he mutters. "You made your choice."

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off. "Don’t." His voice is low, shaking. "Just… don't expect me to be there when he fucking ruins you."

The words hit harder than any explosion could.

Then he turns and walks away.

The night feels colder without him.

A beat of silence passes before Dabi hums. "Damn. Guess that could’ve gone worse."

You exhale, staring at the empty space where your brother had been.

"Could it?"

Dabi steps closer, voice quiet. "You sure about this, doll?"

You turn to him, meeting those too-bright eyes without hesitation.

"Yeah," you say. "I am."

172 notes · View notes

the-overanalyst · 6 months ago

Text

ok i gotta talk about how well the empty sekai vocaloids are written to enhance n25's story

empty miku takes a more active role in the main story than any of her alter egos. empty sekai was originally created with both the desire to disappear and the desire to be saved. miku embodies the latter, so she's the one who called kanade and the others to talk mafuyu down. her existence started out monotonous and lonely, but slowly filled up with good things, which mirrors mafuyu's journey.

rin's arrival signals that empty sekai no longer belongs to mafuyu alone. the members of n25 all share the same feelings to an extent. their connection causes the sekai to become less empty bit by bit. but isn't it interesting how that process began thanks to ena, mafuyu's polar opposite who gets along with her the least? ena uses the sekai for its original purpose--to escape from reality when she wants to disappear--so part of it becomes hers.

meiko, obviously, is a direct parallel for mizuki, always keeping her distance. so her time to shine was right along with mizuki's in this most recent arc. as mizuki gets to the point where she's willing to share her secret, meiko gets to the point where she's willing to get involved in the girls' problems. mizuki's first 4* in an ena event came with meiko's first feature in a non-mizuki event. and her character development is actually crazy, from "sometimes talking makes things worse" to being the one who gets mizuki to talk to ena. live laugh love empty meiko.

luka's self-proclaimed role is as the one who will shakes things up and bring change. she's not afraid to break something if it means learning how to put it back together better than before. in fact, she's pretty effective at this, being featured in events that correspond to mafuyu's biggest milestones: smiling for the first time and running away from home. to me, she's most interesting as a foil to meiko: action vs. inaction, reckless vs. careful.

len represents mafuyu's inner child. he was lost in sekai for an unknown amount of time, but when she finds him, she starts to remember what her childhood was really like. she remembers the way her mother guilt-tripped her for getting lost at pxl, that even then there was no warmth in their relationship. now, as her mother becomes set on stopping her from making music, mafuyu feels just as lost and afraid as len does.

and last but not least, kaito. a problematic fave perhaps, but also the true mvp of mafuyu's arc. he is an embodiment of rising stakes, of walls closing in and time running out. his first appearance is in the event where we see mafumom as the villain she is, and where she starts actively interfering with n25. he tells mafuyu the hard truth that she needed to hear: if she stays as she is, her true self will be destroyed. so of course, he terrifies her, but he's the one who gives her the push to save herself

#project sekai #pjsk #nightcord at 25:00 #n25 #niigo #vocaloid #hatsune miku #kagamine rin #meiko #megurine luka #kagamine len #kaito #mafuyu asahina #kanade yoisaki #ena shinonome #mizuki akiyama #overanalysis

338 notes · View notes

whatonearthisgoingon · 9 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls animatics

If anyone is interested, and because of the rise in Gravity Falls content, here's some fun stuff made by the Gravity Falls Fandom from YT and Tumblr:

