#perhaps to make it look more gothic

[jasonisaacs]

i’m reading ‘the picture of dorian gray’ for the first time and i am so shocked that he has blonde, curly hair and blue eyes because that’s literally the opposite of how i’ve seen him depicted…

but i am absolutely loving the book though, it’s fantastic so far!!

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

[luveline]

jade!! I come on hands and knees begging for more rockstar!remus with shy!reader. I LOVE THEM. how are they doing?!

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You fit the part, tonight. Marlene has dressed you in her clothes —you wear a dark jacket covered in gothic, skeletal linework, a skirt barely long enough to show beneath it, with black tights and tall shoes. 

Remus isn’t sure what it is about the slightly too big jacket that he likes so much. Maybe it’s your thighs on show, shadowed flanks of softness he knows too well. It could be your eyes, their ringing of dark kohl, your lengthened lashes. Perhaps it’s none of those things. After all, Remus has always loved to watch you laugh. 

James thrusts his pint against yours, a splash of his cherry cider lapping the end of the cup to seep into your lemonade. Remus is unsure if there’s anything in it of substance, but you sip it through a breathless laugh and confirm that it hasn’t changed. No harm, no foul. 

Remus taps his cigarette carton against the table out of habit. Sirius reaches for him before Remus has even split the seal, fingers pinching, pale hand expectant. Remus knocks into them with the carton and turns so Sirius can’t see him opening the box. “Thought you were off them?” Remus asks, quiet with the slower atmosphere at the table, so far from the bar. 

“Can anyone ever really be off them?” Sirius asks. 

He pressed himself into Remus’ arm, all the overfamiliarity of a best, best friend. Searching for comfort and selfish vices. 

Remus hugs him suddenly, a rough arm around the back of his head in a hold that tugs curls as he uses the other hand to slide a cigarette between his lips. “Here, you baby.”

“Fuck off,” Sirius says around it. 

Remus takes his own cigarette and shoves the box back in his pocket. Sirius lights his own, lights Remus’, and together they tip their heads back, getting a glance at the oranging ceiling and the upstairs drinking pit. 

“She’s sweet, letting Marl dress her up a bit.” 

“Makes Marlene feel better,” Remus says. 

“Yeah, it does. Reckon she and Mary will mend it?” 

Remus shrugs. The love triangle between Mary, Marlene and Dorcas is confusing. He loves them, though, so it’s a confusing he understands. “It won't be long before we find out.” 

You, James and Emmeline begin to make your way back to the table. You have two drinks each, too many for the amount of people, though none of you seem to have noticed. You’re just giggling and meandering around low chairs until you get there. 

James slams his drinks down and grabs you from the side. “My sweethearts, I return the sweethearts.” 

“Can I have one?” Emmeline asks. 

Remus passes her the cigarette carton dutifully. 

“Can I–”

“No,” Remus says. 

You squint at him. “Don’t be weird,” you say, embarrassed, taking the box when Emme passes it, sliding it between painted lips, “I’m not a baby.” 

You talk around the cigarette with the ease of practice. If there’s one thing life on the road gives, it’s addiction. Remus is thankful that you and all of your friends chose nicotine. 

“You’re trying to quit.” Remus feels the funny burn of smoke as he inhales again. “And I’m trying to help you.” 

“Same help you gave Sirius, clearly,” James says. 

“C’mere,” Remus says, opening his arm for you. “Come on.” 

You grin and weave around Emme to his side of the table, propping a drink in front of him. “For you.” 

“Thank you.” He blows smoke as far from your face as he can manage and tucks you under his arm. 

The makeup on your lips is rubbing off, a darker outlining with light insides, but it’s enough to express Marl’s taste. Remus will be happy to kiss the rest of it away later on, when James and Sirius are drunk enough to become openly obsessed with one another and leave him alone, carving out some rare alone time. 

You smoke as Remus taught you to. He remembers the day, your shaking, his chest pain, not wanting to corrupt you and yet enlivened by the way you looked trying to foster the flame at the end of it. Nicotine helps calm your nerves, which you’re often in need of, but Remus never meant for it to become a crux. He snuffs his cigarette in the ashtray and catches yours to do the same, barely two puffs in. 

“Wha–”

“Let me have a look at you,” he says. 

Your friends scoff and jeer but quickly move on. Remus catches your chin between his fingers. 

He’s not like Sirius. He couldn’t do this to any girl, can’t seduce like that, but it’s not any girl he touches. Your eyes go to swimming pleasure as he pulls you forward, edging downward to kiss you. You both taste of smoke, of drink, and it would put him off if there wasn’t something sweeter to be chased in your mouth. He kisses you like there’s no one at the table but you.

He’s had more to drink than he thinks. 

“You taste like jaeger,” you say, pulling away with cheeks he’d find hot if he were to cradle and a shy smile. 

“Do I?” 

“That’s a thousand times worse for you than those, you know.” You point at his quickly dwindling pack of cigarettes. 

Remus curls an arm behind your neck and kisses you again. James cheers, says, “Fuck, I wish Moony kissed me like that,” and Remus tries his best to ignore him, but you’re laughing. The kiss breaks.

“Just ask him nicely like I do,” you advise. 

“You know that doesn’t work!” James says, tipping his head back with a hand to the forehead. “I always ask him nicely, he just doesn’t want to kiss me. Must be something about you…” He gives a huge smile as he lifts his cider.  “Something I don’t have?” 

“Impossible,” Sirius says blithely, “you’ve everything, gorgeous boy.” 

“Something about you,” Remus echoes. 

You shake your head minutely, a silent warning. Don’t flirt with me, it says. Don’t torture me. 

“How do you want the answer?” Remus asks, sliding his arm back behind your shoulders, pulling your burning face against his neck. “I can give it to you in an essay or a list, but it’s an extensive explanation.” 

“Write it down for me.”

[sadesluvr]

By Your Side

Sometimes you don't realise how much Bruce needs you.

A/N: Title based off the song by Sade! The Sade/Nirvana song choice is just to show your different personalities...We love needy, loverboy Bruce :3 Minors/Ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 2.6K

“Master Bruce is in his usual spot, I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“I know... Thank you, Alfred. Take care of him for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“I’ve been doing this for years. You go and have fun...And might I say you look stunning as ever, Miss.” 

You flashed Alfred another smile, kissing his cheek before you left in search of your boyfriend – Bruce Wayne, and The Batman himself. From the moment you’d began dating, Alfred had been nothing but kind to you, to the point that you saw him as a father in-law rather than your boyfriend's butler. Granted, it was easy for him to trust you; you’d been in all the same circles as the Wayne’s growing up and had even gone to school with the boy himself, hence a mutual understanding of what each other needed. 

Bruce wasn’t that much of a public figure; you kept your relationship hidden (as much as possible). Wayne Enterprises sometimes needed good PR; you were more than happy to step in. Yes, there was a business side, but there was also a lot of love, and it was perhaps that innate trust and understanding that propelled the man to reveal his identity to you. You hadn’t run, screamed, questioned or cried: merely accepted and moved on. 

Tonight was one of those nights; a charity gala was to be held, and somebody needed to make a public appearance.  

You’d been into the Batcave many times. It wasn’t your favourite place in the building; it was a little cold and lacked the classic feel of the Gothic architecture in the main tower, but you found yourself strangely comfortable in it. Probably because it was Bruce’s space, and you felt like you knew him on a deeper level. 

Goosebumps peppered your skin as you entered the floor, heels making a distinct clicking sound as you walked in, stopping halfway. As always, the man was glued to his screen, and you thought it best not to disturb him. No matter how nice you looked. 

“I’m heading out. The chauffeur’s going to be here in twenty.” 

Bruce pursed his lips, slowly withdrawing his gaze from the screen to glance up at you, his brows furrowing slightly as he gave you a once over. Even with the hair in his face, you could tell that there was a flurry of emotions within his wet blue eyes; disappointment, annoyance...intrigue.  

“...Tonight? Why?” he said, his voice soft and shaky. 

“Because I have to,” you sighed, a small smile on your face as you shifted your weight. Bruce was far from being a child, but sometimes he walked the line between being an eight-year-old, and an angsty teenager, something that you were more than understanding about given his life circumstances. “It’s for charity. I’m also going on your behalf.” 

