#When he came home and he was pale and his cheeks were sunken (and he was holding his flank like he was nursing a side stitch) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucygxybaird · 25 days ago

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billy x reader - reader turns billy into a vampire

tw: injury, death (i guess??)

Billy has never been the sort of man to count his days — he’s been too busy scraping by, working from dawn til dusk, if not simply trying to survive under a hail of bullets and enmity that sometimes feels unrelenting.

There have been times where he’s felt the whole world is against him, and if his faith in God had been strong enough, he would wonder what exactly he’d done to earn the wrath of the Almighty. Loss, violence and grief have dogged his steps since he was sixteen, but he was able to bear it all, either through sheer stubbornness or his belief that he was doing the right thing.

And then he lost you.

Whatever force that fueled him, whether it’s the soul as his mother would have claimed, or the single-minded fire which separates man from beast, shuddered and died the moment he saw you lying there. So still, your skin waxen and white, your eyes half-hidden behind lowered lashes that didn’t fully conceal your empty gaze. He’d cradled you in his arms for hours — even now, he’s not sure for how long — until Manuela had finally convinced him to let you rest.

And then you came home.

It took weeks, long enough for the winter to begin bleeding into spring. But you returned to him, standing outside his window, your icy fingers caressing his face as you told him you needed to be invited in. He didn’t understand, at first; but when you explained everything, when you told him what you were, he’d felt only a joy so intense that it bordered on pain. It didn’t matter to him what you needed to sustain you, just that you’d returned to him.

He had asked you — or tried to, anyway — if you would change him. He’s desperate to be with you forever, to never risk losing you again, but there’s a whisper of temptation, of yearning for something else. The idea that he never has to fear illness again, that silent specter which has laid waste to so much in his life.

For so long, he’s expected that the thread of his fate will be cut by a bullet, but always — with each sore throat, a sniffle, an ache he can’t quite explain — he wonders if it’s his turn. If he will die, ashen and wracked with coughing, soaked with sweat, cheeks sunken and eyes immense in his face, the way his mother and brother did. If you would have to watch him fade away, dirty snow melting into the soil, just as he had to do.

But if you change him, he’ll be free of both, free from the fear of guns and fever.

Compared to being with you for eternity, the idea pales in comparison, but it’s there.

That night, the night you finally came back, you asked him to think on it. And he has, obsessively, his thoughts turning and churning like a water wheel in a flash flood. His dreams have been full of thirst, of a body so powerful and so altered that it almost seems beyond his control. He wonders if it will hurt, and how badly, if the longer he lives, the more of his human life he’ll forget. Will he lose his mother’s face? His father’s voice? Joe’s smile? Tunstall’s kindnesses?

But — he comes back to this, every time — he’ll have you. The two of you will have each other. Whatever he may lose, whatever he has to sacrifice, it will be worth it.

He’s thought about it, he has. And he knows what he wants. This life, his first life, has been nothing but one trial after another, after another, an endless march through the vale of tears, and none of it was by choice. And, really, the more he considers it, this really isn’t a choice, either.

He will never, never let anything separate the two of you again, certainly not something as prosaic as six feet and a coverlet of dirt.

Your fingers are combing through his hair as he lays with his head pillowed on your chest, body curled to fit against yours. It took him a little while to become used to you as you really are, when you dropped the facade that you were still living. You don’t eat regular food anymore, of course, although sometimes you take a sip of his coffee (it’s hot enough that you can feel it, you say, and bitter enough that you can taste a hint of it on your tongue).

You don’t bother to pump your lungs like a bellows, forcing your chest to rise and fall; sometimes, in fact, your entire body is so still that he feels as though there’s a statue sitting at the kitchen table, or nestled in his arms in bed as you are now. And the only sound of breathing echoing in the room now is his, which means that the silence is only broken up by an occasional sigh, whether it’s the wind or his own murmur.

So when you speak, he can’t help but jump, his body jerking against yours like a wave splashing up against the rocks. Your fingers go still, nestled in his hair.

Despite his hammering heart, Billy smiles when you giggle. “Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” he says. He props himself up on an elbow to look into your face. “I was just…thinkin’, I guess.”

You smile up at him, reaching up a cool hand to lay your palm against his cheek. “I know,” you say. “That’s what I was trying to ask you. I just wanted to know what was on your mind. I could practically hear the gears turning in your head.”

Billy snorts softly. He lays down next to you, putting his hand against yours to keep it against his face. He’s always run warm, and your porcelain touch feels exquisite, soothing as a cool sip of water on a hot day.

“Was there smoke comin’ out of my ears?”

You giggle again. He decided a long time ago that your laugh was just about his favorite sound in the world, but now, after being so sure he would never hear it again, he thinks there’s no way heaven itself could have sweeter music.

“Not quite,” you say, and you resume the soothing stroking motion through his curls. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” he says. His tone indicates this should be obvious. What else would be be thinking about, ever? “Us. Forever.”

You don’t say anything for what feels like a very long time. He wonders if it seems as long to you, or if even little increments of time don’t mean the same thing to you as they do to him. Years, he can understand. Decades, even. But how does a minute feel? Does it stretch until it’s gossamer-thin, like a spoke of a spiderweb? Or does it condense, until it’s smaller than a grain of sand, so that a countless multitude can be clutched in the palm of a hand?

“Billy, I need you to be sure,” you say finally. “I would never want to deprive you of anything, even if it means—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t even speak it. I’m not goin’ anywhere, whether you change me or not.” He sits up, the bedclothes pooling around his waist, and you do the same, hugging your own side of the blanket to your chest.

You smile at him, though it’s more like a weeping willow than anything else, pulled down and giving an air of melancholy. “I love you too much to want anything less than a beautiful life for you,” you say. “I hope it includes me, but—”

“Includes you?”

A part of him knows his mother would be horrified that he keeps interrupting a lady, but he can’t help himself.

“Includes you?” he repeats. “Of course it includes you. You can’t deprive me of anything, because you’re everything to me.” He offers you a have smile, one weighed down at a corner by chagrin. “If you don’t know that, I’ve been doin’ something wrong.”

Your cool fingers fold around his. “I know,” you say. “You’re everything to me, too. And there’s nothing I want more than to be with you through each century to come.”

Billy’s heart trips in his chest, and he wonders if you can hear it. “So…is that a yes?”

There is another moment of silence that stretches between the two of you like a bubble threatening to burst, and then you’re both laughing — nervous, thin laughter at first, which blooms into full belly-laughs. You lean forward and bury your face against his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

It’s moments like this where it’s so easy to forget everything. Not just losing you, or learning the truth of who you are, but the world itself. It all falls away, softening, blurring, until it’s just a matter of perspective to convince himself that the two of you are the only two people who exist, who matter. Billy buries his face against your hair, still grinning.

“It sounds like you just proposed to me,” you say, another giggle erupting from your chest.

Your words make him chuckle all over again, because that’s exactly what he was thinking, too, exactly why he’s laughing so hard. It’s only funny because asking you to be his wife — which, by the way, is definitely something he’s considered — seems like a molehill compared to a mountain, when held up next to the idea of altering his very state of being.

Billy sets you back by the shoulders, framing your face between his hands. “Darlin’,” he says, bringing on a fresh shower of giggles. “Will you do me the honor of becomin’ my…?”

He pauses, and whispers, “Is maker a good word?”

“Yes,” you whisper back.

He clears his throat. “Will you do me the honor — stop laughin’ — of becomin’ my maker?”

In the beat of silence between his question and your answer, Billy can feel the mirth melting away, like morning frost on the grass. It was funny, at first, but it really isn’t anymore.

You touch his cheek. “Of course I will,” you say. “If that’s what you want.”

He presses his lips against yours, feeling the sensation of a snowflake alighting on his skin. “It’s the only thing I want,” he says.

You wait until midnight, when the darkness of the night is deep, the air still and soft, and the stars are veiled by silvery-white cloud, so that their distant eyes are covered and it truly is just you and Billy. You sit up in bed, and Billy leans back into your arms, his head nestling on your shoulder. He feels the points of your teeth press against his skin, pausing for a moment more before they break the fragile barrier.

There is a moment of pain, of panic fueled by instinct — prey, realizing a moment too late, that he has been caught — and then his vision starts to blur. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, too loud, too fast, before it reaches such a fever pitch that his chest aches. And then, as darkness encroaches, it begins to slow. Thudthudthud becomes thus-thud-thud, and then thud — thud — thud.

Thud…

He feels you pull away, soothing your tongue over the wound like a mother cat.

Thud…

Your hand cups his jaw, pinching gently at the corners of his mouth to part his lips.

…thud…

He catches the scent of rust, wafting close to his nose.

There is silence for a moment, stretching, growing so heavy that he can feel it like a creature crouching on his ribs.

…thud…

Something presses against his mouth, the rusty smell growing stronger. You pinch at the corners of his mouth again, and without thinking, his tongue comes out and encounters resistance, meeting something solid and cold.

Something — damp and heavy, like the air after a storm. The rust is on his tongue now, coating his lips. His throat works, though he finds it hard to swallow. You coax his head back, and something starts to drip down.

Silence.

…thud…

It feels as though his mind has retreated to a distant corner, curling up on itself, watching from very far away. His mind waits for another thud, but there isn’t one. It waits and waits, but now there is just quiet. Stillness.

This little spark of thought drifts for a while, like a dandelion seed buffeted around on the breeze. Enough of him is left to be aware of you cradling him in your arms, and it’s all he needs to feel safe.

He doesn’t know how long it is before the spark of himself starts to grow brighter, illuminating more around it. He is aware, first, of how still he is, as if he’s bound hand and foot. But when he directs an idea down to his fingers, they move when instructed — if anything, the response is quicker, more fluid, than it was before.

(Which is saying something for the man who is — or was — the fastest draw in the West.)

And then sound begins to return to him, slowly at first, a trickle, and then he realizes he can hear a familiar rustling noise, but it’s too clear for it to be what he thinks it is. It reminds him of a deer stepping gently, carefully, through foliage, but — can he hear all the way to the woods?

Scents hit him next. He really had no idea that everything had its own unique smell. The linen of the sheets is different from the cotton of his shirt, from the flannel of your nightgown, and it’s a world away from the oak of your bed frame and the pine that makes up your cabin. He can smell the ashes of the fire in the stove, and the breeze drifting in through the window carries a veritable feast of aroma.

Grass, trees, the air itself, and most deliciously, a feverish, twitching scent that comes even more strongly when he hears that rustling noise again.

“Billy?”

Your voice is soft, but at the same time the noise is such that it seems to fill his head for a moment. Maybe recalling your own first moments, you wait for a few moments. The sound settles.

You say, “Billy, open your eyes.”

His eyelashes flutter, part. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but it doesn’t matter. The moonlight alone is so bright that he has to squint.

You help him sit up, and he looks at you. His lips part to expel a nonexistent breath at the sight of you. His eyesight, like his other senses, is so much more acute now; you look like an angel, luminous in a fall of silver light spilling through the window.

His thoughts feel scrambled, twisted and flipped around, like someone took his head and shook it. Even his own name, or the events of just hours before, feel remote and strange, but as his eyes latch onto yours, the most important thing he knows comes back to him.

“You’re mine?” he says, and reaches out to touch your cheek.

You smile at him. “I’m yours,” you agree. “And you’re mine.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment or two, and Billy thinks he would be happy sitting here just like this. And then the breeze shifts again, bringing that hot, red scent close to him again.

Fire leaps up in his throat, and it must show in his face, because you smile gently again. “Come with me,” you say, getting to your feet and holding out your hand. “I’ll show you how to hunt.”

His body responds to his desire to get up so fluidly that it feels like he blinks and he’s on his feet. Billy puts his hand in yours, and you lead him outside.

The world is bright and shining, as if you’ve emerged into the belly of a star. Scents, sounds and sensations wash over him in a wave, and he tightens his grip on your hand as though he’s afraid he’ll be swept away. He looks over at you, and you smile.

“Are you ready?” you ask.

For the hunt, he wonders? Or to begin the rest of eternity with you?

Either way, the answer is still the same.

Billy smiles back at you. “Yes.”

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #william h bonney fanfiction #tom blyth

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armandisdaddy · 7 months ago

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I Will Break You Chp.3

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Pirate) x Fem OC (Mermaid/Siren)

Content/Warning(s): !!18 PLUS!!, Non-Con/ Dub-Con, Violence, p in v penetration,Descriptions of Blood/Violence, Abduction, Obsession, Toxic.

Chapter 3.

Days had past since she saw him last. The bastard he took it upon himself to take what was hers. She despised him. She was losing her mind in that room with four stone walls and the tiniest window to see the ocean waiting for her. At night when the moon was high she could hear her sisters calling to her; crying out for her. Every night she cried out for them. Her heart pulling in anguish with each day that past where she didn’t feel the water on her skin to roam the vast sea and discover things that humans left behind. She was becoming depressed. Her eyes sunken in from her sleepless nights. Her skin pale almost green she hadn’t eaten since she had been there refusing to nourish herself. He was not going to enjoy his hostage if she had anything to say about it.

Lydia had come back each day to deliver her meals and to make her presentable for the day only dressing her in light weight dresses and brushing her hair just to tame it slightly but still let it run thick along her back. She smiled knowing that Aemond had what he called a gift in store for her. Lydia had discussed it with her master for quite sometime after letting him know how horrible she was doing stuck in that room. So he figured he should let her get some fresh air. With the moon high and shining against the calmed sea Aemond came into her chambers wearing a loose poet blouse that opened slightly at his chest. She looked terrible and he would be lying if he said the sight he saw didn’t pull at his heart strings, but his obsession with her clouded his judgement. She heard the clicking of his boots hitting the hardwood floors and she flinched wondering what he had in store for her. Lydia had tried to manage her hair and make look somewhat presentable but she could not hide the clear depression that settled into the poor girls bones. He sighed thinking of what to say, “Lydia let me know of the state you were in and after all her convincing I thought it would be nice to take a walk on the beach for a little while.” Hearing the words beach…a walk…she perked up knowing her sisters were always waiting for her maybe this could be her chance…she calmed down and decided to play her part. She put on an adoring smile and spoke gently. “I would like that very much..”, it hadn’t been long but it didn’t take her long to fully understand their language after only a few days. He smiled at how that seemed to cheer her spirits but he knew that would be short lived as he began to pull the shackles from behind his back. He could see the light that just appeared in her eyes quickly fade away and the smile she wore did as well. “oh…” was all she said. “I know it seems barbaric, but I cannot have you trying to leave me…now can I my sweet little siren?” He reached out for her his rough hand claiming her cheek and she flinched away feeling its warmth. She wanted to hiss and claim one of those fingers. She could imagine his blood curdling screams…but she understood this would not help her. She simply held her hand out for him and he took no time tether himself to her.

After leaving her chambers they traveled down to the shore she could smell the sea and the smell of salt in the air. She felt at peace only to be pulled from when he yanked at the chain that bounded her to him. She felt the cool sand between her toes and though she was happy to even be this close her heart still yearned to return home. Aemond stood in silence enamored by her beauty and the way she looked as she stood in silence taking in the scenery. “breathtaking…” he whispered to himself, but he was broken from his trance as the sound of siren singing in the distance caught his attention. He looked to her and saw the look of longing in her eyes…her foot subconsciously took a step forward and he braced himself. Tears welling in her eyes as she called back out to them. The beckoned her and cried out for her in sadness and she looked back at him her eyes blown wide in desperation. She let out a mind curdling screech and pulled away from him with all her might and though she was weak she was stronger than he anticipated. “NO!!!” He screamed out to her pulling back, but she continued forward dragging him with her. “If you won’t let me go I will take you with me…” she grunted lowly as her sisters frenzied within the water waiting for her to come back and waiting to kill the man who took her away from them. Aemond called for help which alerted a few of his men nearby and she was on a mere inch away she began to run pulling the chain to drag him with her frantically looking around to see them closing in. She fell to her knees once she was surrounded and sobbed. “I just want to be free….” Were her last words before she felt a sharp pain in her head and everything went black.

When she came to she saw Aemond hovering over her with a look of distain in his eyes. “I will admit I underestimated you…that won’t happen again I assure you…how could you want to leave me after that special night we shared…I know you feel it too…I saw it in your eyes…I saw it…” she hissed at him and screamed in frustration. “Special? You mean the night you took me without my consent or the night you took me from the sea….both were not special…you are a mad man. I want to go home can’t you see this is killing me…I will die in here…please.” She sat up and reached for him, her eyes pleading for freedom…and he couldn’t help but feel she was right but this obsession with her would not let him do it. “I can’t…you belong with me…” He had that look in his eyes again and he stepped toward her his hands finding her thighs and she scrambled away trying to make herself smaller into the bed and he took a hold of her ankles pulling her to the edge of the bed. “You are mine…I will have you..I will break you….you will not escape me…I will make you love me…want me…” he held himself in between her legs and and whispered within her ear biting at the flesh of her neck. “You will love every inch of me…you will know where home is it is not out there it is here with me.” He quickly unbuckled his breeches letting them pull at his ankles. He grabbed her throat and rubbed his cock between her damp folds groaning at the warmth of her cunt. He sighed in relief as he entered her core burying himself into her and she inhaled sharply. She stretched around him so beautifully and once he gained his composure he began to pump into her his face still buried into neck. “Mine…all mine…I will break you…break you..” he whispered over and over like a prayer as he held her legs to her chest. She was fighting the pleasure…fighting with the feeling of coming undone for him. Fighting against how good his cock hit every part of her insides just right. “no…please…” he groaned her pleading only arousing him more. “Even in distress you sound so beautiful…sing for me..my darling siren…” she held onto him moans escaping her, her body betraying her. Her back arched and before she could thinks she cumming her body shook in the aftermath of her orgasm and he wasn’t too far behind. He picked up the pace and with one harsh thrust he pressed the head of his cock against her cervix and filled her with his seed. He kissed her lips and for a second she forgot her hatred for him and kissed him in return. He laid with her for a while until she finally pulled away and became distant again. He sighed and stood up getting dressed. Leaving her he looked back wondering if it was worth it…she would still be miserable even if she learned to love him would he still be able to make himself believe she was happy here…he shook the thoughts away and left to do more research on her kind…determined to find away.

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twstjam · 2 years ago

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And if I were someone else (would this be easier?) - Part 1

If you woke and I was gone From the house that we made our home Would it bend you, break you, overtake your heart Like it did my own? (Easier by the Crane Wives)

Ship(s): Friends to Lovers Malleyuu

Word count: 3k

Summary: Your fae friend Tsunotarou had cursed the King. If you want to live, you're going to have to kill him.

Or: Actually, this one is pretty straightforward I think.

Masterlist

AO3 Link

Tsunotarou is fae.

You'd known this the moment you set eyes on his pale face. The sparkling magical lights lingering around him had made your unexpected company visible to you even in the inky darkness of the abandoned manor's grounds. Despite what he evidently was, you didn't turn him away.

Curious about his presence, you had greeted him like anyone would a stranger. You knew of course the conflict currently going on between the humans and the fae, but you also couldn't imagine that just saying "hi" to someone could hurt anyone.

"Hi." led into "Who are you?" , which then turned into "Good evening." s, and then "How are you?" s, followed by "Did you know that gargoyles have a function as drainage spouts?"

You probably should've stopped before things got to that point, but the world didn't end the day after so you didn't see any reason to. In fact, you only saw more reason to keep meeting up with Tsunotarou. As a fae, he had interesting views you were unused to hearing and seemed equally intrigued by yours as a human. He was also significantly much more intelligent than you, but instead of looking down on you, he eagerly taught you anything you didn't know. His knowledge was all book-smarts though, and when it came to something like social cues, he was suddenly the oblivious one.

