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writingmeraki · 3 months ago

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the etiquettes of a true bodyguard — j.ww drabble.

❝ in which wonwoo proves the theory of humans tending to crave what they can't have and he realises that he definitely wants you.

( or you wonder if this was all your karma catching up to you when you become the bodyguard for the renowned notorious rockstar. )

pairing : rockstar!wonwoo x bodyguard!reader, one-sided enemies to ?? genre : angsty, fluffy. warnings : mentions of attacks, injuries, knives, stalkers, treating of wounds, blood. wonwoo is sort of rude. notproofread.

a/n at the end ( it got too long ) pls read and also lmk what u think of this : )

word count : 3.3k

Don’t believe in rumours regarding your clients. (The truth is far more better albeit there’ll always be exceptions. )

You'd mastered the art of nonchalance.

If such a thing did even exist but in other words you were very in control of your emotions, usually being able to maintain a calm facade even if there was chaos around you.

You suppose it was due to your occupation, after all being an agent did require a lot of keeping your emotions in check.

Even when you weren't doing your job and doing something else, it wasn't as if there was some sort of on and off button where you could switch up your personality and let loose. It just wasn't habituated to you.

Being a bodyguard however was different. A favour is what it was. You owed a favour to someone and that someone made you repay the favour by being a bodyguard for someone else they knew.

You couldn't argue about it because at the end of it still meant you were repaying back what you owed.

It was like a glorified version of a babysitter. Following someone around, making sure they don't mess up or get messed up. That's the whole jist of it.

Or at least it was what you thought initially.

But you forgot it wasn't children or teens. Rather grown ass adults. Almost your age type adults.

Said adults being rockstars part of a rock band that was composed of four of them.

Apparently, in this industry it was common for these celebrities to have personal bodyguards because of the threats they'd face such as fans who get a little crazy, jealous people who tend to push the limits to the max with death threats, paparazzi who have no idea what a personal space is and the list goes on and on.

You never had been a bodyguard before so when you discovered all the reasons a “mere” singer would need one, you were shocked to say the least.

Yet, a favour is a favour and you would keep to your word and do your best, so that's what you did. Being the best bodyguard was the goal.

It was your first time doing such a task? Mission? You couldn’t quite understand where this role would fall into because unlike the past where these roles were just disguises, this was actually the real deal.

And just as you did in the past, you did a background check on your target, no wait clients.

SVT. A short form of seventeen. The year they had formed the band. SVT is composed of four members. They were a rock band that rose to fame over the years, gaining a loyal fanbase due to their unique music style and concepts.

Choi Seunghcheol, the lead guitarist. Also the leader of the band. He was younger than you but he was the oldest amongst the four. He was someone the public adored, his personality was contrary to what usual rockstars were stereotyped as, quite the gentleman.

Kim Mingyu, the drummer of the band. He was coined with a golden retriever like personality, outshining in a room full of people just by his mere presence. Tall, buff and once again quite contrary to the stereotypes. He was the charmer of the group you suppose.

You were wondering if they were actually a rock band at that point, but then came the other two.

Hansol Vernon Chwe, keyboard player, clung onto the typical stereotypes like it was his coat. Rebellious and confidence was his whole get-go. He was true to his role, on and off-stage.

All of them were in fact, completely different on stage based on your research.

And how could you forget Jeon Wonwoo?

Saving the best for last you suppose. Jeon Wonwoo, the vocalist. It was as if there was more than enough information to know exactly what he was like. Reckless, rebellious, passionate, charmer. There were numerous rumours surrounding him, in fact they all did, but it seemed he was the public’s favourite. From being a frequent party-goer, to the typical supposed playboy, it seemed that he was always a topic.

They all did have their fair share of rumours, you had to dig into all the dirt, even the worse one because after all you wanted to be ready for what would come.

You should have known with the glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face the first time you saw him when you were introduced to SVT, that he was not going to make your goal easier.

Gradually, you got introduced to the rest of them and learnt they were alright, as a matter of truth,you got along with Seungcheol a lot in the way you were both pretty much the oldest, where you were older by two years to him, so it was almost as if he looked up to you for a lot of advice.

Mingyu was well…Mingyu. He had that energy in him that seemed to outshine any room he walked in and he was actually quite a sweetheart too. Always listened and took into consideration.

Vernon was basically almost like a kid to you. He'd say the most out of place shit that would always catch you off guard and had you contemplating why exactly you were there. It was actually quite a contrast to what you had searched about him. A good contrast, you concluded.

However, you were fine with all of them. The problem begins with Jeon Wonwoo.

Him with his messy hair, messy eye makeup that somehow suited him, lips that curved up into a perfect smirk. He was trouble if it existed in human form. As cliche as it sounded. It was their whole aesthetic though, the messy looks and makeup but he somehow looked like he was born to be a star like that.

He was reckless though. You think that’s one of his flaws. Or he purposely tried to make your life harder. It seemed, the rumours were not just that, they were the actual reality of him.

And due to the whole rebellious thing he had going on, he hated you.

Wonwoo in other words, did not like the idea of a personal bodyguard following him around everywhere. He knew due to their subsequent rise to fame, the negative parts would also come. He was fine with having security when they were attending events, going to the airports. As a group it was fine. But he dreaded it the day he was informed by his manager, Seungkwan, each of them would be assigned a personal bodyguard to be with them all times of the day.

Perhaps, it was because he never understood the need for one. He was not attacked physically but then again, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

The first day he saw you, despite all of them being a bit taken aback by how young you actually were and not only that you weren’t too bad on the eyes either, he was annoyed.

He could feel it in his bones, you were someone who stuck to rules. Always being by the book. Wonwoo hated that. And he would do just about everything to make sure, you’d quit. He did not need a personal bodyguard before. He wouldn’t need one now.

How wrong he was about to be proven.

“Mr. Jeon, you should be more care-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Pausing in your steps, you furrowed your eyebrows in question. You were making sure your own annoyance wouldn’t be shown. Wonwoo did not pay attention to you suddenly not trailing him, going forward towards the midnight grocery store.

It was ridiculous to think he needed someone to protect him when he was just going for a quick five minute run to the store that was near their hotel to get a drink.

He was just about to go quietly and be back without anyone noticing but of fucking course, you were able to somehow know.

“This is ridiculous, it’s just five minutes.” He spoke with anger, his eyes glaring at you, pretty lips in a scowl. You wondered if he knew that despite trying to look intimidating, he somehow looked more pretty.

“Just? A lot can happen in five minutes.” You said calmly, eyes making contact with him. You could tell he wasn’t used to people not cowering away under his glare.

He inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a brief moment, “Whatever.”

He pushed past you, making sure to knock into your shoulder. If it weren’t for the brief discontent you felt towards him, maybe you could have appreciated how put together he looked despite it almost being very late. Grey and black were his colours.

And that was how you’d ended up mid argument, trying to tell him to be careful of the darkness caused by the absence of some street lights. They were turned off probably due to malfunction. It gave the entire street a very eerie vibe because since only a few were functioning, it would be hard to make out who was walking in front of you.

You were accustomed to the dark, knowing what to keep in mind and always being observant. However, Wonwoo wasn’t. His judgement at the moment was clouded by irritance at your presence.

It was only for a brief second but you were able to make out a quick flash of movement just in front of Wonwoo. It was fast, likely so no one can know. Wonwoo had turned to putting his attention on his phone, scrolling and mumbling curses at you under his breath.

The store was still a few metres ahead, standing out by being one of the few only lit buildings. It was due to the glow of the lights of the store, you were able to catch the movement.

Before you knew it, you instinctively rushed forward and harshly grabbed Wonwoo’s arm, him almost dropping his phone and yelping, you threw him behind you.

The intruder appeared from the right side, where there was an unlit tiny alley, the perfect place to wait for unsuspecting late nighters. You grabbed the knife that was raised midway, ready to slash into the person ahead.

It was so fast, Wonwoo felt he would have missed it if he blinked because next thing he knew, he was suddenly shoved far to the left. All he saw was you holding the hand of a fully black clothed person, who was in turn holding a knife. The knife that would have likely pierced him if…if it weren’t for you.

You did not care if the knife was pressing into the palm of your hand, piercing your skin, all you cared about was making sure nothing were to happen to Wonwoo. And so when you heard what you thought was a gasp of pain, you roughly pushed away the intruder, who was also in shock because he did not expect you. And tonight, he did not want a fight he wasn’t even sure he’d win and so he escaped when he got the chance.

You quickly rushed to Wonwoo, who’d by your shove, had stumbled and fallen. He didn’t even realise it, trying to make sense of what just happened in the past few minutes.

“Mr.Jeon!Mr Jeon- Wonwoo!” You were shaking him harshly by his shoulders as he blinked back to reality upon hearing his name. His name for the first time from you. In probably the worst case he could imagine.

“Are you alright?” Out of pure concern, you held his face, scanning for injuries as you pushed back his hair. You then took his hands and did the same to make sure he wasn’t hurt too bad. Just a little scrap from falling.

Wonwoo, for the good of everything, could not explain why his heart felt like it’d combust the moment you touched his face and brushed his hair. He knew why you were doing it but it didn’t stop his heart from fluttering.

Why?

He was confused. He hated you. Was it possible he couldn’t quite understand if it was truly hate?

“Wonwoo?” He realised he still hadn’t replied, but when he heard his name for the second time, he also had another realisation. He thinks he likes the way you say it.

“Yeah- yeah I’m alright I-” He muttered, looking away as he stood up, “Let’s just- let’s just go back.”

He decided he didn’t want to go to the damned store, nor get the drinks. He just wanted to rest. His head felt dizzy at the idea of almost being hurt severely. It was though it only took a few moments for him to realise maybe he had been wrong all along, heck not maybe, he was definitely wrong.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You didn’t even question him as he trailed right beside you, almost to the point you were in sync, when a while ago, he seemed repulsed at being near you.

You followed him up to his room, but not before making sure there was no one trailing you and informing the other security around the hotel, regarding the intruder and telling someone to also inform the police.

He didn’t get irritated like he usually would, in fact he was too quiet.

“Are you actually fine Mr.Jeon?” He frowned, he didn’t like the way you called him, remaining ever so in character.

“No- no don’t call me that, Wonwoo is fine.”

You blinked once, twice to make sure you were hearing correctly. You slowly nodded, “Oh-kay, but,are you alright?”

“Yes, I uh- I'm fine.”

“My apologies, you weren't able to get your meal.”

You were sorry? He could have died and you…you saved him but you were the one who felt bad?

He hated the fact that only now was he actually realising what could have possibly happened if you weren’t there.

He felt stupid.

Glancing towards you,his gaze drifted towards your hand, the injured one half-heartedly wrapped with a makeshift bandage from your handkerchief likely.

“Let me bandage that for you properly, I feel it is the least I could do.”

You were about to argue, as you would, about how you’d do it yourself and to not fret over you because it was something you were pretty used to. Besides it wasn’t as big of a deal anyway, just a minor scrap.

But before you could, he reached out for your hand, holding it in his and looked back up at you. And this time, the way he did, it made you feel…uneasy. His hand felt warm. Very warm. Compared to your bleeding out hand.

Uneasy in a way where your heart fluttered. You couldn’t seem to form a thought as you stared right into his eyes. They were a rich brown colour that reminded you of pools of honey under the sun. It was unusual for you to ever think like that for someone let alone your actual client.

He spoke in a soft tone, you were sure you wouldn’t hear if you weren’t so close, “Please?”

It was definitely not normal for the way your throat seemed to dry up upon hearing him say that word.

“Oh-okay, alright.” And without much thought, you agreed and convinced yourself it was definitely not because of the puppy eyes he’d given you or the way his hand seemed to hold yours as if nothing else in the world existed for him.

You think those were what you’d call famous last words, because at the moment, you were regretting even agreeing. It wasn’t because of Wonwoo in particular, in fact he did prove to be someone who knew how to bandage efficiently.

But it was also because of him, your mind was simply a haywire.

You sat down on his bed, immediately hit by his signature smell as soon as you stepped in the room. It was everywhere but not in an overwhelming way, in a way that indicated it was a room that was lived in by him.

He came up with the first aid kit from the bathroom and sat beside you turning his body towards you as you faced forward with your feet down, feeling unprofessional to even sit fully on his bed.

Not that the whole ordeal would even fit into your etiquette rule book but perhaps you were beginning to realise, there were certain things you were wrong about. Or right.

You specifically remember a particular article where the headline described Wonwoo as a “shallow brat with an attitude as well.” and to a certain point, it seemed that they may have been right. But that was not the case now.

Or was it ever the case?

This time, the truth was indeed far better than the rumour.

It was as if the silence was enough to occupy the space between you two, him carefully cleaning your wound and disinfecting it. He glanced at your face during that part and was unsure whether to be worried or amazed by the fact that you didn’t even flinch when he wiped the hydrogen peroxide over your open cut.

Your tongue was weighed down by the thoughts running in your mind, it was as if the person in front of you was actually another person.

He was close to you, and the juxtaposition of moments ago to the current moment almost made you chuckle. It was hilarious how situations could change so quickly.

“There. Done.”

Raising your hand, you examined it with a scrutinising gaze making sure it was properly done. It made him feel slightly nervous yet he did not know if that was the only cause of that or upon the realisation of how your knees were touching the whole time — still were.

You got up, much to his disappointment, nodding along.

“Good job actually, you’ve done great.” You swore you could see a faint blush painting his cheeks and his ears a shade redder than normal. You clenched your hand beside you, hoping it would calm your weirdly speeding up heart.

And this was when it really hit you, about where you were….who you were.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, “Well I should get going now. It’s far too late and you should get some rest as well.”

Immediately he slightly frowned at that, blinking in a bit of amazement at how quick you’d changed moods. Then again, the night seemed to be all about too many quick changes.

You moved towards his door, not wanting to glance at him, not wanting to think or do anything that was definitely not just against your etiquettes but also your overall job.

He was safe. He was sound too. Everything about him was good and what he needed was rest and you did too because it was one hell of a nigh—

“Wait!”

You paused in your footsteps, already out of the door as you turned back around to face him.

“Goodnight…Y/n.”

He stood against the door, as he stared at you with those same honey eyes of his, that you think would never fail to amaze you, even in the most unlikely of situations.

And for the first time, or his first, he saw you smile. One corner slowly lifted while the other followed as you shook your head. And this time, it was his mind that seemed to blank out because holy shit.

“Goodnight…Wonwoo.” You said with a grin as you waved him once and then turned back around. Nonchalantly. As if you hadn’t just…just smiled at him the way you did.

And did you just address him with his first name without him whining about it?!?