Canonish Angst and issues: - "Take a Slice - Gravity Falls Animation" by achromaticEgoist on YT, @achromaticegoist on Tumblr. - Topic: Weirdmagedon. - "Achilles Come Down | Gravity Falls animatic" by nogiiarts yt on YT. - Topic: Ford's research/past and the Pines family - (It's back!) A Sadness Runs Through Him - a Gravity Falls PMV" by Kinseis on YT, @kinseis on Tumblr - Topic: An au representation of the relationship between Ford and Dipper, with Bill's negative influence - "DR. GASTER // BOOK OF BILL PMV" by mistxmood on YT, @mistxmood on Tumblr - Topic: Bill's time in theraprism vs. how the pines are doing after Weirdmagedon, a brief summary of deals and Weirdmagedon, and Ford finding the Book of Bill. - "Sleep Walk | Gravity falls animatic" by Hoodedjelly on YT, @hoodedjelly on Tumblr. - Topic: Young Ford and Bill, the abuse from Bill to Ford. - "Sleepwalk | Gravity Falls Animatic" by InkcapAnimation on YT, - Topic: Young Ford, Fiddleford, and Bill; the abuse from Bill to Ford. - "Real as Ever" by @heyitsspiders on Tumblr. - Topic: The abuse and control of Ford from Bill. - "DRUNK (Gravity Falls Animation)" by marineflames on YT - Topic: Bill's possession of Ford and Dipper. - "Devil's Train (Gravity Falls Animatic)" by YannyDo on YT. - Topic: Bill introducing himself to Ford. - "CONFRONTATION Bill Cipher and Ford Animation (CW FLASHING LIGHTS)" by marineflames on YT. - Topic: The internal battle of control between Ford and Bill, and the abuse from Bill to Ford. - "THE FINE PRINT / Billford / Gravity Falls / Animatic" by Plantain_Xd on YT. - Topic: The deal between Bill and Ford, the abuse from Bill to Ford, and Weirdmagedon. - "Bill's Unused Villain Song - It's Gonna Get Weird" sung by Neil Cicierega. - Topic: Demo song written by Neil Cicierega to be used as Bill's villain song. Would've been such by Alex Hirsch, but that was robbed from us.

The Mystery Trio and Bill: - "Double life animation meme // Gravity Falls [I KNOW U HEARD THE RUMORS]" by KimukoDoesALot on YT. - Topic: A quick summary of all the on screen possessions we see, along with the Still Bill Theory. - "Gravity Falls | Colors" by Typhord on YT, art by @kiki-kit on Tumblr. - Topic: A history of the two Stans, Ford's research, and Stanley's effort to get Ford back. - "BEZOS | Gravity Falls Animation Meme | cw bright colors, flashing, strong language" by Possumbreath on YT. - Topic: Fiddleford Mcgucket and his Cult: The Society of the Blind Eye. - "The Gun | Gravity Falls Animatic/ Storyboard (LOUD AND FLASHING)" by Clever Reference on YT, @call-me-clevy on Tumblr. - Topic: Fiddleford and Ford fight over the memory gun. - "Gravity falls - His work and nothing more animatic (cw in desc)" - Topic: Confrontation between Ford and Fiddleford about Bill and the portal. - "shine a light (reprise) || gravity falls" by hummise on YT, @hummise on Tumblr. - Topic: Bill convincing Fiddleford to use the memory gun. - "The World's Greatest Actor - GF Animatic" by tendebill_exe on YT. - Topic: Stan's life. - "Drift Away || Gravity Falls Animatic" by CosmicCrossing on YT, @shima-draws on Tumblr. - Topic: Stan and Ford's relationship slowly drifting apart, then the reunion.

Bill behavior and past: - "BILL CIPER REANIMATED | Gravity Falls [Flashing Lights]" by R0V1 on YT. - Topic: A reanimation of Bill Cipher's "death scene" in Gravity Falls. - "The mind electric // gravity falls // bill cipher // billford animation" by H3MI on YT. - Topic: Bill using his talents of manipulation to gain sympathy from the AXOLOTL, his interference in the Pines family's lives, and his failure at Weirdmagedon. - "September in Euclydia" by L Void on YT - Topic: Bill reflecting on the destruction of Euclydia. - "how bill cypher destroyed his realm - gravity falls comic dub" by Count Julius VO on YT, art by SHEOL on X - Topic: Bill's childhood and the destruction of his dimension - "THERE I AM AGAIN! (Bill cipher animation)" by CandySwirl on YT. - Topic: Bill's appearances in the Gravity Falls world. - "THE ACCIDENT - GRAVITY FALLS / THE BOOK OF BILL AMV" by PeteyTheParrot on YT, @peteytheparrot on Tumblr. - Topic: Bill being moved to Theraprism, and the destruction of his dimension. - "AXOLOTL - A Gravity Falls Fan Song" by summer bloom on YT, @sumrbloom on Tumblr - Topic: Fanmade song discussing Bill and the AXOLOTL - "GRAVITY FALLS BILL CIPHER SONG | "Let's Get Weird" (Lyric Video)" by longestsoloever on YT. - Topic: Fanmade song 'by Bill' about himself and deals. - "GOOD LUCK BABE | Gravity Falls Animation" by nntsu on YT, @nntsu on Tumblr (pretty sure). - Topic: Bill's relationship with the AXOLOTL, as he ignored the AXOLOTL's advice of not dominating Earth, and glimpses at Bill's past. - "rockabye billy - gravity falls BoB animation" by ashana on YT. - Topic: Bill's childhood, and the accidental destruction of his dimension and parents. - "Uncanny ( Bill Cipher Short AMV)" by Jøzlyn Moon on YT, @jozlyn-moon on Tumblr. - Topic: Bill regretting his deals and decisions in Theraprism. - "BRUTUS | Gravity Falls Animation" by achromaticEgoist on YT, @achromaticegoist on Tumblr. - Topic: A complicated au; details in the video's description. (I liked the video)