Despite how objectively terrifying he should be as a tall figure draped in all black that seemed to manifest out of the shadows, you found yourself being endeared to him more and more with each night. You always ended up returning home with a big smile and a skip in your step. Even with your line of work restricting you to the grounds of the Rosehearts estate, Tsunotarou helped the world feel just a bit bigger with his unique mind and boundless knowledge.

But of course, as everybody knows; nothing lasts forever. You shouldn't have been foolish enough to think this would be an exception to that rule.

---

Tensions between humans and fae inevitably rose and with it your responsibilities in helping manage the Rosehearts estate. Things became busier and more hectic than ever, pulling you away from being able to enjoy leisure time and with it, nights with Tsunotarou.

That wasn't the only thing that slipped from you, though. At some point during all the chaos, wagons of rations caught fire— blue fire. In your overexerted state, you'd gotten too distracted to keep watch on Grim. Being beheaded by Riddle became the least of your worries when your menace of a monster cat was subdued and caged at the king's orders.

A part of you wanted to leave him to his fate. He got what was coming to him. But the softer and undeniably bigger part of you twinged painfully at the thought of standing back and doing nothing to try and save your friend.

Curse you and your bleeding heart.

So you'd requested to meet the King. Though the mere thought made you want to hurl, once you were before him you got on your knees and touched your forehead to the carpet that no doubt cost more than everything you've ever owned combined.

And then you took the blame.

There, on your hands and knees before the king, you spun an impassioned plea from the heart, strung together with all the fancy sophisticated jargon you could possibly dig out of your brain.

The King wasn't swayed.

But of course, he was swayed by something a king like him could never miss nor pass on: opportunity.

Even from afar as you entered the grand room you were able to notice it. Sickly pale skin, bloodshot eyes, sunken cheeks, and glowing green veins beneath the King's skin that were most definitely unnatural. All of it stemmed from a bandage wound around one of his arms, stained an unnerving black and glowing green.

You'd heard about it of course—Everyone had. It was the sole reason for the drastic increase in tension between human and fae relations after all;

A fae had cursed the King.

And just like how he wasn't willing to forgive Grim's transgressions so easily, the King was hellbent on hunting down that fae. And so came his demand—and at his words your heart had sunk with realisation.

"Kill the horned creature. Avenge me... and you and your pet shall be pardoned."

Your fae friend Tsunotarou had cursed the King. If you want to live, you're going to have to kill him.

---

The King's words rewound in your mind—Over and over and over, like a broken record. Your eyes look ahead of you, but you don't realise you've reached the old ruins until your feet come to a stop on their own. After your audience with the King, you had returned home to the Rosehearts estate and pondered your options. Though you hadn't enlightened them on your new dilemma, even Ace and Deuce had left you alone when you'd asked them to, so you really must have looked like you'd seen Death himself when you showed up at the estate again.

You had a choice to make—Tsunotarou's life, or yours and Grim's. After what felt like hours of holeing yourself up in your room and thinking restlessly, you finally gave in. The King's terms had begun to repeat in your mind then, as if to remind you of the betrayal you've been ordered to commit despite it having been branded into your brain alongside the faded smile of an old friend from the dark.

The shadows of the mansion's garden welcome you with its fingers of overgrown weeds and branches that form ominous reaching shadows in the moonlight. The familiarity brought a strange sort of comfort, but the King's voice in your head chased it away as soon as it came. The light of both the moon and your lantern help guide you to the worn pavilion of crumbling stone where you and Tsunotarou have spent countless nights talking about anything and everything.

The lack of green lights around the area is apparent as you swivel around to find them. You can't help feeling a bit disappointed even though the rational part of you knows that even Tsunotarou wouldn't come and wait for you after so many times of being stood up. You hope he isn't too mad at you.

You set your lantern down on the bench so that you can cup your hands around your mouth and call out.

The name you call him by is a nickname. He'd seemed amused by you not knowing his true identity in an unexpectedly endearing, childish way, so you'd indulged him. At this point though, it's hard to imagine him having any name other than "Tsunotarou", but still, using it now leaves the taste of bile in your mouth each time you force it out of your throat.

"Tsunotarou!" you yell hoarsely. " Tsuno —"

"You return."

You startle at the sudden deep timbre of Tsunotarou's voice. You swerve around and sure enough, your fae friend stands there, tall and proud and dressed in robes of night as always. His black hair shimmers like silk in the moonlight and his reptilian green eyes pierce you as he looks down at you impassively, face glowing an ominous green as the glitter of magic lingers in the air. Even in all his tall, sculpted, flawless fae glory, Tsunotarou wouldn't be complete without the long horns that curve proudly atop his head like an onyx crown.

"So. How is life with the humans?" His tone is as stony as his gaze, giving off the impression that he holds complete disinterest and was merely being polite. You can tell though that he's upset by the slight downturn of his lips that hint at the beginnings of a pout.

Fondness suddenly swells in your chest and an unwelcome smile tugs on the corners of your own lips. You resist it and refocus on the matter at hand.

"I came to warn you," you begin, straight to the point. "The king's after you, Tsunotarou, because of what you did to him. He won't stop until you're dead."

You watch his face closely for his reaction. It doesn't change much in response except for the slight raise of his eyebrows.

"I see." He sounds more thoughtful now. He's even looking at you instead of through you, and whatever goes through his head softens his gaze to something that you're more familiar with. "This was something I foresaw when I cursed him. Regardless, it was inevitable that that foul man would search for a reason to slay me like a common beast, and yet..."

His expression eases into something warm, changing completely from its stoic countenance into something you might call affectionate. Tsunotarou steps forward and reaches for your hand. You allow him to hold it and the tension in your body unwinds, unbidden, at his touch.

"...you still came to warn me of the potential threat." His smooth, thin fingers rub over yours carefully, as if he is feeling the exact construction of your fingers down to the flesh and bone. An amused chuckle, a sound not unlike the darkest of chocolates, escapes his smiling lips. "My dearest child of man... I assure you that I am in no danger. Do not despair. I will ensure your journey here wasn't for naught."

You blink up at him dumbly. His smile lifting further contributes to your confusion.

"I..." Stunned as you are, it takes you a bit longer to string words together. As you struggle, Tsunotarou gently guides you to sit down next to him on the bench as if the past few minutes didn't just happen. As if the past few weeks didn't just happen, when you'd stopped seeing him without a word despite being his friend. "...You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" Despite the question, Tsunotarou doesn't sound surprised, the easy smile remaining on his face. "Whatever for?"

His expression stays unexpectedly at ease, but it occurs to you then that, for whatever reason, your friend has a tendency of (badly) hiding his hurt feelings behind a facade of contentment for politeness . You once again feel that immense guilt weighing in your chest.

"You don't have to act like you're not upset," you sigh, gaze looking downward shamefully. "It's alright. I want you to be upfront with me. I don't blame you if you're mad. I'm sorry I stopped talking to you and didn't tell you anything, I—"

You cut yourself off with a squeak when Tsunotarou's hand on your back suddenly pushes you towards him, giving you a faceful of his built chest.

"Hush now," he tuts, fingers threading through your hair while the other rubs your back as if he was soothing a fussy child. "As I have said, please do not despair. There is no reason to. I admit that I was... disappointed in your constant absences, but I understand that you have many responsibilities as I do, so I forgive you."

Tsunotarou's embrace is unyielding and borderline suffocating, but you smack his chest (to which he is completely unfazed by) and he lets you up to breathe and also look up at him in disbelief.

"You do...?"

You'd thought you'd be happy to hear those words from him, but instead dread further eats a cavity inside your chest to be filled with heavy, unwavering guilt.

Tsunotarou's smile is tooth-rotting, soft and sweet like cotton candy, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil as he ghosts the backs of his fingers over your cheek.

"But of course," Tsunotarou hums as he eases back on the bench. He pulls you along with him and this time you find yourself half-sprawled on top of him. "We are friends, are we not? And friends forgive each other."

His words are genuine. Innocent. The fondness in his eyes even more so. Nothing about the fae sitting beside you indicates he was a horned monster you were meant to kill.

You don't meet his eyes as you swallow and force yourself to relax against him, to which he makes a pleased sound and rests his head atop yours.

"Yeah. Friends."

---

The two of you remain sitting in the pavilion together in that position, your head tucked beneath his as he holds you and talks the night away like he always does. The days you spent apart fade into nonexistence, and things return to how they were before.

Or at least, it was easy to imagine they do.

Tsunotarou's dark robes are silky soft beneath your fingers. His hands' motions combined with how comfortable you feel against him and listening to him speak would be enough to lull you to sleep if your mind was calmer.

Tsunotarou clears his throat and you startle out of your thoughts.

"Ah, I apologize," he says with a slight rasp to his voice. "I appear to be losing my voice. Heh. I hadn't realized how much I've spoken."

He carefully runs his fingers through the tangles in your hair. When you look up at him, your gaze is caught by his hooded one. You feel yourself go pale. Not out of fear—You don't think you could ever be afraid of him, even if you've seen proof that he can easily decimate you—but a sick feeling that twists your gut at the unrestrained affection on his face.

"Time seems to fly by even faster when I'm with you," his voice is quieter, the softest puffs of breath from his lips fanning over your own.

You sit up. Tsunotarou leans after you as you pull away. Your fingers fumble with the satchel you'd brought before pulling out a waterskin.

"I brought some water. Here."

The contents of the waterskin slosh quietly as you present it to Tsunotarou. The fae blinks, his hooded eyes widening as if stunned by your offer.

"Ah." He recovers quickly, his smile creeping back onto his face. "Thank you. You're quite vigilant."

Your fingers are stiff as Tsunotarou accepts the waterskin. You smile, strained, as he uncorks it and takes a swig.

"Hm," you hear him hum, brows furrowing slightly. His eyes linger on the receptacle so briefly that you think you might have imagined it. His smile is the same as ever as he returns the waterskin to you.

You don't resist when he pulls you close again completely unprompted. He shifts slightly so he's able to comfortably lower his head onto your shoulder. One of his horns bumps the side of your head and his pale cheek squishes against yours.

Tsunotarou's touch is as careful as ever as he embraces you, his long sleeves draping over both of you like a blanket as he huddles in close. With a lump in your throat, you hover your arms awkwardly, unsure where to place them before reaching up and tentatively trailing a hand down the side of his face. His eyes droop closed. You can hear your racing heartbeat in your ears.

Your friend's weight grows heavier against you. He turns his head ever so slightly and his face is buried into your neck. You tense at the indentation of his fangs behind his lips resting right against your pulse.

You wait for something that doesn't come. Instead, Tsunotarou sighs, heavy and slow—content—and completely eases against you.

A beat passes. Another. Tsunotarou doesn't move.

"Tsu—Tsunotarou...?" you whisper shakily. You shove his shoulder. "Tsunotarou!"

He doesn't respond.

The cavity in your chest widens further. You feel hollow as you lift the fae off your shoulder and he's limp in your hold.

His head is a bit heavy, no doubt from his horns, but you manage to lift him up enough to respositon him so that he's instead lying on his side. You rest his head in your lap. An apology is caught in the tightness of your throat, instead spoken silently through fingers lightly brushing dark hair out of a peaceful, sleeping face.

Your fingers linger on Tsunotarou's face and you quickly pull away before you indulge yourself too much. Instead, you reach into your satchel again for the iron dagger you'd brought. It glints in the moonlight and you can't help but feel like it's taunting you.

If it could speak, you imagine that it'd be calling you a coward. It doesn't say anything though, and instead the only sounds that accompany you are your own rapid heartbeat, Tsunotarou's level breathing, and the squeaking of bats hiding in the night.

Another apology goes unspoken, instead coming out as a choked sob. Your fingers tremble around the hilt of the dagger as you raise it high with the blade pointing down. You resolutely do not look at Tsunotarou slumbering in your lap, blissfully unaware of your betrayal, but the effort proves to be useless.

Your hands shake. You scream. You bring the dagger down and it skids the side of the bench's seat as you fold over Tsunotarou in your lap, your shoulders shaking with unshed sobs.

Bats screech and take off into the night sky, but all you can hear is your own deep breaths as you try to calm your racing heart.

"I'm sorry," you whisper breathlessly into your friend's chest, who remains unaware of what his trust had led to— almost led to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry—"

The dagger falls to the dirt with a thud, deceptively harmless. Tears finally flow from your eyes as you hold your friend and weep quietly. You're no doubt ruining his fine silk robes, but it's hard to care when you've come to terms with the fact that you'd just attempted to kill your friend to save your own skin.

What were you thinking? How could you have even considered killing Tsunotarou, who, despite very well having the ability to, (the King's ailment being clear evidence of this) never laid a hand on you or attempted to hurt you? How could you have been at the receiving end of his earnest smile and affectionate gaze and still almost gone through with the King's horrific demands?

You feel overwhelmingly ashamed of yourself. You cry harder into Tsunotarou's still sleeping body, uselessly rambling apologies between your sobs.

Your tears don't ease up, especially not when you realize that you're fully resigned to accepting the King's full punishment and that, as a price, this is the last night you'll have with Tsunotarou.

---

Come dawn, Malleus wakes up alone.

#twisted wonderland imagines #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland au #twst yuu #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x yuu #malleus draconia x mc #malleyuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #matcha writes a bit

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inkberrry · 1 month ago

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My take on how my Mourn Watch Rook, Lysander, ended up in the Grand Necropolis as a child.

They called him Virarla; the path home. It had been a hard pregnancy, and he came far too early. Small and silent as a grave. His mother held out her hands for him, fearing he was lost before his life even began. But his eyes were open, and wide, and they looked up at her with a color so clear she imagined she saw herself reflected in them. He blinked and the world must have rushed at him all at once, for he started to bawl.

His mother cooed, her fear momentarily forgotten. She held him close to her breast, and it was then she noticed the mark. Upon the babe’s face was a large, wine-red stain. It covered his right eye, trailing down his cheek and crawling up his forehead. It reached across his nose, splotches of dark that almost resembled the print of a palm and long, sharp nailed fingers.

“An omen,” the midwife breathed, fear clear in the whispered words. “He has been touched by a Spirit.”

His mother scoffed, and brought the boy to feed. Whether he was touched by something other or not, he was still only a child, and hungry. Her body remembered from her first born, and she helped the boy to latch. There was a feeling of unease as she watched him, though, her eyes drawn unfailingly to the mark on his skin.

Weeks went by and the mark remained. It did not fade, as his mother prayed nightly to the gods it would. Virarla was silent more often than not, his pale eyes watching the world in a way that sent shivers down his parents' spines. He sees things, his father lamented. Things that are not there. He was a far cry from his sister, who had been a babbling, happy babe, and who still carried the spark of life and magic within her years later. All children are different, his mother insisted. There is nothing wrong with our son.

Weeks bleed into months. Virarla remained small and weak. He fed, but not well, leaving his mother’s body bloodied and sore. Her eyes soon turned sunken from worry, a deep guilt taking hold in her heart. No matter what she did, how hard she tried, she could not shake the feeling of dread when she looked upon Virarla’s face. The instant love and connection she felt to her daughter never arose, the small babe in her arms more stranger than son.

Things came to a tipping point soon after Virarla began to crawl. His mother left him in the grass just beyond their home, only for a moment. When she returned from caring for his sister, she found the grass empty. It took her and three clan members to find him at the gravesite. Virarla sat before one of the stones, his eyes bright as he babbled happily, his sweet, small voice filling the air.

He had never used his voice so much before. His mother hardly knew what it sounded like. Yet there he was, sounds that were almost words, strings of babble that could only be phrases.

His mother swept him up and returned home, but not before she saw the disquiet in the other’s eyes.

That night tragedy befell the clan. A spirit rose from the gravesite, its spectral form given substance enough to damage. By the time it was banished, two elves lay dead.

“He must be dealt with,” the Keeper demanded. “The child is dangerous. He will summon more spirits until there is nothing left of us. He has been irrevocably touched by the Fade.”

His mother tried to protest, but the bitter, guilty part of her heart tamped down her arguments. Perhaps it will be better when he is gone, it whispered. He has been nothing but hardship.

In the end, his parents brought him deep into the forest. They found an altar to Mythal, long ruined and abandoned. If anyone can keep him safe, his mother thought, it will be her. There were no tears, her eyes dry and far away. Virarla made no sound, only watched with open, clear eyes.

They left him there swaddled in a blanket upon the altar, fading fast to sleep. Fate will take care of the rest, his mother whispered. And goodbye.

Unknown to them all, someone else watched. Not Mythal, who his mother had hoped for. There was no God to take pity on the small child, their attentions’ far elsewhere. Only a Spirit of Compassion, who had been watching over Virarla since the moment of his birth. They summoned what power they could, using each and every shred to transport the boy to a place he would be cared for and understood.

When Virarla next opened his eyes, it was to the halls of the Grand Necropolis.

Just a note because it's an important topic to me - the mother here needed support and help and did not receive it. There is never anything wrong about not having an instant connection to your child. Love takes time.

#my writing #oc: lysander #dragon age fic #mourn watch rook #and as always do not come for me about dragon age lore i have and always will do what I want when I write <3

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pascalispinkkkk · 2 years ago

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joel miller x reader

word count: 2.5k

Note: This is my first tlou fic. English is not my mother tongue. This is mostly just a mildly edited draft as I wrote it in under a day so I'm sorry lol. I suddenly hyper-fixated on the idea and didn't want it to go anywhere. I'm not a writer so don't expect much loll. I've read a handful of fanfics here and just based this one on how most of them are formatted. I initially wanted it to be an "x male reader" thing, but I decided against it.

Joel x You (GN)

Joel and GN Reader are in an established platonic relationship.

Reader is curiously seeing Joel in a new light.

Tess and Joel were never a 'thing'.

Altered some details so the fic makes sense (kinda).

Some erotic scenes.

Setting: Jackson. After the Firefly Massacre.

"How much truth did you tell Ellie?” You stick your eighth cigarette through the pile of cigar butts on the oak wood table in front of you. Joel stares blankly at the clock across the dimly lit living room. He does not go into detail about what happened in Salt Lake City. You know as he's visibly tense. A deer caught in headlights. He shakes his head dismissively, his face stoic. The usual. You purse your lips as his eyes dart everywhere but you.

You let out a deep and defeated sigh. Joel puts both his hands on his knees. In your mind, that's the first sign he's about to say something. You study him a bit as silence drags on. It's been two days since they came back from Utah. But it doesn't look like he slept even a blink. You decide he needs more rest. So, you nod, partly just to drop it.

Joel uncorks the bottle of whiskey in front of him, filling his glass with yet another shot. He puts it down as his other hand hastily swipes for the glass in sync. "What's your plan?” You press as he throws his head back. He slaps the glass back down as soon as he empties it. You're surprised it does not break.

“I'll stick with the truth,” he finally says after a few beats. His dark brown orbs search yours as he adds "My truth". There's an array of currents that sizzle through your nerves. You recognize it as dismay. But, then warmth crawls through where the currents have been. Because you understand. How could you not? You search his face once more.

It seems like he zoomed through time three years ahead.

Under the pale moonlight, the scars and scabs along his neck and his forehead are visible. His skin is a bit drier. Wrinkles have formed where it used to be smooth. His cheeks have sunken, making his dimples look more visible. You take note of those two bald areas on his greying beard. How can they be in the same spot on each side of his face? You follow the swooping curve of his hooked nose. And then you’re staring at his eyes. Those dark brown orbs you've known for five springs. You reminisce how they’ve gradually softened through the years as he's come to know you. How he almost always talked to you through them. How they haunted you in your dreams for the past four months they weren't around.