His hand reached up to his chest, pressing tightly to his left part and realizing just how fast it beat against it.

Yeah he was sure about one thing.

This was in no way the so-called hatred he desperately wished he felt towards you existed.

But then again, did it ever?

a/n : urm hi. so um this was a very random idea that sprung to me like ages ago literal ages actually and i decided to pick it up and finallly finish this piece? it feels incomplete because i am actually maybe ( if this does well ) making this into sort of a drabble series with this same pairing but yk different scenarios and their dynamics changing as well? sorry if this feels rushed! i wrote like till a certain point way long ago and after that it's recent, i haven't written in a while so please excuse the weird flow as well. i just wanted to have some fun and also post something to show im alive hahaha pls let me know what you think and whether you'd want to read more of this pairing because tbh i kinda love them lollll :DDD

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts

( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

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yanderecrazysie · 2 months ago

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For the reader rejecting her soulmate by hiding the fact that they're soulmates drabble, can we get that with Gojo Satoru?

Coming from clan of sorcerers and being one of the most promising heirs, reader was hoping that her soulmate was just a regular human being so that she could have a reason to abandon the Jujutsu world and live a normal life. But unfortunately for her, her wishes were granted backwards. So backwards that she got someone from a prominent clan who also happened to be the strongest sorcerer known to man. Not wanting to deal what fate has given her, she hid her true mark made up a fake one and informed her clan she's leaving to keep her "soulmate" safe. They were disappointed but accepted none the less, and just like that she left for a normal life.

Despite thinking she avoided fate, what she doesn't know is that a simple faking of a mark does not sever a soulmates' connection. Especially when fate has forcibly involved her with someone like Gojo.

I love this and I love you for coming up with it. NGL I was influenced by the amazing @envy-of-the-apple and the INCREDIBLE Gojo fics they've made. Don't get your hopes up for this story, it's not nearly as good as theirs LOL

Title: I Don’t Want Love

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, swearing, violence, implied murder

“If I leave before you

And I walk out alone

Keep your hands to yourself

When you follow me home

I don't want love

I don't want love”

-From “I Don’t Want Love” by The Antlers

You would turn eighteen at exactly 1 am, on the dot. You had set up a mirror on your bed, aimed straight at your upper arms.

12 seconds to go…

You wondered which arm it would appear on. That isn’t what really mattered, of course.

7 seconds…

You wondered if you could tell if the person was average or ordinary by just the symbol alone.

3…

2…

1…

The silence in your room suffocated you. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

It looked like a hand with the index and middle finger twisted together. You knew that symbol. You’d seen it every damn day.

Gojo Satoru. Your soulmate was Gojo Satoru.

The weight of your fate crushed you. This was even worse than the outcome you had feared the most. You had prayed for an ordinary person, someone who could whisk you away from this world of curses and responsibilities. You just wanted someone who could offer you the normal life you so desperately craved.

Instead, fate had bound you to the most powerful sorcerer alive, a man whose very existence was a magnet for danger and chaos. A man who would never, ever live an ordinary life.

“No fucking way…” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head frantically as though you could just simply deny what was seared into your right shoulder. You couldn’t accept this. You wouldn’t accept this.

You knew what you had to do. Your clan was skilled in concealment techniques and, with a bit of effort, you covered the mark on your right shoulder, and created a false mark on your left. It was a simple sun, unremarkable in every way. The perfect lie you could craft to fool your family, the world, and maybe even yourself.

The symbol could belong to anyone. Anyone but Gojo Satoru, who had been showing off his mark since his 18th birthday last year.

When the next morning came, your parents’ faces fell at the sight of the ordinary sun on your left shoulder.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d get a powerful sorcerer,” your mother had never sounded more disappointed, “Someone like that nice Satoru boy.” You hid a wince.

Your father crossed his arms, “Are you sure you want to leave our world behind for some ordinary man?”

You shrugged, acting like the decision was out of your hands. “I can’t drag an ordinary person who can’t even see curses into our world,” you replied.

Your parents agreed and, without much more resistance, you headed out to a world where everyone was oblivious to the existence of curses.

A world you had always wanted to be a part of.

—-----------------------------------------------------

1 am on the dot for Gojo Satoru was like waking up in a bath filled with ice cubes. He shot out of his bed, panting and ready to fight whatever curse had found its way into his room. Then, he felt a warmth spreading over his soulmate’s mark and he relaxed, a smile playing across his face.

His soulmate had reached her 18th birthday!

Gojo’s smile widened as he pulled up his sleeve and studied the mark on his arm, the intertwined fingers that must match yours. For months, he had anticipated this moment- the day his soulmate would finally know of their connection!

Then, a strange, muted feeling. As if all of the warmth had been sucked out of him and his senses had been dulled. His smile sank into a frown.

His soulmate was attempting to hide their bond.

He was no stranger to concealment techniques- he was a sorcerer of unparalleled strength. But why would his beloved soulmate try to hide her mark?

It bothered him, but also piqued his curiosity. You must know who he was (everyone did), so why were you trying to hide from him?

Gojo’s frown deepened as the muted sensations got stronger. His soulmate was actively hiding from him. He couldn’t help but wonder, irritation spiking, why you would go to such lengths.

This wasn’t some simple concealment- you were rejecting the bond itself. And how dare you? He was the strongest sorcerer alive, you should be goddamned proud to be his soulmate!

He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He’d wait until the morning and find out whose birthday it was. Then, he’d approach you and figure out what you were playing at.

—------------------------------------------------------

One month had passed since your birthday, and you had already gotten yourself a job as a receptionist at a law firm. Your parents’ money would buy you an apartment for a few months, but you’d be expected to take care of yourself after that.

One of the lawyers, a tall, handsome man named Akira, was always stopping by your desk, flirting casually with you. You encouraged it full-heartedly. He was handsome, kind, intelligent and best of all…

He was normal.

Akira smiled as he stopped by your desk for the third time that day, “So, I was wondering-”

Briiiiing

“Sorry, hold that thought,” you winked up at him, picking up the desk phone, “Thank you for calling Hashimoto Law Firm, my name is (Y/n), how may I assist you today?”

There was no response, except for heavy breathing. Unnerved, you tried again, “Thank you for calling, how may I assist you?”

More heavy breathing followed and you gave it one last shot, “If you are speaking, I’m unable to hear you. Please call back again if you are in need of our services.”

You hung up, heart pounding for a reason you couldn’t place. Your right shoulder began to burn and your heart just about stopped altogether.

“What’s the matter?” Akira asked, concern in his voice.

You straightened up, avoiding his gaze, “Just a prank call.”

Akira took the answer with a nod, still looking concerned for you, “Don’t take prank calls too seriously. It’s usually just a kid on the other line.”

You swallowed thickly- you had a feeling you knew exactly who was on the other line.

Akira looked up at the clock, “Ah, it’s time to clock out for the day.” You followed his gaze and your stomach twisted unpleasantly.

“Will you walk me home?” you blurted out.

Akira’s eyebrow raised, “Did that prank call spook you that badly?”

“I’m worried it may be my ex,” you lied, “And if he knows where I work, he could be waiting outside for me.”

Akira smiled and offered you his hand, “No ex-boyfriend will get anywhere near you if I have anything to do with it.”

You smiled back.

The walk to your apartment had your heart pounding in your chest and your hands shaking. Akira’s larger, warmer hand slipped into yours and you squeezed it for reassurance.

You were nearly to your apartment complex when Akira whispered, “Someone’s following us.”

You realized there were not two but three pairs of footsteps walking down this street. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was- the burning on your right shoulder told you all you needed to know.

“You keep going, I’ll tell him off,” Akira said.

You wanted to tell him to stay with you, to not risk his life over you. You wanted to tell him that the person he was going to face was infinitely stronger than him.

But you were selfish.

As soon as Akira turned around, you broke into a run. You heard the man make a confused sound, as though he had tried to punch air (or, more likely, infinity) and then a bloodcurdling scream cut off by the pained, guttural noise of someone being punched so hard that their organs were being ruptured.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, maybe that was your imagination running wild, but you didn’t turn around to see if you were right. Each time you heard that fleshy sound of a fist caving in someone’s chest, you just ran faster.

As soon as you had reached your apartment, you bolted the apartment door shut, grabbed your suitcase, and began stuffing things inside with trembling hands.

Akira was most likely dead and all you could think about was how you had to change jobs and move right away. Were you heartless?

Maybe. But your soulmate mark wasn’t burning anymore and that was all that mattered.

—----------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you arrived at the law firm, ready to quit. You walked inside and found your boss already waiting for you. “Have you seen Akira? He was meant to be here an hour ago?”

“I haven’t,” you murmured, “Look, I have to quit-”

The door opened behind you and you spun around, hoping it was Akira, safe and sound. Instead, you were met with the sight you wanted to see least.

A tall man with white hair and a blindfold around his eyes. Gojo Satoru in the flesh.

“Oh, Mr. Gojo! Yes, you must be! Ah, why don’t you take that thing off your face?” your boss was quick to welcome the man, “Take a seat, (Y/n), you can take notes for us since Akira’s slept in.”

You remained standing, frozen in place as Gojo walked by you. Your soulmate was scalding hot, burning your skin so hotly that you let out a small hiss of pain.

“I’ll keep this on, if you don’t mind,” Gojo said, his voice carefree, “Now, about what we talked about yesterday…”

You began to inch towards the door.

“(Y/n), please take notes,” your boss said sternly. You jumped at the sharp tone of voice and found yourself helplessly obeying.

I need to quit. I need to leave!

Your thoughts didn’t match your actions. All you could do was hope that Gojo didn’t feel anything on his soulmate mark.

“So, Mr. Gojo, I understand you wanted to start a legal case about securing your soulmate?” your boss asked.

All of the blood drained from your face.

“Yes,” you couldn’t see Gojo’s stunning blue eyes but you knew they were looking directly at you, “You see, she’s a shy one. But, legally, I own her since she’s my soulmate. And she owns me, of course, too, but she’s not the one filing for an arranged marriage here.”

The two men shared a laugh as you began to feel faint. Unsteadily, you wobbled for a moment, before you collapsed to the floor.

“(Y/n)?” your boss stood up, surprised, “Should I call for medical attention?”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Gojo said, reaching out for you with a vicious grin.

“You see, I know just what she needs.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere gojo #gojo satoru #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen

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deadghosy · 8 months ago

Text

HAZBIN HOTEL X ALBERT/FLAMINGO! READER

prompt: after causing chaos in life is paradise, you accidentally clicked the wrong “alt” button.

Oh wow- listen…I’m in my Albert phase guys…so yeah. ANYWAYSSS-

You just got done making your Roblox video as you wanted to exit out of it. You were going for the alt + 4 button only for the alt to look red and shine into your face. The light blinding your sight made you scream as you opened your eyes to see you are in a new area.

…. “Am I in hell…” you said in a high pitch voice. You panicked out a pitch scream gaining weird looks from the sinners. You still kept your human look but as you screamed, the control panel of admins show up. You stopped screaming immediately with an “oh.” And smiled evily

After wrecking most of the pride ring, you felt tired. Seeing an advertisement on tv about a hotel that redeems sinners, you thought maybe you could do some good here. So you pulled out a keyboard and type to teleport to the said hotel

You can go into the wrath, pride, and gluttony ring. It’s pretty real as you have the wrath to destroy things when pissed off. You’re prideful that you can’t be destroyed, and you have the gluttony to eat. A lot.

I can see you just having a small flamingo demon pet following you around. Literally you would make it bite and stab people. You taught it how to do the billy bounce.

The crew most definitely thought you were schizophrenic because you talk out loud as if you were talking to someone

BIG HEADCANNON THAT YOU HAVE ZOOMIES AROUND THE HOTEL😭

“I start stabbing, now that the lights are out?” “Albert/Reader, please no.” Charlie says holding your arms down. The power went out and you were craving blood.

You’re just a little gremlin :D

Imagine how chaotic it was to not fling someone out of the hotel for fun 😭 LMAO A SINNER FLINGING ACROSS THE WHOLE PENTAGRAM.

“I’m taking away their happiness in a good way!” You say smiling as you drag a resident away from Charlie who seems traumatized. You were like an alastor 0.2 but more happy actually.

LMAO YOU HAVING A BAN HAMMER SO WHEN A RESIDENT IS BEING AN ASSHOLE YOU JUST SLAM THE HAMMER ON THEIR HEAD WITH A “BOOP”

I can imagine you having the same physique as the og Albert. Literally one minute you look like your animal crossing character, and the next thing they know you are some buff Florida man.

“I’m going to make them regret being born.” You said as you clicked an admin that made your skin black with red eyes. The angels came towards you as your cut their heads off.

The whole cast was in shocked seeing a human like you being so powerful with just a panel no one can touch.

“Being a baby will not prevent me from shooting you.” You said jokingly as this toddler was winning uno. The mother ran away with her child as you screamed out uno.

Angel started to rant about what he does for his job and how he basically seller his soul to this moth porn demon. After he told you things what the demon does to Angel. You snapped.

“BITCH I WILL SHOOT YOU!” Yells reader as they cocked their gun. Basically the whole crew has to hold you back as Valentino is pissing himself.

Vox didn’t even know who you were until Valentino started having nightmares and random shadows in his room. (The shadows were you lol) Vox had to look you up and try to find who tf you were. You were a YouTuber. That all it showed up on his feed as he scoffs.

Husk has no opinion on you. He only knows you as that guy with a flamingo. He would sometimes side eye you while you do crazy shit. But matter of fact you two are chill.

“We have different ways of expressing ourselves..” you say to Angel trying to comfort him. “I like this way, he can’t defend himself. And I like that.” You say shooting down a sinner while in battle. Angel dust just side eyes you as if you were actually crazy.

You’re not allowed to go into turf war with him no more.

Velvette has no legit problems with you. Dead ass you and her might be fashion partners. HAVE YOU SEEN ALBERT’S DRIP ON INSTA?! That MAN IS GOOD!

You have so much wanted posters, even you brag to others at how cool you look while destroying someone’s house. All because you were bored.

Charlie is mostly worried for your mental health while Vaggie just knows that you aren’t really the most mental stable in the group.

“STOP DOING THAT! STOP CRYING! What are you a baby?!” You say while smacking away a whole imp baby that was crying beside you on the merry-go-round

Charlie’s eyes widen at what you did. You were like a man child.

I can headcannon you deadass bombed the Vees tower out of pettiness. It was just funny seeing Vox shocked to his damn boots that his home was now gone.

Lucifer made you a duck flamingo cause of how he was trying to be nice to you. He knew you wasn’t a sinner or an angel of sorts. But you were a human that he never seen before. He probably makes you some damn pancakes if you want them.