Billford: - "GETTING OVER YOU - Book of Bill animatic" by Scoopy Sketches on YT. - Topic: Ford and Bill's past relationship, and the toxicity, manipulation, and obsession from Bill's end. - "Sky Fall // animation // billford // gravity falls" by H3MI on YT. - Topic: Ford and Bill's past relationship and Weirdmagedon. - "A human’s touch // gravity falls" by H3MI on YT. - Topic: A quick show of Ford and Bill's relationship in the past, versus during Weirdmagedon. - "HUMAN’S TOUCH- A GRAVITY FALLS ANIMATIC" by M0CH4 CUP on YT. - Topic: A showing of Bill and Ford's toxic relationship, where Bill was using Ford for the portal, the events of Weirdmagedon, and Bill's time in Theraprism.. - "RULER OF MY HEART | Gravity Falls Animation" by ORXA on YT, @orxinus on Tumblr - Topic: The toxicity and obsession of Bill and Ford's relationship. - "THE RED MEANS 'I LOVE YOU' || Gravity Falls Bill Cipher Animatic" by R0V1 on YT. - Topic: A showing of Bill's sadistic tendencies, and his physical abuse and obsession of Ford. - "THE TORTURE TANGO | BILLFORD ANIMATIC" by vikzo on YT - Topic: Bill's torture of Ford in the Fearamid during Weirdmagedon. - "Just the two of us // Billford // Gravity falls animation" by I.V.Y on YT. - Topic: The negative progression of Bill and Ford's relationship. - "BILLFORD -every breath you take- animatic" by Gloom_arts on YT. - Topic: Bill's obsession with Ford throughout his life. - "My Goodbye - BillFord Animatic" by Gallows on YT. - Topic: Bill and Ford arguing about their past relationship during Weirdmagedon - "Stanford Pines - No Children" by clarisimart on YT. - Topic: Ford regretting his relationship with Bill. - "PORK SODA - BILLFORD [FW]" by Eldoodlez on YT. - Topic: The beginning of Bill and Ford's relationship, then Ford learning the truth. - "[GRAVITY FALLS] BILL CIPHER & STANFORD PINES – GOOD LUCK, BABE! | ANIMATIC." by Punkiinx_neon on YT, @punkiinx-neon on Tumblr. - Topic: Bill singing his apologies to Ford in Weirdmagedon, and Ford being annoyed at Bill.

Comment if you think of more big ones I should add (try to avoid song repeating tho, I already did it too much in this T^T)! I only have Youtube and Tumblr tho, so any artists on other medias, I will not add.

330 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Villain Monologue

Villain Monologue - a long speech by an antagonist, antihero, or “bad guy”.

Villain monologues may reveal the speaker’s inner humanity or be an opportunity to showcase the bad guy’s wickedness.

Strong performers can bring these characters to life, but movie monologues start with a great screenwriter.

How to Write a Villain Monologue

Define the purpose of the monologue. Monologues can progress the plot, delve into character backstories, and much more. Understand how your monologue operates and how its placement fits into the architecture of your script. Ensure you are intentional with each word.

Hear your monologue read aloud. When you have a draft of your monologue, read it aloud and then hear an actor or peer read it. Assess how natural the speech sounds and ask yourself if your specific villain would speak this monologue.

Instill truth in your villain. Though your character is fictional, their wickedness may be more symbolic than realistic. Ground the villain in reality. Villains should have goals, reasons for their actions, band a three-dimensional personality beyond their malice.