Four months. You were left alone for four agonizing months. In Jackson. You insisted you wanted to tag along that morning after the movies. But Joel countered that you stayed. You were badly wounded from the run with Tess and Ellie, he retorted. You were needed here more. Tommy said something about the resources being scarce. It made you sneer. When the dreaded time came, you were left alone at the stables to sulk. Or so you thought. Because Joel walked right back in. He shuffled rather slowly. One foot after the other. He stopped when he was at least a good arm's length from where you were slumped.

"I'll be fine,” he said. "Promise me you will be, too,” there was a long pause. You heard him shuffling again. Before you knew it, he dropped his brown leather jacket beside you. "It's freezing. Wear that when you walk home,” he said in a monotonous voice. Not a word escaped your lips. You could only muster up a meek nod. Wordlessly, Joel started waltzing away. Very Joel, you internally scoffed. You kept your eyes on the leather jacket that he left. Eventually, his footsteps faded out.

In your mind, you ran after him and turn him around to face you. You let the rightful urge within you to make you punch his face repeatedly as you scream every curse word there was. But instead, you pathetically sat where you at. You couldn’t care less about the hay getting in your pants. Or the sudden sharp pain in your right leg. Letting him see this side of yours would be the last thing you'd want, you thought. But deep down, you knew you just didn't have the courage.

And so, after silently crying for a good hour, you aimlessly walked to the house you were assigned to. Feeling a little lost and betrayed. Why—of all muscles around here—does it have to be Joel, you thought. You were anxious about not knowing if they'll make it and when.

In the months that came, however, Tommy and Maria took good care of you. They saw how you had to lock yourself up for days on end as anxiety devastated even the tiniest last bits of your soul in your fingertips. Tommy gave you some linen and antiseptics that could last you several weeks. You insisted you can tend to your own wounds. There was a small window to your kitchen where Maria left the meals she carefully made for you. Most days, they were left there cold. Sometimes, you ate a portion. And then, on the 9th day, you noticed a hideous orange cat trying to pry open the Tupperware Maria had left you.

You named him Wes, anyway. You took him in. But he always hissed at you. He probably thought you were stealing the food Maria was making him. You started giving him some. A chicken wing. Some rabbit legs. Or a portion of your grilled cattle meat. He started warming up to you. And then eventually, you started making food for him. And yourself. The hissing stopped.

On the fourth week, you and he were cozying up on your bed. You figured you liked some warmth as the entire town turned into a tundra and the air became crisper and unforgiving.

Slowly, you came back. Your wounds were fully healed. Tommy had to bust the door open one cold morning. He sat you down beside the kitchen island. The scent of coffee wafted in the air from the mug set in front of you. A fork and bread knife rested beside the plated French toast Tommy made.

“You know Joel,” Tommy said "I know him. They're gonna make it.” But even he can't hide the slightest doubt from his voice. He took a swig from his now half-empty cup. “They’re gonna be fine.” Wes was curled up beneath your feet. You were drawing circles with your toes against his furry neck. "I know,” your voice was hoarse. You were both silent, just listening to the soft music you put on the phonograph. There was a pulse of wariness that started in your chest. But then Wes purred. And the anxiety almost instantly vanished.

“I see the way you look at my old brother,”

Your world stood still. You were thankful that the air was freezing. You hoped that it could somehow explain the sudden gush of heat in your cheeks. You dared to look at Tommy’s eyes. He was looking at his cup, the corners of his lips slightly curled upwards. “I uh…yea—"

“Just be careful,” he finally looked at you. “He uh, he’s been through a lot. He’s tough,” a long, cumbersome pause ensued.

“But that’s not the only reason I'm here,” Tommy’s piercing gaze now made you feel somewhat apprehended. “The town medic needs a hand. Joel mentioned you helped take care of the sick back in QZ,” there was a hint of hope in his voice. He sounded somewhat desperate, too.

“It could…take your mind off of some things for a while,” You gave him a side glance. Your hands trembled from the sudden wisp of cold air coming from the open window. After finishing breakfast, Tommy insisted he’d do the dishes. He talked to you about the offer once more saying, “Think about it,” before he went home.

So, the next day, you met with the town physician.

You went through the remaining months. Depressed. Functioning just because you needed to. Day by day. In the mornings, you went to the clinic. Saw a few patients with the doctor. Went home just as the sky started to take a warmer hue. Made food for you and Wes. Went to bed at night but never really sleeping. Everyday. Every Week. But there was just that one empty spot somewhere in that small thorax of yours. You can’t comprehend how it ached. Why it ached differently. How it turned into an empty limbo as you stared blankly at your tattered bedroom ceiling in the cold evenings. You can’t imagine how many times you’ve drawn Joel’s face along the cracks of that ceiling. Or that stained wall directly across your bed. How, one morning, you imagined that you’ll come down to the kitchen. See him waiting for you to join him at breakfast. What was Joel to you? You asked yourself. What were you to him?

One night, you startled Wes.

You shot straight up from bed, panting frantically. Wes screeched as he bolted out through the crack of your door. You were sweaty, even when the room was freezing. You saw them at the back of your eyelids. Joel’s brown eyes. Burning as they looked into your eyes through his lush eyebrows. He was smirking at you. “Oh, Joel,” you heaved.

You closed your eyes and let your delusions take over. He ran his coarse fingertips up your legs as he planted soft kisses on your neck. He made a wet trail with his tongue from the base of your neck up to the back of your ear. You can smell his sweat. That musky, leathery wood scent that made you squirm every time he walked past you. “Fuck, Joel…”

You finished that night, tired. Your mind was filled with haze. You can certainly feel your sleepiness. But your eyes stayed wide open. What have you done? You thought. Joel. You thought of the years that you’ve known each other. How you've gradually become comfortable but somewhat still uneasy around each other. You remembered the way you follow his every move with your prying gaze when you know he wasn’t looking. Or how you’d catch him looking at you when you turned your head.

You've known love. Now, you're not so sure. Because every man that you've been with throughout the years had never made you feel as clueless as you were with the man that was Joel.

You were unsure if you were drawn because he was who he was. Or because you imagine who he could be with you. What's it like to be able to run your fingers freely through that scruffy hair of his? How would it feel to sleep beside him? Your head on his chest. Your legs in a tangled mess. What would it be like waking up to those big brown eyes, guessing what was on his mind?

Now is the time, you think. You’ve lost him for almost half a year. Knowing you had to endure it without being able to finally say what you always wanted to say. How you felt for him. You are not going to waste one moment again, you internally swear. You'll never know when he's going to be taken away from you.

Joel uncorks the bottle of whisky once more. But before he can pour himself another round, you take the bottle away from his hand. “The fuck is your problem?” He drawls. Clearly mildly intoxicated. He stands up and reaches down for the bottle in your hands. He anchors his right elbow against the oak wood table. In a split second, he loses his footing. A tincture of emotions flashes in his features as he stumbles over. You struggle helplessly to help him keep his balance. There's a loud crash. Of the glasses breaking and the table toppling over and two bodies coming together.

There’s a lump in your throat as soon as you open your eyes. They are enthralling. Those brown orbs of his. The rest of the room turns black and white against the brown hues of his cow eyes. You can see the crinkles by the corners of them. They're a bit more sunken than they previously were. But the effect they have on you stays the same. You can feel your own heartbeat. And his through his chest as his weight pressed down on you. The sweet scent of whiskey invades your nose with every wisp of air he exhales. You realize he's looking at you. All over your face. As if you were a countryside map and he wanted to memorize every landmark he could before he explored you. Your eyes lock. He closes his. But you keep yours open.

You can taste him now. The shots of whiskey he's been downing. The cigarettes you shared. The pure flavor of his mouth. You open your lips just slightly wider. You want to know him. Good and bad. And so when he licks your bottom lip with his tongue, you let him in. The once tender kiss turns into an open-mouthed battle for dominion. If he was just longing for intimate contact for reasons other than what you're hoping for, you don't want to know. What's important now is he's here. On you.

His slightly overgrown beard brushes your chin as he angles his face to gain more access to his treat. He humps. You gasp. Your legs involuntarily part. There's a tent in his crotch. A whimper escapes your lips. He grumbles.

“Jesus, fuck, look at you,” he bites his now plumper lips. "You've missed me that much huh?"

A tear brims just in the corner of your eye. "You have no idea, Joel," you think as you take in his face. How imperfect he is. But beautiful.

His brown eyes are sinfully hooded. You have to pray to the gods that you’d never die of a heart attack. A small droplet lands in the corner of your mouth. You realize he is sweating. Not long after, you’re reaching out to that spot with the tip of your tongue. His salty, slightly sweet taste fires up something inside the compartment of your chest. The burning desire. The pent-up longing for such magnetic force of a man that is Joel Miller. Your head becomes clouded as you come undone. You hear him snivel. And then you notice you’re digging your fingernails into his enormous back. The familiar scent of his body wreaks havoc as it makes its way into your brain. That musky, leathery scent. The scent that makes you want to do unspeakable things. Your hands search for the buttons of his plaid shirt. He beats you to it as he straightens up and rips it open like a wet piece of paper. Just when you thought you wouldn't go even crazier. He leans in at an agonizing pace. His breath fans over your face as he whispers, "Shall we go to bed,” looking straight into your soul.

Joel puts his arms under your knees and around your torso. You let him lift you up. You can feel your arms snaking up around his exposed back. Your hands stop at the back of his neck. Then you are carried out of the kitchen. To the narrow hall of your house. To the dingy but quaint staircase. And finally, to your bed. His eyes never leave yours. Yours never leave his.

And as the night becomes deeper and all of Jackson falls into a bottomless slumber, it hits you.

You are in love.

#pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x gender neutral reader #joel miller #joel miller x gender neutral reader #the last of us #smut #ellie williams #joel miller x you #tommy miller #joel miller x female reader #joel x male reader #joel x female reader #joel x gn reader #joel x you #Spotify

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blackiraven · 2 years ago

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I recently played “Vampire: TMB”, so it was born...

This rough sketch was written in a few nights when I had free time between writing my master's thesis. Therefore, I do not know if it is possible for this vampire au to continue.

The Bloody Kiss of a Nightmare.

Again, night slowly crept out from behind the distant horizon and pounced on the cramped city. Darkness filled all the small corners, swallowed the inaccessible tops of multi-storey buildings. The rays of the warm sun could no longer protect mortals, and therefore the creatures of evil once again broke out into the fresh, frosty air. Hunger and thirst with internecine strife pulled them, like a leash, on a new hunt.

And only in one place did darkness and gloom always live. A lair hidden from everyone underground, a real frozen crypt right under the city center. The perfect home for one of the most dangerous creatures. The stone walls absorbed all the noise of streets and houses coming from above. Several small rooms seemed endless because of the viscous blackness in which the interior items were drowned. The owner saw everything perfectly and was guided. But the light sources were still present here: a lot of burning candles lined up in long rows and illuminated the road. It was a small gesture of hospitality.

The sounds of light and calm footsteps resounded on all sides. The newly arrived guest knew perfectly well and realized where fate had brought him today. Riddler's cane was confidently knocking on the floor, creating a rhythm that relieves tension. All the short way he was carefully accompanied by a tall and nimble shadow, jumping from wall to wall. The twitching flame of the candles molded different images and different creatures from human nightmares out of the shadows. - You came to me... - Scarecrow whispered with satisfaction and even a little surprised when Riddler reached the library - a source of valuable knowledge about vampires, ancient magic and alchemy. This collection accumulated over decades is always proudly displayed to every visitor of the abode of fear. - Your invitation was too attractive.- a silk-gloved hand slipped noiselessly under the emerald jacket and took out a neatly opened envelope. This letter, written in the old-fashioned way, with pen and ink, was brought by the black raven, personally into the hands of Nygma. On paper Crane expressed his great desire to meet with him. And some lines were able to reach out and gently touch the strings of the soul and the curiosity of Riddler.

"Your image is stuck in my head. You collect paper birds from my thoughts and release them into free flight."

Thin threads of darkness intertwined in front of Edward into a viscous clot. From this mixture of whispers and barely perceptible screams of each victim, a tall and thin figure came out to him, covered with patches of black-brown leather sewn with large seams and wrapped with thick ropes. Long hair partially concealed a pale, sharp face. - Hello, Edward. I'm glad you decided to come here. You don't have to be afraid of me.- the hoarse voice tried to sound polite and restrained. The clawed hands slowly reached out to the warm human palm. Riddler did not resist and allowed Scarecrow to take off his glove and kiss the soft skin with thin icy lips.

"My job is to pick up a mask of horror for everyone, but I don't want my art to creep into your mind."

- Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Let me guess, a powerful vampire like you called me in order to... - feeling slight goosebumps caused by the dead cold, Edward smoothly pulled his hand back to stroke the monster standing in front of him on his sunken cheek.

- Yes... I want to taste you... drink you.- baring his long, thin fangs, Crane growled excitedly and buried his nose in the tender palm in order to enjoy the smell and warmth of the blood circulating in the vessels a little more. When ordinary people fall into the lair of a Scarecrow, they are doomed to cruel death and complete draining, but Riddler was special. The blood in his veins is unique, valuable. Bloody ambrosia, vampire wine, moon blood – there are many names, but the meaning is the same. This magnificent taste will bring any vampire to ecstasy and overwhelm with crushing power. Edward Nygma actively uses his peculiarity and quickly took a cozy place among the vampires of Gotham. There are only a few like him all over the world, and at the moment it is unknown how the owners of this blood appear. That is why Riddler was never afraid of vampires, but, on the contrary, tamed them and subdued them. The most obedient, loyal and dutiful are rewarded with a couple of sips of golden blood. Killing or incarcerating these precious people is punishable for any creature, so Eddie has long since exchanged human society for vampire society.

The invitation from Jonathan Crane is a great success, as he is a very strong, cruel and deadly vampire, sorcerer and scientist. And Nygma wished to have such a useful ally. - Oh, how straightforward. I like the openness of your kind. And how can fear satisfy a genius?- Riddler switched to a playful whisper, which pleased Scarecrow. The glove fell off the second hand and there was more pleasant warmth. These touches felt different and stirred up everything long dead inside. He came close to his guest and carefully examined the undistorted fear face. A sly smile, but not cutting the spine, a soft and full of life look. Soaked in dark magic, the body clearly caught every breath and heartbeat. A charming and alluring melody that will evoke memories of a past life for everyone and awaken echoes of faded human feelings.

"I began to be interested in the magic of dreams, as I would love to visit your dreams."

- The embodiment of fear will never encroach on you. I can come to you in dangerous moments - just think about me. Your best subordinates will be able to learn some useful things from me, if they can survive it, of course. In return, I want the opportunity to study your phenomenon and taste it. But don't flirt with my loyalty, Mr. Nygma, it can make me very angry...- in order to think soberly and not accidentally overdo it, John, reluctantly, was forced to stop the velvet touches. He is one of those who was able to break the bonds of his relatives and kill the one who turned him, take all strength for himself, and then also get and absorb the past generation.

At first it was only a scientific interest, a craving for study and discovery in a clouded offshoot. But after finding out the details about the first known owner of moon blood in Gotham, the vampire began to attract something to him. - Perfect. And you haven't seen how I play my games yet. You might like it.- but Edward was not at all afraid of Crane's well-known reputation, for him it was a new and large-scale game, a long and exciting round. Scarecrow's offers and patronage completely suited him. The figures were placed, the cards were distributed. The first move is to conclude a contract. Riddler defiantly loosened his green tie and unbuttoned the first buttons of his white shirt.

- Do you trust me with your neck? Will you let me leave a mark and make you mine?- Jonathan shook his head curiously. Straight claws carefully walked up the chest and straightened the ironed collar. The source of the holy blood opened to him like a flower awakened after winter, like a juicy fruit that is about to fall from a tree. The smell of this man captivated the vampire, intoxicated him and invited him. - Believe me, I am confident in myself. And in you, Professor Crane.- with a strong grip, Riddler grabbed Scarecrow's shoulders and brazenly pressed himself against an almost new ally so as not to lose his balance in the future. But Jonathan quickly joined in a short flirtation and picked him up, holding him by the waist and head. The bared fangs approached the skin, the nostrils inhaled an attractive smell again, the long tongue slowly licked the appropriate place. - Mmm... when is a human's blood ready for vampire consumption? When it boils up with anticipation…-

"Will you allow me to taste a piece of you and appropriate it for myself?"

Abruptly, like a beast, Crane clung to Nygma's neck, right into the cherished artery. For the first time, Scarecrow's bite was intentionally painless. Bloody ambrosia poured in large streams down his throat to his stopped heart. Riddler immediately tensed, stiffened, but after a second he went limp in his hands and began to moan loudly from the pleasure that a bite creates by mutual consent. Deep sighs and shudders awakened a vampire growl. It was indescribable, every sip gave a feeling of sweet oblivion and rebirth. It was as if there was no turning into a vampire. All the forgotten human pleasures are entwined in a single euphoria. The grains of good memories formed into rich and colorful pictures. The warm, spicy drink turned his head and carried far-far away that he could reach the moon. The blood he drank filled him with strength and new thoughts, reflections. The incessant human groans of bliss made the harsh vampire melt and drop a couple of unsalted tears. John will forever remember the scent of blood and the special rhythm of the heartbeat with breathing, by which he will be able to find Edward among the crowd, and even underground. This valuable life is in his hands and now he will not allow anyone to take his treasure. At the right moment, Scarecrow stopped and licked a deep bite mark. Riddler, still arriving in the semblance of an orgasm, lost consciousness due to blood loss and continued to breathe deeply. - Finally, you're mine... - Crane licked lips that had absorbed the blood and then kissed Nygma to grab a little more vital warmth. Now the embodiment of horror and nightmare protects the mortal prince of puzzles, who will cherish his tamed vampire. Perhaps this is the beginning of something more than just a union.

"I collect other people's screams, crying and pleas for mercy. But now my goal is your groan, which will rise above all the exhibits."

#if there are mistakes in the text then I sorry #yes I love romantic John #vampire au #fanfic #scriddler #riddlecrow #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #Blacki's fanfiction #bad english

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witchcraftandburialdirt · 1 year ago

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[ hold ] – for the sender’s muse to hold the receiver’s muse by the face / neck gently and brush their thumbs along their cheeks to get them to focus on them. - Danbin anny verse

the intimacy of hands. ═══ LEAGUE VERSE ═══ [ hold ] – for the sender’s muse to hold the receiver’s muse by the face / neck gently and brush their thumbs along their cheeks to get them to focus on them.

"NO NO NO! WREN WAKE UP! PLEASE - "

How had he ended up back in the abyss of Zaun? His hands cradled his little brother's head as he stared down into wide, horrified eyes that had long stopped their leaking of tears. Robin's thumbs brushed across his supple cheeks, carving through the dried and gritty vomit surrounding the child's mouth - why had he not come home that night? Was staying in Piltover's lavish, beautiful city worth all of this? Missing Wren's mini violin recital, hearing his mother call the academy day in and day out asking where he was? Mother - Robin's head snapped forward towards the hallway, his heart just about stopping when he saw them.

Three figures stared at him from the darkness of the door's threshold, his mother in a nightgown now splattered with the blood she had choked out of, his father's throat covered in crimson scratches, and Linnet....sweet, happy Linnet. Her once rosy and plump cheeks were now pallid and sunken in a mask of death; saliva continuously leaking from her widened mouth and onto the floor beneath her feet, puddling around her curled toes. The odor stung his eyes, too obvious in its sweetness, and Robin's stomach churned… however that motion was quickly put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled underneath him - Wren had seemingly vanished. No...not vanished, just joined next to the others which had, in the few moments Robin had turned away, stepped closer.