Lucifer would probably ask if you have a flamingo demon form because you told the crew that you go by flamingo and Albert. You just stood there confused to what this short man was saying. But you just nodded trying to see if you could actually turn into a flamingo.

Headcannon on you just actually helping around by just replacing and changing furniture. You help Charlie with trust exercises as the resident are just confuse at a human being here.

“WHO needs powers, when you have a gun!” You yell excited pulling out a gun from your admin control. You shot downa sinner who was trying to fight you. Alastor just doesn’t see why how your “guns” are more powerful. They don’t even have angelic metal.

Carmilla carmine had seen how you legit shot an angel down with a simple looking gun. It was insane but amazing. She definitely called you down to her place so she can see what your bullets are made out of.

Imagine how you basically see people’s/sinner’s names as if it was a name tag aka username. You would go around saying their name out loud as they look at you scared and crazy. “Hello Hakka!” “How you know my name?!!!!” 😕

Rosie adores you, you may be man child that’s like a gremlin. But you are so sweet and helping. Alastor made you meet her and honestly, it was a great meet and greet. Honestly 10/10.

Headcannon on you and Niffty both killing bugs together. You use your ban gun as Niffty uses a sewing needle. This sweet girl made you a big crown, you better appreciate it.

Alastor had messed with your food making you pissed off. It was the end of the day and you hadn’t eat anything due to not taking care of yourself much. So your reaction was justified when you see alastor’s grins widening.

“I hope you choke on your next meal.” You say as your voice had suddenly boomed across the hotel. It was like as if your mic boosted it, but you don’t have one.

You and Alastor have like a sibling relationship as you two just want to watch people suffer. Literally it’s funny as hell when it’s that one Xbox meme.😭

“MOM SAYS ITS MY TURN TO CAUSE SUFFERING!” You say trying to get over Alastor’s tall body as he causes chaos in the pentagram city.

Sir Pentious didn’t like you at all. Like he was actually scared at his crazy and psychotic you are at times. But when he saw how calm and laid back you actually were. He actually started to warm up close to you.

The egg boiz follow you around asking if your pet flamingo could play with them. It was so cute as they play with your pet flamingo.

Cherri absolutely loves you and your destructive behavior. Literally you two are a deadly duo cause you would give her some of your admin powers and take it back.

You once actually set up a limb store, literally you were getting that money✨😈 you had chopped off so much limbs got your deer customers.

I can see you actually taking people’s souls lol. You just take souls for fun and not for contract which leaves some overlords confused and scared of your powers.

Heaven would be scared of you personally. Like you are such a menace, sera sent your ass back to hell. Your human appearance was still the same tho lol.

Adam and you, beef on sight. “Why do you even have that pink bird? What are you, ret@rded?” “No but your mother is.” You said back while flipping him off.

Sera doesn’t like you. Your chaotic energy and your “evil” doing are not prohibited in paradise. She might tell Big G about how a human is in hell in perfect condition.

Emily heard about your presence by sera, she wanted to meet you but then again. You are back in hell. But she hopes to meet you one day.

See, me personally you would rob a bank for fun and then give it to some homeless imps in the wrath ring. It’s just you doing random shit while bored.

I can imagine you turning someone into the hulk. You deadass have so much power that it’s concerning and crazy for the hotel crew and rest of hell. You have alot of powers and you can turn people into some green buff human?!?

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without.

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it.

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair.

“They chew up people like you.”

“I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty.

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space.

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning.

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it!

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building.

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel.

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time.

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra.

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you.

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck. “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go.

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about.

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives.

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you.

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully.

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you.

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?"

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh.

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you.

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it.

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears.

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating.

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.”

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security.

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making.

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin.

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right.

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length.

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth.

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

771 notes · View notes

aikaterini-drag · 5 months ago

Text

Movie Night

Pairing: King Loki x Fem Wife Reader

Summary: Loki and you spend time in your apartment in New York. You want to watch a move but Loki has other ideas.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, explicit sexual content, oral(fem receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, just shameless smut pals.

It was a well known fact that your husband wasn’t fond of Earth and its occupants. But since you were from Earth, Loki had no choice but to take you there whenever you desired.

Yes, Loki was your husband. Striking and shocking as it was, the infamous yet powerful Norse God was yours.

At first you were so afraid of him. The two of you had met during his chaotic time in New York, amidst aliens and destruction. Your meeting was wild and crazy, and Loki saw you as his enemy. You worked for Stark Industries and tried to stop Loki from destroying the world with the Avengers. Your attempt was pretty pathetic but you had to give it a shot. You couldn't just let someone trash your home without at least trying to intervene.

In the chaos of battle, you got hit by a bullet in the shoulder. Loki could have easily left you, but he didn’t. He took you to Asgard and treated your injuries with their advanced magic and healing concoctions. In a matter of days you were completely healed. All thanks to him. He’d saved you, and that’s when you started seeing parts of him that no one else could.

Loki was a never-ending puzzle, with so many tiny pieces that it seemed impossible to ever see the whole picture. But if there was one thing you had learned about him was his deep craving for affection and care. Beneath the stoic, cold exterior of this God, hid a child seeking love.

You and Loki dated for a year before he insisted on getting married. He was pretty adamant about it, especially after clearing his name and claiming his rightful spot on the throne of Asgard. As the first son, it was his duty, and Thor was more than happy to be the captain of the Asgardian soldiers and play peacemaker with Earth.

So now, you were Queen too. You had responsibilities and daily tasks that sometimes gave you headaches. You were never lonely and Loki always took care of you. But your husband was King, born and bred for the role, when you were just a human who had only ever imagined living in a tiny New York apartment, not glittering kingdoms and palaces.

When you asked Loki for a vacation back home, he agreed. He took you to New York, where you stayed in your old apartment. Loki had bought and completely renovated it. Now, it was an adorable small place with comfy and elegant furniture, a perfect escape from your royal duties.

That night, you chose to stay in and watch a movie while munching on snacks until you were full.

No duties, no attendants or royal meetings.

Just you and your husband.

You had already stocked up on all kinds of chips, chocolate and candy. Loki had just emerged from the shower, wearing a half-open green robe that showed off his muscular chest, still flushed from the heat. He looked even taller and more imposing in your small apartment, his wet raven hair dripping water.

To distract yourself from your lusty thoughts, you went to the living room and lit a candle. You snuggled into the couch, and that’s when Loki strolled in, his musky scent filling the air. He sat down beside you and handed you a glass of wine. Your glasses clinked and you took a few sips of wine and smiled at him, enjoying the rich, fruity taste.

“Good?” He asked.

You grinned. “You have excellent taste.”

“Are you happy?” Loki asked. As much as he grumbled about Midgard, he knew how much you missed your old life. He spoiled you as often as he could.

“Very. Thank you, honey. You are quite possibly the best husband in the whole universe.”

He bent to kiss your neck. “Quite possibly? My dear, I am unequivocally the best. And I can prove it to you.”

You moaned as his lips trailed your neck, dragging your neckline aside to kiss your collarbones. “Loki no.”

“Why not?” He looked up at you like a child who’d been refused his favorite toy.

“You promised we’d watch a movie tonight.”

"I desire to ravish you instead."

You half-laughed. “You ravish me daily.”

“And it appears I am never satisfied. So I crave more.”

“You know, sometimes it’s hard keeping up with your libido,” you muttered as he cupped your breasts over your T-shirt and traced your nipples. “Loki, wait—”

He grumbled and drew back. “You are one merciless woman.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’d like to watch a movie with you. It’s been my dream, being with my boyfriend—”

“Husband,” he corrected.

“Yes, being with my husband and watching a late night movie while eating snacks.”

“I shall indulge you, my wife,” he said, tucking his robe closed and trying to hide his raging erection. He flashed a smile, his white teeth gleaming, and added, “And then,I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

You blushed. Loki often said things like that, completely shameless. “You debauched God,” you muttered.

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “A pleasure, darling.”

Sprawling his long legs, Loki tucked you in his arms, a soft blanket draped over you. You craddled a bowl of chips, snacks, and candy in one arm and the TV remote in the other, browsing movies on Netflix.

“This place is nice, even pretty,” Loki mused as he looked around the renovated apartment. He hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it before.

“Pretty, huh? I remember you calling it a ‘pathetic hovel’ last time,” you teased, glancing up at him.

“Well… that was a long time ago.”

“So, what do you want to watch tonight?”

He sighed. “Well, if we’re going to waste time with Midgardian entertainment, it might as well be brief.”

“Brief? I guess a movie then.”

“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow. “I have to debauch you after that, remember?”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You know, I think you’re secretly ashamed to enjoy a little human entertainment.”

“No. I’m simply eager to fuck you. That’s one thing I will never lie about.”

“What a rake you are.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “If I must suffer through this, let’s get over with it. Please.”

As it turned out, the movie held Loki’s interest for twenty minutes before he started being mischievous.

Honestly, you expected him to start sooner.

He took a chip and pretended to accidentally drop it in your lap. Then, acting all innocent, he “accidentally” tried to catch it, slipping his hand between your thighs. His fingers brushed against your clothed pussy, but retreated when you sent him a firm look.

Loki resumed watching the movie.

A while later, he cuddled you close and “accidentally” dropped a piece of popcorn down your shirt, between your breasts. You barely held back your grin at his ministrations. He retrieved it and you stopped his groping with a gentle slap of your hand.

“You know,” you started, “for the god of mischief, your way of distracting me is pretty lame.”

He smiled and undeterred, opened his robe. “I’m hot.”

Your eyes strayed from the TV screen because good Gods, he’d opened his robe completely, giving you a good view of his glorious cock. Thick, long and fat, it stood at attention. It throbbed, thick veins running from the head to the base. You bit your lips at the bead of moisture at the head. Loki had a magnificent chiseled body, and his cock was like rest of him, Godly. Devine. Perfect.

You rubbed your thighs together, trying to ignore the emptiness inside you. Damn him for using your weakness against you. His green eyes glowed in the dim light, filled with a hunger that promised to have you mewling and begging for his touch.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the movie?” Loki asked, his voice a husky whisper. His cock throbbed from between your bodies, begging for your touch.

You dragged your eyes from his cock and up to his face. “This is not fair.”

“God of mischief.”

In a swift move, he shifted, pushing you against the couch with his body between your legs. You gasped at the feel of him against you. Warm, hard and scented with masculine musk, your husband was irresistible. The movie played in the background, but went completely unnoticed.

He caught your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth. “It’s time for me to have a taste of my Queen. I want my sweet human crying out, her pretty pink pussy clenching around me.”

“Hmm… yes…” you said in between wet kisses. “More, please… Loki…”

With a satisfied hum, he worked on removing your clothes, tugging at your pajamas and almost tearing your underwear. He tossed away both of your clothes away as if they offended him until there was nothing left but your smooth skin exposed to his eyes. Grasping under your knees, he steered them wide apart, and enjoyed the view. Creamy thighs and in between was the most pretty, pink puffy cunt begging for his attention.

“Look at that,” he drawled, his finger running up and down your drenched slit. “I could scent your desire all this time, my naughty little Queen.”

You opened your mouth to speak but moaned when one thick finger pressed inside. He gathered your wetness and pumped slowly, in and out, in and out, while watching you intently. You squirmed, seeking more, but he kept you still. A second finger entered, curling and rubbing that sensitive spot. You fell back, your toes curling. Licking his lips, Loki added a third, stretching you wide for him while his thumb teased your clit.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, watching at where your cunt squeezed his fingers. “So beautiful.”

“Husband, please.” You gripped his forearms. “Want them faster.”

Loki grinned and obliged, thrusting his fingers in a come hither motion. You rocked against them, panting and whining from overload. He kept his other hand on your inner thigh, keeping you open for him. Thrusting, stroking and playing with you, you came in a matter of seconds. Stars flashed in your vision. You were delirious, floating in clouds of bliss.

Loki retreated from your pussy, licking his fingers that were all wet from your juices. Then growing low, he descended upon your mound, his teeth nibbling at the fat pussy lips before flicking his tongue around your clit. Oversensitive, you tried to stop him but couldn’t. Body taut, you threaded your hands through his wet hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

A few more shameless licks and you cried out, shaking, coming apart with long-drawn moans. Loki didn’t stop teasing you, he fucked you with his fingers, moving up to devour your nipples, sucking the buds deep into his warm mouth.

“My pretty Queen possesses the sweetest taste. Can’t have enough of you.”

He claimed your mouth and you moaned at the taste of your essence on his tongue. Your hands traveled along his strong body, caressing his broad shoulders before traveling low to cup his cock. You pumped him, traced the veins and rubbed the leaky head. Loki hummed, pleased as he licked into your mouth.

Pinning your hands above your head, he grabbed his fat cock and slapped it on your pussy lips. He was heavy and hot. You watched as he rubbed the pulsing shaft until it was coated in your juices, teasing you by thrusting the cockhead inside your little slit before drawing back. With a whine, you canted your hips, begging him in a series of whines and murmurs.

He indulged you and finally surged forward, watching as your small opening was forced open by his dick. You both moaned at the sensations and once he was seated to the hilt you needed a few moments to adjust to the invasion. He was big, bigger than a human in every way. You always needed some moments to get used to the incredible fullness and stretch.

Even so, you always fit perfectly together.

“Good?” he asked, breathless and aroused.

“Okay, you can move now.”

Nodding, he pulled back, his veined length frothing with your slick before slamming back in. Having him inside you felt glorious. He did it again, his eyes fixed on your pretty cunt; he drew back till all his cock was out, then pushed deep, until his swollen balls squeezed against your ass.

“Loki,” you whined, not caring how desperate you sounded, “want to touch you.”

He freed your hands and you immediately traced his strong body, trailing your fingers down his neck, chest, nipples and firm ass while he pounded inside you, claiming your very soul. Clutching your waist, he went faster, his mouth devouring your nipples while you clung to his shoulders for dear life and rode higher and higher.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast and you shut your eyes tightly at how intense it was. Loki followed right after you, delving to the hilt and shooting ropes of warm cum inside you. You felt his release, every pump that flooded your pussy and overflowed, dripping down your the crack of your ass.

With a rumble of satisfaction, he set you to lay on your side, cuddling you from behind, his still hard shaft still within you. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, then suckled your nipples and cupped your breasts in his hands. You relaxed into him, your body lax and spent.

“We should watch the rest of the movie now,” he said in an absolutely serious tone.

You half-laughed. “We missed most of it.”

He kissed your head with a grin. “We can watch it again.”