He seemed uncomfortable at this; blinking as he diverted his gaze back to his screen, eyes roaming the pixelated words and images absentmindedly before turning back to you, jaw tight and ticking. 

“It’s not safe.” 

“Alfred took care of all the transport,” you said matter-of-factly. “There’ll be lots of people there. I couldn’t get kidnapped if I tried.” 

Bruce didn’t laugh. You should’ve anticipated that. 

Sighing, there was a distant smile on your face as you got closer, placing your hand on his own and giving it a small squeeze. His hands were a little cold and slightly calloused, and you tenderly rubbed his knuckles with your thumb, careful not to agitate him with your rings.  

“Would you feel better if you drove me?”  

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice stern, but his. “Not tonight. If people know you’re with me it only makes you more of a target.” 

Removing your hands from his own, you took a deep breath and sighed, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip in frustration. God knew you loved Bruce, but God also knew he was stubborn; way too stubborn for his own good. The rational side of you knew that it was because of his trauma, but in the moment you didn’t feel like coddling him. 

Great, now you’d ruined your makeup.  

You were going to fix it, and then you were going to the gala.  

“That’s too bad, Bruce.”  Was all you said before you disappeared, spinning on your heels as you strutted out of the room without as much as giving him a second glance.

You could feel his impenetrable gaze on your back as you did, either cursing you out in his mind, fantasising about you, or somewhere in between. The lighting of the Batcave was perhaps a little too dim to see the entirety of your dress anyway. 

Strolling into the bathroom, you switched on the light before taking a glimpse at yourself in the mirror. There were hints of condensation along the mirror and bath tiles from the shower you'd taken earlier, the faint smell of your oils and body lotions sticking to the fibres of the hand towel.  

You picked up a cloth and hastily wiped at the glass, just enough so that you could see your face and the outline of your body. Gently, you ran your fingers over your hips and waist, trying desperately to smooth out the material before you rummaged in your makeup bag, pulling out the liner and running it over your lips. The precision in which you performed the ritual told you that you were perhaps more interested in the aesthetics of it all, rather than the actual charity itself.  

It was a transaction really – and in truth you had the same mindset as all the other rich Gothamites. You may have been dating the heir to the Wayne throne, but were an ambassador first, and that meant appearances had to be made. It kept the business happy, and Bruce too, leaving him free to do his vigilante shit as much as he pleased. 

Once you were happy with how you looked, you gave yourself a once over, contemplating whether you should go for another spritz of perfume, only to be interrupted by Bruce himself. He’d poked his head inside the doorway, watching your motions from behind.  

Catching his eye in the mirror, you relaxed your shoulders and spun to lean against the edge of the sink. He took that as a sign to come in, closing the door behind him with two fingers as he did, glassy eyes roaming your body before focusing on your face. The muggy air of the bathroom seemed to catch up with him instantly; his black strands frizzy and unbridled, some clinging to his forehead in the process.  

To an outsider, one would’ve never been able to tell that this was a happy, healthy couple – friends from the same tax bracket – let alone Bruce Wayne, one of the richest men in the city. He was wearing one of his muted t-shirts with sweatpants to match, and looked a little spent, stubble around his chin and bags under his eyes; whilst you were dressed as if you were ready to walk a fashion show in Milan. 

But you were fine with it. In fact, you rather liked it. 

“Are you here to apologise?” you said matter-of-factly, smirking as you folded your arms over your chest. 

“That’s a nice dress,” Bruce said, ignoring your statement. “Where’d you get it?” 

“I bought it. It was on auction.” 

“Why didn’t you let me pay for it?” 

“Because if I told you what it was for, I wouldn’t be wearing it now.” 

Bruce hummed, nodding his head as he diverted his gaze before looking back at you. He took a step, outstretching his hand to run his fingers along the fabric, tracing the shape of your body as he did. The act, though small, sent a chill down your spine, as if you were being touched by him for the first time.

He always seemed to have a way with his actions; they were gentle and somewhat apprehensive, but they always had intent. Your eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face in your neck, his hairs tickling your bare skin as he eventually pulled you into a hug. Momentarily, you remained still, listening as his breaths steadied before you touched him back, wrapping your hands around his waist. 

There was a soft whistle that came from his nose as he embraced the scent of your perfume, and soon his pout became an imperceptible smile – to you, at least, who was faced away from the mirror. You always managed to bring him a sense of comfort; a grounding reality to the mania of his double life. 

His grip on the small of your back tightened as he spoke into your ear, voice somewhat muffled. 

“I need you...” he crooned. “Stay.” 

“Bruce...” you sighed. “The driver --” 

“Forget about him,” Bruce insisted, maintaining his grip on you as he angled his head to look at you. His pink lips were wet and parted, and his eyes were wide. “Stay with me. Please.” 

Perhaps it was the lighting, but he seemed less grumpy and instead soft, almost like a boy who didn’t want to be left on his first day of school. Sighing, you scanned his features as you cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the eagerness to step out in front of the cameras and into a grand hall filled with socialites indescribably slip away.

Admittedly, even though you spent a lot of time in the tower, you’d hardly seen Bruce over the past few weeks – whilst you worked tirelessly through the day with PR reps and funders, he did the same at night; in his own way, of course.  

You were used to it, and it was a relatively peaceful routine, but sometimes you wondered if tonight was your chance to switch roles; for you to be the woman in black, and for him to ponder about what was happening outside. 

You didn’t want to hurt him. That was never the intention. 

Rubbing your thumb over his skin, you pursed your lips before pulling him into a gentle kiss, with the man holding your waist in place with his hands, legs and pelvis trapping you between the sink and his body.

Despite your mini dispute, you were immediately in sync, lips intertwined as they danced against each other whilst Bruce’s hands made their way up to the zipper behind you. Skilfully, he tugged at the material, watching as the fabric slowly split apart, undressing you until you were left in your underwear; chest practically bare other than some pasties glued to your nipples. 

You cast your gaze to the floor as the dress pooled around your ankles, unable to have a chance at mourning the night you were supposed to have as Bruce cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, angling your head to look at him. 

“Beautiful.”  

He said simply, his blue eyes scanning your features before he began to kiss you again, his lips making their way down your neck and along your collarbone. You laced your fingers in his dark strands, biting your lip as you felt his erection against your bare thigh before tugging at his shirt. He twitched, his resistance coming from the scars that adorned his back; some from your own doing, but most from his nights of vigilante work.  

“It’s ok, Bruce,” you said sweetly, squirming against the ceramic. “I want to see you too.” 

He cast his gaze to the floor before softly exhaling, peeling off his shirt and discarding it on the floor next to your dress.

Running your fingertips up his spine, you let out a soft moan as he cupped your breasts, his hands uncontrolled as he felt his way along your body, eventually sliding down to your folds and slipping a finger in. He prodded and poked, gently pulling you apart as you coated his fingers with your juices, his lips still on your skin as he began to jerk against you, grinding his erection on your lower torso. 

Instinctively, you snaked your hand inside of his sweatpants, giving his clothed cock a few languid strokes before pulling them down by the waistband. Groping at your ass, Bruce lifted you off the sink and onto the adjoining counter, hastily aligning himself with your entrance.  

“Bruce...I’m sorry. Forgive me?” you whispered, shutting your eyes as his wet tip prodded at your entrance. It was a rather misplaced, emotional message for such a sexually charged moment, but you found it necessary. Here; with his face in your hands and your bodies just about to become one, there wasn’t a better moment. Coherent words seemed to evade the both of you, but the message was clear – you were by each other's side, always. He knew you were one of the few people who got him, understood him; really, and you knew that deep down, he was just scared. 

You were willing to work through that. 

It was bliss when he entered you. He’d gone in raw, cock stretching you so perfectly and making you feel whole. He let out a heavy sigh as he savoured the feeling before beginning to roll his hips, murmuring into your neck as he held onto your legs, making sure they stayed apart.  

Jostling about, your calves struck the cabinets below ever so slightly as he found a comfortable pace. His breath was hot against your own clammy skin, and he smelt faintly of leather and sweat…which only turned you on more. 

Bruce groaned your name, his breaths laboured and ragged as he motioned his hips in and out of you, pelvis colliding with your thighs and producing an obscene slapping sound. He gripped onto your waist, angling your hips so that he could take more of you, desperate to consume you in any way he could. He didn’t want to let go – he couldn’t – your love was just too strong, too womanly to lose hold of. 