Their heads were like baubles that fell forward and side to side with each step, their flesh swiftly beginning to match the disgustingly putrid green shade of Zaun. Pale. Lifeless and coninuously draining as Robin shuffled backwards until his back hit the wall behind him, his hands barely even registered the stinging cuts from the broken glass scattered across the kitchen tiles. Those faces soon began to lose the many things one would attribute to a visage, that coded humans as...well, human. There was no longer any skin on his father's face, no lips to hide his cheerful grin of white ivories caked in red framing. Most of the flesh had rotted away from his mother's skull, leaving mostly bare bone or connective tendons sliding along her limp jaw. Linnet lacked eyelids, her once dazzling blue eyes burnt to ash within her sockets to leave only dark sunken pits behind. Each step pounded in his ears and he forced his gaze away when they finally passed through and came within reach, the skin of their hands rancid and appearing more like a layer of shed algae rather than flesh as the bodies grabbed at the air just before his face -

A harsh flinch rocked him back into reality, cementing him back into his Piltovan apartment where he slowly pushed himself upwards to sit and cough - the air still felt so thick, although now it was from humidity rather than any potential fumes. His eyes darted around to the bathroom door, his delirious gaze swore he still could see those blackened pits staring at him, waiting for him to come hither. Fat tears dribbled down his cheeks as a creeping nausea welled within him and he covered his mouth to cease the torrent of saliva from leaking from his lips. His throat burned like acid as he swallowed down the chunks of last evening's dinner, Robin's eyes were held open in pure terror as he kept his gaze locked on the door - was someone there? Was someone coming? He never had the money to bury their bodies - were they still rotting away in their beds -

Robin.

Robin?

"Robin!"

Moon filled eyes flashed over to his lover, hardly recognizing him for a moment in his panic - and when Danny reached out to touch him he quickly lashed out, smacking his hand away. It was a pathetic scuffle really, as Robin weeped and wheezed and his fiance struggled to get him to stay still for even a minute. Finally, Danny's hand caught his flittering bird's fingers and he squeezed them tight enough to register to Robin that he was really there. The killer had always hated mess, he hated bodily fluids, he hated how sticky people were but right now it seemed that the distaste was shoved to the backburner of his mind as he stared into Robin's eyes. Wintry lashes fell over his gaze a few times as he stared into the pale blue crystals upon his lover's face, how those dark brows stitched in concern and worry. His hand released Robin's only after a moment and instead his fingers traced the pillar of the mage's neck, careful and gentle in their motions as to not startle him anymore.

The darkness in his mind began to melt away under the warmth of Danny's palms, how they slid up his neck, to his jaw and finally rested upon the apples of his cheeks - squishing the mage just enough to make his eyes squint. Robin sniffled as he stared ahead, unable to move and unwilling to fight anymore - especially when Danny's thumbs began to trace the curves of his face,

"There you are, pretty bird... Just keep your eyes on me, it's alright; you're safe. No one is here but you and me."

They both knew that Danny had never been particularly good at realizing when things were bad within himself or Robin, but over time he had figured it out, and right now the mage was practically molding into his palms as he spoke. They'd both learned that there was nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you, and that perhaps the best way to solve their own issues was to help someone else. And right now? Right now Robin understood entirely why he fell for Danny as hard as he did, as he was caressed and coaxed into the security of his fiance's arms and the pools of his eyes.

This situation seemed all too familiar, as though his life was mirroring and reflecting upon itself, although now there was no denying the sincerity of concern infront of him. How terrifying and magical it was to have found someone who's desires and wants were shaped so closely to his own. And within that symmetry Robin began to relax more and more as plush lips pressed between his eyes, and the affection only heightened when tender kisses met his forehead. Warmth encompassed the room once the lamp was pulled to life, rays of gold illuminating the area around the two men as they sat there in relative silence save for the pitter patter of rain on the glass of their window.

"Let me get you some water, I'm not leaving you, you can watch the whole time, ok?"

"...Okay."

His throat still stung when Danny rolled off of their bed, a noticeable little mew catching Robin's attention as their cat jumped up to comfort him next. He stroked between those soft fluffy ears, only taking pause when he noticed his fiance approaching towards that door - the bathroom door which still hid an endless maze of black behind its corners. His voice caught in his throat as he went to speak, to warn Danny but - the light flicked on to reveal nothing inside. How silly of him to think that the nightmares of his mind would bleed into reality... and so, he decided to instead focus on his cat, and the way Danny's hair bounced as he turned to grab a towel for Robin's mouth.

He was safe.

#ic #rp #the intimacy of hands #bells of black sunday #dannbin #i need a cool ship tag for them #death mention tw #vomit tw #blood tw #dead body tw #vivid descriptions of corpses #angst tw #this is long #im so sorry #im obsessed with them HA #ℝ𝕆𝔹𝕀ℕ 𝔸. 𝔹𝔸𝕌𝔻𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】

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meirimerens · 2 years ago

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yeva nazarovna dankovskaya born mikoyan can get a little theotokos symbolism. as a treat.

#everything is about it except it itself which is about things i shan't mention (writing diaries)#When he came home and he was pale and his cheeks were sunken (and he was holding his flank like he was nursing a side stitch)#mother turned to mother and they talked about sons.

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hoodoo12 · 2 years ago

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Hollowed, Hallowed

I asked for a prompt, and @perdrixforelle obliged so well: Beetlejuice shows up looking worse than usual, all sunken eyes (re: the keatlejuice makeup) and won't say what happened (he got exorcised within an inch of his life) He wants to get it on but reader has to femdom him into resting and getting better and then he gets rewarded with gentle sex for his good behavior.

I hope I've done this delicious idea justice. NSFW. Enjoy!

Beetlejuice staggered into the room.

Not just staggered. Almost fell.

You looked up from your book and couldn’t contain a gasp. “Holy shit! What happened to you?!”

He looked awful. Haggard and wan. More than just ratty and like he’d been living like a hobo; he looked beaten and left to suffer instead of put out of his misery.

Deep, deep purple, almost black, encircled his eyes. The purple of heavy bruising, although no wounds were visible. His eyes, typically bright, took a moment to focus on you. His cheekbones--you couldn’t tell if they were more pronounced because his cheeks were sunken into hollows or if the skin was stretched too tightly over them. You didn’t even know he had cheekbones like that! The semi-black nails on his fingers were more ragged than normal. His right hand had a palsied tremor. “Beej!” Dropping your book, you went to him. You slipped a hand into his armpit to help support him if he went down. “Babes,” he replied, a little dazed. He shook his head and seemed to come around a little. “Hey. Hey! I’m home.” “Uh-huh. Let’s go sit down, okay?” You moved him with very little resistance towards the couch as you repeated, “What happened to you?” As he sat--collapsed--he waved a his free hand dismissively. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all. Just the usual. You know.”

You did know his usual, and this was nothing like that. Pursing your lips to demand he tell you exactly what he’d done, Beetlejuice interrupted you to say,

“I’ll be better once we bone.” “What?!” “Bone. You know, do it. Get it on. Make the beast with two backs? Knocking boots. You doing squat thrusts in the cucumber patch. Bumping uglies! A trip to pound town--” “Beetlejuice!” It was unclear if the use of his full name or the sharpness of your voice snapped him out of his collection of ephemisms. Once he was quiet, you sighed. “You look like you’ve been run through the wringer. Whatever happened to you, whatever you did--” Here you raised your voice to be louder than his; he automatically insisted he was not going to tell you about it, “--I don’t care. You need to relax. Okay? Okay?” He tried one more time. “Baby, just a quick dicking and I’ll be right as rain. I promise! It’ll reset me, make me feel . . .”

His voice faded out. He would feel . . . in control? Welcome? Sexy? You had no idea what the next word in his sentence would have been. You shook your head. He managed to sulk and look frail at the same time. The pout you were used to. The sickliness you were not. The specter’s skin tone was always a shade of pale, now he looked truly anemic.

Thinking over everything, you came to the conclusion that he would continue to grump and whine pathetically until he got what he wanted. Well, at least you could take care of him first. “Come on, Beej,” you told him. Once more you took him under the arm and tugged upward to encourage him to stand, then follow you to your bedroom. He managed a facsimile of his usual shit-eating grin, like he’d won. Before he could crow about it, however, you told him to get naked. He complied, although with less zip than typically when he thought he was getting his way about sex. Once he was nude, you pushed him backwards till the backs of his legs hit the bed. One more push and he sat. “Lay down.” Beetlejuice reached for you. “Come on, babe, I’ve shown you mine now show me yours--” “I said lay down.” The bite in your tone widened his eyes which, truthfully, made the dark pigment around them look worse. Modulating yourself, you cupped his jaw and stroked his beard with your thumb. Beetlejuice leaned into the caress. When the muscles in his face loosened again, you gave one final swipe with your thumb right over his lips. He tried to follow your digit to kiss it, but you patted his cheek instead. “Now. Lay. Down.” He looked up again and it was on the tip of his tongue to protest once more. “Telling you three times is two times too many,” you warned.

That buttoned his lip. Beetlejuice scooted back and lay down without another word. He’d learned when not to push it. “Good boy.” In the position you’d told him, you finally stripped down to nothing but your underwear. It wasn’t the cutest or sexiest you owned, just plain white cotton. From the way Beetlejuice’s eyes locked on to it, riveted to the barely darker patch at the junction of your thighs, however, it could have been see-through lace worn by a lingerie model. He reached for you. You patted his hand as you stepped away from his touch. “Now. You’re going to listen to me and do what I say. Understood?”

He nodded, still staring at your crotch.

“You’re going to lay there and you’re going to relax. You are not going to touch me. I am going to touch you. Is that understood?” Another nod. “You need to answer me out loud.” Finally his gaze flicked up to your face. “I understand.” “Good boy.” With his verbal agreement, you sat on the bed next to him. Knowing that even since he’d met you and had gotten used to casual physical contact how touch starved he was, you ran your hands from his collar bones to his waist. Long, sweeping strokes. After starting you never lifted your hands, trailing at least your fingers back upward to do it again. You moved from his chest to his arms, gently massaging them each individually right down to his rough fingernails. You didn’t speak, and neither did he. Instead, quiet, inarticulate moans slipped from his parted lips. At some point he closed his eyes too. Typically he watched you. On occasion you told him to keep his eyes on specific body parts or actions. This time you let him rest. An indeterminate amount of time passed. When you got to his legs, you bypassed his groin. Beetlejuice held his faux breath in anticipation as you dragged your fingers through the bush of his pubic hair, then let it out as you stroked his thighs. His cock, erect and weeping at the tip, bounced as he emptied his lungs. By the time you worked your way to his feet--you didn’t actually massage him below his ankles, he was ticklish and kicked like a mule the one time you’d run a finger on his soles, plus his toenails were a hundred times worse than his fingernails--everything about him had slackened. If he’d been feeling more himself you wouldn’t have been surprised to see drool in the corner of his mouth dripping into his beard. Not because he was actually asleep, but for one of his teases about how hard you slept sometimes.

At least now he looked marginally better. Rest did him good. He needed more, of course, but he didn’t sleep and would probably pop up the second you got off the bed . . . “Beej, turn over,” you said. You slipped off the bed as if to give him room to obey. He did without question and lay quietly, not even griping about his dick being smooshed when it could be put to better use, you know, wink wink. Leaving him be, you took a moment to find your harness and his favorite strap on. That took a little digging in your toy drawer and not once did Beetlejuice lift his head. You’d have expected a lecherous grin or dirty remark--something about his bootylicious rump, he was so predictable--but he didn’t make a peep. You weren’t even sure he’d realized you had gotten into your harness, although you certainly weren’t quiet as a mouse about it. Getting back on the bed, you climbed over to him awkwardly on your knees. Bumping one of his legs to the side, you straddled it for a second before making him widen both thighs enough for you to fit between them. “I think you’re feeling better, Beej,” you praised, “but I think you’re going to feel great.”

He twisted to look over his shoulder at you and once more his eyes widened a little. “You said something about dicking, right? Right?” He swallowed before croaking, “Yes’m.”

Filling your hand with the baby oil you’d pulled from the drawer, you stroked the silicone cock jutting from your groin. Oil wasn’t ideal for the silicone, but you knew the distinct smell of it did something for him, so as a special treat you used it. It coated everything in a different kind of slick than water-based lube, and made the hot pink dildo shine brightly in the overhead lights.

You squeezed another healthy amount of the oil into your palm, then let it warm before slipping your fingers and hand between the cheeks of his ass. You lathed him in the sweet scent of it, prepping him even though you’d been told again and again he didn’t need that. He wasn’t a breather! But you preferred the prep, with the small eager sounds he made. The shifting he did to get on his knees to lift his hips for you. The insincere whine when you smacked his ass to get him back down; insincere because lowering himself again gave him a touch of friction his cock demanded so much.

Beetlejuice enjoyed it too, especially when you lightly rolled his balls so they were slick too.

Finally satisfied with what you’d done, you told him to stay right where he was and not to get up on his knees. “I also think you mentioned a quick dicking?” you mused as you used one finger to stroke the now glistening puckered muscle between his cheeks. His ass clenched. “Yes! Yes I did, yes’m!” “That’s unfortunate,” you replied, and with a hand on the base of the dildo to steady it, you pressed the tip to his asshole. Without you reminding him, Beetlejuice visibly relaxed as you eased the full length into him. He gave a shuddering groan when you bottomed out. His hands fisted into the sheets below him. Keeping the points of your hips pressed against his ass, you leaned over him to whisper, “I’m going to fuck you. Slow and deep, Beej. You’re going to feel every inch of my cock push in and pull out of you. You’re going to want more. You’re going to want me to fuck you silly. But what you’re going to get is a measured, even pace. Do you understand?” He whined again. It was not pretend this time; now the noise was needy. Half of you wondered if you stayed immobile just like this how well he’d do fucking himself up into you. That wasn’t what was best for him right now though. “You need to answer me out loud.” Beetlejuice knew better than to make you repeat things so many times, but tonight you were a bit lax. “Yes. I understand!” “Good. Good boy,” you praised. On the last syllable, you pulled back, then moved forward again, just as you’d promised. Slow and steady, you fucked him. Under you, the specter mewled and clawed the sheets. At first. As you continued to keep a unfaltering movement, Beetlejuice slowly relaxed again. Sitting back on your knees you were able to see his fists unclench. Tension in his shoulders eased, and by the time you took hold of his love handles for some support, the tautness in his waist and hips melted away too. While the little grunts and gasps continued with each thrust, you hoped he just let the pleasure wash over him.

“You deserve this, Beej,” you managed to say in between moans of your own. He jerked a little at your words, breaking your rhythm. You waited until he settled again before continuing. “This is all for you, I love fucking you and hearing you--” “What about you?” he groaned. “What can I do for you--” “Shhh now,” you ordered. “This is good for me, doing this to you, for you.” He obeyed. You were telling the truth. He’d looked so trounced when he’d shown up, all disoriented and distressed. It wasn’t a good look on him, so making him just stop and let you do all the work made you feel--not powerful, exactly, but like you could do something specifically for him. He may not admit it, but he liked when you took charge. Once in the dark he’d whispered that it made him feel wanted, and safe. When you took care of him. Edging him wasn’t your goal tonight, but the specter on his belly under you didn’t do anything to get additional friction to his cock. The smooth rocking of that pink dildo in and back out had to stimulate him, just not enough to make him come. The sheets under him were going to be soaked with pre-come. You just knew it. Beetlejuice had been so good, letting you fuck him in a way that wasn’t common for the two of you. Unhurried sex just because simply wasn’t either of your style. Tonight, though, he’d probably have let you do as you wanted as long as you wanted, except your thighs and knees started to ache. Giving his sides a squeeze, you asked him to get on all fours. It took some maneuvering because you were loathe to let your cock slip out of him, but eventually he was able to comply. This position, something more routine, made it difficult for you not to slip into the familiar motion of fucking him faster and harder. You both liked the sound of the fronts of your thighs slapping his ass; Beetlejuice even canted back towards you in anticipation of that first harder thrust. But you clicked your tongue. It was enough to remind him of what you’d said you would be doing. Leaning over his back again meant you didn’t have the leverage to thrust as well, but it did leave your cock buried fully inside him. Reaching around and under him, you wrapped the hand you’d filled with baby oil around his cock. He’d lost his erection but his cock filled again as you stroked him. The softer noises he’d made grew into sharper ones as you allowed your hand to work with a much snappier pace then you’d fucked him. He didn’t seem to know if he wanted to throw his head back or let it drop as he escalated closer to orgasm. His voice hitched and caught in his throat, and after a moment of everything tensing once more he finally came, dripping over your fist and to the sheets.

After the throbbing shaft in your hand stilled again, you carefully peeled yourself off him. You rocked away from him and he cried out at the loss of the dildo in his ass before twisting to flop on his back away from the mess he’d made on the bed. He threw an arm over his eyes.

Eyeing the impressive wet spot and smears of come decorating the sheets as you stripped out of the harness, you said, “I’m taking that back. You can do something for me.” “Anything you want, baby,” he muttered lazily, without moving. “You get to lay on the wet spot.”

Beetlejuice lifted his forearm enough to open one eye to look at you. The shadows of his eye sockets he had sported when he arrived looked a little less deep, now. “Lay so both my front and my back are covered in come?” he asked. “You know I love it, baby!” Dramatically he rolled right back where he’d been. He grinned at you; you couldn’t help but smile back even as you shook your head. Whatever happened to him while he was out of your house, whatever had hurt him, at least he was feeling better now.

fin!

#Beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #writing #fanfiction

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battymommastuff · 3 years ago

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Lazarus

Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: Batmom is dying, and the members of the batfamily are scrambling to find a cure for her illness while two others are trying to get her to the most simplest and easiest solution.

The clock was ticking, and you were running out of time. It'd been almost a year since you'd come down with a sickness that was never seen before. It started out as a simple cold, but morphed into something even more deadlier. Your family was there every step of the way to help you only to see you get worse and worse by the day.

You went from being full and lively to pale, sickly and frail. Your cheeks were sunken in and your eyes had dark bags under them. Bruce spent nights in the cave analyzing blood samples from you trying to fins a way to cure you. Dick, and Tim went to every doctor they could find for help. Alfred was at your side making sure that you had everything you needed to be comfortable. Stephanie, Cass, and Barbra were in charge of the media. Rumors were starting to spread about reasons why the famous Y/N Wayne hasn't been seen in public.

They kept all the rumors at bay simply saying that you were dealing with some important business in California, and you would be returning to Gotham soon.

Jason and Damian? Well they were on a mission. Trying to convince everyone else to take you to the one place that could help you. The Lazarus Pit. Bruce was hell bent on keeping you away from that place, and the rest of the family followed. At first they listened but now they weren't going to ask. They were taking you.

Damian opened the door to the room you were being kept in. You hooked up to machines and the sound of your weak heartbeat along with your ragged breaths were the only sounds in the room. Damian gestured for Jason to follow once he made sure the room was empty. Jason made his way in and started unhooking you from the machines.

"Jason? What?" You whisper feeling him lift you up from the bed into his arms. Damian grabbed bags that he'd packed the night before from the closet in the room and started carrying them out to the batcave where they were planning to swipe the batwing.

"Just relax Ma. We're going to get you help." Jason whispers then carefully carries you down to the batcave where Bruce was typing away on the computer. Luckily it was only him there. He turned around once he heard footsteps. He quickly stood up when he saw you in Jason's arms.