“Oh, now you don’t mind?”

“I think I’m going to relish watching as many movies as you want, darling.”

To prove his point, he gave a shallow thrust—he was still hard and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“That sounds like a threat, husband,” you moaned when he draped your leg over his thigh. “Loki—”

He rubbed the place where you were joined. “I want to play with my Queen’s pussy while we watch the movie.”

You wiggled but he kept you lodged to him. “Loki this is too much.”

He silenced you with a kiss and drew tight circles over your clit. You felt warm magic permeating your pussy and knew that he was healing you. You no longer felt so oversensitive and the stretch of his cock was pleasing, welcoming.

“There,” he dragged his tongue across your neck. “I always take care of my wife.” He kissed your forehead and added, “Now put the movie from the start.”

“Lo—” you didn’t manage to let out another word and whined when he leaned down to kiss around your flushed nipples.

“Loki—”

“The movie, darling,” he said and gently thrust his cock, reminding you that he remained rock hard inside you.

Loki moved from behind you, his hands, mouth and delicious length of him inside you teasing you to another orgasm. True to his word, he ended up fucking you until the credits rolled and you had no strength to do anything else but melt sweetly into his arms and enjoy his ministrations.

#loki of asgard #loki tom hiddleston #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki god of mischief #loki laufesyon x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x ofc #Loki x Fem Wife Reader #loki odison x reader #loki smut #loki fanfic #loki x reader smut

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tinydefector · 6 months ago

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Hello! How are you? This is my first time requesting so I hope this is okay, but can I request a shorter scenario g1 Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz and Ironhide with a human s/o lives for chaos? They would point at Megatron and say ‘bitch’ just for the reaction. 🩵

Cursing Megatron out

Ps I'm sleep deprived af it's 12am right now and just finished this so enjoy.

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: description of fighting, swearing

Masterlist

Ratchet masterlist

Ironhide masterlist

Jazz masterlist

Optimus prime Masterlist

________________

Optimus Prime

They yell loudly as Megatron goes to grab them, they smash him in the face with a tire iron as he is then tackled by Optimus. The Decepticon leader had ruined their date night. They flip him off as Optimus throws Megatron across the ground, his servo wraps around them quickly pulling them closer as they scramble up onto his shoulder. "Eat shit and die Fuck face!" They yell at Megatron.

Optimus clutched their small form protectively against his plating, battling protocols roaring. Had circumstances been different, the Prime would have roared in fury at your fierce defence against the tyrant but he was dealing with trying to keep them safe.

Megatron howled, clutching a fist to his dented face as energon streamed between digits. His optics blazed murder, craving nothing more than to snuff the fluttering spark of Optimus' and the human he held so closely.

"You've made a grave error this day, little beast. No corpse shall hide you from my wrath!" Megatron bellowed, brandishing his fusion cannon as if to raze the very earth. His field screamed promised agony that sent lesser mechs scampering for shelter.

Optimus vented his battle mask into place, tucking them securely against the safety of his backstrut. weapons primed and wrathful fields promising eons of hurt against any who dared to touch his Human.

"You shall not harm them, Megatron. Leave. now. while your spark yet functions," Optimus warned in a voice low and in a heavy growl that sounded feral and unlike the Prime.

"Maybe you should get Shockwave to give you a facial reconciliation!, oh wait I did it already!" They sneer back from Optimus' shoulder at Megatron. Their teeth are bared at him as they snarl. If anyone else had seen the human they would have thought they were an animal.

Optimus suppressed an amused sigh at their show of fangs, so small yet fearless against the monster terrorising his people for millennia. Megatron bellowed in foaming rage, lunging toward where they perched upon Optimus's armoured pauldron. "Insolent pest! I shall grind your bones to powder and force-feed them to - aggh!"

A well-placed shot from Optimus's ion blaster struck the warlord, toppling the tyrant shrieking to the dirt. "Last warning, Megatron. Leave. or face me," Optimus rumbled, field pulsing protectiveness intertwined with fierce Protection.

With a snarl Megatron takes off. Once both Optimus and his human lover settle from the adrenaline and battle protocols. Optimus cradled their small form within his battle-worn servo, venting slow ex-vapor to purge lingering fumes. His optics dimly regarded their fragile body.

"That was a foolish act of bravery, little one," Optimus rumbled gently, digit carefully brushing across their forehead and down their cheek admiring their eyes alight with fire. His spark swelled at the determination.

"Sorry, I.. I got caught up in the moment, he missed me off ruining date night" they huff out while pressing their face into his neck cabling. Their body shakes from the adrenaline. "I hit Megatron with a tire iron" they whisper as it slowly registers in their own brain.

Optimus vented a soft huff of static, equal parts worry and weary amusement filling his field at their admission. "A valiant act indeed, though foolhardy against one as powerful as he," rumbled Optimus, vocals warm with approval despite the danger of the situation. His optics flicker in fondness. “Please do not do that again”

Ratchet

Megatron let's out a horrific scream as he gets electrocuted. He hadn't noticed the humans who had shoved the taser between the plates of his armour. "Get Tazered Bitch, not so fucking tough now huh?" They shout at the downed Decepticon only to be scooped up by Ratchet. Ratchet swept them into his servo with a staticky huff, deftly dodging the warlord's flailing blows as voltage shocks wracked Megatron's colossal frame. His field buzzed approval at their fearless defence of him.

"Reckless sparkling! You'll deactivate my rusting struts with stunts like that," Ratchet grumbled, though optics shone bright relief beneath grizzled plating. Megatron howled upon the earth, shaking off aftershocks that would crush the stoutest Autobot, madness glinting a terrifying helm snapped halfway 'twixt beast and machine.

Ratchet backed swiftly from flailing reach, hoisting their small form beyond harm's sight. Ratchet takes off transforming around them before he begins scolding the for how stupid they were, how dangerous it was. And the fact Megatron would personally hunt them now.

"Have you any idea how foolish that stunt was?!" Ratchet's engine revved indignantly even as he sped across the scarred earth, his cabin vibrating with barely-suppressed wrath and equal measure relief.

His sensors remained fixed upon the precious organic cargo nestled within his altforms cab, monitoring vital readings "Do you want a personal vendetta from Megatron? Because that's how you get a personal vendetta, you glitched little slagger!" Medical scans analysed each minute shift of breath.

"Reckless, Just...do not scare me so, small one," Ratchet rumbled quietly, worried and care etched in every bolt and wire.

"He had it coming Ratchet, plus that Amazon taser is getting a 10/10. 'WORKS GREAT, I Tazed a large alien warlord and he screamed like a bitch, will in fact work on creeps on the street' " they laugh while they look in the revision mirror to make sure they aren't being followed by said Decepticon.

Despite himself, Ratchet's engine sputtered an amused huff at their tone - so fearless in the face of giants who had destroyed armies. "Oh I've no doubt - the reviews certainly won't lack colour!" Ratchet agreed wryly, subtly activating scanners to sweep their escape route while watchful optics remained pinned to their reflection.

His vents sighed relief upon confirming no stalking signatures upon their trail, enemy or otherwise. Swinging wide the Ark's bunker doors, Ratchet transformed with care not to jostle his delicate cargo. Blue optics peered down aglow with a glare "Come now, troublemaker. No more outings for the next month for you while the oaf licks his wounds." His states while guiding them to the medbay.

“no fair Ratchet!”

Jazz

They cling onto Jazz as the bot hides behind a boulder, multiple autobots had been out when the Decepticons had attacked. They are held tightly by Jazz as he debates the best possible to get them out of there unscaved.

Jazz vented softly, hugging their form protectively against his plating as pedefalls rumbled outside their scant cover.

"Ain't nothin' t'fear, li'l light. Ol' Jazz'll getcha outta here one piece, ya feel me?" he murmured soothing static against their ear, subtly scanning surroundings through plating. An opening presented itself, if he could provide distraction just long enough...

Pressing a swift kiss to their forehead, Jazz.” Go, sweetspark! Ain't got but a klik - I'm right behind ya!" Jazz called desperately over the roar of weapons, swerving and banking with abandon to keep pursuers engaged but alive.

"Hey ol' buckets 'a bolts! Over here!" With that, he peeled from cover in a burst of speed, transforming mid-leap to present the biggest possible target, tailfins flared wide. Weapon systems engaged, greeting the three pursuing seekers with enthusiastically snarky exclamations as he led them on a merry chase. His sole purpose in those seconds - buy precious time, before sharply veering back toward cover with afterburners blazing.

They do take off running but stop as they see Megatron advancing towards Jazz. They aren't far from either bot and in a split moment of bravery or stupidity their shoe is off and being flung right at Megatron's helm. "Your shit ass piece of Junk you lay a fucking hand on my boyfriend and I'll rip you apart with a fucking Magnet and plyers, don't you fucking test me you dipper wearing, goofy as looking supervillan wannabe!" They shout. It make the whole battlefield go almost dead silent. " Yea you fucking hear my bucket head, ill make you wish you were rusting!" They shout again.

Jazz's optics widened in horror behind his visor, witnessing your defiant act through static-laced vision. Fear gripped his struts like freezing polyhexian tundra.

Megatron's helm barely shifted from the impact, regarding their small form with optics glinting cruel amusement. His cannon charged with purpose to squash resistance as pointless and fleeting as an organic.

"Foolish creature. Your lives mean less than insects" Megatron sneered, taking ponderous steps their way that may as well have been a funeral march. The field around him broadcast murderous intentions that sent even the seasoned warriors around bolting for cover.

Jazz would not be denied. With a grief-stricken keen that curdled energon in lines, he flung himself between you and that doom-wielding arm aiming to end what meaning he had left. His field pulsed frenzied protectiveness tangled with pleas no words could voice.

"Ya want 'em, Megs, you'll hafta go through me first! An' I been dancin' this dance a long time..." Jazz spat static. Jazz was quick to get them out of there grabbing them and taking off. It isn't until they were back at the Ark did he finally transform, arms wrapped around them as he gives the a peace of his mind.

Jazz clutched their body against his chest plates long after abandoning the battle site, fleeing farther than ever felt safe from those sworn to end all he had left. His engine roared wildly, fuel pump pounding faster than any sabotage mission's duration against the relief of delivering them from harm.

Only within the Ark's fortified bunker did his struts unlock enough to collapse wearily to the floor, holding them close as grateful cries and static escaped in equal measure. "Don't you ever fraggin' do that ta me again, ya hear?" Jazz gasped brokenly at last, cupping their face desperately within his quaking palm. His visor glimmered tears unshed, relief and terror warning in equal measure.

"Can't lose ya...yer all Ah got left in this mess. Please, li'l light...don' scare me like that." Raw emotion clogged his vocalizer to near uselessness, pressing reverent kisses between choked intakes.

"He was going right for you baby!, I'm not letting the 3 tonne prick hurt you, so what I lost a shoe next time it will be a hydro flask of salt water and I hope it dents his helm" they state as they grab his face plate returning his kisses with fevor.

Jazz huffed a static-tinged laugh at their fierce declaration, so brave yet trembling in his gentle grasp. His cooling fans cycled accelerated drafts, systems still buzzing from terrors faced alone to shield them from doom's sightless gaze.

"Frag if ya ain't the bravest thing this side'a Cybertron," Jazz rumbled. He pressed his faceplate into their shoulder holding them tightly, not willing to let go yet. Curling them protectively against the humming mass of his spark, Jazz vented shaky ex-vents. "Mah brave, beautiful li'l light...keep shinin' that fire, sweetspark." Jazz whispered raggedly into their shoulder.

Ironhide

Ironhide shoots at Megatron. His human companion latched to his back as he uses his body as a shield so the war lord couldn't get them. But they were making it rather hard as they tried antagonising Megatron.

"Damn did they build you like a shit box on Cybertron or did you pick this form yourself!" They shout out.

Ironhide careened across the scarred terrain, engine roaring as his heavy cannons unloaded volley after volley into the Con warlord's encroaching chassis. Megatron's howls shook the earth, armour blistering under Ironhide's righteous fury for daring to threaten his human lashed securely to broad backstruts.

"That's it, slaggertits, dance for me!" Ironhide bellowed back at Megatron.

Megatron lunged forward through a hailstorm of plasma, cannons charging in a frenzy to end lives denying his rule. But Ironhide spun on a dime, releasing another blast to cave in an optical relay before transforming ram-tight around you both.

His engine pounded like the Pit below, field alive with devotion harsh as his bearing yet gentle as newborn sparks flickering against red-and-blue armorweave. When Megatron gets too close they lob a can of WD-40 At him which Ironhide shoots cause it to explode in his face. "Get sunbeam shitlips!" They yell in delight as Ironhide takes off with them trying to get to safety.

"That's enough outta you, squishy," Ironhide rumbled, yet his cannons sang in harmony with your unbound spirit. His mission remained unchanged - shield the light of life, defying all forces that sought to smother its radiance. Ironhide's cannon fire consumed the volatile projectile in a brilliant fireball, engulfing Megatron in inferno. As they take off leaving Megatron in a fireball of energon and wounds.

"Right in the visual output, squishy!. Primus, I think I'm in love," Ironhide roared instatically, tires biting earth as he tore across the ravaged wastes well beyond enemy sensors. His spark soared like the smelting winds of Vos. Ironhide's engine purred a low rumble as his struts unwound, tension leaching from armour plating now safe. His field pulsed weariness, yet underlying it swirled pride and fierce gratitude for your indomitable spirit so small, yet burned brighter than any star.

"Can't say I approve of y'all's antics out there, squishy. But Primus if you didn't frag up that rustbucket good," Ironhide chuckled, copper-sheened plating creaking in amusement. Never had he witnessed such fearless bravery, nor met a soul so worthy of the praise.

"He had it coming, Ironhide!You're not going to tell prime are you?" They had just faced down Megatron and cursed him out yet they were worried over being ratted out. Ironhide's engine grumbled a tired huff, his massive frame unwinding into a sprawl across the barren earth. He transforms lifting them up into his arms

"I'd be a fool to deny you put the fear of Primus in that rustbucket," Ironhide chuckled. "But Prime's got enough weighin' his wires. Don't need him fryin' more circuits over our antics." A digit gently booped their nose, gaze softening. "Your spark burns brighter than all the Well's glory. Ain't no mech takin' that from you - least of all one as glitching as Megs."

"Our secret?" They asked looking up at him.

"Our secret, squishy.” Ironhide replied, massive frame creaking gently as massive fingers curled to cradle them against his chassis.