To some it made him weak, but he felt it gave him balance. 

“God…” you whispered, clasping his face in your hands, forcing him to watch you come undone. “Don’t stop…” Bruce’s eyes were half lidded, occasionally flickering down to the small gap that joined the two of you, hypnotised by the way you covered his pink cock in a shiny sheen, with the sex organ virtually disappearing in you. 

He nodded, lips wet and parted as you pushed hair from his face, allowing for you to take in his features at his most vulnerable. Even though the room had become steamy, and the lights were slightly obscured, Bruce was as handsome as ever. His usually clenched jaw hung free, and the dark circles around his eyes didn’t look so depressing. 

There was just something about intimacy that changed the way you see people. 

“B-Bruce…” you crooned, locking your legs around him as you noticed his thrusts becoming sloppier. “Cum inside me…Please.” 

He wasn’t going to say no to you, nor was he planning to pull out anyway, especially not tonight. He called your name once more before he began to pant, blue eyes locking with your own as he came inside of you, ropes of his seed filling your pussy to the brim. He was pent up, so desperate that you wondered if his protectiveness earlier on in the night had just been because he was horny. 

“I love you…” he whispered, twitching as he came down from his high. “You know that?” 

“I do.” You nodded sincerely, words evading you as your chests fell against the others’, still entangled in each-others arms as your eyelids fluttered shut, momentarily focusing on the others’ breaths and gentle caresses on bare skin. 

You didn’t care about the dress, or the gala, or the fact that you were going to have to run out for Plan B in the morning – simply the fact that it had been the first time he’d directly said ‘I love you’. 

Bruce knew he meant it with all his heart.

[theostrophywife]

curiosity killed the cat.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: late night talking by harry styles.

author's note: i've been in such a writing rut lately, but sweet baby boy reggie is singlehandedly bringing me out of it. this idea has been floating in my mind for a while so I hope you all enjoy it. <3

Curiosity killed the cat.

The irony of the phrase wasn’t entirely lost on Regulus as he cautiously peered through the bustling kitchen. The elves were cleaning up after supper, humming and working diligently to keep the castle in order behind the scenes. Some of them leaned down to reach for him with soapy fingers, but he narrowly avoided each attempt, baring his teeth in warning. 

They would not deter him from his true mission to infiltrate the basement. Having explored all the nooks and crannies Hogwarts had to offer, the Hufflepuff common room was his Atlantis—the last unexplored territory that he had yet to set foot in. 

In his current state, it was perhaps more accurate to say that Regulus had never set paw in this corner of the castle. Most of the time, he found his spontaneous transformations terribly inconvenient, but as Regulus slipped past the door without a trace, the youngest Black brother was suddenly grateful for his complete lack of mastery over his Animagus form. 

To be fair, he was only trying to find some peace and quiet. As of late, Regulus had become particularly fond of the kitchens. It was always warm down here and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the ovens and beckoned him towards its glorious scent like a beacon. Not to mention the fact that the elves often left a bowl of cold milk for him every night. 

Well, he supposed it wasn’t exactly for him. At least, not his true human form. The elves were not fond of Regulus the person, but they did adore the feral black cat that haunted the halls of Hogwarts. 

Potato, potato. 

The point is, that his benevolent caretakers were typically careful about securing the ever mysterious door at the end of his little haven. Lest he get his wily little paws all over those timid badgers. Much to his delight, the security measure was not in place tonight. The door was wide open, presenting Regulus with an offer that was simply too good to pass up. 

With a shimmy, he slinked behind enemy lines. Despite being located in the lower levels of the castle like the dungeons were, the Hufflepuff common room was far more welcoming. Instead of gothic furnishings and depressing color palettes, Regulus was greeted with warm earth tones and mismatched furniture. Plants of all shapes and sizes littered the room, which were far more pleasant to look upon than the haughty portraits that lined his own common room. At least the mimbulus in the corner didn’t sputter out rather unnecessary comments about the length of his curls every time he entered the dungeons. 

The Hufflepuffs seemed averse to the menacing lighting that his fellow serpents seemed so fond of, choosing instead to illuminate their space with enchanted sun lamps. It was charming and cozy, if one were to take notice of such things. Malfoy would have deemed it greenhouse chic with a sneer that conveyed aristocratic distaste. For that reason alone, Regulus decided he liked the place. 

The growing fondness was solidified as he followed the intoxicating scent of banana nut muffins. The trail led him to a dorm tucked away into the heart of the basement. Luckily for Regulus, the door was slightly ajar, which was more than enough permission for him to venture inside and make himself comfortable. It was the standard issue room—two beds, two desks, and two dressers. Yet the right side drew his attention. 

The top of the nightstand was brimming with books, all stacked in no particular order. The color scheme of the blankets and pillows consisted of golds, pinks, and oranges, reminding Regulus of the sunset. Fairy lights and enchanted plants provided a lived in feel, which was more than he could say for his obsessively neat dorm with its alphabetically arranged library and utilitarian furniture. Everything in his room was designed with practicality instead of comfort in mind. A choice he was rather proud of until the stark contrast made his space feel cold and rigid in comparison.

The reading nook nestled beside the hearth drew him in like a moth to a flame. Regulus inspected the cloud chair, stomping on the soft woven blanket and plush pillows with his paw before coming to the conclusion that it was as good a place as any to burrow. 

This was the life, he said. Or purred, if he was being technical. 

As Regulus enjoyed the comforts of his newfound paradise, he failed to consider the fact that this dorm belonged to someone and that someone would likely be back any second to reclaim their refuge, given the late hour. Engrossed as he was with licking his paws, Regulus startled when the door swung open. Instantly, he recognized the owner of the dorm as the shy and quiet Hufflepuff that sat beside him in Charms. Regulus lifted a paw to his furry head, feeling foolish that he had not connected the dots earlier. 

No wonder the banana muffin scent drew him in. Every now and then, he caught a whiff of it in class when you quietly claimed the spot beside him. The colorful scrunchies on the dresser also sparked his memory. How many times had Regulus witnessed you twisting the hair tie around your wrist as you quietly murmured the correct answers to Professor Flitwick’s questions under your breath? It never made much sense to him that you would allow the others to blatter and stutter through topics you were clearly an expert on, but Regulus attributed that to his proximity to pompous know-it-all pricks all his life. Slytherins were known to be showoffs, but you seemed to be the complete opposite. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he stayed. Well, that and the fact that he was currently too comfortable to even dream of leaving his sanctuary. Really, the decision was made for him. Regulus watched as you settled into your desk, studying diligently as your quill flew across the parchment. Every so often, you leaned back against the chair and stared at whatever problem eluded you as though intimidating the parchment would bring forth the correct answer. It was rather endearing. Dare he say, charming. 

In his mind, only minutes had passed since the start of your silent companionship, but a glance at the clock said otherwise. It was nearly midnight at this rate. As Regulus grumbled about his inevitable separation from the comfy cloud couch, a group of girls spilled into the room. They briefly said hello to you before gathering at the vanity table on the left side of the room. Regulus assumed one of them was your roommate. Probably the dark haired girl chattering on about the party the Gryffindors were hosting tonight. 

“Do you think Cormac will be there?” she asked hopefully. 

The other girls nodded in agreement, asking questions about the older boy with misplaced  enthusiasm. Regulus wrinkled his nose. McLaggen, really? Your roommate truly needed to raise her standards. He glanced over in your direction, snorting as he caught the tail end of your grimace. Clearly, you weren’t a fan either. 

After the girls were satisfied with their appearances, your roommate sauntered over to your desk with a friendly smile. “Would you like to come to the party with us, Y/N?” 

Before you could answer, one of the other girls rudely interrupted. “Oh no, Y/N doesn’t go to parties. She’s too shy.” 

Regulus vaguely recognized the annoyingly nasally tone of the speaker. He thought her name was Brandy or Brenda. Whichever one it was, she always hung around the quidditch team batting her eyelashes and laughing in an exaggerated way that bordered on deranged. It deeply irritated Regulus. 

“Isn’t that right, Y/N? Our little bookworm only prefers the company of her novels. No chance of embarrassing yourself in front of boys when they’re just words on paper.” 

“That’s mean, Britt,” scolded your roommate. 