"Take her back Jason." He warned blocking the path to the batwing. Jason's glared hardened as he set you down onto your feet letting you lean against him while he held his gun up towards Bruce.

"We are taking her to the only thing that will help her Bruce. Why can't you see that? She's dying and you're just sitting there on your dumbass computer trying to find a miracle. Get out of the way or get shot."

You opened your eyes and tug weakly on your son's shirt trying to get him to lower the gun, "N-No.." you rasp still trying to play peacemaker in your condition.

Bruce made a move to grab you but Damian came flying down from the rafters and injected something into his father's neck causing him to fall to the floor unconscious, "We're wasting time Todd. Let's go." He growls as Jason picks you back up.

The flight was bumpy and your sons made sure you were as comfortable as possible. Eventually the home of the League of Assassin's came into view along with Tala and Ra's. They watched as the batwing landed on the ground in front of them and Damian jumps out.

"Mother, Grandfather. We need your help." He says as Jason walks around with you in his arms. Ra's raises a brow seeing your frail condition while Talia had a smug look on her face. Serves you right for stealing her beloved and her son.

Ra's on the other hand admired you. You weren't a hero like your family and yet you were willing to fight him when he threatened your family.

"Come..." He gestures ignoring his daughter's protests and led the group down to the pit. A green hue filled the room as they entered the small cave. Ra's and Talia stood back while Jason and Damian walked closer to the pit. Jason held you in his arms as he walked into the pit with you and Damian stayed on the edge. Slowly you were lowered into the pit. He let you go and your body sank to the bottom. It was only seconds before your body shot out of the water and you gasped loudly trying to get oxygen into your lungs.

Your sons took note of how your appearance changed. You looked the same, but you were a tad bit fuller and your hair was longer with a long white streak like Jason's. You breathed heavily then walked out of the pit. Your aura was different as well. Gone was the mother aura that everyone loved. It was like you weren't even there.

"Come. Let's go home boys." You mumbled then started walking towards the exit. Talia who felt offended by your lack of thanks stopped you and held you back from leaving.

"Show appreciation. If it wasn't for us you'd be dead." She whispered holding a dagger to your throat. You smirked softly licking your lips before grabbing the blade with your bare hand and bending it until it snapped. Talia looked at you in shock then jumped when your hand wrapped around her throat and you tilted your head, "Would you like me to kiss you? Or pleasure you in bed like I do your former lover Talia?" You ask with a wicked grin then drop her to the ground. You stepped over her body and made your way back to the wing.

Something was very wrong with you, and your sons had no clue what was going on. What happened to you? They'd never seen you act like this before.

What happened in the Lazarus Pit?

><><><><

Part 2?

#dick grayson x batmom #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #jason todd x batmom #batman #batmom imagines #batmom #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #red hood #robin #tim drake x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #dc comics #nightwing

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years ago

Text

scissorhands - p.p

chapter one - I am not complete

synopsis: you find Peter on a mission and take him home

masterlist and series masterlist

Your first mission with the Avenger, well first official mission as an Avenger, took place in an abandoned factory that sat on top of a hill. Your leg bounced on the jet ride over as you snuck a glance at your dad. As the daughter of Tony Stark, you felt a lot of pressure to do well on your first mission. Even dressed in a suit that matched your dads and the mission plan in your head, you felt like you were missing something. But lately, you always felt like you had lost a piece of your puzzle. Most of all, you just felt lonely.

The jet landed within a few minutes and everyone got off the jet. You stood between Shang Chi and Bucky and waited for further instruction.

“All right.” Tony said as he faced the group. “Every knows their job?”

“Why didn’t you ask that on the 30 minute flight over here?” You asked. “Who would admit that they don’t know their job now? They’d be too embarrassed.”

“She’s so my kid.” Tony said proudly. “Let’s go.”

Everyone split up and went into the factory with different jobs to complete. You wandered into what looked like a giant kitchen, with ovens and cooking utensils covered in cobwebs. You climbed the rickety steps all the way to the attic and walked into the first door you saw.

“Hm.” You frowned as you looked around the room.

“Whats wrong boss?” The AI in your suit, which your dad lovingly named Tuesday, asked you.

“I don’t know my job.” You realized.

“Look for refugees.” Tuesday reminding you.

“Right. Got it.” You nodded and continued to look in all the rooms.

“Boss, I’m picking up a heat signature in the next room.” Tuesday told you.

“A what?” You wondered.

“A person. There’s a person in the next room.”

“Oh.” You realized. “Thanks.”

You walked into the next room and turned on your flashlight. You scanned the room for heat signatures and picked something up.

“I’m not seeing anybody in here.” You told Tuesday.

“In the left corner, boss.”

“Hello. I’m here to rescue you.” You called out. “Unless you’re a bad guy. Then I’m gonna - I don’t know, kill you? This is my first mission.”

When you didn’t get a response, you walked further into the room with your blaster arm up and ready. You heard a faint rustling, followed by the sound of metal rubbing together. You were about to speak when someone walked out of the shadows and into the light. He was dressed in all leather with rusty buckles and studs keeping his outfit together. You stumbled back in surprise before leaning closer to see him. Underneath his wild and messy brown curls, his pale face was covered in scars. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were gaunt, like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

“Oh, hello.” You said in surprise.

The man held up his hands suddenly, which had long silver blades dangling from them. He had them pointed down instead of at you, so you didn’t flinch.

“I am not complete.” He said, almost like he was apologizing. He took a few steps towards you, and you moved back in surprise.

“W-What?” You asked.

“My maker. He didn’t get to finish.” The boy frowned. “I am not complete.”

“Oh.” You said, suddenly becoming aware that he hadn’t put the knives down yet.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said when he noticed you staring at his blades.

“I won’t hurt you either.” You told him and lowered your hand.

“Do you have a face?” The boy asked curiously as he took a step towards you.

“I do. Hold on.” You pressed a button on your palm and your mask retreated back into your suit. The boy leaned in a little to get a better look at you before a shy smile crossed his face.

“Pretty.” He said softly. “Please, don’t go.”

Before you could respond, your dad came in the room to find you.

“There you are.” He said before noticing the man. “Stand back.”

The man stumbled back when your dad raised his arm up to blast him. He covered his face with his arms as the blades hung limply by his face.

“Wait, dad.” You pulled him back. “I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

“Sweet pea, I’m gonna need you to use some critical thinking for me here.” Tony turned to you. “He’s dressed for BDSM and holding multiple knives. That doesn’t strike you as dangerous?”

“Don’t aim that at him. You’re scaring him.” You said as you moved your dads arm.

“Yeah, honey, that’s kinda the point.” Tony said as he raised his arm again. “Drop your weapons.”

The man peaked behind his arms and looked at you with wide, fearful eyes. You tried to get your dad to lower his arm again but failed.

“Listen up Chopped Jr., I’m gonna ask you nicely to put your weapons down.” Tony said to the man. “I have a child with me.”

“I’m not a child.” You grumbled.

“You really want to have this conversation now?” Tony asked you before turning back around. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to put your weapons down.”

“I think he’s scared. Just let me talk to him.” You pleaded as the man began to shake. The blades in his hands began to rub against each other, seemingly moving on their own.

“Are you listening to me? I said, put your weapons down.” Your dad ignored you and raised his voice at the man. The man slowly took his arms way from his face and squeezed his eyes shut, like he was bracing for impact. You looked curiously at the weapons in his hands and realized he wasn’t holding them.

They were attached to him.

“Fine.” Tony’s hand lit up. “Have it your way.”

“Wait!” You jumped in front of your dad. “Those are his hands.”

“What?” Tony asked as you walked over to the man. You gently put your hand on his arm and raised his hand up for your dad to see. Just as you suspected, he had no fingers holding onto the weapons. The long blades were attached to his body where he hands should be.

“He isn’t holding weapons. These are his hands.” You explained.

“He has knives for hands?” Tony asked.

“Scissors.” The boys voice shook as he looked at you.

“Scissors.” You nodded to show him that you understood. “His has scissors for hands. No weapons.”

Tony slowly lowered his arm as he stared at the boy in disbelief. Sure enough, he was able to see the way the boy could move the blades on his own, almost as if he was nervously twiddling his fingers.

“Are you alone?” You asked the boy.

“Always.” He said softly.

“It’s okay.” You assured him. “We’re here now. We’re gonna help you.”

“Who is we?” Tony’s mask retracted and looked at you.

“We have to help him, dad.” You insisted. “He’s all alone up here.”

“He’s probably all alone for good reason.” Tony said. “He has scissors for hands.”

“Where’s your maker?” You ignored your dad and asked the boy.

“Sleeping.”

Your eyes moved past him and you suddenly noticed that the wall was covered in tally marks. It looked like the marks had been carved by the boy himself and covered an entire chunk of the wall.

“Is that how long he’s been asleep?” You wondered as you realized his maker was dead.

“Yes. I tried to wake him. I scratched his face.” The boy sounded apologetic as he turned one of his blades over to show you the dried blood on it.

“It’s okay. We’re gonna take care of you. My name is Y/n. This is Tony.” You gestured to your dad. “Do you have a name?”

“Peter.” He said, sounding unsure.

“Hi, Peter.” You smiled warmly. “Do you want to come home with us? You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Home?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Yeah. Home.” You repeated. “We can give you a bed and fresh clothes and anything else you need.”

“Would you be there?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You told him. “I’ll be there.”

“Home.” Peter smiled weakly and nodded his head.

“Um, I didn’t think I’d ever have to say this, but you cannot keep the leather bound hermit you found on a mission.” Tony cut in.

“He has nothing, dad.” You whispered. “And he’s harmless.”

“He has scissors for hands.” Tony pointed out once again.

“And you have the Toyota symbol embedded in your chest.” You shot back. “He’s coming home with us.”

You began to lead Peter towards the door by linking your arm through his and walking away from the marked up wall.

“We cant just take him home with us.” Tony said again. “We know nothing about him.”

“You didn’t know anything about me and you still took me home.” You reminded him.

“You had normal hands.” Tony smiled sarcastically.

“We have to help him. He’s been all alone up here for weeks. Please, dad.” You pleaded. “I’ll take care of him myself.”

“Fine. But the second he cuts you, he’s gone.” Tony said as he glared at Peter.

“I won’t hurt her.” Peter said as he raised a blade to his chest. He crossed his heart with the tip of his blade, and your dad softened a little.

“Come on, Peter.” You squeezed his arm. “Let’s go home.”

You lead Peter by arm down the steps and to the jet. Everyone else had completed their jobs at that point and gotten back on the jet.

“This is a jet.” You told Peter as the door lowered. “We’re gonna get on it and it’s gonna go in the air and take us home.”

“Home.” Peter nodded before walking towards the steps. You continued to hold on to his arm and you walked him to the main area. The rest of the Avengers were already seated and immediately snapped their attention towards you when you walked in with Peter.

“Everyone, this is Peter.” You announced. “Peter, this is everyone.”

“I am not complete.” Peter told the crowd as he held out his hands for them to see. Everyone moved back from Peter when he did this, which made Peter sheepishly hide his hands behind his back.

“Um, hi Peter.” Steve smiled awkwardly before looking at your dad. “Tony, what’s going on?”

“I told Y/n she could pick one souvenir from the trip. This is what she picked.” Tony shrugged and took a seat.

“He’s coming back with us?” Rhodey asked, his eyes never leaving Peters hands.

“She’s determined to help him. I don’t know.” Tony sighed. “Some dads let their kids take home stray dogs. I guess I’m letting her take home a stray emo with scissor hands.”

You ignored the obvious stares from the rest of the Avengers and sat alone with Peter. He never took his eyes off you and slowly raised a blade to the side of your face.

“Pretty.” He complimented as he accidentally sliced off a chunk of your hair.

“Oop.” You laughed as your hair fell into your lap.

“I’m so sorry.” He said as he stared at the hair. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay. Can you do the other side so it’s even?” You asked as you turned your face. Peter smiled a little and carefully snipped off some more of your hair.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam whispered to Bruce as he watched the interaction unfold.

“I think it’s a trauma response.” Bruce whispered back. “She was abandoned, so she’s making sure the same doesn’t happen to him.”

“Tony, how long had Y/n been on her own before you found her?” Sam leaned over to whisper to your dad.

“Three and a half months.” Tony told him, eyes never leaving you. He would never forget the night he found you in an abandoned HYDRA facility. You were only six, dressed in a battered nightgown and orphaned by an attack that used Stark Industry bombs. Tony was never able to forgive himself for that, so he took you home and raised you as his child.

“How long has this guy been alone?” Sam asked, pulling Tony out of his thoughts.

“Don’t know.” Tony shrugged. “He had tallies on the wall. It looked like he’s been in that attic for at least a month.”

“How long are you planning on letting him stay?” Bruce wondered.

“As long as he needs.” Tony decided. “Peter looks around age I was when my parents died. Thanks again for that, Buck.”

“Sorry.” Bucky mumbled.

“Anyway.” Tony continued. “I would’ve liked someone like Y/n to take care of me back then. Peter needs to be around someone good like her. It’ll keep his mind from becoming as dangerous as his body.”

“I could run a full assessment on him.” Bruce offered. “Find out his mental age and see if I can do anything about those hands.”

“Okay. But hold off for a few days.” Tony said as he watched the way Peter rested his head on your shoulder. “He looks like he’s been through a lot. Let him rest first.”

When the plane took off, Peter looked at you with fear in his eyes. He had never been on a plane before and the foreign experience was scaring him. When you sensed his anxiety, you put your hand on his cheek and rubbed your thumb against his skin.

“It’s okay. We’re in the air now. Just look out the window if you feel scared.”

Peter took your advice and turned to look out the window. His eyes immediately widened at the sight and he looked at the horizon in awe. He lifted his arm and lightly tapped the window with one of his blades, trying to touch the clouds. You watched Peter experience his first flight with a smile and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you like it?”

“Pretty.” Peter turned to you with a big smile. “I like it very much.”

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padme-parker · 4 years ago

Text

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 6

summary: given some time alone to think, the pieces begin to fall into place. you go to confront the darkling be he avoids you at any given cost, until one night you go into the one room you were never granted permission to enter.

warnings: cursing, talks about violence/torture and death, alcoholism

A/N: the truth finally comes out. This is all over the place bc I was trying to rush getting it out. 5.9k+ words and 12 pages later, here we are. not proofread, will comeback later to edit.

ANA KUYA’S voice echoed in the back of your mind as you laid on your cot, calling out for Mal and Alina as they ran away from her. It was the day Grisha came to the orphanage to find out if one of their own had been whisked away into a place like this. You examined the walls, cracks running up and down them. The windows barely opened, and when they did, they let out horrible screeches. Water leaked from the bathrooms, the annoying drip a constant on your mind.

Maybe you should’ve gotten up from your bed and got tested by a Grisha. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to stay in such a run down orphanage. The Duke was rarely here, so no one really cared about his orphanage no matter how infamous he was. But being Grisha meant leaving Mal and Alina behind, something you couldn’t do because they had become your only family. Besides, Grisha don’t get sick, therefore you weren’t a Grisha.

You could never be a Grisha.

AS you phased into consciousness, you could hear someone muttering something in the background. Your hands were so cold, you reached out for something- anything that could give you warmth. You tried to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, nothing seemed to work. The person rushed to your side, clutching both of your hands in one as the other stroked your cheek.

“Go back to sleep.” He said, brushing your hair back. Closing your eyes, he assumed you had fallen asleep already. He resumed his mumbling, the words slowly becoming coherent as fell back asleep.

“It’s...too...soon..”

THE painful pounding of your heart had subsided as the Grisha left. Mal walked into the room followed by Alina, who was sporting a new wound on her palm that Ana Kuya had scolded her for.

“Come on, get up!” Mal urged, knowing from the look on your face that the pain had already left you.

“Where are we going?” You said eagerly, scooting to the front edge of your bed to lace up your boots.

“To the meadow.” That was all you needed to hear before running out the bedroom door. Mal and Alina’s footsteps padding behind. The three of you started a mildly competitive game of tag, the other two making sure you didn’t exert yourself.

In that moment, you were who you were supposed to be. Three children lying on the field, making stupid promises to each other.

“We can’t hide forever, but we can run.”

THIS time when you find yourself in a field, there’s a man laying next to you. It was the same man from your dream, shoulder length hair and clean shaven face.

“Aleksander?” He lets out a hm, awaiting your question. “Where am I?”

“What do you mean, my darling?” Aleksander- General Kirigan- or whoever the hell he was turned to look at you, laying one of his arms upon your stomach. His hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. From your peripheral view you could see him studying you.

He started with your eyes, taking in their color and your long lashes. He moved from the curve of your nose until he got to your soft, plump lips. You stared at the sky, afraid of what you would see, who you would recognize if you turned to face him.

“We’re at our meadow.”

WHEN you finally regain consciousness, you find yourself alone in a nearly dark room. Only one lantern had been lit up. It was just before dawn, you could see the sun beginning to peek out. Someone had changed you into a nightgown, you didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was Alina or maybe the Darkling, maybe neither. Either way, you were thankful they decided to change you out of the robe you had fainted in.

With great struggle, you propped yourself up, your elbows taking the brunt of your weight. You crawled to the foot of your bed to put on your night slippers. The rug under your bed only went so far before it hit the cold floor. You slowly made your way to the desk, sitting yourself in front of the mirror.

The magic Genya had performed on you days ago had worn out by now. How long were you out for? The dark circles under your eyes had returned, seemingly worse. Your skin, although already dull, became more dull and pale. Whatever shine you originally had was gone. Your eyes look sunken in. While your hair was frail and also lost the shine that Genya gave it.

“Saints..” You whispered to yourself as you raked a hand through your hair. You were basically a dead person walking. You considered fetching a servant to bring you Genya, but decided against it. Throwing on a robe, you silently made your way to the war room, hoping to find the Darkling there. When you entered it remained empty, along with the bed he usually slept in. You walked the halls looking for one of his oprichniki, yet they weren’t around either.

There was no use in barging into his bedroom when it seemed like he was gone. Plus you didn’t want to invade his privacy knowing that he could have you killed for going into his room without permission if someone had seen you. You spotted one of the palace guards, walking up to him as you placed your hands into the pockets of your robe.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the General is?” You asked, staring into the guards eyes.

“He left a week ago, accompanied by his personal guards.” Was all he said, not disclosing why he had left. A week? Had you really been unconscious for a week? This usually never happened to you, not like this.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a couple of days.” He said, not giving you an exact day. You quickly thanked him before making your way back to your room to change for the day. The dull ache of your heart was finally leaving, allowing for you to feel more like yourself. You were able to spot the sun in the sky as you finished changing. You thought about basking in its light when your stomach growled loudly.

I suppose I should eat, you thought. It’d been nearly a week since you were able to feed yourself, your last meal being breakfast. You could remember someone feeding you periodically throughout the week, now knowing the Darkling had left, it was most likely Alina. You rang for a servant, asking to be brought breakfast when she arrived. Surveying the room, you decided that the Darkling wouldn’t mind if you did a little retouching.

You moved the table towards the window, wanting to eat in the sunlight without having the harsh winter winds freeze you. Opening the curtain allowed for more sunlight to stream through, a grunt of triumph leaving your lips as you looked at your new setup.

The squeaky wheel of the servant’s cart alerted you of her presence, rushing to open the door before she could knock. You took the tray from her hands, closing the door with your foot as you skipped towards the table, eager to get some food in your system.

The food they had given you was practically the same, sweet pea porridge, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of grapes. It wasn’t your favorite, but you ate it anyway. Savouring the familiar crunch and sweetness of the grapes. Sitting in the sun had left you feeling giddy and warm, excited for summer when you would be able to go out whenever you could and feel the sun on your skin.