Play with different forms. Villain monologues come in many different styles. There are origin stories (in which a character explains why they behave the way they do), torture descriptions (in which the villain tells what violence they will enact), and calls for sympathy (in which a character expresses remorse for their wrongdoing).

Revise your monologue. After drafting and hearing your monologue, edit as you see fit. Some parts may be unclear or overwritten—edit your writing until it comes across as you intend.

Tips for Writing Villain Monologues

Counter your protagonist’s traits or speech patterns. If your protagonist speaks cheerfully and quickly, give your villain a dark, measured cadence. Villains can be foil characters to your main characters, and monologues can show off this contrast.

Position your villain monologue toward the end of the narrative. In some stories, but not all, the villain is the supporting character, not the protagonist. For this reason, you must give the audience or readers time to get to know the character. Only after that point, and often during a final confrontation, should your villain finally get their shining moment to change the audience’s mind or confirm their notions of this character.

Try giving your villain a catchphrase. Sometimes writers utilize the power of threes: Repetition is a helpful tool, and repeating a phrase thrice in a story can help audiences track a beginning, middle, and end. If your villain has a catchphrase, let them speak it toward the start, the rising action, and the climax.

Examples of Great Villain Monologues

Apocalypse Now (1979): Colonel Kurtz details the horrors of war in his monologue, sharing that he poisoned children with polio. Kurtz deduces that the best soldier is the one who cannot feel and instead transforms into a killing machine devoid of empathy.

The Matrix (1999): In the cyberpunk movie The Matrix, Agent Smith interrogates a captured Morpheus and tells him of his plan: to destroy Zion, the underground city where those who have escaped the Matrix go to be free. The monologue underlines how Smith is Morpheus’s antithesis: The former has chosen to live within a planned system, and the latter wants to break free from it.

The Incredibles (2004): Even an animated movie can feature a fantastic villain monologue. In The Incredibles, the character Syndrome shares his origin story: He was a fan of Mr. Incredible and wanted to be his sidekick, but Mr. Incredible rejected him. This embittered Syndrome, who then manifested artificial superpowers to wreak havoc on the Incredibles.

The Dark Knight (2008): The Joker gets a few famous supervillain monologues in this Christopher Nolan film, which sits between Batman Begins (2005) and The Dark Knight Rises (2012). First, the Joker tells Bruce Wayne’s love interest Rachel how he got his scars, and later, he tells Batman just how similar the two are.

Inglourious Basterds (2009): Anti-Semetic SS officer Hans Landa delivers a monologue disparaging Jewish people and the police to hawks who have to search for rodents to keep the circle of life going. Set in World War II, this movie, and Landa’s monologue, showcase the ideologies that led to the persecution of countless lives.

Game of Thrones (2011–2019): Cersei Lannister is a power-hungry character who gets many monologues across this hit HBO drama’s eight seasons. Toward the end of the series, she torments Ellaria Sand, who poisoned Cersei’s daughter. Cersei explains the equal vengeance she will seek on Ellaria’s imprisoned daughter.

The word “monologue” derives from the Greek roots for “alone” and “speak,” and it is the counterpart of the word “dialogue,” which comes from the Greek word for “conversation.”

Monologues can address other characters in the scene or be one character talking to themselves or the audience.

Monologues serve a specific purpose in storytelling—to give the audience more details about a character or the plot.

Used carefully, they are a great way to share a character's internal thoughts or backstory or to give more specific details about the story.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

125 notes · View notes

eringobragh420 · 3 months ago

Text

࣪ ִֶָ☾. LOVE IS MADNESS (1/?)

➺ pairing — vampire!damian priest ♥︎ f!reader ➺ summary — damian has to fight feelings for the new dancer he just hired to work at his nightclub. how long will his fighting last? ➺ words — 2.7k ➺ warnings — blood-drinking 18+ ➺ taglist —iIf you’d like to be added, please click here!

➺ MASTERLIST ➺ DAMIAN PRIEST MASTERLIST

Closing the driver’s door of your vehicle, you stood in front of Crimson Kiss—the most popular nightclub within hundreds of miles for varying reasons; reasons most people didn’t speak out loud. You’d never actually been inside, but many of your friends had, so when you opened the front door, you weren’t quite as shocked at the ornate decorations, or how much larger it seemed on the inside than the outside. And you shouldn’t have been surprised by how utterly dark it was, but a chill still zoomed down your spine when the door snicked behind you, every ray of the setting sun blotted out by specially designed tinted windows.