Regulus very much wanted to scamper across the room and bite Britt’s ankles. He lifted his head up as you stood, mentally encouraging you to even the score by chucking a tome at that horrid girl’s head, but instead you simply smoothed down the front of your gingham dress and smiled. 

“Thanks for the offer, Mina, but I think I’ll stay in tonight. You girls have fun though.” 

The others were more than happy to flee the awkward tension in the room. You bid them goodbye at the door before closing it behind you. As it clicked into place, you released a sigh. Regulus tracked your movements as you swiped a book from the teetering tower on your nightstand before collapsing into bed. 

“God, what’s wrong with me?” You whispered softly to yourself. “It’s Friday night. I should be going out and partying, but instead I’m wallowing alone. No wonder everyone thinks I’m just a boring bookworm.”

Regulus voiced his disagreement. Unfortunately for him, the words came out as a series of meows. He blended in amongst the blankets, his whiskers barely peeking out from a distance. Unaware of his presence, you yelped at the strange cat peering at you from the reading nook. The noise startled Regulus, causing him to launch across the room and into the bed. 

“Oh, it’s just you.” You sat upright, cocking your head at him. Your fingers twitched at your side, probably itching to pet him. You restrained yourself, respecting his general aversion to humans. “If you’re here to bring me bad luck, then I’m sorry to say that I’ve got enough of that on my own already.” 

In protest, Regulus attempted to headbutt your hand, but it only resulted in an unintentional nuzzle. You chuckled in amusement before carefully patting his furry head. He dodged your hand and swiped at your leg, but the padding motions quickly turned to him just making biscuits on your thigh. 

You chuckled in response. “Hm, everyone says you’re a mean kitty, but I think you’re just a little misunderstood.” Regulus huffed, but his displeasure was short lived as you scratched under his chin. He was only slightly embarrassed at how eager he was to receive more. “Look at us, we make quite the pair.” 

At that, Regulus purred in agreement.

From that night forward, Regulus became a frequent visitor. He hadn’t intended on making a habit of it, but every time Regulus accidentally transformed, he found himself in your dorm. It wasn’t his fault that it was warm and toasty and smelled like pastries. If you weren’t trying to attract a feral cat, you shouldn’t have made your room so inviting. 

During one of his visits, your roommate walked by and yelped at the sight of him. Regulus lifted his chin up in challenge as he claimed his rightful seat on your lap. “Is that the feral cat that almost took off Cedric’s fingers?” 

Regulus purred in answer. He was rather proud of that moment. Would’ve gotten away with it too had it not been for Diggory’s quick reflexes. 

You barely looked up from your book as you combed through his fur. “Mhm. He likes to follow me around sometimes. He’s like my little shadow.” A bright smile curved against your lips. “Oh, I think we found you a name. Shadow.” 

From then on, Regulus wore the name like a badge. The name seemed to awaken more of his animal instincts because his spontaneous transformations became a rather frequent occurrence. At the beginning, they were isolated to nights and thus easier to manage, but now his Animagus form seemed to have no respect for convenience. As of late, the transformations were happening more and more often with absolutely no rhyme or reason. 

The only common denominator seemed to be you. Every time Regulus was in his Animagus form, he sought you out. Whether he was interrupting Potions class to jump in your lap or resting next to you in the courtyard while you read, Regulus was resigned to the fact that he would end up in your proximity one way or another. He basked in the attention you showered him with, shamelessly nuzzling against your hand for more chin scratches and cuddles. It became a routine for the two of you. Most nights, you read in silence as he curled against you for warmth, but other nights, your inner monologue spilled out and he listened to you grapple with your shyness and anxiety. 

Funny, you didn’t seem all that reserved around him. But then again he had taken on the form of a grumpy yet harmless cat. You were none the wiser that Regulus Black was currently purring for more pets as you lamented over the events of the day. He listened intently, not quite understanding your desire to become more sociable. You seemed to view it as a deficiency, but Regulus had always leaned towards the extremities of introvertedness. Though in his case, no one batted an eye when he was abrupt and abrasive. It was just how he was. 

Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, were expected to be sunshine and butterflies. You were, Regulus thought. In your own quiet way, you radiated joy. It wasn’t loud or obnoxious or overbearing. It was just right. Regulus longed to tell you just as much, but it wasn’t like he was in a position to. Outside these late night talks, the two of you hardly spoke a word to one another. 

Perhaps it was time to change that. 

The first time Regulus tried to speak to you was a complete and utter disaster. 

It was bright and early on a Monday morning. You slipped into your seat a few minutes before the start of Charms. The two of you were always the first ones in class, so he figured it was an opportune time to strike up a conversation without overwhelming you. 

“How was your weekend?” 

You blinked up at him, surveying the room covertly as though you weren’t quite sure that he was speaking to you. Regulus watched you flush as you realized that he was indeed addressing the question to you.

“It was good,” you responded cautiously. “How was yours?” 

Regulus paused. “It was…fine.” 

Never in his life had he wanted to swan dive into the Black Lake and become fodder for the merpeople. The response was a natural conversation killer, but he couldn’t very well tell you that he spent the entire weekend lounging in your dorm as you read Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time. That little revelation probably would’ve resulted in a restraining order. 

The short and awkward dialogue made him cringe internally, but you simply smiled politely at him. For Salazar’s sake, where was the basilisk when Regulus needed it?

When lunch came around, he was still pondering the less than lackluster encounter. Regulus needed to find a way in. As his friends chattered and chatted, he stared intently across the Great Hall and watched you. Things were so much easier when you thought he was a cat. 

“Reg, mate, you haven’t blinked for like five minutes. You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

The annoying little quip from Nott brought Regulus out of his stupor. Had he truly been staring for that long? He hoped to Godric that you hadn’t caught him being an utter creep. A sly glance told him that you were none the wiser as you continued chatting with Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley. He turned to Theodore and frowned. 

“What are you staring at, anyways?” asked Mattheo. The curly headed git surveyed the room for the object of his friend’s focus, which only made Regulus more irate. 

“Nothing,” Regulus mumbled. 

Riddle, ever the menace, grinned as he spotted you. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” 

He elbowed Theo, who smirked once he too caught sight of you. “Say, Reggie, don’t you have Charms with that cute little Hufflepuff?” 

“Shut it, Nott.” 

“Whoa, a little touchy there, aren’t we? No need to fret. I won’t turn my Italian charms on her. After all, I wouldn’t dare go after one of my mate’s crushes.” 

Regulus bristled. “I do not have a crush.” 

“Sure, mate, and I’m Harry bloody Potter,” scoffed Mattheo. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” 

“Does this conversation have a purpose besides showcasing your remarkable skill of grating my nerves?” 

“Aw, Reggie’s upset.” Mattheo and Theodore chuckled as Regulus stood abruptly. He flung the napkin onto his plate and walked off without explanation. “Don’t worry, mate. We won’t tell anyone about your secret girlfriend.”

Unfortunately for Regulus, the childish teasing gained traction over the next few days. Trust Nott and Riddle to be a general nuisance to his everyday life. Every time you walked past Regulus in the halls, his friends (debatable as of late) would nudge him and smirk. Given that Mattheo and Theo possessed the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, you were definitely beginning to notice. 

Even worse, Lorenzo had taken it upon himself to chat you up in the courtyard. Regulus looked on in horror as his best friend laughed and gesticulated alongside you on the bench. His presence had not gone unnoticed by their fellow classmates. A crowd of Hufflepuffs began crowding near your usual spot under the willow tree and Regulus could easily spot the tell-tale signs of your anxiety blooming. He needed to put an end to this. 

“Berkshire, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Lorenzo appeared completely unbothered as he nodded. “Sure, just let me wrap up here. Reg, you’ve met Y/N, right? She was kind enough to lend me notes for History of Magic.” 

You looked up and gave Regulus a shy wave. The desire to throttle Lorenzo diminished by a few notches. “Sorry about him. Berkshire’s a bit overeager. Not fully trained, you see.” 

His friend protested the accusation. “Hey, I’m standing right here!” 

Regulus ignored his protests. Lorenzo might as well have been halfway across the world with how little attention he paid to his friend. He was far too busy being enamored with the way you tried to bite back a grin.

“Thank you for indulging him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t go off leash again.” 

You chuckled. “It’s alright, really. I’ve got a habit of attracting strays.” 

“Where is that little monster of yours, anyways? Busy clawing off some unsuspecting student’s face?” Lorenzo quipped. 