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

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venussaidso · 8 months ago

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𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧-𝐑𝐚𝐡𝐮-𝐊𝐞𝐭𝐮: 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦

the prominent themes of vampirism such as desire, hunger, mystery and illusions tie so perfectly with the moon and its nodes. it wasn't surprising to find the nodes dominating this genre the most, along with the luminaries (moon & sun nakshatras, but more fittingly the moon). i will not be touching on the few sun nakshatras playing vampires, as the moon makes far more sense symbolizing true vampiric nature.

So many vampire movie posters have this luminous glow to them, likely done consciously because of these creatures' affinity for nighttime, and generally being nocturnal as they're extremely sensitive to any type of sunlight.

I've once briefly mentioned, in my "Moon Dominant Themes" post, that lunar natives can operate very secretly, such as 'working in the shadows'. And the whole lore of vampires always emphasizes their ability to hide themselves while still living among humans.

Vampires undergoing periods of dormancy and resurgence is interesting as that can also be linked back to the moon's cycles of waxing & maning. The influence that the moon has on vampires, in some legends, is during certain lunar phases in which they become more active. A full moon could literally mean that their strength has enhanced, whilst a moonless night could mean their desire for blood is heightened.

Rohini Sun Colin Farrell

Claire Nakti explored, in her "TOP 3 Most Magical & Mystical Astrology Signs | Cults, Divination, & Occultism | Part 2 (Nakshatras)" documentary, on the ability of Moon nakshatra natives to brainwash/mind control/hypnotize.

daniel kaluuya is a hasta moon, not rohini.

As these natives are often cult leaders, their ability to influence the mind goes back to their lunar-rulership. The Moon rules over the mind, emotions and subconscious. A vampire's ability to hypnotize humans and other lesser beings is in parallel to the Moon's influence over the psyche and subconscious.

This illusory nature found in vampires can be connected to the shadow planet, Rahu. As Rahu is illusions, desire, hunger. Rahu is very seductive and tempting; this could tie back to some legends in which vampires lure their prey giving them promises of pleasure.

Ardra Sun Tom Cruise.

In "Interview with the Vampire", Tom Cruise plays Lestat who is an overindulgent, greedy vampire. Rahu governs desires and the pursuit of worldly pleasures. It's related to insatiable cravings that lead to greed. The lustful nature of Rahu is seen in Lestat's intense bloodlust and the chaos it brings.

Rahu's associations with eclipses relates to their ability of being hidden in the shadows. Another hint is in Rahu being a Shadow planet itself, just like Ketu is which is also related to vampires.

The story about Rahu's head getting decapitated by Vishnu for trying to get a drink out of the nectar of immortality can be brilliantly paralleled with vampirism. Due to Rahu's consumption of the drop of the nectar, he became the infamous dismembered immortal. His dismemberment a symbol of the detachment from humanity to vampirism.

Rahu is considered an entity of darkness and malevolence, preying upon cosmic forces and defying the natural order of things (such as vampirism which does defy nature itself, ie. the dead becoming undead) in pursuit for immortality. Vampires are literal parasites, and Rahu is also parasitical. Vampires feed on humans without providing any benefit in the ecosystem in return, a one-sided relationship which resembles one between a parasite and its host. Rahu is depicted as insatiable and consuming, feeding and draining one's energy. It creates a cycle of thirsting for more without any fulfillment, a predicament vampires find themselves in.

Ashwini Sun Luke Evans

Rahu and Ketu represent the lunar nodes, respectively depicted as the head and tail of the celestial serpent. Their energetic interaction can be likened to the endless chase between a vampire and a vampire hunter, villain and hero, the friction between unlikely lovers. It's obvious in how Rahu embodies the insatiable hunger for experiences and the craving for fulfillment that it can be the vampiric force in such a dynamic. Like a vampire, Rahu relentlessly pursues its desires, often leading to greed and excess. And then you have Ketu, on the other hand, which embodies detachment, spirituality, and liberation from worldly attachments. It quite literally symbolizes the renunciation of desires and the quest for enlightenment, opposing Rahu's restlessness for more. Ketu is a cutting force, and like a determined vampire hunter, is skilled in tracking down illusions and breaking free from temptations.

Although it sounds like a more fitting interplay between Rahu as the evil force and Ketu as the hunter, it's actually more seen in the other way around.

It is more so that Rahuvians are the vampire hunters, which I found so intriguing; showcasing how Rahu is both the parasitical (illusory), and also the one to be rid of parasites (disillusionment). And I have explored this particular theme in my Rahu post -- how Rahu natives experience a lot of disillusionment from their reality, wanting to cast away the illusions that drain the life force.

The reversal of roles showcases the fluidity of the nodes; their roles almost always expected to reverse, illustrating just how Rahu and Ketu are deeply intertwined with the concept of karma, representing the push-&-pull between cosmic forces of destiny.

More nodal-vampire movies, and other examples in which Rahu & Ketu find themselves on opposite sides of the same spectrum in which they are both vampires, similar to the friction seen between Louis (Ketu) and Lestat (Rahu) in "Interview with the Vampire".

In the film "Fright Night", the one who has to kill the villainous vampire is an Ashwini native. It is also interesting how in "Queen of the Damned" (above, right), the villain is a Magha native who must be stopped by her Mula lover -- both being vampires.

As mentioned in the figure image about the film "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter", where a nodal-ruled native is paired up with someone who is lunar-ruled, this is a type of pairing seen a lot in these supernatural stories.

Similarly to "Twilight", as Edward was the one to turn Bella into a vampire, we see the planetary reversal of this in which the lunar-native is the one who turns the nodal-native.

Or the film "Vamps" in which Hasta Sun, Shatabhisha Moon native Alicia Silverstone turns Mula Sun, Magha Moon native Krysten Ritter into a vampire.

It isn't a surprise that the moon and its nodes are related to the extremities of the mind. These energies can cause isolation due to how polarizing they come off in regular society (furthermore validating its relation to vampirism), so they become attracted to one another -- especially the nodal natives to the moon natives, because of how much they feel magnetized by them, and vice versa.

edit: also paul wesley could be a purva phalguni moon instead of magha, there is an unconfirmed birthtime out there + he is a pushya sun and i have noticed sun nakshatras along with saturn nakshatras in vampiric roles as well. might touch on this some time soon.

The presence of some Sun nakshatras in vampire stories is present and that could tie to the Sun's influence over the Moon despite the fact that solar symbolisms regarding vampirism don't exist, and vampires are far too sensitive to the Sun so much so that they get sunburn during the full moon where the sun's light reflects (interesting to think about). The whole point of a vampire is to lurk in the shadows or during nighttime, so the strict avoidance of the Sun could make sense in there being solar-natives in vampiric roles. It makes for an interesting contradiction, certainly.

Ketu is the body of the severed demon Rahu following the consumption of the elixir. Much like Rahu, Ketu is also associated to darkness and illusions. But it symbolizes the darker, unseen aspects of reality -- all the hidden forces and energies as I've touched on in my Ketu exploration. Ketu and Rahu are two sides of the same coin, it isn't surprising to see them share many vampiric roles/stories.

Ketu is about spiritual liberation, detachment (in this context, becoming a vampire means a harsh detachment from normality/the old life), transcendence; these existential themes are found in vampirism.

The character Louis in "Interview with the Vampire" played by Mula Sun Brad Pitt describes his existential crisis as a vampire to a Magha Sun human who interviews him.

The enhanced strength, agility, speed, hearing and all these abilities are gained after the painful transformation process, going from human to vampire. This process is seen in the film "Interview with the Vampire", Mula Sun Brad Pitt's character going through excruciating pain when turning. My mind immediately takes me to Claire Nakti's first Mula nakshatra exploration, in which she touched on the interconnection of pain and evolution for access to more powers.

edit: robert pattinson is an ardra moon, not sun. and i accidentally used jk rowling's face as l.j smith, ugh! 💔

Vampires are caught between worlds, trapped in a liminal space between life & death. Ketu can cause feelings of entrapment. The yearning for release from their eternal existence is a common theme, as Ketu wants to escape its body. Louis de Pointe du Lac is the best character as example of rejecting one's own nature and wanting to cease to exist.

Mula Sun Brad Pitt

nodals being so emo jfc

notes: colin farrell's birthtime accuracy is botched, he's definitely a mula ascendant. tom hiddleston stays a possible ashwini moon until he's not (until his birthtime is available and accurate).

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corydora-writes · 1 month ago

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A Glimpse of Us

Summary: You've been married to Bruce Wayne for the past three years, an arrangement initially orchestrated as a strategic alliance. With time, genuine affection and love blossomed between you. Burdened by his internal conflicts, Bruce vehemently denied his feelings and distanced himself from you, cloaking his emotions in an impenetrable facade. Then, an unexpected and mysterious visitor from the future compels him to confront the undeniable truth of his feelings for you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Plus Size Female Reader

Expect a blend of fluff and angst. Reader is of fairy & human lineage.

Word Count: 5,356

A/N: So, here I go again. I don't know. I just have a thing for happy families and fairies, I guess. But hey, I wrote this two years ago and felt like sharing it. Also… I didn’t bother to edit it much. But nonetheless, ENJOY! X

The Batcave hummed with a low, almost silent energy. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the distant whirring of the Batcomputer. Bruce Wayne, clad in the familiar black armor, stared at the unmistakable crimson beacon on the screen. Beside the beacon was your photo and your current location. You were working tirelessly at your clinic in Gotham. Bruce knew you were safe, not that you needed any protection. He had observed you multiple times on the battlefield amidst the chaos and danger and was genuinely impressed by your skill and composure under pressure.

Bruce vividly recalled the first time he encountered you during a covert mission with the Justice League Dark, where he was introduced to your existence in the most unexpected circumstances. As was his vigilant and cautious nature, he initially harbored suspicions about you, questioning your motives and abilities. However, you remained indifferent to his opinions, exuding an air of confidence that left a lasting impression. You made it unequivocally clear that his concerns were his own and owed him no explanations, standing your ground with unwavering resolve.

Bruce couldn't help but smile as he reminisced about the past, recalling the intensity of that initial encounter and the unexpected turn of events. Little did he know that a simple partnership would eventually lead to marriage, which seemed unimaginable amid initial skepticism and guarded interactions.

Three years. It had been three years since your arranged marriage, a union born from the need to bridge the gap between two worlds. He, the human that was best suitable for you, and you, the fairy-human queen of a realm beyond the veil. The initial resentment had long simmered down to a dull ache, replaced by a love that felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of his vows, his mission, his very being. Instead of being truthful and honest, he told you that he never saw this arrangement becoming more than mere duty. And so, he cowardly pushed you away, encouraged you to date others, to find happiness outside your arranged marriage. But the truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of you with anyone else and a sense of great, hurtful regret pierced his heart when he saw you on a date with Kyle Rayner. And despite that, Bruce felt that the way you smiled, your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes, it all belonged to him, even if he refused to admit it.

He had hoped his avoidance would make the feelings fade, but instead, each passing day amplified them. He craved your touch, the soft brush of your fingers against his skin, the warmth of your embrace. It was torture, this yearning he couldn't acknowledge.

The red dot on the screen, now pulsating with a rhythmic urgency, pulled his gaze back from the memories. It was time.

'Alfred, I'm going out.'

'Very well, Master Bruce. Mind the streets, and be careful.' Alfred said.

Bruce, mid-way through donning his utility belt, froze when a blinding white light erupted from the cavern's entrance, momentarily eclipsing everything. As his vision adjusted, Bruce saw a towering silhouette, broad-shouldered and cloaked in darkness, silhouetted against the fading light.

'Who are you?' Bruce roared, his voice echoing in the cavern. But the figure remained silent, a stoic enigma, and then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Bruce, adrenaline coursing through him, cautiously approached the direction of the blinding light. His gaze fell upon a simple, woven basket resting on the cold concrete floor. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft fabric, lay a tiny infant, their face still and peaceful.

He surveyed the scene with a cold, distant gaze, his eyes tracing the sleeping face of the baby. A tremor ran through him, a shiver of something he couldn't quite place.

A note folded neatly, sat beside the basket. Bruce picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes scanned the familiar script, a calligraphy he recognized but couldn't quite place. It read simply, 'Keep her safe. I will be back for her.'

Alfred's attention shifted to the basket, his normally stoic features contorting with bewilderment. He knelt beside it, his eyes wide at the sight of the baby.

'Master Bruce,' Alfred rasped, his voice barely a whisper, “She… she has the Wayne emblem.'

Bruce's own gaze fell on the tiny silver emblem pinned to the infant’s swaddling clothes. The emblem, a symbol of his family’s legacy, now marked this tiny stranger.

He glanced at Alfred, who stood beside him, his usually impassive face etched with concern.

“Alfred, is everything alright?" Bruce asked, needing the reassurance of a familiar voice in the wake of the impossible. “Is she… is she okay?”

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, his voice steady. "Except for the extraordinary circumstance that just transpired. I must confess, I have never seen anything like it."

With trembling hands, he studied the note once more. The handwriting was unmistakable—the flowing penmanship, the distinctive slant…

“Alfred,” Bruce uttered. “I- I think I wrote this note.”

Alfred looked away from the sleeping oblivious baby and turned his gaze to Bruce.

“This doesn't make sense. I've always been against time travel. I have cautioned Barry Allen against his impulsive use of the Speed Force for reckless time travel,” Bruce said firmly.

Time travel was a game of dominoes, one misplaced move, one alteration, and the entire future could crumble.

Alfred smiled. "Indeed, sir. But allow me to propose an alternate perspective. Your future self may not have been reckless. He may have simply been acting as a father protecting his child. All rules and protocols are rendered moot when the safety of a loved one is at stake."

Bruce carefully took a small pinch of blood from the baby's heel.

"Batcomputer, DNA analysis. Cross-reference with all known subjects in the Wayne database. And, I need a full medical report."

"Initiating cross-reference procedure. Estimated time of completion: two hours."

He turned to Alfred who had the baby cradled in his arms. “Alfred, take the child to Y/N. She can check her to ensure she’s healthy. And bring her up to speed. Inform her about… everything.”

The air hung heavy with unspoken questions, anxieties simmering beneath the surface. Alfred, his face etched with concern, nodded, carefully cradling the sleeping baby.

“What will you do, sir, in the meantime?” he asked, his voice laced with an undercurrent of worry.

Bruce’s eyes, dark and bottomless, met Alfred’s. “I will wait for the results. We need to know, Alfred. We need to understand.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it's unnecessary, sir. The baby bears an uncanny resemblance to both you and Dr. Y/L/N."

Bruce’s jaw tightened, a flicker of incredulity crossing his face. “I know, Alfred. That’s precisely what defies logic. I need to know if this is… possible. If what I’m seeing… is real.”