A man behind the bar spotted you hovering near the entrance and called you over. You opened your mouth to tell him you had an interview, but your eyes climbed dozens of shelves of expensive liquor, each level illuminated by purple LED lights along the bottom. And then there were the darker bottles, the ones with thicker liquid and less alcohol. Everything was spotless, sparkling, and you were afraid even to touch anything for fear of leaving fingerprints.

“What can I do for you?” the handsome bartender asked, Irish accent coloring his words. You wondered briefly—because it wasn’t so easy to tell in such a poorly lit environment—if he was like you or if he was like …

You heard your name. Not from the bartender, though, from behind you. The voice was like that of a villain in a superhero movie—deep, dark, menacing even—causing a bit of apprehension to worm its way inside your stomach before you could force yourself to turn around. You came face-to-chest with a man probably closer to seven feet tall than he was six feet. He wore a black, three-piece suit, and as your eyes climbed his formidable frame, his pecs and biceps threatening to pop every seam, your heart accelerated, but your lungs froze and refused to expand. Swallowing—because somehow, you reasoned, swallowing was going to fix your broken chest cavity—your gaze continued upward to a light beard, perfect pillowy lips, ending on a pair of ocher eyes that promised to devour you at the very first opportunity. Describing this man as beautiful would have been the understatement of the century, maybe even an insult, but it’s the only word that came to mind. Also, man might have been incorrect as well, you thought, because standing so close to him was like standing next to an open refrigerator.

You suddenly felt the most peculiar urge to warm him up.

“Is that you?” he asked, brows rising.

Your eyes left his so you could concentrate on what he’d said before that. “Oh, yes,” you replied, recalling the way he’d said your name. “Sorry—”

“Follow me.” He turned and started walking, one long stride of his equaling three of yours, and you were practically jogging to keep up.

Great first impression, you silently berated yourself, but hopefully it wouldn’t impact his decision to hire you too much, considering the position you’d applied for. Surely he’d had women gape at him before, if only because of the sheer size of the man. And there was that word again—man—but you had no idea how else to refer to him, how he referred to himself. Did it even matter?

You followed him through the club, but where you thought he might lead you down a hallway to an office to conduct the interview, he turned instead into a room with dark-colored couches along three walls and a platform in the middle, complete with two shining stripper poles. The LED lights and the walls in this room were vermillion. Well, you supposed, the decor matched the job. The enigmatic man gestured for you to take a seat on one of the surprisingly comfortable pieces of furniture while he perched on the edge of the platform in front of you, unbuttoning the single button on his suit jacket while crossing one ankle over the other.

Damn his legs are long, you thought, unknowingly licking your dry lips.

“My name’s Damian. I own Crimson Kiss.” You weren’t aware of a time an owner had interviewed you for a position and not some lower level manager, but you wouldn’t dare complain. The longer you were able to look at Damian the better.

“Nice to meet you,” you stammered.

“Do you know what job you’re applying for?” he asked with a voice so deep, you felt the vibrations in your chest.

“Yes,” you replied.

“Which is?”

You weren’t sure where this line of questioning was headed or what kind of answer he was looking for. Had he not even looked at your application? “Dancer. And donor.”

“Do you know what that means?” Damian pressed, tilting his head. His black hair was straight, half pulled into a ponytail, and came down a little past his shoulders. He wore a silver necklace with a pendant you couldn’t quite make out and rings on nearly every long, thick finger. “To be a donor?”

You rubbed your lips together. “It means … someone can order me off the menu.” You tried to make light of what was clearly about to be an uncomfortable conversation, and when the corners of Damian’s flawless lips twitched upward, you knew you’d succeeded at least a little bit.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “Have you done it before?”

“Donated? Or just …?”

“Donated. I’m not interested in extracurriculars.”

Well you don’t have to be a dick about it, you thought, catching yourself before you rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’ve donated before. In fact, I was a fan favorite,” you touted, grinning pridefully.

“And why was that?” Damian entertained.