“Shadow isn’t so bad. He’s actually very sweet, once you get to know him.”

Regulus tried not to grin. 

Lorenzo shot him a knowing look. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Sorry again about him. I’ll make sure he returns your notes.” He tugged Lorenzo by the collar. “Now let’s go, Berkshire. We’re going to be late for practice.” 

“Bye, Y/N!” Lorenzo called over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

“Bye, Lorenzo,” you said with an amused smile. “I’ll see you in class, Regulus.” 

Regulus couldn’t help but smile. “See you in class, Y/N.” 

Thanks to his meddlesome friends, Regulus kept finding himself in less than ideal situations. The twats seemed determined to force you two together. Lorenzo, most of all. 

Every time they studied in the library, you seemed to conveniently be seated a few desks away. Every time they were walking back from quidditch practice, you coincidentally seemed to be headed to the greenhouse. Every time Lorenzo fetched something in his locker, you just so happened to be walking by between classes. 

It was during one of these times that Regulus overheard Britt making snippy little comments about your dresses and bows, commenting on how you were always lost in your books, even citing the fact that the feral cat had taken a liking to you because birds of a feather flock together. Your roommate defended you, but she was a lone voice amongst the other mindless girls who laughed along with Britt. The next time Regulus ran into her in his cat form, he made sure to hiss and claw at her. 

In terms of finding his way in, Regulus had yet to crack the code. When it was just you and your Shadow, you spoke to him for hours and hours. But when he was actually himself, you were so quiet and reserved. 

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Lorenzo offered. 

The glare Regulus cut his way was sharper than a splicing spell. “I’ve tried, but I’m terrible at it. I asked her about the weather, Enzo. The bloody weather!” 

To his credit, Lorenzo didn’t laugh. Instead, he seemed deep in thought. “You’ve got to find out what she’s passionate about. What’s something that she could talk about for hours and hours?” 

Regulus bolted out of his chair, startling Lorenzo. “You’re a genius, Berkshire.” 

His friend looked utterly confused. “Thanks, I suppose?” 

Half an hour later, Regulus found himself standing in a labyrinth. Plot Twist, the largest bookstore in the village, was as magical as you described it to be. Each aisle was filled to the brim with books, the shelves winding and twisting in on itself to reveal even more volumes. Soft classical music played throughout the shop, its interior filled with kitschy trinkets and illuminated by enchanted candles.

If Regulus recalled correctly, the latest installment of your favorite series just recently released. You mentioned it to Ginny in the Great Hall last week while he lounged on your lap. Was it ethical to eavesdrop on your conversations and use the information he gleaned to grow closer to you? Perhaps not, but he couldn’t help it. Cunning was in his nature. There was a reason Regulus was sorted into Slytherin, after all.

So here he was on a Friday afternoon, looking absolutely engrossed in the romance section of the bookstore. Regulus picked up a novel from the display. One of your favorites, of course. 

From the corner of his eye, Regulus glimpsed your entrance into the store. Naturally, you were headed in his direction since romance was your preferred guilty pleasure. He pretended to skim through the summary despite the fact that he already read the book in its entirety. When you were reading it back in your dorm, you blushed so much that he had to see what the fuss was about for himself. 

“Oh, that’s a really good one,” you said shyly. 

“Yeah?” Regulus asked, noting the pretty flush dusting your cheeks. “Have you read it before?” 

“About a thousand times.” 

“What’s the verdict, then? Would you recommend it to me?” 

You cocked your head in observation, taking him in. Regulus was acutely aware that he didn’t fit the usual demographic of romance novel readers. Hell, even his all black ensemble clashed with the vibrant book covers. 

“I know, I know. I have the looks of someone who would rather binge murder mysteries, but I’m trying to branch out.” 

The grin you gave him made his heart stutter. “Well, I’d be more than happy to be your guide.” 

Regulus had no idea why he hadn’t realized it sooner. Books—that was the gateway to your heart. He listened in fascination as you pulled books from the shelves, talking a mile a minute about your favorite authors, characters, and tropes. You lit up the entire room as you spoke, filling the place with your infectious energy. He had only ever seen you this way in the comfort of your own dorm, so he relished in the fact that he was witnessing this not as Shadow but as Regulus. 

“Oh my god, I’ve been rambling. I’m so sorry. Once I start, I just can’t seem to stop.” 

He smiled softly. Regulus could have listened to you talk about books for the rest of his life and never grow bored. “I don’t want you to stop. I like that you’re so passionate. It’s adorable.” 

Suddenly, Regulus wished he had a camera because the sight of you smiling up at him was a memory that needed to be captured and immortalized. For now, he settled for its dizzying aftereffects. 

“Thank you for letting me talk your ear off,” you said shyly as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“No, thank you for helping me expand my horizons.” Regulus countered as he set both of your books down. 

You started to fish for your wallet, but Regulus simply waved you off. “Please, let me.” The shopkeeper gaped at him. “Would you mind putting everything on my tab?” 

“Of course, Mr. Black.” 

“Regulus is fine.” 

“Sure thing Mr.—I mean, Regulus.” 

As the shopkeeper carefully packed up the books, Regulus leaned in. “You can call me Reg, if you’d like. Reggie, if you’re feeling particularly brave.” 

You beamed. “Thank you, Reggie.” 

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” 

The Monday after the breakthrough, Regulus marched into Charms with purpose. You glanced up in amusement as he settled into his seat. 

“You were right. Your recommendations were fantastic. I read it all in one sitting.” 

“Which one?” you asked curiously. 

Back at the bookstore, you had gotten a little overzealous with the recommendations, but at the end, you managed to narrow it down to your absolute top picks. 

“All of them.” 

Your jaw nearly dropped. “You read all of them?” 

Regulus shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yes.”

“Every single book?” 

“Mhm.”

“But I gave you six recommendations,” you stated incredulously. You considered yourself a voracious reader, but Regulus Black was giving you a run for your money. 

“And I devoured every single one.” 

As it turns out, that was all it took to unlock the floodgates. Soon your conversations flourished from books and literature to hobbies and future plans. Regulus could tell that you were warming up to him. The conversations that were once isolated to the Charms classroom flowed easily outside of it as well.

The first few times you were spotted together, it turned a few heads. 

Regulus had never been particularly known for his sociability, so he supposed it was a rather strange sight for everyone else to find him practically glued to your side. Never mind that he’d done it a hundred times before as your Shadow and no one ever said a word about it back then. As he spotted you in your usual spot under the willow tree, he found that he really didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought of your newfound friendship. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You nodded as you moved your belongings to make room for him. “Yes, by you.” 

Regulus dropped his backpack by his feet before stretching his long legs out on the wooden bench. You watched in amusement as the wood creaked under his weight. “I prefer to be horizontal when I read. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Knock yourself out, Mr. Black.”

“That’s Regulus to you, love.” 

“I thought it was Reg.” 

“Actually, I prefer Reggie. But only if it’s being used by you.” 

“Okay, Reggie.” 

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Despite spending time with you during the day, Regulus still made his visits in the night. He truly just couldn’t get enough. Thanks to his questionable methods, you were starting to open up to him more. Just that morning, the two of you ate breakfast together in the Great Hall. You teased him for eating such a bland meal. 

“Honestly, Regulus. We attend a magical school. You could ask for anything your little heart desires and you choose to eat gruel?” 

“It’s not gruel. It’s oatmeal.” 

“My point exactly.” 

“What’s wrong with oatmeal?” 

“Nothing, I suppose. If you prefer eating cement for breakfast.” 

“You’re awfully judgmental. Let’s take a closer look at your choices. A chocolate chip muffin? You might as well swallow a spoonful of sugar and call it a day.” 

“My apologies, Mr. Black. I forgot that you abhor flavor. Shall we share your cement goop, then?” 

“After you insulted my culinary preferences? I think not, Y/N.” 

Needless to say, the two of you got along like a house on fire. Both of your friends constantly teased you about the newfound friendship. Regulus simply rolled his eyes and brushed off the comments, but even his mates noticed the way he smiled every time you were mentioned. You knew your friends were bursting at the seams with questions regarding Regulus, but to their credit, Ginny and Luna were happy seeing you happy. 