It was the same warmth you felt whenever the Darkling touched you, even when you saw him in your dreams, there had always been a lingering sense of familiarness-- and affection. You saw the look in his eyes just seconds before you passed out, the shock as you said his name, the concern visible in his eyebrows. Him whispering, stay with me, please. It was all foreign to you. In fact, his behaviour was strange to you.

You’ve always heard of the Darkling being cold, menacing, someone you had to fear. There were stories of him ruthlessly slaughtering the Drüskelle, using the Cut to separate multiple heads from bodies in a matter of seconds. Yet he welcomed you into his home without a second thought. He fed you, gave you clothing and a place to sleep, even gave you a tour of the Little Palace himself. You were sure he had never given someone the treatment that he had given you, so what made you so different? What made you so special to him?

You didn’t miss the look he gave you when you first entered the war room, recognition and longing bright in his eyes. He tried to hide the emotion, but you were able to catch it before he returned to his dark and empty gaze. It would explain the memories, but only fueled your confusion and curiosity more. Had you shared a past life with him? If so, why were you back? How were you back? Getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the person knocking until they opened the door and announced themselves.

The familiar red hue of his kefta brought you comfort. You were too trusting lately, you’d only met Fedyor a week ago. Just the sight of his kefta had calmed something down in you. This palace was changing you, bringing out something from within you that never existed. Being this trusting on the fields would get you killed.

“Good morning, Fedyor. What brings you here?” You greeted him. This time you already had your boots laced up, the tray in your hands ready to be disposed of on the table by the door. “Going to escort me to combat training?”

“Actually, the General forbade you from stepping foot on training grounds again.” You let out a loud gasp as you whipped towards him. Thinking there was something wrong, Fedyor stepped forward, reaching his arms out to steady you just in case anything happened. In your anger, you slapped his hands away.

“Oh just you wait until he gets back,” You seethed, “Who does he think he is? Taking away my combat training privileges?”

“He’s the General, he can do that.” Fedyor responded, a small smile on his face.

“So what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, you could still go to the library.” No, you didn’t want to risk running into the Apparat again. “Watch the Grisha train.” He offered a meek smile. “Walk the grounds.” Perhaps you could go on a horse ride later, but right now there was one thing on your mind.

“Is Alina training right now?” The heartrender gave you a nod, “I guess we’ll be going to her room then. She has something I want to borrow.” With the flick of your hand, the two of you were on your way.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer then that’s okay.” Fedyor squints his eyes at you, before motioning to continue. “Has the Darkling ever taken up any lovers?” The question makes Fedyor stop in his tracks, a baffled look on his features.

“Well..I..” He struggled with his words, not knowing if he wanted to tell you. What would the General do to him if he told you? It was common knowledge that General Kirigan had been alive for a couple centuries now, he thought everyone knew of his endeavours. “The General has been around for many years, so naturally he has...had sex before.” The mention of it made Fedyor blush. “But he’s never settled down with someone. The closest I ever saw was with Alina.” This didn’t surprise you, Alina herself had told you about what had almost happened between the two.

“In the tent, when he tested her to see if she was Grisha, I saw something in his eyes. It was admiration, but there was also a defeated look in his eyes. As if he had given up on something because he found Alina. Reasonably, it could’ve been relief, since we had finally found the sun summoner.” Fedyor pauses, thinking wisely about the next words he spoke. “Alina and the General were growing close. Everyone saw the look they gave each other the night of the fete. But any public traces of their affection for each other had disappeared that night. The two are only seen interacting when he visits her for a gradual check-in.”

“And he’s never spoken of any other lovers?”

“Not consciously, no. On the very rare chance where we ride in the same carriage, sometimes when he falls asleep he’ll whisper about a woman. Moya dorogaya, he’d call her. That’s all I know.”

Moya dorogaya, my darling. It was the same name the Darkling had called you in your dream.

“May I ask you a question?” He inquired, you nodded your head, allowing him to proceed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

A smile so bright that could light up the room came to your face, “My friends down near the south Ravka border. A pair of siblings that taught me to fight before they defected from the First Army.” You confessed. “One of them also introduced me to my love of epic poetry.”

When Alina’s door came to view, you didn’t bother knocking as she had already left. After fetching what you needed, you quickly exited her room.

“I haven’t seen them since they left.” You rubbed the birthmark at your throat. Besides Mal and Alina, the siblings were also the closest thing you had to family. They considered you as their sister, even begging that you left with them. But you told them your place was here in Ravka, with Mal and Alina.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Once Alina and the General get rid of the fold, we will have access to our docks again.” He said, trying to comfort you.

“I hope so.” The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable silence as you fiddled with the edges of the red book. As you neared your door, Fedyor stopped, telling you he would be just outside if you needed anything. Without wasting another second, you ran to the chair in front of the window.

The Istorii Sankt’ya glistened in the sunlight. Something about it had been calling out to you, urging you to read it and find out more. You flipped through all of the pages of the saints until you found the one that had been calling out to you.

Sankt Ilya in chains. Ilya Morozova. Morozova’s herd.

“One day. When the war is over and the shadow fold is gone, you will bear my name. You will become Mrs. Morozova. I swear it.”

The voice of the Darkling rang clear in your head. The memory made your heart come to a stop as you struggled to find a possible explanation for his words. The only conclusion you could inevitably come to was that you were the sole lover that Fedyor had been talking about.

As the sun began to set, you looked at the drawing once more. The stag, sea whip, and firebird all depicted. You called out for Fedyor, asking him to come into your room.

“Can you bring me dinner for two?” You politely asked.

“Sure, were you planning on eating it yourself or shall I fetch someone while I’m at it?”

“No. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk while we eat dinner.” His face paled as the words left your mouth.

“Oh...okay.” Was all he said before he scurried off to get the food. You tucked the Istorii Sankt’ya under a pile of paper in your desk to hide it. While you waited for Fedyor to return, you lit up some candles and lanterns now that the sun was going down. It was no fun eating in the dark.

Well, sometimes it was. You thought back to the orphanage. Night where you, Alina and Mal would sneak out of bed to have a piece of bread. The bread was never enough, but the excitement had always spurred the three of you on enough to make it a nightly routine until Ana Kuya eventually caught on.

When Fedyor returned, he rolled the cart over to where you had been seated. He placed a golden tray in front of you and another for himself right across from you. He also brought a big pitcher of Kvas for you to share.

Lifting the cover from your plate, you found yourself staring at some sort of meat pie with a side of root vegetable soup. Fedyor had the same meal but had pickled herrings instead of soup.

“Ugh, I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” You said with disgust. “I’m glad you guys don’t force me to eat that.” Although it was common peasant food, it never appealed to you. It was something you’d always hated.

“The kitchen staff have a strict list of foods you like and dislike.” That made your head snap up to meet his, who made the list? You had a scheming suspicion that it wasn’t Alina, leaving you with one suspect.

“Tell me, Fedyor, do you know what the General plans on using Morozova’s Stag for?” You inquired, feigning curiosity. You saw his hesitation, clearly uncertain if he could trust you. “I was, after all, one of the last trackers to spot it.” You reminded

“The stag is rumored to be an amplifier created by Morozova himself. Whoever wears it would hold the greatest power known to mankind. One that could rival the General’s.” He said, taking a bite of his meal before continuing, “He plans on giving it to Alina in order to get rid of the shadow fold. She’s strong, but not strong enough to get rid of it on her own.”

“What about you, do you believe they will be able to banish the fold together?” There had been a swirl of doubt pooling in you. The shadow fold was the one thing that had kept Grisha safe from the rest of the world. With the permafrost in the North and the mountains in the South, Ravka had practically been perfectly disconnected. Yet the Drüskelle and Shu still managed to slaughter Ravkans and Grisha alike.

“Yes, I do. It’s something very important to the General. That the sun summoner reversed what his ancestor, the Black Heretic, had created.” He explained.

“Right, we’ll then what happens after? It’s been so long since West Ravka has been able to connect to East Ravka. Who’s to say that they don’t want to create a monarchy of their own?” Fedyor paused at your words, he hadn’t thought much about what the West Ravkans wanted. He only knew how much his people longed to be free of the shadow fold.

“One step at a time.” He ensured, not sure if he believed the words he just said. He didn’t know what would happen if West Ravka decided to break off and become their own sovereign state. Whatever trade and weapons they had obtained came through the trading ports of the docks in West Ravka. Without it they’d have nothing. They would be nothing.

You finished the rest of your meal, occasionally talking about your time being stationed in the South while he talked about his Grisha adventures. When it came to an end, you helped him clean up and wished him a good night as he rolled the cart away. The pitcher of Kvas laid untouched, your fingers twitched at the thought of having a drink. You stared at it as Fedyor rolled it away, your throat begging for something to drink. Instead of giving into your urges, you chug whatever leftover water you had laying around.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help the strong feeling of loneliness overcome you. You tried to push those feelings away when you jumped into bed, not wanting to have a miserable dream.

WHEN you wake, you find yourself in the deadly permafrost of the Fjerda-Ravka border in nothing more than your lace nightgown. The snow under your feet melted as you walked around, searching for another sign of human life. You didn’t feel the familiar nip of the cold at your fingertips or toes. It was that same warmth you felt with the Darkling.

You caught sight of your own breath as you whipped your head around, the snow catching in your hair. As you stumbled into a tree, you felt the recognizable carving, stating that you were now in Fjerdan territory. Your feet had walked on their own accord, not knowing where you were going until you stumbled into a clearing. The same clearing where Dubrov and Mikhael had died, slaughtered brutally by the Fjerdans. The clearing where you had killed two of their own without a second thought.

The clearing where you had finally found the stag.

The very same stag that had now stood in front of you.

You inched closer to it with careful and calculated steps. It didn’t back away as you approached. It showed no signs of aggression as you laid one of your hands upon its antlers, your other going to stoke its fur.

It was giving you that same look it gave you when you first encountered it with Mal.

Mercy. Respect. Most of all, understanding.

IT had been two days since you dreamt of the stag. You hadn’t dreamt of it since then, in fact, you hadn’t been dreaming of much since you saw the stag in your dreams. You thought about bringing it up to Alina during breakfast, but decided against it, the conversation somehow drifting towards the General.

“I was giving him a report of my progress last night-”

“Last night?” You interrupted, “As in a couple of hours ago?” She nods, confused by your behavior. “When did he get back?”

“The night you woke up.” She replied, as if you had been informed already. No one told you he had returned, you hadn’t even seen him once. Fedyor didn’t even tell you of his return during dinner. With a huff, you got out your chair, moving towards the door before asking Alina one last question.

“When did you mention me to the General?” She gives you another confused look, not knowing what you were talking about. That was the only answer you needed as you made your way to the war room.

He knew you. Even before he discovered Alina and took her to the Little Palace, he knew you first. Your thoughts ran around rampant and unprovoked, trying to come up with a viable explanation as you stomped towards his hall. Before you could even reach the doors of the war room, you were stopped by his oprichniki.

“The General wishes to be alone right now.” She said, hold up a hand to stop you.

“Tell him that I want to speak with him.” You replied, she looked you up and down. You wore no kefta or guards uniform. You were merely just a First Army soldier in her eyes.

“I doubt he would want to talk to someone like you.” Great, you were dealing with a Grisha Oprichniki with a horrible superiority complex. With a scoff, you turned away and walked to your room. Holding back every urge in your body to punch her.

WHEN night came, you found yourself struggling to get some sleep. After your encounter with that rude oprichniki, you tried your best to at least get a glimpse of the Darkling. You tried walking in the gardens in hopes to see him, no luck. You walked past the singular window of the war room, only to find the view obscured by the curtains. You paced the halls as subtly as you could, waiting for him to exit the war room. But he didn’t leave. Not once, so you just gave up and decided to try again the next day.

The black silk of your slip on did little to soothe the irritation you felt. In fact, it seemed to irritate you more as it slipped around even at your smallest movements. With a sigh, you got up from the bed and walked towards the dresser with the intention of changing into something that would provide better comfort.

You ran your hands through all the different laces and fabrics of the nightgowns until it landed on the gold kefta. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You took it off it’s hanger, before walking towards the mirror. You examined it closely. The fabric itself had shimmers of gold, the black thread similar to any other kefta. As you surveyed the back of it, you noticed the handiwork of a fabrikator. Someone had tried to mend the rips of the kefta, but they were still visible up close.

The kefta had fit like a glove when you put it on. It gave you a sense of belonging. That maybe as an orphan you had finally found a home. You ogled at yourself in the mirror, the golden fabric had practically made you glow. You placed your hands into the pockets, surprised to feel something in one of them.

Grasping the object, you pulled it out. It was a letter. Covered in blood, dirtied and ripped at the corners, but still a letter nonetheless. You contemplated reading it, making the motion to put it back into the pocket before a thought crossed your mind. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

You opened the letter and began to read it:

Dear Aleksander,

My darling, I don’t know why the universe has continued to bring us together. But I am thankful that they’ve given us a chance to be together once more. I have loved you for all of my lifetimes, and nothing could change that.

At least, that’s what I thought. But you’re no longer the Aleksander I once knew. Something dark has taken over you, your lust for power consuming you. I don’t know who you are anymore.

That’s why I’m doing what’s necessary, you’ve been in power for too long. It’s time for you to stop. It’s time for Ravka to be whole once more.

I’m sorry. I hope with whatever love you have left in your heart for me, that you could forgive me.

Eternally yours,

Y/N

You froze as you saw your name signed at the bottom of the letter. Lifetimes? As in more than one? This could wait no longer. Shoving the letter into your pocket, you threw open your door. The halls were empty, his oprichniki were either on a break or a shift change. Either way, you didn’t care.

You barged into the war room, expecting him to be hunched over a pile of maps, but he wasn’t. The next place you looked was his sleeping quarters that had connected to the war room. This bed was empty too, the sheets still cold. You knew of one last place he could be, and didn’t care about the risks.

You walked towards his door, each step filled with the burning curiosity you felt. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you didn’t expect it to turn. You would’ve assumed he kept the door to this bedroom always locked. But then again you were the only person who would dare enter his room without permission. After entering his room, you shut the door. Not wanting to raise suspicion to anyone who might’ve walked the halls perchance.

You paid no mind to the layout and decorations of his room as you fervently searched for him, only to come up empty handed again. Where could he possibly be? Perhaps he went for a midnight stroll. Or possibly he left the Little Palace again. But before deciding on going back to your room, you were adamant on searching the entire ground for him.

As you made your way back towards the door, your eyes briefly flashed to the portrait above it. You were frozen in your tracks as you did a double take. There in the painting was you, depicted in the gold kefta you had put on mere minutes ago. Behind you was the General, who had one hand clasped around your waist, the other resting on your shoulder. The two of you smiling brightly, it had practically been one of the only other times you’d seen him smile.

The letter in your pocket felt like it weighed a ton, your mouth going dry. In your panicked state of mind, you didn’t notice the shadows jumping up and down the walls.

“My darling.” You never heard him creeping up on you until he started talking into your ear, his whisper making you involuntarily shiver. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

Turning around, you didn’t expect to find his hair dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to look at anything but him.

“Don’t call me that.” You spat out, he reached one of his hands out to touch the kefta you had put on. His touch lingered from the black stitching to the collar of the Grisha jacket, his fingers ghosting over your neck. “I’m going to ask you one more time, have we met before?”

The General saw no use in keeping the secret from you any longer; you had worn the kefta he’d made for you centuries ago, most likely read the letter in its pocket, and now you had just seen the portrait he’d hung up of the two of you. It was evidently clear that you knew something was going on.

“What do you remember?” He deflected, not answering your question.

Flashes came to your mind, ones you had dreamt, others were new.

“I remember...my death. The night those soldiers shoved a knife in me.” You confessed. You also saw other things. Horseback riding in the woods. Long nights in bed spent talking about the future. Him training you, teaching you how to wield a sword. The birthmark at your ribcage, the one on your neck, and the long ones on your back. They had all been scars. Marking all the deaths from your previous lives.

Three scars, three separate lifetimes with him. You reached up to touch the scar on your neck, “They..I-”

“This one, the Fjerdans gave you this one. We were hunting for the stag when we had gotten ambushed. They killed you for the sole purpose to see me in pain. I begged them to take me too, but they found too much joy in my grief. The Drüskelle held me on the ground, my hands spread apart, as I watched you bleed out.” You can see the tears form in his eyes as he recalls the events of that night. He walks around you, tracing the rips of the kefta. The rips had consequently been placed exactly where the scars on your back were. You could tell by the familiar pattern he traced, a once soothing action that now caused you great anguish. “The Fjerdans also gave you these ones. They tortured you for days on end. When I finally found you, it was too late. There was no healer that had the power to help you. All I could do was hold you as a heartrender calmed you, minimizing your pain.”

“I can’t remember that, why can’t I remember that?” You panicked, to which the Darkling turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs rubbed your face in a reassuring manner.

“It’s not often that you fully remember what happens to you. It’s your brain's way of protecting you so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Well you certainly felt overwhelmed now. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The shadow fold..” You hesitated, removing yourself from his grasp. “Was that because of me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, “I created it after you first died. A way to protect all Grisha. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. But it was one less threat we had to worry about.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? Why is it always me? Why do I always come back to you?”

“There’s a reason why the universe has continued to bring us back together, my darling. My other half. My life.” He walks up to you, grasping your face in his hands. His touch was different this time, it was cold yet welcoming. It felt familiar. The shadows engulfed the room as you felt a power rush over you. His eyes darted towards your lips, hesitating before leaning in. You close your eyes as you feel that familiar warmth consume you. His kiss is soft, gentle, yet you could tell he was holding back from ravaging you.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You kept your eyes closed, lost in the memories.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered. When you had closed them, the whole room had been taken by his shadows, leaving the two of you in darkness. But as he stood in front of you, his hands on your cheeks, the whole room had been illuminated. “My sun summoner, I have loved you all of my life. For all of your lifetimes.”

“Maybe one too many.” What else was there to say? You always knew, somewhere deep down inside of you, that there was something special different about you. You didn’t know it until now, until you were reunited with your other half. “But I thought Grisha couldn’t get sick.”

The smile falls from his face, “I believe..that this could possibly be our last lifetime together.” He disclosed. “Neither heartrender nor healer could explain what was happening to you. I think it might be the consequence of avoiding eternal death for so long.” He joked, his eyes meeting yours.

“I thought your last life had been our final one together. I waited hundreds of years for your return. When I had caught wind of a sun summoner being found, I thought it was you. When it wasn’t I felt as if my heart had shattered all over again. That you would never return to me again.” The Darkling squinted as the light around you grew brighter. His touch was making you unstable.

“But Alina-”

“Can’t know. No one can. I can’t risk your life again. Not anymore.” He replied, “Especially when this could be our last time together.”

You struggled to find a name to call him, the General felt too formal, and to you it seemed too early to call him by his given name.

“Aleksander, my darling. Call me by my name.” He said, withdrawing his hand from you and letting the shadows shrink back to the ground.

All your life, you had subconsciously fought the Grisha within you. You had always been Grisha. Using the powers you had been born with had given you back your strength, albeit not all of it. You enjoyed- reveled the rush it gave you.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard@thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23 @athenamikaelson @mellifluous-cosmos @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest @iiclarixa @lcandothisallday @agent-jbarnes

Mizpah taglist is CLOSED for now!

S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes

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johnsamericano · 3 years ago

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥

Hi everyone! As promised, here’s one of the two most voted fic continuations. There will be more chapters to this story though I'm not sure how many yet. Thank you for reading!

warnings: sugar daddy jae, mentions of injuries and hospitals, language.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv

Sugar rush m.list.