“I’m AB-negative,” you said, as if revealing the grand secret to the universe. Damian’s brows rose and he nodded slowly, and you felt a bit disappointed in his less than enthusiastic response. At your last job as a donor, customers would practically break down your door for just a taste of the blood that coursed through the veins of less than one percent of the population. The only blood type rarer was Rhnull, or golden blood, found in roughly fifty people across the globe. Of course, it had been your uncommon blood that had cost you that job and a lot more and inevitably brought you here searching for another one. “Apparently it’s pretty tasty,” you added as an afterthought.

“Well, lucky for me, this interview involves a dance audition and a taste test.”

You’d been informed of these requirements beforehand, in more than one email, and you hadn’t been surprised or even offended—how else were you supposed to get the job? What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was Damian. You’d danced and donated for men and women alike who could have rivaled the beauty of both James Dean and Marilyn Monroe, but Damian was … something else entirely—literally and figuratively. His sharp, mahogany eyes regarded your reaction, which was calm and controlled, before he spun gracefully on the heels of his shiny shoes and sank into the cushion beside you. Where he should have thrown off heat, his cooler temperature wracked your body with chills, and your eyes snapped shut as if it might shroud your embarrassment from him.

“Sorry,” you sighed, glancing back at him after a moment.

Damian smirked and shook his head, raising his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I have that affect on people.” You nodded, breathing a laugh. “Which do you wanna do first?”

Knowing the blood traversing through the labyrinth of your veins was already a winner, the decision was easy. “I’ll dance for you.”

The grin from before was gone, and his eyes you’d swear had been tinged chestnut a second before were now sable-shaded and starving. Starving for what, exactly, you didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know. He gestured with one huge hand toward the stage, and you inhaled long and slow before standing from the couch, those ever-changing irises of Damian’s studying your every move as you climbed the few steps to the platform.

“Hey, Jey,” Damian suddenly hollered. You turned back to him as he leaned forward and removed his suit jacket, folding it and tossing it over the arm of the couch. He left on the satin, onyx vest, and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up his sinewy forearms. “Play her something she can dance to.”

And how in the fuck were you supposed to concentrate on dancing if you couldn’t stop gaping at the owner of the club you were trying to get a job at? Maybe that was his intention—to rattle you and see how you handled it, using himself as the bait. If that were the case, you were failing miserably, and probably had lost the job already.

But as soon as the music started, a song you were familiar with, you effortlessly slipped into the space reserved only for performing. You weren’t dressed in something you’d usually dance in, nor was the outfit particularly sexy, so you had to rely more than usual on your natural talent and past experience. Your hips rolled with the beat, and you twirled a couple of times around one of the poles, but the show didn’t really start until you floated off the platform and made your way to Damian. Your eyes locked for the first time since the music had begun, and your breath hitched as his gaze burned a hole through your very soul. His arms were stretched out beside him along the back of the couch, and when you were within feet of him, his dense thighs spread like the lewdest party invitation you’d ever seen. Was this the final test?

If it was, you decided, you weren’t failing this one.

You’d read the rules concerning dancing for clients, specifically the one which stated it was at the dancer’s discretion as to whether or not they became physical with their client. And if there was ever a time to become physical with a “client”, it was right fucking now.

Your hands settled steadily on a set of unforgiving abs, his frigid temperature seeping through his clothes to kiss your palms, and you once more had to hurl aside the frightening desire to just wrap yourself around him like a human heated blanket. As your hands ascended Damian’s broad, sturdy chest, slipping along the silky vest, you climbed slowly onto his lap, his thick thighs easily supporting your shins, and you hooked your feet along the backs of his knees with the intention of boasting one of your favorite moves. But your body stilled the moment Damian wrapped his fingers around your wrist, goosebumps perking up from the sudden chill blasting your skin, and he lifted your hand from his chest. Your gazes hadn’t once disconnected since they’d met minutes ago, but you severed the link now that he was touching you.

The tenderness with which he cradled your arm was a shock in and of itself, though you weren’t sure why—just because he was … different … didn’t mean he couldn’t be delicate. Just because he was gigantic didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of handling pocket-sized things, which, at the moment, was you. He brought the underside of your wrist to his nose, and you felt air rush along your skin as he inhaled a scent only he could smell. You’d been told once that some of them even had the power to sniff out the trace amounts of gold in human blood.

What could the owner of Crimson Kiss smell within you?