Not everyone shared their enthusiasm though. Britt, in particular, was rather cross. It made no sense that someone like you would catch the attention of Regulus Black. She had harbored a crush on the youngest Black since third year and he could barely even spare her a glance, yet here you were receiving his full and undivided attention. Britt was seething with jealousy. She simply could not accept losing to you, of all people. 

Perhaps you dosed Regulus with a love potion. Perhaps he pitied you, viewed you as some wounded animal to save. Either way, Britt was convinced that Regulus wasn’t meant to be with someone like you. A shy and quiet girl who could never hope to hold his attention for long. She just had to make Regulus see it. The perfect opportunity presented itself one Friday afternoon.

In the crowded hall, Regulus shielded you from the incoming traffic of students rushing to their next class. It wasn’t much of an effort on his part since your fellow classmates cowered and parted as soon as they caught sight of your companion’s scowl.

“Reggie, could you try not to scare the first years away?” You teased, bumping your hip against his. “Poor Anderson looked ready to cry when you glared at him.” 

Regulus bumped you back. “He nearly stepped on your foot.” 

“Did that really warrant you threatening to hide bullfrogs underneath his pillows?” 

“You’re right, I’ve gone soft. I should’ve threatened him with fire serpents instead.” 

“You’re hopeless, Regulus.” 

Regulus placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me, ma chérie.” 

The nickname made you flush. Regulus had never been more thankful that French was his native tongue. The language of love certainly had its effect on you. 

“However will you live?” 

“I’ll tell you what, if you come keep me company tonight, then all will be forgiven.” 

“I’m not helping you sneak bullfrogs into Anderson’s dorm.” 

He pouted in response. “Fine. I suppose we can have a quiet night in. Come join the dark side. We can read together in the common room.” 

“The dungeons?” You asked apprehensively. 

Though you’ve gotten used to the occasional Slytherin greeting you in the halls, the whole lot of them still terrified you. You weren’t quite sure how you felt about marching right into the serpent’s nest. 

“It’ll just be us,” Regulus added softly. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

The way he eased your worries was endearing. You bumped his hip again. “You can’t just kick people out of their own common room.”

“I’m Regulus Black,” he said haughtily. “Of course I can.” Regulus draped an arm over your shoulder and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Come on, I know you’re dying to read that new novel you bought last weekend.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately. He knew you too well. “You mean, the novel that you bought me. Against my will, thank you very much. I will pay you back.” Regulus started protesting, but you only held your hand up. “You’re right, though. I’m convinced. I’ll bring the snacks. Chocolate frogs for me and a bowl of gruel for you.” 

You yelped as Regulus dug his fingers into your side. “It’s a date, love.” 

Regulus paced back and forth, watching the door to the dungeons. To say he was nervous would’ve been an understatement. 

As soon as classes were dismissed for the day, Regulus wasted no time. He raced back to the common room and made sure everything was perfect. The boys were taking the piss out of him, but he paid no mind to them as he fluffed the pillows and draped a blanket over the couch. 

“Ooh, what type of candle is this?” Theo asked as he wrapped his grimy little fingers around the banana nut muffin scented candle. 

Regulus smacked his friend’s hand away. “Don’t touch that.” 

Mattheo snickered as he took in the scene before him. “You must really like this girl, Reg. I don’t think I’ve ever put in this much effort for a date.” 

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” Regulus snipped. Blaise and Pansy snorted in response. 

Lorenzo bit back a smile. “I think it’s nice. Y/N will love it.” 

“You think so?” Regulus asked absentmindedly. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect. The dungeons were a far cry from your dorm, but Regulus did his best to emulate the comfort it provided. “It’s not too much?” 

“It’s a bit…cozy for my taste,” said Draco. Regulus fought the urge to throttle his cousin. To be fair, Draco hated anything that wasn’t French or expensive. “But I’m sure your girl will love it.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Regulus corrected. “Not yet, at least.” 

Tom shot a disinterested glance at him from the couch. “What on earth are you waiting for? You’ve been pining over her for months. Your yearning is starting to sicken me.” 

Mattheo grimaced. “I think that’s Tom’s way of encouraging you to make a move.” 

“Consider me encouraged,” Regulus said with an eye roll. “Now everyone get out.” 

As his friends filtered out, Lorenzo patted him on the back. “Good luck, mate.” 

Luck had nothing to do with it. Regulus refused to take his chances on such a finicky thing. He was far too resourceful to leave things up to chance. Instead, he compiled everything he’s learned about you to ensure that you wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. 

At exactly six o’clock on the dot, Regulus opened the door to the dungeons. He smiled when he found you standing in the corridor, fidgeting with the hem of your sunflower dress. You clutched your book to your chest as he stepped through the threshold. 

“Hi, Reg,” you greeted shyly. 

“Hi, love.” Regulus offered his arm, which you gladly took. “Come on in.” 

You weren’t sure what to expect at first, but you found the dungeons to be quite cozy. The waves from the Black Lake gently lapped against the stained glass windows, the murky waters shimmering across the onyx floors. The furnishings were all dark wood and harsh lines with pops of emerald tying everything together. The velvet couch was piled with pillows and candles illuminated the space, providing a warmth and coziness that you never would’ve attributed to the dungeons. 

“This is quite lovely,” you said softly. 

Regulus took your bag from you and set it gently on the marble side table. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“Where’s everyone else?” 

“Out,” Regulus responded. “If they’re smart, they’ll stay that way.” 

You chuckled. “I guess it pays to be mean and scary.” 

“To everyone else, yes.” Regulus said as he guided you over to the couch. “Not to you, though.”

The sentiment made you smile. “Well, big scary Reggie, thank you for inviting me over. As promised, I came bearing snacks.” 

As you laid out a treasure trove of treats, Regulus watched with an amused smile. “For Salazar’s sake, I’m getting a cavity just looking at all of this candy.” 

You grinned as you waved a sour gummy worm in the air. “But it’s good, though.” Regulus backed away from the neon colored candy with a grimace. “Come on, Reg. Try it.” 

“No, thank you.” 

“Please,” you pleaded, poking his cheek with the worm. “Just one little nibble. I know you want to.” 

“You’re a terrible influence,” he sighed defeatedly. 

Regulus leaned over, his lips brushing against your fingers as he took a small bite. You flushed furiously, heat prickling your skin as his emerald gaze pierced through you. From this close, you could make out the golden flecks swimming in his irises. 

“It’s a bit sweet,” Regulus murmured. His eyes never left yours as he held your wrist in place, devouring what was left of the sour worm. “But I’ve grown an appetite for sweet things lately.” 

Regulus licked flecks of sugar off of his lips, smirking when he caught you staring. You cleared your throat, eager to diffuse whatever tension was brewing between you. He tracked your movements as you retrieved your book and daintily perched yourself on the couch. 

“Shall we?” 

A comfortable silence befell the common room, broken only by the lulling crash of the waves against the windows. It baffled you how at ease you were in the dungeons. Usually, it took a bit of time for you to adjust to new environments, but something about this place seemed familiar. You felt safe here, thanks to the boy sitting beside you. 

As you curled up on the sofa, Regulus assumed his position. He scooted towards you, placing his head on your lap and stretching his long legs out until they touched the other end of the couch. With a smile, you peered at him as he nuzzled against your free hand. Regulus sighed in satisfaction when you ran your fingers through his curls. The action reminded you of your little Shadow. 

You had no idea how you hadn’t realized it sooner, but the two of them were similar in a lot of ways. They were both standoffish and prickly on the outside, but complete softies on the inside. The thought made you chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” Regulus murmured. Despite the fact that the two of you were supposed to be reading, his book remained perched on his stomach while his eyes fluttered close. 

“It’s just hard to reconcile grumpy Regulus to the Regulus that practically begs for his head to be scratched.”

Regulus scoffed. “I do not beg.” 

You placed your hand back in your lap. Regulus furrowed his brows as he glanced up at you. With a soft nudge to your side and a matching pout to boot, he single handedly proved your point. “Why’d you stop?” 

The pointed look you gave him made Regulus flush. “Fine, I suppose I’m not above begging.” 

You raised a brow, which only made him sigh in defeat. Regulus lifted your hand and placed it back atop his curls. “Please?” 

“Only because you asked nicely, Reggie.” 

The rest of the evening was blissfully peaceful as the two of you continued reading. Well, you were reading. Regulus, on the other hand, hadn’t even cracked open his book. You could feel the intensity of his gaze boring into you while you pretended to be engrossed in your novel. 