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the quiet hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

Where did everything go wrong?

Your string of thoughts was cut off by a call from your aunt.

“Hello?” Your voice was raspy from not using it. There was no one to talk to in the quiet, hospital room but the nurses, who weren't especially keen on chatting.

“How’s your dad, sweetie?”

“They let him out of ICU, but he doesn't look good to me.” Your fingers traced the cuts in his chiseled cheeks that would soon turn into scars, ruining his perfect skin. Your eyes then diverted to his head, thoroughly covered in bandages to protect his damaged skull.

“Honey, I've got bad news...”

“They rejected the case, didn't they?”

“Not precisely.” She deeply inhaled before continuing. “It’s a tough case, almost impossible to win, nonetheless, they're willing to take it. But their fee is a little...”

“Expensive.”

“Yes.”

As expected from the best firm in town, they wouldn't take less than $8,000. Your bank account didn't have enough money to even cover half of it, and with your job at the convenience store, you'd only earn so much to cover your expenses.

“We can take the lawyer that the government provides us with, it would be free.”

“But then I'm sure we’d lose.” You groaned in frustration, using your free hand to rub your forehead. “Don’t worry, I'll find a way to get the money.”

“Why don't we just accept the compensation they're offering? It could pay for the hospital bills and you'd still have some left to pay for your tuition.”

“That would be like putting a price on my father's life. I don't want their money, I want them to make themselves responsible for what they've caused.” The sound of wheels approached the door of your father's room, signaling the nurse was outside with his meds. “It’s okay, Auntie, I'll take care of everything. You can go back home, I know my uncle isn't doing so well.”

“Are you sure, darling?” It was undeniable that she wanted to head back to her little ranch fat away from the hectic city life to take care of her sick husband, but still, her brother was laying down on a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

“Yes, I'm an adult, I'll find a way.”

“Take care of yourself, and don't hesitate to call me if you're having any difficulties. I'll be there in the blink of an eye.” She said before sending a kiss into the speaker, proceeding to hang up.

You sighed. It was never usual for you to ask for help, as you were an extremely prideful and independent person, and you doubted this time would be different.

“Don’t worry, dad. Everything will be alright.”

Three failed job interviews and one more to go. Your feet were killing you, the high heels covering them already worn out from walking to avoid taking the bus. Every penny counted, and as long as your legs worked, you weren't spending any more money than what was necessary.

You sat down in the waiting room of the company, massaging your neck to relieve some tension. College was becoming a burden. Maybe you'd take a semester off to focus on working, that is if someone wanted to hire an inexperienced student.

“Y/n, Y/l/n?”

“Here.” You darted up, gathering your belongings to enter the room on which your life almost literally depended.

You gave all the right answers, earning a polite ‘we’ll contact you’ in return. But you could see that they weren't convinced with your lack of experience, no company in their right mind would be.

As soon as you arrived at your apartment, you slid out of the uncomfortable pencil skirt, tucking yourself under the covers with your phone screen almost hitting your nose.

To take your mind off things, you decided to watch some videos. Halfway in, an ad popped up, interrupting the interior deco video you were watching.

A picture of a girl about your age hugging an older man was right in the middle of your screen. Written with fancy letters, the words ‘make your life simpler’ could be read, followed by what you guessed was the title of the app. Sugar rush.

Out of pure curiosity, your finger tapped at the small icon that led to the app store, absentmindedly clicking the download button. A few seconds later, an icon with the letters ‘SR’ was added to your home screen.

“Log in?” You murmured out loud, squinting your eyes to adjust your eyes to the bright, white homepage.

Just as you were about to click out, the phrase from the ad reappeared, stopping your finger from moving any further.

You could always delete your account if something went wrong, right? Nonetheless, you decided to use a false name, and that's how Melanie Kim’s profile was created. You left the circle of your profile picture empty for now, only filling the spaces that asked about your likes, dislikes, age, and all that stuff that people care about so much.

You knew what the app was for, but that didn't stop you from being surprised when a list of men and women of different ages greeted you. Right then, a small rectangle obstructed your sight, two buttons offering opposite things.

‘Pick the role you'd like to develop.’

Sugar daddy/mommy / Sugar baby.

Clearly, you didn’t have nor the money or the years to be the first, so you clicked the opposite button without giving it more thought.

‘Welcome. You've been registered as a sugar baby at Sugar rush. Meet thousands of men and women willing to finance you for free!’

You hummed.

‘As we're always looking to make our users’ experience better, we've developed Sugar Rush premium, a membership to meet the richest and hottest people in your surroundings. Get the premium version for only $5.95 a month. Click here to get Sugar Rush premium.’

Your finger pad was dangerously close to the blue button, almost grazing the screen of the phone. It was then when you were pulled out of your trance, blinking as if just then you'd realized what you were doing.

“I must be crazy.” You turned off your phone, not bothering to turn on an alarm for the next day. You had no interviews left. You had nowhere to go.

Waking up was getting harder with every passing day. Not being able to call your dad to go out for breakfast or even sending a simple good morning message hurt you deeply. You missed him. But seeing him laying down on a hospital bed, unable to do anything by himself, was even worse.

Ding

A notification filled the silence in your room.

‘Come back, you haven't finished setting up your account yet!’

You scoffed at your past self. What were you even thinking when you downloaded the app?

You simply turned off the phone before standing up to take a relaxing shower. As the water soaked up your tense body, your mind started wandering off back to the app. A million what-ifs filled your head, nonetheless, there was one that remained the most persistent.

‘What if this can pay for a lawyer?’

Your part-time job surely couldn't, and you had no one to assist you financially speaking. The whole idea of paying that ridiculous membership seemed more tempting as your fingers started getting wrinkly under the showerhead.

You decided to take some time to consider it, after all, you still had a week to give the lawyers an answer.

Hot soup seemed like a good option to comfort you, and thankfully, there was a store right in front of your place that claimed to sell the best soups in town.

It wasn't bad, but not nearly as good as the one your dad cooked when you were a kid. You sighed, wondering if you'd ever be able to eat it again. Just then, a woman about your age came into the shop, carrying a couple of bags where names of popular brands could be read. A pinch of jealousy made your heart stir as you glanced at yourself through the reflection in the glass at your side. You looked devastated, your skin pale and your cheekbones slightly sunken, a sign of the lack of rest and food you'd been getting.

Out of pure impulse, you pulled out your phone, clicked on the app you'd recently downloaded, and finally accepted the charges for a premium membership.

‘Welcome, new member of our wide community, click ok to get started!’

Well, no turning back now.

Right after pressing the blue letters with your thumb, you were presented with a list of potential prospects, some of them including pictures, some of them only including name and a brief description of what they were looking for. The minority included their ages, but most left the space blank.

A bunch of old men looking for a youthful, pretty woman to be by their sides, some of them even went as far as writing the weight and height their ideal partner should have. Of course, there were also some women in the look for young meat, but the number of men overpassed them.

About to exit the app in defeat, a profile caught your eye. His pale pink hair was parted, allowing his thick eyebrows to stand out. His high cheekbones made him look like a statue, the details in his face almost too perfect for a mere human. He must be the incarnation of a Greek God, you thought.

‘Jung Yoonoh. 41 years old. Owner of N & C.’

“Should I...?” You asked yourself in a voice lower than a whisper.

He has probably gotten hundreds of messages, so what would be the point of sending one yourself? Your eyes scanned the picture over and over again as the remains of your soup started getting cold.

He was probably the only acceptable man in the whole app, so why not give it a try?

You already spent five whole dollars on it, might as well make it worth the money.

‘Hi.’ Sent.

“Holy crap.” You breathed out, regretting every single action that led you to take such a stupid decision. “Ah!” You squeaked as three small dots appeared beside his profile picture, signaling he was writing a reply.

What if he rejected you right from the beginning? God, that would be so humiliating. His message stopped your train of thought.

‘Hi!’

Followed by:

‘How are you?’

Sweating like a pig, thank you for asking.

‘Fine. You?’ Read.

‘Thrilled. No one had messaged me since I created my account two weeks ago.’

‘How is that possible?’ You imprinted your thoughts on a message.

‘It’s hard to trust people nowadays. I guess people might think either my picture is photoshopped or I'm lying about my job.’

‘Their loss, ig.’ Read.

He was taking some time to answer. Had you said something inappropriate?

‘Hahaha.’

The conversation stopped there, as you didn't know how exactly to answer his message. But a few minutes later, another text from him popped up at your chat.

‘If you're okay with it, we can start talking about a possible arrangement.’

Already? You've known each other for like five minutes. But then again, arrangements were the whole purpose of the app.

‘Sure.’

‘May I ask your reasons for joining the app?’

‘I need urgent money, but my job doesn't pay nearly enough.’ You omitted the part of your agonizing father, he didn't need to know that. ‘And you?’

‘I need someone to be my partner at public spaces.’

‘Alright.’ Read.

‘Do you happen to have some free time tomorrow at lunchtime? I think it’d be better to meet first before making any decisions.’

‘Yeah, I'm free.’

‘Great, I’ll send you the address.’

You thought a day would be enough to prepare yourself, but time passed by quicker than usual, and soon enough, it was time to get ready for your meeting with Mr. Jung. He was only a few years younger than your father, and calling him by his first name wouldn't feel right.

Unsure if you should wear something formal, you threw on a beige (the color you'd agreed on wearing so it’d be easier to recognize each other) summer dress, pairing it with the gold hoops you'd inherited from your grandma to make it look more elegant.

The hardest part of your routine was makeup. Your sunken cheeks couldn't be covered, and only after a few layers of blush and highlighter, you could bring your skin back to life.

On your way to the cafe, you went through the things you'd say when you met him. It was your chance to get your father what he needed.

You stood at the entrance with wide, scared eyes, shyly scanning through the place to look for your date.

“Melanie?” A hand on your shoulder had you jolting. “I’m Jung Yoonoh, nice to meet you.”

What you saw after turning around was breathtaking. A handsome, healthy man, with the most beautiful pair of dimples.

“Nice to meet you.” You managed to blurt out without stuttering, extending your hand to make the greeting more formal. The fake name didn’t seem necessary anymore. “It’s actually y/n, I didn't want to use my real name.”

“I understand. Let’s take a seat.” He offered with a kind smile.

He left you seating at the terrace while he made your order, a latte, and a chocolate cookie. Your fingers played with your hoops anxiously, trying to regulate your breath.

“They’ll bring our food in just a sec.” He offered a warm smile. “Your dress is pretty.” Yoonoh said out of nowhere.

“Thank you.”

“I see you're not a chatty person.” You were about to object, but he started speaking again. “It's not a bad thing! I usually talk a lot, so it’s a nice way to balance things.”

You nodded, seemingly uncomfortable with the man sitting in front of you.

“So, uhm, this is my first time doing this, so I'm not really sure where to begin.” He pulled out a folded paper from the front pocket of his dressing pants. “It’s a bit creased, but I can always print another one. I brought it so you could take a look and let me know if you wanted to change anything. I don't mean to pressure you, but you said it was urgent, so...”

You read the paper under his attentive gaze, making sure not to miss a single word. Everything seemed correct, except...

“Six months?”

“Is that too much?” A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, a sign of deep concentration. “Okay, so let's do this instead.”

He took back the contract, pulling out a pen from the pocket in his dressing shirt to correct the original stipulations.

“Four months, and if by the end of them you don't absolutely hate me, we can extend the time. Deal?”

“Just one more thing.”

You cleared your throat, conscious that your following words might jeopardize the whole arrangement.

“Are you sure you want to make it official already?” You had to stop for a moment as the waiter left your orders on top of the wooden table. “I mean, it's not that I have a problem with it, but it's your money and maybe you'd like to give it a better thought.” You resumed.

“The fact that you're concerned about me proves I'm making the right choice. Now, tell me, how much would you like to receive as a weekly allowance?”

Would it be too reckless to ask him straight up for the $8,000?

“H-how much are you willing to give me?” You felt dirty, accepting a stranger’s money like that.

“Whatever you need.” His hand suddenly reached forward to yours, causing every ounce of blood in your body to rush to your face. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I'm here to help you.” His voice tone dropped, acquiring an almost soothing feeling.

“I need eight thousand by Thursday, next week.” His eyes were wide open, mouth having difficulties remaining closed. “I-I know it's too much, but...”

“I can find a way to give you that money, but I'd like to know the reason why you need it. Just to make sure it's nothing illegal.”

You puffed your cheeks, trying to find an excuse good enough to justify the amount of money you were asking for.

“It isn’t illegal, is it?”

“No!” You retrieved your hand from below his, now embarrassed at the possibility of him having a bad image of you. “I need it for my father.”

“I suppose you don't want to talk about it.” He started at his palm, lips pressed in a thin life. “But when it comes to arrangements like this, we need to trust each other, alright?” You barely knew each other, yet, he demanded to know a very personal detail of your life. Not that he didn't have a good reason for wanting to know, it wasn't a particularly small amount of money.

“He had an accident at work...” You started, fearful of looking up to find pity in his eyes. “I need a lawyer to make his company legally responsible. They intend to throw it under the rug and pay a somewhat decent amount of money to make it go away. The firm I intend to hire is supposedly the best in town, probably my only chance of getting justice.”

“And why don't you just accept it? There's no guarantee that your lawyer will win the case.” You fisted the delicate fabric of your dress, eyes watering as you tried to hold back your anger.

“My father’s life is priceless, and if you think what I'm doing is a waste of money, then fine, we can both look for someone else to help us.” It sounded more aggressive than you'd first intended, but you meant every word that came out of your mouth.

Before you could even stand up, his slim fingers had already wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“I never said that.” He whispered with an almost sad tone. “Come on, sit down.”

He tugged at your arm the slightest, showing off his charming dimples once again.

“I’ll give you the money on one condition...” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “I’ll go with you to see the lawyer.”

“Why...?”

“That’s my condition, take it or leave it.”

“Okay.”

The days before your meeting with your potential lawyer were nerve-wracking. You'd seen Yoonoh another time to sign the contract, which finally made your arrangement official.

You’d visit your father every day, always hoping he'd be sitting with his arms wide open, ready to hug you. But nothing had changed ever since he first came into that room.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kim.” The secretary's gaze lingered on Jaehyun a few seconds before he finally snapped out of it. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Just a second.” He opened his agenda and quickly found your appointment. With a warm smile, he guided you through the corridors of the building, all the way to the elevator. “It’s the only office on the last floor, I'll be at my desk if you need anything.”

Once again, he shot Jae an uneasy glance before the metal doors slid close.

“What was all that?” To be honest, you couldn't care less. But a small chat might calm your nerves and prevent you from throwing up all over the place.

“What do you mean?” He grinned, pressing the button to the top floor.

“You know what I mean.” You scoffed, annoyed at his evasive behavior.

“We just happen to know each other, nothing special.” Before the conversation could continue, a loud ding resonated through the metal cubicle. “Let’s go.” His hand found its place at the small of your back, pushing you towards the glass door. Through it, you could see a black-haired man reading a pile of documents, occasionally raising a photo to examine it with his gold-rimmed glasses supported at the bridge of his elegant nose.

Jaehyun extended his arm over your shoulder to knock on the door, earning an almost annoyed ‘come in’ from the man inside.

“Let’s go.” Once again invading your personal space, he reached for the doorknob with you trapped between his arms.

As soon as the door opened, the man raised his eyes from the documents he was checking.

“What are you doing here, Jung?”

“I knew something was off...” You murmured, loud enough for the man at your side to chuckle.

“I brought you a client, you should be happy.”

“Miss y/n, I suppose. Have a seat.” His demeanor completely changed while speaking directly to you. “I spoke with your aunt last week, she explained the details of the lawsuit, but I must say, it isn't an easy case.”

“I know that, but I've been told you're the best firm in town, I know I'll have more possibilities of winning if you're my lawyer.”

“Best firm in town my ass.”

“Be silent or I’ll kick you out of the building.”

That was enough for Yoonoh to zip his mouth. For a while at least.

“I suppose she also told you about our fee.” He pushed his glasses up using his thumb. “We’d also keep 25% of the lawsuit money assuming we win the case, is that okay with you?”

“Yes-”

“Okay, stop.”

“I’ll call security, Jung.”

“Look at me, y/n.” He squeezed your arms. “This clown is trying to scam you...” He pointed his finger at the lawyer without breaking eye contact. “You’d be spending loads of money for someone who isn't even confident in his abilities. It isn't worth it.”

“And I suppose you'd do better than me, then.” The black-haired man scoffed. “If that's the case, then you can both leave. I'm quite busy at the moment.” With a turn of his wrist, he signaled you to leave the room.

You were fuming, stomping out of the building with Jaehyun right behind you.

“I found a great restaurant nearby, we can go there and-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you just fucked up my only chance to give those bastards what they deserve.” The sun was starting to set, yellow light casting shadows over his tender cheeks.

“Can you listen to me for a second?”

“Are you laughing right now?” You bit your lip, hard, trying to hold back the tsunami of tears threatening to come out of your eyes. “Asshole.”

“Ouch.” He furrowed his eyebrows mockingly. Oh, how close you were to punch that pretty face of his. “Can I explain now?”

You remained silent, staring at the ground with the smallest frown between your eyebrows.

“How do you think I know Kim Doyoung?” Before even giving you a chance to answer, he continued. “That son of a bitch has been stealing my clients for ages.”

“Your clients...?”

“He isn't even that good of a lawyer compared to me.” He scoffed with fake arrogance.

“You're a lawyer?!” You slammed your palms into your face, whining at the newly acquired information. “Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?”

“Just wanted to swing by and annoy him a bit. Don't worry, I wasn't gonna let you accept his deal.” He winked playfully.

The sun was now hidden, the sky darkening as the moon rose to take its shift.

“Though I gotta say, I'm kinda offended I wasn't even an option. I'm a pretty great lawyer, you know?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you if you join me for dinner. What do you say?”

As you walked into the darkness of the streets, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours, you wondered if meeting him was a casualty. Maybe the world was finally smiling at you.

#nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct jaehyun

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helpimhyperfixating · 3 years ago

Text

A Writer’s Trouble - Jotaro x Reader

Word Count: 3353

You were a writer. Quietly in class just writing whatever scenes came to your head when the material being taught was too complicated for you to understand or too boring. And at home, you busied yourself with fanfiction every now and then. When you enjoy shows, why not write some fan content for them right?

"Miss Y/N!"

The sound of your name being called made you shoot up in your seat, eyes wide.

All eyes of the class were on you, the teacher holding a stern expression. "That better be notes that you are taking." She crossed her arms and your cheeks started to burn slightly while you frantically nodded, not finding your voice to verbally answer. Clearly the teacher was not convinced by the look she gave you, but she just let it slide and continued on with the lesson.

After what felt like forever, the bell rung for lunch and as you were starting to pack up, suddenly two people surrounded your little table. Looking up, you saw two girls who were notoriously popular standing next to you. One sat down in the seat next to you while the other dragged a chair in front of your table and sat down right in front of you, a sweet smile on her face.

"Hi!" The one in front started and you leaned back a little.

"H-Hi?"

"We noticed you were writing something in class and we were just curious what."

This made you blink a few times in surprise. Why would they be interested in what a random girl is writing? "Why?"

This time, the one sitting next to you spoke up. "Well you see, I've been having trouble finding books I like recently. The ones in the school library are not really what I want but I snuck a peek of what you were doing in class just now and your writing seemed really good!" This caused a small blush to erupt on your cheeks. Not only because of the random compliment that came out of nowhere, but more so because of the fact she read what you had been writing. During class you were bored and your mind had drifted so you had written a random romantic scenario, and now she had read that?