“Oh, christ,” Damian rasped, hooded eyes falling closed, his plump, icy lips massaging the slightly transparent skin on your wrist, just above the prominent blue veins branching off into your forearm and hand. Your other hand still perched on his chest fisted a small portion of his vest. “Are you ready?” he rumbled, eyes remaining closed, mouth still flush against you.

You swallowed and licked your lips before nodding, a whispered yes floating on the air, and once permission was granted, Damian’s mouth opened. Not a second later, you felt the familiar sting in your flesh of a retractable, razor sharp tooth, though, curiously, where there should have been two insertions, there was only one. And before you could begin picking apart the reasons behind one puncture instead of two, Damian’s dampening mouth applied just the slightest suction, his cheeks sinking, and your eyes rolled back.

It wasn’t the actual drinking of your blood that was causing your thighs to tremble or your stomach to roll or your heart to hammer—no, you couldn’t literally feel that. It was the sucking on a sensitive patch of skin by a devilishly handsome man who could simply whet his appetite with your AB-negative or drain you completely and kill you within minutes. It was the graceful way with which he cradled your arm after bringing his other hand across his chest to support your elbow. It was the twitching of his brows and the fluttering of his eyelids as he enjoyed you. And only because it happened last, it was the fluid, almost unnoticeable, rocking of his hips that, thankfully, were not pressed against yours.

This wasn’t something you should be doing with your potential boss, but forces beyond your control kept you planted in Damian’s lap, left your wrist to be devoured, and unfisted your hand so you could splay it across his pec. The muscle flexed, and he had to be doing this on purpose. And what if this was the test, and you should have never touched him at all, and he was simply entertaining himself before he sent you on your way?

“Hey, Damian, do we have—” You jumped, head turning, hand crumpling Damian’s vest again, and there was suddenly a raven-haired beauty standing in the entranceway. “Oh, sorry,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” Damian mumbled into your wrist, and you switched your attention back to him and the rather precarious situation that was now being witnessed by someone who, you assumed, was another employee of Crimson Kiss. But it didn’t matter. All at once, nothing mattered, except watching Damian lick his own lips free of any of your leftover blood, his chilly tongue swiping across the obvious puncture wound in your wrist, and your spine was wracked with shivers. “Do you have any of that—?”

A hand appeared between the two of you—elegant, feminine, tattooed—holding what appeared to be a roll of the sticky tape they wrapped around your arm after a blood draw. In black. Fitting. Damian released your elbow to take it from her, tugging at the edge with his lethal teeth until it began to unravel, and he wrapped it a few times around your wrist. The entire interview may have been on the edge of inappropriate, but you’d never been treated so well after a donation, no matter how big or small. Especially not by the owner.

“This should be fine in an hour or two,” he said, eyes rising to yours. Eyes that were still ebony were now ringed in red because of you and your rare blood. But like the wound on your wrist, they would be back to normal in a few hours. You could only nod in response—breath, words, basic brain functionality all stolen by Damian. “You can start tomorrow night.” He stood suddenly, wrapping an arm around you at the last second as he took you with him, dropping you unceremoniously to your feet before he came to full height. He grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch and brushed a hand over his hair despite nothing being out of place.

As he headed out of the room, he stopped, turned to the woman who’d interrupted you, and glanced over his shoulder at you before speaking loud enough for you to hear. “She’s gonna need extra security.”

Smiling warmly as she approached you, the woman replied to Damian, “I’ll call the Guns.” She extended her hand, and upon placing yours within her grasp, discovered she was like you. “I’m Rhea. The GM.”

Taglist: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @the-whatever-22 @jeypunkk @madhatterbri @atomicskincareeyelinerkid @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @brideofinfamy @rainbowdreams-x @headcaseproductions1 @bearbutlikeprincessbear @terrortwinunicorn @dontcrykeepyourheaduphigh @loki69zowens @fearlesschimera @rockerfairy93 @misslackey @nichole1989 @hc-geralt-23 @miss-kuki-nz @damianpriestfangirl82 @elaineoneill570 @infamousvampcx @rheasfingerpuppet @gracy09 @lizzycaraballo-blog @rk-ho @bloodline-fanacc @moonlightsinner @skyesthebomb

#wwe #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest fanfic #damian priest x reader #vampire damian priest #damian priest x you #damian priest x female reader

117 notes · View notes