“Do I have something on my face?” You asked self-consciously. 

“No.” 

“Then why are you staring?” 

Regulus sat upright and faced you, his emerald eyes locking onto yours. His expression was soft as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, knuckles brushing along your jaw. 

“Because you’re beautiful.” 

The air left your lungs as Regulus beheld you. The calluses on his thumb stroked your skin as he caressed your cheek. You shivered at his touch, at his scent, at his closeness. Regulus was like poetry come to life. A work of art that moved and breathed and mesmerized everyone around him. If anyone was beautiful, it was him. 

“Reggie…” 

The words died in your throat when Regulus brushed his thumb over your lips. “Y/N…” 

Little by little, the gap closed between you. Anticipation swelled in the room, enveloping everything with unspoken tension. You felt like a harp string pulled taut, waiting for release. Just as Regulus tilted your head back, a loud smack echoed through the dungeons. 

You nearly jumped out of your seat, but Regulus shielded you behind him, keeping you close. A stream of people made their way through the common room, trampling the once serene atmosphere. The commotion from earlier seemed to be coming from the large keg that Adrian Pucey was now rolling across the stone floor. The other Slythering began clearing the furniture, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. 

Regulus was incensed. “What the fuck is going on?” 

One by one, his friends streamed in. Blaise was the first to squeeze through the crowd. “Common room party, apparently. We ran here to warn you, but they were already rolling the kegs through the corridor before we caught up.” 

Theodore and Mattheo pushed their way through a couple of fourth years. At their complaint, the two boys glared at them so intensely that they slowly started to back away. 

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mattheo barked. 

“Are you deaf or just thick? Get fucking lost, mate,” Theo added menacingly. 

You flinched at the display of aggression. Regulus clocked the reaction and pulled you closer before frowning at his friends. Theodore elbowed Mattheo when he caught sight of you, who in turn elbowed Theodore back. 

“Sorry about that, Y/N.” Theodore drawled, his Italian accent seeping through the words. “We didn’t see you there. Usually, we’re more well-behaved in the presence of a lady.” 

“That’s a lie,” Pansy interjected. “You’re horrid around me all the time.” 

“I’ve known you since we were in diapers, Pans. You’re certainly not a lady,” Theodore quipped. 

“Why, you little twat—” 

“Guys,” Regulus scolded. 

Pansy stopped in her tracks, sighing as she put her hand down after landing a smack on the back of Theodore’s head. She offered her hand. “Right. Well, this isn’t how we thought our first introduction would go, but it’s nice to finally meet the infamous Y/N. Regulus talks about you all the time.” 

You flushed as you took Pansy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Pansy.” 

“Me next,” Theodore exclaimed. “Theodore Nott, at your service.” 

The floppy haired boy bowed cheekily before taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Regulus glared daggers at his friend, but you merely giggled in amusement. 

“Move, Nott. It’s my turn now.” Mattheo smacked Theodore away and enveloped you into a hug. “Mattheo, the most handsome Riddle. Although don’t tell my brother that. He might hex me. Anyways, nice to meet you." He paused, sniffing your hair unabashedly. "Oh! Reg is right. You do smell nice.” 

“Riddle,” warned Regulus.

Mattheo only winked at you before stepping aside. You exchanged introductions with Blaise and Draco next until Lorenzo caught up with the rest of the group. He gave you a warm hug before explaining that someone had printed out posters promoting a party that none of the Slytherins had any clue about. Of course, it didn’t take much convincing on his housemates' part before they jumped on the bandwagon, hence the packed common room. 

“I’m so sorry,” Regulus said as he turned over to face you. “ I didn’t know any of this was happening.”

Worry marred his beautiful face. Though the situation was a little more than overwhelming, you didn’t want Regulus worrying on your behalf. It was touching, truly. But you could try to push through it. 

“It’s okay, Reg. I’m fine, really.” 

“We can leave,” he offered. “Find somewhere more quiet.” 

“Already?” Mattheo asked, pouting. “But we haven’t even played butterbeer pong yet! Dibs on Y/N as my partner.” 

“No fair! I was going to ask her,” Theodore said, shoving Mattheo. His curly headed friend shoved back, which only escalated into Theodore putting him into a headlock. You shook your head in amusement. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have no idea how to play butterbeer pong.” 

Mattheo slithered out of Theodore’s hold and beamed. “Oh, it’s easy. You just arrange a bunch of cups into a pyramid and then take turns shooting ping pong balls into them. Surely, you’ve handled balls before, right?” 

The double meaning was not lost on the group. Regulus tensed, charging up to smack Mattheo into next week for the inappropriate joke, but your response stopped him in his tracks. 

“I have,” you said softly. “Have you? Because it doesn’t seem like it from the way you kept missing the goalposts during the game last week.” 

Mattheo gaped in shock before bursting into laughter. “Oh, she’s a keeper.” 

“You’re lucky Y/N found that funny,” Regulus said to his friend. “Otherwise, I would’ve twisted your intestines into a bow for her.” 

“Taking a page out of my brother’s book, I see,” Mattheo taunted. 

“Is this a bad time to ask if you’ve ever had a body shot, Y/N?” Theo asked with feigned innocence. “If not, I’m more than willing to show you.” 

Regulus reeled back and smacked Theo on the head while the rest of the group cackled. Theo rubbed the sore spot and grumbled. “A simple no would have sufficed.” 

The more time you spent around them, the less intimidating they became. From what you gleaned, they seemed to be a tight knit group. It wasn’t at all what you expected from the Slytherins. 

“Your friends are silly,” you whispered to Regulus as the group migrated to the couch. 

In the background, Mattheo and Theodore bickered over who drank the last of the firewhisky while Lorenzo wiped the back of his mouth and burped. He winked when he caught your eye, charging you with keeping his secret. 

“They’re idiots,” Regulus scoffed. His tone was contrasted by the softness in his eyes as he watched his friends muck about. “But they’re family.” 

Throughout the night, you didn’t miss the way that Regulus fussed over you. He was a constant presence by your side, attuned and attentive to every need. When you felt parched, Regulus was there to offer you a drink. When you felt cold, Regulus draped his jacket over you without you needing to ask. He checked in with you often, making sure his obnoxious friends weren’t offending you and ensuring that the attention wasn’t too overwhelming to handle. 

You assured him that you were fine. In fact, you were surprised to realize that you were enjoying yourself. It was a lot easier to deal with your social anxiety when you had someone there to ground you. 

The Slytherins were a rather social bunch. Pansy was thrilled at the prospect of having another girl join the group. Within thirty minutes, she had talked you into going to Hogsmeade with her next weekend. She wanted a break from the boys, she said. But she also made it known that she expected a full rundown of the situation between you and Regulus. 

Draco and Blaise were very clearly eavesdropping, despite their efforts to appear nonchalant. Apparently, everyone was as invested in your pairing as Pansy was. Theodore and Mattheo didn’t even try to hide the fact that they were talking Regulus up. When Mattheo declared that Regulus rescued an injured baby bird and nursed it back to health, you nearly lost it. Regulus hated birds. 

“You’re an idiot,” Regulus exclaimed. 

“No, let him talk. I want to hear all about it. What kind of bird was it, Mattheo?” 

“Uh…the kind with wings?” 

Lorenzo shook his head. “Really, mate? That’s the best you could come up with?” 

The group continued their bantering as you watched in fascination. Their dynamic fascinated you. They bickered like siblings, but you could tell that they would go to the end of the world for one another. You could see why Regulus thought of them as family. 

“Feeling okay?” Regulus asked, nudging you with his hip. 

“Mhm,” you responded, bumping him back. “Thanks for inviting me over.” 

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I did,” Regulus said. “But I’m still glad you came.”

“Of course, I had to see you in your natural habitat. I didn’t know you were such a party animal, Reggie.” 

He grabbed hold of your waist and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I preferred when the party was just you and me.” 

You flushed, pitching forward to hide your face behind a curtain of hair. “I did, too.” 

“When everyone leaves, I intend on picking up where we left off. You should know that I’m not the type of man who leaves things unfinished, love.” 

There was no hiding the blush that blossomed on your cheeks. Crimson colored your features even as you excused yourself to the bathroom. As you washed your hands in the sink, you studied your reflection. While you would always feel the lingering social anxiety that came from being in large crowds, you thought that tonight was going fairly well. With a smile, you made your return back to the Regulus. 