“I understand,” Alfred said firmly. He respected Bruce's request. As the butler carried the infant away, Bruce retreated to the colossal screen.

The Batcave was silent save for Bruce’s loud thoughts.

Bruce found himself unable to continue his vigilante activities as Batman. His need for facts gnawed at him incessantly. After an interminable wait, the Batcomputer whirred to life, casting an eerie glow across the cavern. Bruce observed, his heart racing as the data streamed across the illuminated screen.

Bruce stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for the support of the lab counter.

The Batcomputer’s monotone voice echoed through the lab.

DNA results for the six-month-old alien subject: maternal match - Y/N L/N; paternal match - Bruce Thomas Wayne. The alien subject possesses magical abilities, some are dormant at birth. Recommend further study and careful observation.

—

As the clock struck 10:00 pm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief after a long and tiring day at your clinic. The thought of finally returning to the warmth and comfort of your cottage was a comforting prospect. As you gathered your belongings, the exhaustion started to lift, and you looked forward to reveling in a book at home. However, just as you were about to leave, the tranquility was shattered by the unexpected sound of the doorbell echoing through the empty clinic.

Alfred stood at the entrance and held a swaddled baby. When you first laid eyes on the baby, the world around you fell away. Alfred let himself exhale a whoosh of relief and he stared into your eyes that sparkled with ancient wisdom and held a kind of magic that transcended the mundane. You were one of a kind—your dual lineage woven into your very spirit, allowing you to navigate both the realms of humanity and the mystique of the fairies with grace.

Before Alfred could open his mouth to explain, you spoke.

“She’s… mine and Bruce’s daughter.” Your voice trembled with disbelief and joy. Yet, beneath that disbelief lay a current of understanding. You were no stranger to the extraordinary; you had always dwelled in its embrace.

You delicately lifted the infant from Alfred's embrace. The baby, with her tiny nose and delicate fingers, wrapped around your thumb and stirred. As you held the baby, a strange sensation washed over you. A rush of warmth, a sense of familiarity. It was as if a forgotten memory had been awakened. The baby gazed up at you with eyes that sparkled like stars, and as she held your gaze, she conveyed images of futures untold—a lush hyacinth garden where a radiant you twirled in laughter beside a strong, confident Bruce who gently held his baby girl. His gaze was on you, tenderness and love in his eyes you had never witnessed. He was filled with a love for you that transcended time, a love that had bloomed in the years that had passed.

“Our beautiful Mercy,” Bruce uttered and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

The vision faded leaving you breathless. You looked back at the baby and noticed her delicate features that carried the echoes of Bruce and as if you even needed the reassurance, just helped to solidify the truth. You wondered if you had become the woman Bruce had always wanted. The mother his future daughter needed? Or were you just a vessel, a safe haven for a child who belonged to another time?

Somewhere, in the shadows of the present, the man who shared her bloodline, the man she had grown to love, wrestled with his own demons, a man forever bound to you by the invisible threads of time.

"She's got your eyes," Alfred remarked, as the baby wriggled in your arms.

Your heart ached with a love you weren’t sure you deserved and smiled faintly. "I see a little Bruce there, too..." you sighed.

“I hope he finds the courage to speak his heart. He can be quite adept at handling challenges—both in the city and in his personal life,” Alfred said, probably to cheer you up.

—

You had decided to keep your distance from Bruce, who had vanished into the shadows after the revelation a week ago. Alfred, his loyal servant, offered no explanation, only a knowing glance that confirmed your suspicions. He was avoiding you. You couldn't blame him. Not really. Your marriage was a forced union for leverage and had been built on mutual indifference. Love had never been a part of the equation, even if you had allowed it to bloom in the fertile ground of his warmth and the shared care for his sons. But now, this child, this tiny miracle, had changed everything.

While a tinge of sadness lingered in your heart, you resolved to make the most of the time you had with your baby girl.

Your modest cottage was livelier than ever. Your heart swelled with a love so intense, it threatened to consume you. Here you were with all your children who were a source of comfort and amusement. Then, there was Alfred, a reassuring presence in the chaos, who busied himself with changing diapers and preparing bottles while you rested. And each brother had taken on a different role in caring for Mercy. Dick had a knack for entertaining her, his playful antics making her giggle in delight. Jason, with his rough edges softened by tenderness, had taken to changing diapers with a grim determination that made everyone laugh. Damian, it seemed, was a little perplexed by the whole situation but had assumed the role of protector with a seriousness only he could muster.

You found yourself standing by the doorframe, unable to resist eavesdropping on the boys' conversation in the nursery. Though you wanted to join in, you decided to stay silent and just listen.

Dick plopped himself onto the floor, tossing a brightly colored rattle in the air with a flourish. “Just think about it,” he began, his voice energetic and animated. “With mom’s powers, Bruce’s detective knacks, and my martial arts skills, she’ll be unstoppable. I’ll take her training seriously, starting with the basics. I’ll teach her the best moves, and–”

“Who the hell made you primary trainer, Dick? I’ve died before and came back to life. A badass. If anyone can hone her skills, it’s me.” Jason chimed in, tongue-in-cheek, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “And yet that experience has made you reckless. You’re good, Jason, but lack discipline.”

“Discipline?” Jason scoffed. “I get the job done fast and efficiently-”

Damian scoffed, perched on the edge of your bed as he cradled his baby sister.

He looked down at Mercy. “Unlike Grayson and Todd,” he declared with an air of authority, “I will continue to keep Gotham safe so you don’t have to burden yourself with protecting it. You’ll have the liberty to do normal things like run a bakery or help me manage Wayne Enterprises.” He paused, his expression softening as he looked at the baby in their midst. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t teach you how to defend yourself, baby sister.”

"And I swear,” Damian continued. “I will not let you walk the same path we did, well unless you want to. No night terrors, no endless chases through the dark. None of that. You’ll have your choice, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you. And know this—you are never alone. No one gets left behind in this family.” As if sensing his gaze, his baby sister shifted slightly, her tiny hand brushing against his shirt. She might not understand his words yet, but in that fleeting moment, Damian felt an unbreakable bond form between them. He would be her protector, her brother, and the one who would teach her how to protect herself.

The unexpected declaration hung in the air, filling the nursery with an aura of warmth that caught everyone off guard. The corner of Dick’s mouth twitched upward, half-proud, half-amused. Jason raised an eyebrow, his typical bravado faltering for a moment. They hadn’t expected the youngest Wayne to express himself with such affection.

You leaned against the doorframe, your arms wrapped lovingly around yourself, your heart swelling with affection as you listened to your sons. They had taken to their roles as older brothers with unexpected zeal, and you found it beautiful and precious to witness.

“I think Mercy might just end up becoming a mix of all of you three,” you said lovingly.

Mercy let out a series of delighted squeals, her arms flailing as she instinctively reached for you, the sound of her laughter filling the cottage like music.

—

The Wayne Manor had been eerily silent for the past week, creating a palpable sense of wrongness. Bruce longed for the familiar sounds of his sons' bickering, Alfred's witty remarks, and, most of all, your presence. Your daily presence at the Manor had become a comforting routine. To the outside world, you and Bruce presented a facade of a content, married couple. Little did they know that a single room in the Manor held an enchantment, serving as a secret passage to your hidden cottage where every morning you’d come out of and every night, you’d enter. But for the past week, you didn’t.

Bruce found himself standing in front of your door. It wasn't a coincidence or a fleeting moment of courage; it was a deliberate choice that he had been wrestling with since the arrival of your daughter from the future. The weight of his unspoken emotions had become too heavy to bear, and he knew he couldn't continue to run away. As he hesitantly raised his hand to knock, he felt the weight of every missed opportunity and every unspoken word. It took every ounce of courage he possessed to face you and finally admit that he had been a fool and a coward for evading his true feelings for so long.

As if sensing Bruce’s presence, Alfred opened the door.

“About time,” Alfred said bluntly, crossing his arms with an amused glint in his eye. “You let this go on long enough, Master Wayne.”

Bruce sighed. “I know. I just… needed time to think.”

“Think? Or avoid?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “It’s been almost 8 days since you’ve seen your wife. 8 days of avoidance that likely brewed more uncertainty, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know what to say, Alfred,” Bruce replied, frustration evident in his tone. “I was just afraid,” he admitted. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin everything?”

Alfred sighed, adjusting his cufflinks and preparing to deliver his trademark wisdom. “Bruce, she’s your wife—not a foe to be defeated. It’s time to drop the pretense of the Bat and be a man. You’ve fought countless battles; this one requires only honesty.”

"I know," Bruce said, determination lacing his voice. "That’s why I’m here, Alfred."

Alfred offered a rare, genuine smile. "That’s the spirit, sir. I’ll be here, waiting to hear all about it—hopefully, with good news." Alfred's piercing gaze surveyed Bruce's disheveled appearance clad in his armor but bereft of his mask. He crossed his arms, a subtle display of his disapproval. “But first, for heaven’s sake, shower! You can’t confront the woman you’re in love with while smelling like sweat and leather.”

Bruce paused, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You always know how to make me laugh, Alfred. But… you’re right.” Bruce wore the suit like a second skin that he forgot he was still donning it. He let out a soft breath, the weight of his internal conflict lifting slightly.

“Go on, then,” Alfred prompted. “Wash away the grime of your nightly escapades.”

“Alright. Alright, Alfred. I’m on it,” Bruce replied, finally conceding.

—

As Bruce returned and entered the cozy cottage, the scent of aged books and mahogany enveloped him. He followed Alfred down a hallway, lined with family portraits of your sisters, human parents, Bruce, and your sons. He came to a halt before a nursery, the moonlight spilling through the window and illuminating a cradle. You laid curled beside it. Bruce thought you looked ethereal, your face etched with exhaustion, yet your eyes, when they opened, were filled with a warmth that melted the ice around his heart.

“My precious little one,” your voice was soft and melodious as you spoke, your words imbued with the same warmth and kindness that had captivated Bruce's heart. “your tiny face is the mirror image of your daddy's. And just like him, I know you will grow up to be courageous, compassionate, and filled with the same unwavering determination to do what is right.”Your voice filled with an emotion he could only describe as pure, unadulterated joy.

Bruce couldn't speak and relished that intimate moment, the way you held your daughter, his future, in your arms.

Bruce took a step forward, the creak of the floorboard drawing your attention. You looked up, startled, but then a soft smile spread across your face.

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice laced with relief and a touch of awe. “You came.”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

“Please,” you retorted.

Bruce walked into the room, his heart heavy but strangely lighter at the same time. He saw the tiny face nestled against you, the tiny fingers wrapped around your finger, and felt a surge of love that he had never experienced before.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. "So much like you."

You bit your lip, trying to contain the swell of emotions you were feeling.

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a stoic expression, cleared his throat. “May I suggest a more private location?” Alfred’s tone was both firm and kind.

You turned to look at Bruce.

“We can talk in my study,” you said, brushing the lingering thoughts of the intimacy shared in that moment aside. “If that’s okay with you, Bruce.”

“Of course,” Bruce responded.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, ever the observer, before nodding with a hint of a smirk that suggested he knew more than he let on. "Very well,” he said as he grabbed the baby from your arms.

Bruce followed you to your study room. You closed the door behind you, the click echoing in the quiet room, and a sense of intimacy settled between you two. "Please sit," you said, your voice soft but firm.

The room was bathed in the warm glow of a lamp, the rest of the study dark save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window. The scent of mahogany and aged parchment pervaded the air, mingling with the faint aroma of exotic herbs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorned the walls, their spines whispering tales untold. Artifacts and curiosities from all over the world were carefully arranged on delicate display cases, hinting at a hidden passion for exploration. You were a naturopathic doctor, a fact he knew, but he rarely saw this side of you.

"I apologize for the mess here." Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the bottles, your fingers tracing the delicate script on the labels. "This is my workspace, my haven. Sometimes, I just need to be surrounded by knowledge, by the potential for discovery…” you set down the obsidian bottle on the table and turned to meet Bruce’s gaze. “but anyway, we’re here to talk about much important things.” You paused. "I was starting to think you weren't coming,” you admitted.

"I’m sorry," Bruce finally choked out, his voice rough. "I… I didn’t know what to do." He could sense the tension in the room, the weight of unsaid words lingering in the air like a storm about to break.

“Bruce,” You began, your voice soft, “don’t apologize. I know this is a lot to take in. But I need you to understand that this future doesn’t have to happen... and it probably won’t.”

You paused, your gaze fixed upon your husband, who remained seated, his piercing blue eyes inscrutable. "I mean, our marriage is not a decree of destiny," you insisted, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and longing. "This future is not written in stone."

Bruce watched you with a heavy heart. Your words cut him deeply. Had he pushed you away so vehemently that you didn’t envision a future with him? You continued your unstoppable torrent of words, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“I'm not blind to your feelings, Bruce. I am an obligation, nothing more,” you uttered.

Bruce's gaze met yours, a brief moment of vulnerability in his impenetrable facade. A wave of guilt crashed over him. He’d been a cold, distant husband, his heart a locked vault, refusing to admit the truth of his feelings to you.

“That is not true, Y/N. Don’t ever say that.” Bruce uttered, his voice gaining strength.

“Then speak your mind, Bruce," you pleaded. "Because for the past 3 years, your silence has betrayed your statement."

The tension in the room became palpable. Bruce stood up from the worn leather chair, his eyes narrowed with determination as he took a deliberate step towards you. In response, you took a step back involuntarily, feeling the weight of the room's tension pressing in on you.

"Y/N," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "you make me feel things I've never allowed myself to feel. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I never thought I'd want to be vulnerable with someone, but here I am, wanting to share everything with you."

you shifted slightly, your gaze piercing into his. Your eyes showed an understanding and a quiet recognition of his struggles.

"and it feels so right," he added, now more earnest. "Being with you feels like home, which frightens me more than anything else. I've built up so many defenses to protect myself, but you—you're breaking through them, and I can't help but want to let you in."

Bruce took another step closer to you. "Yes, I admit, our marriage was merely a formal strategic alliance. Before you, I never saw myself sharing a future with anyone because until three years ago, I didn't know I had one."

For a moment, Bruce feared you might look away and leave him exposed.

Bruce continued with unwavering determination as he made another step forward, his eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and excitement. "But a week ago, I caught a glimpse of my future. And damn it, it's incredible."

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice barely audible, and found yourself locked in a trance by the intensity of his gaze. Without realizing it, he had closed the distance between you, and when you attempted to retreat, you felt your legs pressed against your desk. Feeling the hard surface behind you, you instinctively leaned into it, seeking its support as your pulse quickened with anticipation and uncertainty.