"O-Oh?" You squeaked. She gave you a grin and you swallowed. "Uhm, thanks I guess."

"Could I read more?"

The question caught you off guard and to be honest, you just wanted to have lunch. But it seemed like you were going to have to eat it here with these two cause they didn't seem to have any intent to go away.

"Sure..." You weren't too comfortable with sharing most of your writing but there were a few random scenes and scenarios you thought these two would enjoy that you didn't mind sharing. You saw them every morning in the gaggle hanging around Kujo so you figured they'd like some cheesy romantic stuff. Bending down to sift through your bag, you got out your map/folder filled with pages that held the scenes and sifted through them, pulling out a few. "Here but do-" they were snatched from your hands before you could finish your sentence. "...be careful with them."

"Of course, of course." They both just dismissively waved and started reading them. At least they didn't run off with them, that was a plus.

You still had no idea what they were up to and you figured it wasn't to suddenly make friends with you. But you always had a hard time turning people down and they were acting nice to you, so why shouldn't you act nice back?

While they read you just got your lunch out of your bag and started eating it. You had nothing better to do anyways.

Lunch was slowly coming to a close and both girls finished reading.

"Ohhh, that was so romantic~" The one in front of you wistfully mused out, holding her chin in her hand as she dreamily stared at the ceiling.

"Yes, it was so good!" The one next to you said. Maybe you should learn their names instead of referring to them as 'girl' and 'girl but sitting next to you'. "It almost makes me wish for more."

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, you looked at her, urging her to continue because you figured this was the whole reason they were here. "Well, since you write this I was wondering, do you take requests?~"

You hummed a bit, looking between the two. They shared a look and there was a glint in their eye that you recognised but couldn't recall where you had seen them look like that before. "I've never done so before but maybe. What would you want?"

"Could you write me in such a scene with Jojo!?" The one next to you blurted out all of a sudden, making you visibly flinch back from the sudden burst of noise.

"No no! Please write it with me! My personality fits perfectly with the one in this story already!"

You were now being barraged with requests of romantic scenarios and begging to write them, all the while you just sat, blinking.

Of course. Of course. They were Kujo fan girls #1 and #2 so of course they would want this. You never understood why they kept trying to win his affection when he oh so clearly showed he was not interested.

I mean, you could see the appeal. He was tall dark and handsome, and the thought of a stoic man who loves no one making an exception for you was prime romantic material. But even you - who was as dense as an oakwood plank - even you knew when something was hopeless. You had never pursued the man. You respected his privacy and wishes. To you, he was just another classmate who just so happened to be hounded by half the female population.

"Ehh..." You started, trying to stop the girls from losing their mind and drooling over the delinquent - who wasn't even present - right then and there.

It took a second but both girls stopped and expectantly turned to you. The pure stars in their eyes made it very hard for you to say what you were about to say but you had to.

"I don't mind writing something for you. But I can't write something with Kujo in it. It just makes me very uncomfortable to write real people into a romantic scenario without them knowing of it. It just feels wrong." You put your hand up in a surrendering and calming gesture, hoping that would help defuse the bomb that was surely being built judging from their expressions. "If you had his permission and you both wanted it then it is a different story, but-"

"I have his permission! Jojo loves me, so of course he would want this!" The girl in front burst out, only for her 'friend' to turn to her.

"That's not true, he loves me!"

"No, me!"

"Me!"

This continued on and you slowly slunk back in your seat. You would have sunken under the table and made your escape that way, but one of the girls was sitting right in your path of exit. You were literally caged in between two fighting tigers, getting more and more ready to bite each other's heads off.

Just then, the door slammed open and both girls instantly shut up. In stepped the precise person of discussion and you only sunk further down into your seat, just wanting to disappear and be left alone.

"Oh! Jojo!~"

"Jojo! Why don't you come sit with us! I missed you!"

Jotaro viewed the class, seeing just you three in it, only for him to stride over to his desk, grab something he had left behind, and walk back out. He only spared you all a single glance and dread settled in your stomach. You were sitting with the two girls he probably hated most since they pestered him day in day out. What if he thought you were part of them now as well? What if he started to hate you too? Would he beat you up if you happened to run into each other outside of school?

Just then, the bell rung and to your surprise, both girls just sighed and stood up, starting to walk back to their own spots and leaving you without any further begging or questions. It left you a bit confused and wary of why they so suddenly seemed to forget you turned down writing about their dreamboat but just shrugged it off, hoping that was that.

- - - -

Three weeks had passed just like that. The girls had left you alone after that weird lunch and thankfully enough, Kujo seemed no more aware of your existence than before. Life continued on as normal and you just stayed your happy, quiet self.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You smiled at your best friend who was sitting at a table in the cafeteria, obnoxiously waving at you.

Quickly hurrying over, you grabbed her hand and yanked it down, sending apologetic glances to the people who had turned their heads to see the commotion. "Do you have to be so loud every time, B/F?"

"Of course." She grinned before pulling you down to sit with her. The unexpected action caused you to yelp and lose your balance. Instead of sitting down as intended, you were now splayed over B/F's lap who was cackling loudly at you.

"Oi, this is your fault! Shut it!" You laughed back and playfully hit her shoulder, making her let out an obnoxious 'oww' and rub it as you sat up.

"Y/N, you're always so mean to me." She pouted and you rolled your eyes. If there is one thing you certainly weren't it was mean.

"Well how can I make it up to you then, my dearest?" You played along, clasping your hands in front of you in a begging manner.

"Let me read your latest brain creations." She grinned and you drew your lips into a thin line. She knew you preferred to keep most writing to yourself because by god, sometimes you would create some abominations you wouldn't want anyone in the world to see. These of course, were the ones B/F loved most, cause she could make fun of you for them. You didn't seem to have another choice for now though, since B/F would most likely do something way worse if you didn't comply.

"Alright, alright." You sighed and hoisted your bag up, pulling your map with writings out and starting to thumb through them. "Huh." You remarked, a bit surprised.

"What?"

"It's not there. I could have sworn I put it in here." You hummed, grabbing your history notebook. You had written this piece in history class and thus it should be in there. But when you reached the most recent page, it was torn out, an indication that you should have already put it in your folder. "Oh god. I must have dropped it somewhere..." You went absolutely pale and B/F burst out laughing.

"Sucks to be you I guess!"

You only groaned and let your head fall to the table. Now there was a cheesy romance scene lost in the school! You just hoped someone would pick up the random page and throw it in the trash.

- - - -

~One week later~

You were the first one sitting in the cafeteria for once. Just patiently waiting for B/F, you twiddled your thumbs as you were mindlessly tracing the grooves in the table in front of you.

A hand suddenly slammed down right in your vision and you jumped in your seat. Quickly tracing the arm up to be met with an angrily glaring pair of aqua blue eyes.

"Get up." Jotaro said in a deep and demanding tone but you were frozen in your seat, just staring at him in slight fear.

"Do I have to repeat myself, bitch?" He harshly stated and you quickly stood up, going to grab your bag so you could let him have this table and find a new one for you and your friend, but instead, his hand clamped down on your shoulder, bunching the fabric there and dragging you off with him, leaving your bag behind.

By now, all the people in the cafeteria were staring and you were just scared shitless. What the hell did you do for him to want to beat you up?! He dragged you with him out of the cafeteria, through the halls and out the doors, moving to the back of the school before throwing you in front of him.

You stumbled a bit but luckily stayed on your feet, quickly turning back to look at him, taking a few steps back until your back hit the wall behind you.

"What-"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice cut you off and you shut your mouth. He seemed absolutely seething, towering over your tiny form as he glared from beneath his hat. It was quiet for a second, you just staring at him with wide eyes. "Well? Do I have to beat the shit out of you to get you to stop?" He threateningly raised his fist and you finally snapped out of your scared state, going defensive.

"No wait! I have no idea what you're talking about!" You frantically blurted out, waving your hands in front of yourself.

Jotaro, no less annoyed than before pulled something out of his jacket before slamming it right next to your head, holding it there. You squeaked at the action, now fully trapped with no escape.

"This is what I'm talking about." He was leaning down to be eye to eye with you now, caging you in with his arm right next to your head. His free hand was pointing to where he held his other hand and you turned your head to see what he meant.

Beneath his fingers lay a piece of paper, clearly crumpled up and unrolled several times. Unsure of what it was, you lifted your hand and took hold of the corner, making sure not to touch Jotaro's hand in fear that that would make him deck you.

Thankfully, he removed his hand from the wall and took a step back, giving you some personal space again and allowing you to grab the paper and read it.

Smoothening it out, you started reading.

Jotaro kept a close eye on your reactions, a little wary of how clueless you were appearing to be. As you started skimming the page, your eyes widened, almost immediately followed by a furrowing of your brows. You looked confused, but as your eyes got further and further down the page, it turned to angry.

Jotaro squinted his eyes at you, only to be surprised when you suddenly crumpled up the paper, pure hate radiating off of you. "Those goddamn bitches..." Of course, he never showed any surprise, keeping his stoic facade but to say Jotaro was intrigued was an understatement.

Turning to look at him, all fear you previously had was gone, replaced by anger. "This wasn't me." You held up the paper. Hitting it once, you ground your teeth. "Those girls stole my work and put your name in it."

Sceptical, Jotaro raised an eyebrow, still glaring down at you. But his stance was now more aloof than it was threatening and you took it as a sign to explain what you were talking about.

"Your fangirl number 1 and 2 asked me a while ago to write about you, I refused and it seems they took matters into their own hands." You turned around as you said that, looking at the school and glaring at it, as if that would do any good.

"So you didn't write it?" Crossing his arms, Jotaro was still looking down on you and you turned back to face him.

"Oh no, I did." You said and un-crumpled the paper, holding it up for him and pointing to a very specific point. "That's supposed to say 'B' though, not 'Jotaro'. I never write character names, just A and B cause honestly? fuck coming up with names."

Jotaro scoffed a little in amusement and then let out a heavy sigh. "It seemed too competent to come from them indeed."

You couldn't help but laugh loudly at his statement, accidentally causing you to drop the paper. "Woops." You said through laughs and picked it up, calming down as you stood up straight again. "Sorry this happened by the way." You then said and Jotaro sent you a questioning look. "I don't write about real people for a reason and this is exactly why. It's just wrong to do without permission."

Jotaro hummed and you suddenly realised who exactly you were talking to.

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you just put the paper in your pocket. "I'll make sure they won't be able to steal any more of my writing so if it works, you won't have to worry about seeing terribly written cheesy romantic scenes anymore. Apart from maybe their own attempts at it." You chuckled at that last bit and looked up to cross eyes with Jotaro.

There seemed to be a somewhat amused glint in them, putting you at ease.

Just then, you remembered a thing and you opened your mouth before abruptly closing it. Following it up with a deep breath. "Okay maybe you will still see some come by for the next few days. I left my bag in the cafeteria, unmanned and unsupervised. Prime chance for some grubby hands to go through it."

"Let's go make sure they fuck off before they plunder the entire thing then."

Jotaro simply turned around while you blinked, pleasantly surprised before you sprinted to catch up with him.

You both walked around the school in quiet, moving to the front doors so you could re-enter again and make your way to the cafeteria.

"I don't mean to pry," You started after a little bit and saw Jotaro glance at you from the corner of his eye, a somewhat wary look in his eye but you just continued. "But how do you keep yourself from punching that entire gaggle of screeching sheep? Honestly I already feel like punching them when I hear them next to me for more than two minutes. And you have to deal with it every day for way longer."

Jotaro visibly relaxed and you heard him let out an amused exhale. "Wouldn't have guessed I have better patience than you." He said back.

You let out an offended gasp at that. "Excuse me my patience is amazing. And let's be fair, I can hear you across the school every day when you yell at them."

He sent you a small side glare, quickly returning to stoically looking forward. "Yes but I haven't ever punched them."

"Neither have I." You smirked. "See? Good patience."

"How about you practice some of that good patience and shut up." His tone of voice was harsh but you could tell there was no anger behind it, so you just let a small smile of victory take over your features as you both walked into the cafeteria.

To say heads turned in surprise when you walked in side by side with Jotaro, unharmed, would be an understatement.

Walking up to the table you had been sitting at, you were relieved to see your friend sitting there, looking at you in disbelief with your bag next to her.

Waving, you walked up and turned to the tall delinquent next to you. "Thanks for not beating me up. I'll see you around." You gave him a weird mock solute before giggling slightly at your stupidity.

Jotaro just hummed and gave you a nod, stuffing his hands in his pocket and turning around, walking out of the cafeteria without a word.

That went way better than you ever could have thought.

#jotaro x reader #JJBA #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #jjba part 3 #sfw #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #bloop

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deepdonutkid · 4 years ago

Text

Put your head on my shoulder

Requested: yes, by @sighonahurricane

Pair: Tommy Shelby x female reader

Request: I'm here to make a request based on a list you just posted. Would you please do a piece with 7 from fluff and 10 from the list just after that, with Tommy Shelby? Something like this below? (Tommy laying his head in her lap?🥺🥺)

7. “Your hair is so soft.”

10. “It’s funny, in that dark terrible way I mean.” “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was fine, would you?”

Summary: After one dirty and dark night, Tommy comes home to his wife and can’t find sleep. Maybe his wife can help him.

Author’s note:

The story is with a reader, but not written with the you form, because the story focus on Tommy. Also... I have problems writing fluff for him, so this is bittersweet.

English is not my native language and this is not proof read.

Enjoy reading! Tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl @justalonelyslytherin @retromafia (because we already talked about this fic) @theshelbyclan

Words: 1,4k

Warnings: canon typical violence

It was business as usual for Tommy, but this day felt so much longer than just twenty-four hours. Somehow it was more tiring and more exhausting than his usual work day.

After he had left the office, he couldn’t even go straight home. No, instead he had more work to do, but not of the legal kind. The shady side of his business needed his undivided attention and this time he couldn’t outsource it. Tommy had to do it himself. It was the ugly part of his activities.

But he was used to it, as far as anybody could get used to that kind of work. He had done it many times before on his way to the top and now he had something like a routine with it. After all murder was just a business, a very cold and lonely one, but it was part of the reason why he became so successful.

His driveway to his mansion, symbol of his new status, was paved with blood and bones of enemies and friends. Sometimes the death was a collateral damage, like it was with Danny, but today it was the calculated outcome of his plans.

He already ruled half of England, but nevertheless he had to demonstrate his powers once again. Nobody could forget about it or question his position on the throne.

It was a bloody type of work and Tommy hated every minute of it. Besides the psychological damage, murdering someone was also very draining, as well as digging the shallow grave for that poor fella, who had crossed paths with the almighty Tommy Shelby.

A sign of relief left his lips, when he was finally done. He put the shovel in his car and cleaned up his face with his handkerchief. Somewhere along the process the pale skin of his sunken cheeks got stained with blood and dirt. He didn’t care about it anymore. The smell was omnipresent in his life and he couldn’t escape it. However, he was concerned about his wife, who was probably still waiting for him. The last thing Tommy wanted was to upset her. On top of that, he couldn’t stand when she asked him which blood it was. It was rarely his, but of course she would be worried about him anyway.

All on his own he drove through the dark, making his way home. His body was tired, when he climbed the stairs to the Arrow House, but his mind was still wide awake from all the things he did that day. Most present in his thoughts was the murder. The scene kept playing in his head over and over again.

Tommy forced a small smile on his lips, when he entered his bedroom and found his wife. “Why are you still awake?”, he asked: “You know, you don’t have to wait for me.” It was platitude, yes, but he said it anyway. Usually he wasn’t the type of person, who would say such a thing. Still he said it every time after he came home late at night, after a certain kind of work… It was part of his ritual.

“And hello to you too, Thomas”, she scolded him: “Also… you know very well, I can only sleep when you’re right by my side. Safe and sound.” She turned out of bed and walked the few steps to greet him with a kiss. Nevertheless she was still very caring, even though he didn’t deserve it most of the time.

Of course, he tried to be a good husband for her. He started to undress himself and when he was just in his boxer shorts, he presented her his woundless body. “See? Safe and sound”, he grunted: “Now let’s go to bed again.”

She took his hand and pulled him to their marital bed. Her voice was as soft as her silken nightdress when she whispered: “Only if you come with me, love.”

Her husband sighed, but followed her lead and got between the blanks.

Just like usual he was the big spoon and she was the little spoon. He kissed the back of her head and inhaled the scent of her hair.

But even though he stuck to his routine, he couldn’t find sleep. Most of these days, he was so tired, the sleep caught him, before his thought of guilt did. And after all this time and all the bad things he did, there was still plenty of guilt left. Actually it was piling up, like a mountain of his sins.

Today the demons in his head were stronger than the desperate desire of sleep from his body. He laid there for a while, before he realized, he was still too mentally involved with all his scandalous deed.

What Tommy now needed, was distraction. So he approached his wife. “Y/N?” Maybe she was still awake like him. His voice was throaty, but also incredibly needy. In the daylight and most of the time the Shelby acted like he didn’t need anyone, but in the comfort of his bed he was ready to show his vulnerable side.

A little sleepy and so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it, she said under her breath: “Yes, dear?”

“I can’t sleep”, he confessed and gave her hand a squeeze.

She turned around to look him in his ocean eyes. The wheels in her head were turning, he could sense it and after a while she suggested: “Okay, how about you put your head on my lap and tell me about your day.”

The worried were visible in his face. There was no point in lying about it, “You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was fine, would you?”, Tommy asked and she shook her head silently. She was the only person who understood him even without words. Sometimes he didn’t need to say anything, she just sensed, when something was wrong.

But today he needed to make that clear. “I don’t want to talk about my day”, he objected and put his hand on her cheek. His thumb caressed her soft skin oh so gentle. The shire thought about his day made him grumpy. Plus, it was also the cause of his current problem.

With an intense gaze in her eyes she stared at him and then poked his nose with her index finger. “I’ll tell you about mine.”

Then she sat upright and leaned against the headboard. Demanding she patted her lap as a sign he should come over and rest his head on her warm thighs.

Again he did just like she ordered. Tommy had left his dominance at the doorstep. Now he wasn’t the dangerous and evil gangster boss, but just a simple, yet tired man.

There was something spiritual about the way she ran her fingers through his hair. She had just started, but Tommy already felt way calmer, than before.

“The kids were hilarious today. You should have seen them. Charlie asked if horses could smoke like humans did”, she explained: “And Rosa ate her first biscuit today. She had wet crumbs all over her face. It was so adorable.”

He laughed a little, but he was sad at the same time, because he had missed these moments with his children. Tommy really wished he had been there. But what did he do instead? Making business, getting more money, threat and eventually kill people.

Tommy was completely caught up in his thoughts, when his wife mumbled: “Your hair is so soft.” She sounded almost surprised, as if she wanted to know the secret behind his silken smooth hair.

“What?” was all he said in his confusion about the sudden change of subject.

Now she was giggling and shook her head. “I said you’re incredibly soft for a tough gangster boss.”

The Shelby rolled his eyes and grumbled: “Don’t say that” which caused his wife to laugh even harder.

She had to calm down, before throwing in a question: “Why?”

“Because that’s a secret! What would the people think?”, he explained to her and tried to look up, to see her face.

Again she laughed and vowed: “I will keep your secret then… but it’s funny, in that dark terrible way I mean… right here you’re my Tommy, my husband and my everything, but everybody else think you are a horrible person.”

“But you don’t think that, eh?”

His wife clucked her tongue and answered: “I could never.”

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