"Y/N, I'm not usually one for superstition, but I strongly feel we were meant to be together. It's as if our paths were always meant to converge, with you destined to be mine and I, yours."

"Bruce..." you repeated, soft and quiet. He was so close to you now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

But Bruce said enough. He lowered his head, his lips pressing against your soft lips. He poured every ounce of his unspoken emotions into that kiss - the longing, the regret, the desperate hope that he wasn't too late. You froze for a moment, your mind reeling. This wasn't the Bruce you knew, the man who treated you with polite indifference, who saw you as a pawn in a game of power. This was a man who craved you, who yearned for your touch, who bared his soul in a single, impassioned kiss.

Bruce’s hands traveled from your waist to the small of your back, holding you securely as if you were the only thing that mattered. You kissed him back intensely, welcoming his tongue with yours. You could feel the thrill of adrenaline coursing through you, mixing with the warmth of his body against yours.

Breaking the kiss, you gazed into his deep eyes, searching for reassurance that this was real. Bruce smiled, his expression playful yet serious, and he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Bruce knelt before you. “I love you,” Bruce whispered hoarsely, his words a confession long overdue. “You transformed my world, Y/N, and I want to spend my life showing you how much you mean to me. Will you marry me again? Only this time it’ll be honest and intimate. Just us.”

Bruce pulled from his pocket, a vintage gemstone you knew had belonged to his mother.

your eyes widen in shock and delight, Your breath catching in your throat. Then, you looked into Bruce’s sincere eyes, feeling the weight of his words.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, tears of happiness sparkling in your eyes.

Bruce slid the ring onto your finger and planted a gentle kiss on your hand.

This was a new beginning, a chance to build something real, something true, something that was yours and Bruce’s alone.

—

Together, you approached the nursery, where Alfred had the baby in his arms. He smiled at both of you, knowing that you both had surrendered to love. “Baby Mercy eagerly waited for you, Master Bruce.”

He carefully placed the baby in Bruce's arms, mindful of her fragility. As Bruce cradled her, he felt the gentle warmth of her tiny body against his skin. Looking down at her, he noticed her unblinking gaze, so full of wonder and innocence, as if she were already trying to understand the world around her. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, a rare and tender smile adorned Bruce's face, softening the hardened lines that defined it. "Welcome home, Mercy," he murmured, feeling a rush of love and protectiveness wash over him as he held his daughter close.

Your smile grew, your eyes sparkling with joy as you watched Bruce gaze at your daughter with a softness he had never shown before. Mercy giggled, a sound that seemed to echo through the room like a gentle melody. It was as if the universe itself rejoiced at this reunion.

“I think she wants to show you something,” you smiled.

The first vision-like memory flickered to life, blooming before Bruce. He could see himself as a distant figure, surveying the scene from the doorway, his expression a blend of wonder and amusement. He stood in a warm kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. Mercy, no older than five, wore a tiny apron adorned with colorful motifs. An older version of his son, Damian Wayne, was busy rolling out dough. Flour dusted the air like fairy dust as Damian orchestrated their little culinary adventure with serious intent.

“Watch, Daddy!” Mercy exclaimed, her voice a melodic chime. The two of them were collaborating on baking a batch of cookies. Damian, with all his precision, carefully measured the ingredients while his sister, in a flurry of excitement, added spoonfuls of sprinkles and chocolate chips into the mix.

“Too many!” Damian chided, suppressing a smile despite his best efforts. The kitchen was filled with laughter and the delightful chaos of sibling bonding.

The scene shifted with a swirl of color, pulling Bruce into another cherished moment from the future—a day at Wayne Enterprises. The sleek, modern building glimmered under the sun, its towering structure a symbol of the legacy Bruce had built. Inside, his daughter, now slightly older, wandered through the gleaming halls, hand in hand with her father.

“Daddy, can we go to the rooftop garden?” she asked her voice a melody of excitement. Bruce nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he watched her interact with the bustling world of business around them.

The rooftop was a breathtaking oasis, filled with vibrant flowers and greenery that you had carefully nurtured.

Bruce and Mercy sat together on a sun-drenched bench, a picnic spread before them.

“Did you know that if you talk to the flowers, they can grow even more?” Mercy said, leaning closer to the petals, her delicate breath almost a whisper. A soft breeze stirred the leaves.

“Are you going to be a botanist and save the world?” Bruce teased, gently ruffling her hair.

“I’ll be a hero like you, Daddy. Only with cakes and magic,” she replied earnestly, her eyes shimmering with determination.

“That’s incredible, sweetheart. You have a gift,” Bruce said, his heart swelling with pride.

The visions filled your heart with warmth, giving you the undeniable certainty that this baby was the embodiment of yours and Bruce’s future, born from a love so deep, so profound, that not even time could erase it.

#genna writes #plus size reader #bruce wayne x plus size reader #batman x plus size reader

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jay-ce01 · 2 months ago

Text

“A new chapter”

Natasha x Fem!Reader

Warning : Pregnancy ?

Words : 2k

The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of their bedroom, casting a soft, golden hue over the room. Natasha Romanoff lay sprawled beneath the sheets, her red hair spilling over the pillow like a fiery halo. Beside her, you stirred gently, feeling the warmth of the sunlight kissing your skin. Instinctively, your hand drifted to the small bump on your stomach, a tiny life that had grown inside you over the past five months.

Natasha, who was never much of a morning person unless it involved a mission, shifted slightly and wrapped her arm around your waist. “You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“Mmm,” you responded softly, resting your hand over hers. “So are you.”

A lazy smile tugged at Natasha’s lips as she blinked her eyes open, catching sight of you, her wife, the love of her life, and now the soon-to-be mother of her child. It was a sight she would never tire of. “How are you feeling today?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Better,” you replied, leaning into her touch. “Not as queasy as yesterday. I think the worst of the morning sickness is finally behind me.”

Natasha’s green eyes softened with relief. Though she was known for her cool, composed demeanor in the field, you had seen a different side of her throughout this pregnancy. She had been attentive, caring, and fiercely protective, never missing a beat when it came to making sure you were comfortable and healthy.

“Good,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m glad.”

You turned to face her, cupping her cheek in your hand. “You’re going to make a great mom, you know.”

Natasha laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I hope so,” she said. “I’m still learning how to do this.”

“You don’t have to know everything right away,” you reassured her. “We’ll figure it out together.”

She nodded, though you could tell she still carried the weight of her insecurities. Natasha’s past had been riddled with pain and loss, her childhood stolen away by the Red Room, where she had been trained to be a weapon rather than a person. The idea of being a mother—of nurturing and caring for another human being—was new and terrifying to her. But she was trying, for you, for your family.

“Come on,” you said, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

Natasha groaned, reluctantly letting go of you as you stood. She stretched her arms above her head, her muscles rippling beneath her skin. Even in her most relaxed moments, there was an edge to Natasha, a constant readiness that came from years of espionage and survival.

As you made your way to the kitchen, you couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of it all. Your life with Natasha had been filled with ups and downs, from the chaos of her missions with the Avengers to the quiet moments like these. But it was the quiet moments you cherished most—the times when it was just the two of you, no world to save, no battles to fight, just love and each other.

In the kitchen, you busied yourself preparing breakfast. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and you reached for the pancake mix, suddenly craving something sweet.

Natasha appeared behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder. “You’re making pancakes?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Yep,” you replied, grinning. “Pancakes for me and the baby.”

Natasha chuckled softly, placing a gentle kiss on your neck. “I’ll never understand how your cravings work.”

“Neither will I,” you admitted, laughing. “But I’m going with it.”

As you cooked, Natasha helped where she could, setting the table and making sure everything was just right. It was moments like these that reminded you how far you had come together. Years ago, when you had first met, Natasha had been guarded, distant even. She had built walls around herself to protect her heart, but somehow, you had broken through.

It hadn’t been easy. Your relationship had faced its fair share of challenges, from Natasha’s past to the unpredictable nature of her work. But through it all, you had loved each other fiercely, and that love had grown into something beautiful. Now, with a child on the way, your bond felt stronger than ever.

Over breakfast, you and Natasha talked about everything and nothing—the baby’s nursery, possible names, and how much your lives were about to change. Natasha still had that familiar look in her eyes, that subtle mix of excitement and fear.

As you cleared the table, Natasha caught your wrist gently, her touch feather-light. "Y/N..." she began, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "What if I... what if I don't know how to be a mother?"

You paused, setting the dishes down and turning to face her fully. This was a conversation you knew was coming, but it still made your heart ache to see the vulnerability in her expression. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, rarely let her guard down, and when she did, it was only with you.

You took her hands in yours, squeezing them softly. "Tasha, you are going to be a wonderful mother."

She shook her head slightly, her eyes downcast. "I wasn't raised with love or warmth. I don’t know what a normal family looks like."

Your heart broke for her. You knew Natasha's past haunted her, the trauma of the Red Room, the years spent as a spy, the lives she had taken. But you also knew the woman she had become—the woman who had fought so hard to make amends, who had chosen love over isolation, who had made a life with you.

"You’re not defined by your past," you said softly, lifting her chin so her eyes met yours. "You’re kind, caring, and protective. You’ve already shown me what kind of mother you’ll be, just by how you love me. You don’t have to know everything right away. We’ll learn together. We’ll make mistakes, sure. But we’ll figure it out. Together."

Natasha's lips quirked into a small, uncertain smile. "Together," she repeated, her voice soft.

You leaned in, kissing her gently, your hands resting against her chest. “Besides,” you whispered against her lips, “I have complete faith in you. You're one of the strongest people I know, and if anyone can do this, it's you."

Natasha’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Her breath was warm against your skin, and you felt her relax, the tension easing from her body.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll always be here for you, Tasha. Always.”

---

As the weeks passed, your pregnancy progressed steadily, and Natasha became more and more involved in preparing for the baby’s arrival. She threw herself into the task with the same dedication she had for her missions, researching parenting techniques, attending every doctor’s appointment with you, and even reading baby books at night.

Despite her initial reservations, Natasha had embraced the idea of becoming a mother with a quiet determination. You watched with pride as she grew more confident, though there were still moments of doubt. Whenever those moments arose, you were there to remind her that you were in this together.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Natasha sat on the couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room as an old movie played in the background. Your head rested on her lap, and she absentmindedly ran her fingers through your hair. You felt peaceful, content, and safe.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be parents soon,” you mused, your hand resting on your growing belly.

Natasha smiled down at you, her eyes soft with affection. “It’s still surreal to me too,” she admitted. “But in a good way.”

You chuckled. “I hope our kid has your determination. And your sense of justice.”

“And your kindness,” Natasha added. “Your warmth. They’ll need that.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you turned slightly to meet her gaze. “They’re going to be lucky to have you as a mom, Natasha.”

Natasha brushed a strand of hair from your face, her touch tender. “And they’ll be lucky to have you too, Y/N.”

---

The months flew by, and soon, you were in your final trimester. The nursery was finished, the tiny clothes neatly folded, and the crib assembled. Natasha had even painted the room herself, a soft shade of lavender that filled the space with a sense of calm and tranquility.

One night, as you lay in bed together, you felt a sudden, sharp kick from the baby. You gasped softly, your hand flying to your stomach.

Natasha immediately sat up, her eyes wide with concern. “What? What is it? Are you okay?”

You smiled, taking her hand and placing it on your belly. “Feel that.”

Natasha’s eyes widened as she felt the movement beneath her palm. Her face lit up with wonder and awe as she felt another kick. “Wow…” she breathed, her voice filled with emotion.

“She’s strong,” you whispered, grinning.

Natasha’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She leaned down, pressing her cheek against your belly. “Hey, little one,” she whispered. “It’s your mama. I can’t wait to meet you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at the sight of Natasha speaking to your child, her voice filled with so much love and tenderness. This was the side of her that only you saw—the side of Natasha that was vulnerable, open, and full of love.

As the days passed and the due date drew closer, the anticipation built. You and Natasha continued to support each other through the final stages of the pregnancy, and with each passing day, the reality of becoming parents became more and more tangible.

---

The night your water broke, it was raining outside, a heavy downpour that soaked the streets. Natasha had been pacing the living room, her nerves getting the best of her, when you suddenly gasped, clutching your stomach.

“Tasha,” you breathed, “it’s time.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she froze. Then, in typical Natasha fashion, she sprang into action, grabbing your hospital bag and helping you to the car.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, but Natasha never left your side. She held your hand through every contraction, whispered words of encouragement, and reassured you when the pain became overwhelming.

Hours passed, but Natasha remained steadfast, her love and support unwavering. And when the baby was finally born, when the tiny cry filled the room, both of you were overcome with emotion.

Tears streamed down Natasha’s face as the nurse placed your daughter in her arms. She looked down at the tiny, perfect face, her eyes wide with wonder. You watched as Natasha’s tough exterior crumbled, replaced by a softness you had never seen before.

“She’s beautiful,” Natasha whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Just like you.”

You smiled through your own tears, your heart overflowing with love. “We did it, Tasha.”

Natasha looked at you, her eyes filled with so much love it took your breath away. “We did,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss you gently. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

As you gazed down at your daughter, now resting peacefully in Natasha’s arms, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter. A chapter filled with love, laughter, and the beautiful chaos of parenthood.

And no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that you and Natasha would face them together, as a family.

#marvel #gxg #lover #fanfic #fluff #wlw #mcu #natasha x reader #natalia alianovna romanova #natasharomanoff #natasha romanoff #red room #female reader #love #baby

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olis-inkwell-symposium · 2 months ago

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How to Create a Flawless Villain: A Comprehensive Guide to Crafting Your Perfect Antagonist

Every great story needs a great villain. Whether you’re writing an epic fantasy or a gritty thriller, the villain is often the character readers can’t forget. They’re complex, morally grey, and create tension that drives the story forward. But how do you avoid clichés and create a villain who sticks with readers long after the book is closed? Let’s dive deep into the art of villain creation, exploring their psychological makeup, societal role, and relationships with the hero. We’ll also touch on how esoteric philosophies or occultism can shape their worldview, motivating them to chase power, forbidden knowledge, or even reshape reality itself.

Core Identity and Origins

A villain’s origin story is the root of their motivations. Were they betrayed by those they trusted? Once a noble hero, now twisted by tragedy? Crafting a rich backstory will set the stage for whom they become.

Name and Meaning: Choose a name that reflects their essence or offers an ironic twist. Consider names rooted in ancient languages, forbidden texts, or alchemical symbols if your villain is into esoteric or occult knowledge.

Defining Childhood Event: What critical moment led them to this path? A betrayal, a prophecy, or perhaps a dark inheritance? This event should haunt them, driving their desire for revenge, power, or forbidden enlightenment.

Motivations, Desires, and Philosophy

Villains aren’t evil for the sake of it. Their motivations—whether it’s control, vengeance, or the pursuit of something beyond mortality—must be clear and compelling.

Primary Goal: What is their ultimate aim? Power, control, or maybe freedom from their own pain? If they’re driven by esoteric philosophies, perhaps they seek to transcend the mortal realm or unlock the universe's hidden truths.

Inner Desires: Beyond their surface goals, what do they truly long for? To become one with a cosmic force? To destroy the current reality and rebuild it in their own image?

Occult and Esoteric Motivations: Do they crave ancient knowledge? Are they obsessed with dark gods, lost magical practices, or the mysteries of existence? These deeper motivations give your villain texture, turning them into something more than just an antagonist.

Psychological and Emotional Depth

To make your villain fully realized, dig into their mind and emotions. They’re driven by traumas, fears, and warped worldviews—making them unpredictable and dangerous.

IQ and Emotional Intelligence: Is your villain a cold mastermind or someone who operates on gut emotion, manipulating others through fear or charisma? Are they emotionally detached or frighteningly intuitive about others’ desires and fears?

Philosophical Depth: Does your villain have a worldview rooted in esoteric thought? Perhaps they believe in alchemical transformation or view themselves as a chosen agent of cosmic order (or chaos).

Fear and Trauma: What do they fear most? Losing control? Facing an entity more powerful than them? How do their traumas influence their choices?

Powers, Strengths, and Weaknesses

Your villain’s abilities should reflect their inner self. Whether they dominate through sheer strength or subtle manipulation, their powers, and weaknesses make them memorable.

Unique Powers: Can they control dark forces or warp reality? Perhaps they’ve mastered necrotic magic or gained immortality at a great cost. Their powers should align with their motivations—reflecting their esoteric pursuits or thirst for control.

Weaknesses: Every great villain has a flaw. Are they vulnerable to their own hubris, bound by cosmic forces they can’t fully control, or haunted by their mortality? This flaw should not only humanize them but also create a vulnerability in their power.

Relationships and Rivalries

Villains thrive in their relationships with others—especially with the hero. Craft dynamic relationships to give your villain emotional stakes.

Relationship with the Hero: The best villain-hero dynamics are deeply personal. Maybe the hero represents a path the villain once rejected. Perhaps they’re old allies, or twisted reflections of one another.

Esoteric Mentors or Rivals: Who taught your villain their dark arts? Did a mentor pass on forbidden knowledge, or does a rival compete for the same cosmic power?

Arc and Transformation

Villains should evolve. Show how they became who they are, whether through corruption or a gradual descent into darkness.

Origin of Villainy: Were they once idealistic, only to be warped by ambition or dark forces? What pushed them from seeking enlightenment to seeking dominance? Their fall from grace should feel inevitable, tied to their deepest desires.

Villain’s Endgame: What do they ultimately want? Is their goal to transcend mortality or reshape reality? By the end of the story, their final form should feel like the culmination of everything they’ve sacrificed.

Visual and Symbolic Representation

Villains often have visual cues that represent their power or past. Their appearance should reflect their inner darkness and esoteric connections.

Appearance: Do they bear occult symbols, alchemical tattoos, or physical scars from dark rituals? Their look should reflect their journey into darkness.

Symbolism: Consider what motifs represent your villain—death, chaos, transformation. These should be woven into their appearance, powers, and actions.

Legacy and Role in the World

Even after your villain is defeated, their influence should remain. They might leave behind followers, secret societies, or prophecies that keep their legacy alive.

Impact on Society: How does your villain shape the world? Do they leave behind grimoires, magical artifacts, or a legacy of fear? Their reign should leave scars that ripple long after they’re gone.

Villain’s Endgame: Whether they succeed or fail, what was their ultimate goal? Were they trying to unravel reality itself, merge with cosmic forces, or create a utopia in their image?

Twists, Secrets, and Moral Complexity

Villains become iconic when they are morally complex. Add twists to make them more than just evil—they might believe they’re saving the world in their own way.

Secret Past or Hidden Identity: Does your villain have a dark secret, perhaps a heroic past or a forbidden bloodline? These secrets add layers to their character, making them more unpredictable.

Moral Complexity: Does your villain believe their actions are necessary for balance? Are they more tragic than evil, motivated by a cosmic truth that others can’t see?

By incorporating esoteric philosophies and occult influences, your villain can become a driving force not just against the hero but against the very fabric of the world. Let’s create formidable villains that’ll haunt readers long after turning the final page.

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jaythes1mp · 2 months ago

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Escapism

You often dreamt of them. Of how they would come and sweep you away from reality, taking you into their incredible world, where you'd fit in seamlessly among the chaos of their everyday lives. How perfectly you’d fit into their little family.

But it was all just one big vivid daydream, an illusion created by the pixels on your screen. The characters, as captivating as they were, existed only in the realm of fiction. You longed for connection, for belonging, for them. But each chapter read, each game played, each show watched, served as a poignant reminder that they weren’t real.

It hurt.

Escapism, she had called it.

They were your escape.

Perhaps it was for the best. Those who advocate for moderation have always preached that too much of anything can ruin the experience.

After all, the allure of the fictional worlds was derived from the fact that they were fictional. The very absence of reality was what made them so exhilarating, so tantalising. If you were to suddenly be thrust into that universe, the magic would be ruined. The illusion shattered. They say, after all, that nothing ruins things more than familiarity.

Maybe, in some twisted way, this was better.

It sounds amazing, it feels incredible, you want it, you crave it, and it will be all you can think about... but if you had it... you'd only wish for more.

It's a never ending cycle of want, wish and hope. A never-ending quest for a perfection that doesn't exist. You yearn for it, but at the same time, a part of you knows that if you were to gain it... you'd only be left with an insatiable desire. Because once the initial amazement and shock wears off, the reality of things would sink in. The novelty of it would fade, and you’d be left with, well, just another life.

And then what would you do?

Flee back to reality in search of the comfort of familiarity?

Search for respite in another fictional being?

What you have will never be enough.

Even when given everything you think you want, you'll still be left with that hollow feeling inside. Because when reality sinks in, you discover that what you had built up in your mind was just an illusion. A dream.

You feel full for a little while, satisfied even, but then again, the hunger pangs start, and you're back to square one, chasing that next 'high' to fill the void inside.

It's a vicious cycle. So why bother wishing for things? Why not just content yourself with the life you've been dealt?

Because at the end of the day, you're only human.

And although we often like to say that more doesn't equal better, we all yearn for that extra bit that makes life worth living. We crave those more special moments. We're not just content with the ordinary, we aspire to be extraordinary. We want to live.

We want that little bit extra. And that's not a fault.

It's human nature.

「Is it not?」

Comments, reblogs, asks, and messages are all very appreciated and encouraged!

Currently working on new fic called ‘Shallow’. Anyone want to guess what it’s about?🦖🦖

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lizardkingeliot · 2 months ago

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Congrats on your freedom from the mess!

I'm having a craving to read a scene where Louis is defending Lestat to someone. I'm not particular about the context but I hope that we'll get some "that's my husband and only I can talk shit about him" energy from Louis in the show too. But I'd settle for a few hundred words from you! ❤️

Okay. So. When I started writing this I challenged myself to keep it under 500 words and... lmao. Well. It ended up being almost 1500. Because of course. But ANYWAY I hope you're here for some Rockstar Lestat and Photographer Louis because that's what this ended up being. The urge to turn this into a longer fic is STRONG but I'm resisting for now. After I finish my current wip I might come back to it and fill it out and pop it up on AO3. IDK... we'll see lol.

Anyway I'm sticking most of this under a cut. Thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope you enjoy it!

—

Louis emerged from the dressing room first. Leaned against the wall outside the door and started fiddling with his camera. Checking over the pictures he’d taken just moments ago. Lestat—a ring of vanity lights like a halo around the mirror behind him. Lestat—purple leather pants, lime green crop top, the word Slut scrawled in sparkly cursive on the chest. Lestat—golden hair gleaming in the artificial light. Eyes on the camera, on Louis where he stood a safe distance away beyond the lens. Pink mouth slightly parted just so, just so…

Lestat walked out not a minute after Louis and was instantly surrounded by a horde of people. His tour manager, his agent, Daniel Molloy, a handful of nondescript faces attached to bodies Louis didn’t know. Lestat scowled and waved them all away from him at once, muttering his annoyance under his breath in French.

Lestat’s whole body swayed as he walked. Pants sitting low on his hips. Hips like weapons, swell of his ass like a homing beacon. And Louis almost forced himself to look away when Lestat stopped, and turned back. And met Louis’ gaze across the distance. His eyes lined in smudgy black lighting up in exactly the way they’d been when Louis viewed him through the lens of his camera moments ago. Mouth quirking up in a secret smile meant for Louis and Louis alone.

Louis smiled back, couldn’t help it. Stomach doing some truly impressive acrobatics when Lestat turned away and disappeared in the direction of the stage. He was grateful for the wall for reminding his body to stay upright. He forced a breath, was just about to turn his eyes back to his camera when the muffled conversation two roadies were having over by the loading bay invaded his senses.

“Did you see what he’s wearing now?” Roadie Number One asked with a self-satisfied little laugh. The sound of it was instantly grating. It was such a pompously human sound. “For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Like I said before,” Roadie Number Two offered in a casual, gravelly tone. One hand on a flight case, the other fiddling with the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “The whole fruit basket, that one. Talk about shoving it in your face.”

Louis tipped his head to one side. Watched them both with big unblinking eyes as they started moving down the hall in the direction of the stage. His pulse beating slow and steady inside him. Moving the blood through his veins at a calculating, almost predatory pace.

—

After the show, backstage was the usual chaos. A sea of people and their sounds. Lestat’s team, his band, his groupies. Equipment being rushed back out the way it had come in. And though Louis had been standing just off stage and watched with his own two eyes as Lestat made his exit following his second encore. Had snapped one final picture in the split second before Lestat passed by and their hands—very intentionally, on Lestat’s part at least—brushed together. Suddenly, Lestat was nowhere to be found.

Louis screwed the lens from his camera, tucked everything away in his case and slung the strap over his shoulder. The moment he lifted his head, he saw them. Roadie One and Roadie Two. And hunger grumbled deep inside him. And it dawned on Louis all at once that he’d been so busy tonight he hadn’t actually fed.

He could have just let it go. He should have. Human beings—what did they matter? But Lestat wasn’t around and the thought that he was off with some groupie getting his dick wet pissed him off just enough for the hunger to spur him forward. He moved without even thinking to, and in a blink he was standing in front of Roadie Number Two. Crowding him against the flight case he’d been hauling. So close their noses nearly touched.

“Hello,” Louis said. Roadie Two’s eyes went wide as two big moons. “I have a question for you—”

“Hey, man, what the f—”

Louis choked off the man’s voice with a thought at once. Vampiric power working like a hand around his throat.

“Don’t be rude when your elders are speaking.” Louis took a single calculated step back. Roadie Two was trembling in his black jeans. Louis didn’t even have to hold him in place. Frozen with terror, the man couldn’t move. And Louis grinned. “Now—my question. And I do think you of all people can help me with this one.”

Louis listened to the tangle of thoughts in his head. A litany of curses. An endless slew of fear and dark and what the fuck what the fuck. People were rushing all around them. Louis thought, distantly—maybe—that Daniel was saying his name.

“Do you happen to know where I might find a fruit basket in this city?”

Louis laughed, a dark and wobbling sound. The hunger had him by the belly. He had to fight against his fangs to keep them from popping out.

There were tears in Roadie Two’s wide moon eyes that didn’t blink. He found the strength to reach up with one hand and paw uselessly at his own throat. Thick rasping sounds falling out of it as he fought against the Dark Gift’s suppression of his breath.

Louis laughed again.

“Yeah,” Louis said, and tipped his head to one side. And watched the artery throb with blood on the side of the roadie’s thick neck. “That’s what I thought. Not so easy to get those smartass words of yours out now, is it? You know, next time maybe you should try sayin’ that shit to—”

“Louis.”

Lestat. Behind him. Heartbeat like a siren. Warm, gushing sound of life like a song inside his veins. Louis’ mind stumbled over itself for a fraction of a second and he lost his hold on Roadie Two’s throat. And the man crumbled down to his knees in a coughing fit in an instant.

“Louis,” Lestat said again. And Louis spun around. And—

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth. Golden hair skimming bare shoulders. At some point between the stage and right then, Lestat had lost his shirt.

“Lestat.” Louis straightened his neck, gripped the strap of his camera case just to have something to hold onto. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he knew Lestat could hear it. “Hey, uh, so—”

“Cheri, I know you’re hungry, but I believe it would be ill-advised to eat the roadies.”

Louis drew a breath, huffed it out, distantly aware that Roadie Two was half-crawling, half-running away behind him. “Wasn’t gonna eat him. Just—” He huffed another breath. “And please don’t call me—”

“You were sticking up for me.”

Smudged eyeliner. Blue eyes shining in those messy rings of black. Louis’ heartbeat was a kick pedal drum inside his chest.

“Just didn’t care for his tone, is all.” Louis tried for casual, but the words came out all wrong. Like suddenly he was the one being choked. “He said—”

“I know what he said, cheri.” One corner of Lestat’s mouth twitched, amused and annoyed all at once. “Excusez-moi—Louis.” Head tipped to one side. Eyes sweeping appraisingly over Louis’ face, down to his chest. Blue eyes limned in so much black. “They always say these things. The two of them. Like school boys. They cannot help that they are wildly attracted to me.”

At that—Louis instantly started to laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Smudged eyeliner. Leaning close. Lestat put his hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Well, yes,” he said very quietly. Voice a husky rumble pouring from his throat. “That is what they tell me.”

Warm breath on Louis’ neck. Lestat pulled back, and all the people rushing around them suddenly melted away. And it was just the two of them. And there was a glint in Lestat’s eyes like he’d just won a game neither of them had even realized they were playing. Or that they’d both been playing with their whole chests, and now their chests were caving in. And the game was over.

And Lestat was clutching the prize with both hands.

And Louis was going to let him have it.

“Yeah, so—anyway.” Louis took a slow, deep breath. Slowly, slowly let it come rushing back out. He begged his heart to stop selling him out and to settle. “I’m starving. You wanna hunt?”

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth falling open with just the tiniest hint of his fangs poking out. “I would love to hunt with you, cheri,” Lestat said.

#interview with the vampire #loustat #otp: all my love belongs to you #myfic #loustat fic #iwtv fic #ask tag

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