“I don’t know who you’re fooling, Y/N.” Britt sneered at you as she leaned against the wall, a cigarette held haphazardly between her neon painted fingers. 

You frowned. “What are you talking about, Britt?” 

“Regulus may have fallen for your shy and sweet little act, but he’ll get sick and tired of you dragging him down sooner or later.” 

A lump formed in the pit of your stomach. Though it was no secret that Britt wasn’t exactly a fan of yours, you hadn’t expected her to say such hurtful things. Even worse, she touched a nerve with her words. 

Britt nodded pointedly towards the crowd. “Look at him. He can’t even enjoy himself without worrying about poor, helpless little Y/N.”

Regulus towered over everyone, cutting an imposing figure in the middle of the room. His eyes darted through the crowd, seemingly searching for someone. Perhaps it was the reality of seeing the worry in his features, his half-distracted responses to whatever Lorenzo was saying as he stood stoic, unable to partake in conversation because he was too busy looking for you. Worrying about you. However horrid Britt was, you realized that there was merit to her words. 

The last thing you wanted was to hold Regulus back. You didn’t want him worrying about babysitting you instead of having fun with his friends, which is exactly what he was doing now. The thought made you sad. Sure, Regulus was fine with catering to your needs now, but he was bound to tire of it sooner or later. You didn’t want to find out how long it would take. 

You didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Most of all, Regulus. 

Without a word, you passed by Britt and weaved your way through the room. You stuck to the alcoves, passing beneath its shadowy refuge until the door came to view. Only a few steps stood between you and your escape when a low, stern voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Y/N,” said Tom Riddle. “Leaving early, are we?” 

“Oh, hi there Tom,” you mumbled, casting your gaze towards the floor. You were afraid that you’d cry if you stayed in the dungeons a second longer. “M’just not feeling very well.” 

You could feel his observant gaze sweeping over you. “I imagined you wouldn’t after encountering that hag outside of the bathroom.” 

“You saw that?” You asked in a small, defeated voice. 

Finally, you deigned to look up and found Tom staring at you. As always, the eldest Riddle was cold and stoic, but there was something in his gaze that conveyed concern. 

“Yes, and I heard it too.” 

“Please, can you—can you just not tell Reggie?” 

Tom’s expression was imperceptible besides his curt nod. “If that’s what you prefer. I’ll let him know you left early because you weren’t feeling well.” 

“Thank you, Tom.” 

You bid him a good night before reaching for the door. Behind you, Tom cleared his throat. 

“For the record, that hag doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re not dragging Regulus down. If anything, you’ve made the twat more tolerable over these past few weeks.” 

Before you could respond, Tom was gone. You barely caught a glimpse of his back as he climbed the stairs that led to the dormitories. The parting surprised you, but you figured that Tom probably just felt bad for witnessing the conversation between you and Britt. 

Casting a last glance towards the common room, you spotted Regulus once again. 

Softly, you whispered, “Bye, Reggie.” 

Once you were back in your dorm, you showered and decided to turn in for the night. It was just a few minutes shy of midnight as you tossed and turned in bed. Your roommate was most likely still at the party, leaving you to ponder your thoughts alone. There was an air of restlessness in the room as you stared up at the ceiling and considered your predicament. 

No matter which way you looked at it, there was only one solution. You had to end your friendship with Regulus. 

The thought filled you with overwhelming sadness. Letting go of Regulus made you feel so isolated and alone, but you knew it was the right thing to do. As though sensing your need for comfort, Shadow slinked through your door and hopped right into your lap. The black cat stared up at you with knowing eyes and meowed. 

“At least I can count on you to always keep me company,” you murmured softly as you scratched under Shadow’s chin. “It’s been a rough night.” 

Shadow bumped his head against your hip, seemingly telling you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. 

“Britt is right, Shadow,” you confessed. “I’m just not the type of girl Regulus should be with.” 

The cat bumped you again, stomping his feet on the bed in frustration. Shadow gave you a rather argumentative meow. 

“Oh, don’t give me that. We both know it’s true. Reggie is Reggie and I’m…well, I’m me.” 

Shadow hissed in response, demanding your attention. You sighed as you pulled the cat into your lap. “It’s a shame,” you whispered against his dark fur. “I really like him.” 

To your surprise, Shadow purred softly and cuddled against your side. Though the feral little cat had taken a liking to you and your dorm, Shadow was always usually gone in the morning. Tonight though, the cat curled up next to you as though it knew that this was what you needed. 

“Good night, Shadow.” 

Regulus knew it was reckless. 

But after Tom informed him of your sudden illness, suspicion rose in him like a tide. Even if you weren’t feeling well, it wasn’t like you to leave so abruptly, which meant that something was definitely wrong. All of his suspicions were confirmed when he got to your dorm.

It broke his heart to hear you say that you weren’t right for him. How could such a thought even cross your mind? There had never been anyone more perfect to him than you. Didn’t you know that you were the first person Regulus looked for in a room full of people? Couldn’t you tell how head over heels he was for you? His sweet, sassy, shy, sunshine of a Hufflepuff. There was no one better. 

Certainly not Britt. Regulus was well aware of the crush she had on him. At first, he simply ignored it. He had absolutely no interest in someone as foul and loathsome as that girl, but now that she had come after you, Regulus had half a mind to sink his teeth and claws into her ankles until he drew blood. 

At the moment, his plot for revenge was set aside as he focused on comforting you. Up until this point, Regulus had always been careful not to fall asleep in your dorm because he never knew when he was going to switch back, but tonight, he was willing to risk it. He didn’t know if this would be the last time you ever spoke to him given what you confessed earlier. 

Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he didn’t want the night to end. Regulus wasn't ready to face the prospect of you ending things, so he snuggled into your side and fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

It was a choice that would certainly have its consequences in the morning.

The first thing that woke him up was not the sunlight streaming through your windows or the chirping of the birds, but instead your surprised yelp. Regulus blinked sleepily, rubbing his paw against his snout, but instead bumped his hand into his nose. 

This was not good. 

This was definitely not good. 

You were on the other side of the bed, blankets pulled up over your chin as you stared at him in disbelief. 

“Reggie? What—what are you doing here?” 

Regulus was an idiot. A stupid, careless idiot. 

But none of that mattered now. 

“Don’t end our friendship.” 

You reeled back in surprise. “I—what—what’s even happening—”

“Don’t end our friendship,” Regulus said once more. “Fuck, it’s not even a friendship. You and I both know it’s so much more than that.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not going to get bored of you. Never in a million years would I ever get bored of you. In the months that I’ve gotten to know you, not once have I ever stopped feeling drawn in. I want to know everything about you, Y/N. Even though you tell me everything without realizing it, I still want to know more. I want to listen to you talk about your books and hold your hand when you’re overwhelmed and follow you all around the castle like I’ve been doing all along.” 

You were speechless as Regulus continued. “Tom told me that you weren’t feeling well last night. I knew it was a lie, so I had to come and see for myself. I had to make sure you were okay, even if you didn’t know it was me.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “But then you said you wanted to end our friendship and I just—I was selfish. I should’ve gone back to my dorm, but I didn’t know if last night was the last time you’d ever speak to me and I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.” 

Realization dawned over you. Pieces of the puzzle started clicking into place. “You’re—you—you’ve been Shadow this whole time?” 

Regulus nodded guiltily. “I understand if you’re angry with me, but please know that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I found your dorm by accident that first night and I don’t know. I just kept coming back. You just kept drawing me back.” 

He bowed his head and ran a hand through his curls. “I realize you might hate me after this, but you have been the best part of my day since I accidentally stumbled into your dorm and I think—no, I know that I’ve fallen for you.” 

You blinked in disbelief, still processing his confession. “So you’ve been…you this whole time? You knew everything I’ve ever said to Shadow. You listened to me vent and rant, thinking I was just talking to a cat.” You paused as something niggled at your brain. “When we first ran into each other at the bookstore, did you already know I was going to be there?” 

Regulus didn't deny it. “I did. I also already read all of the books on your shelves in advance on the off chance that you might mention it in class. I didn't really need help in charms, that was just an excuse to spend more time with you and I...I bought the same candles and blankets you like so you'd be comfortable in the common room. I learned all of that by listening to you, by spying on you, and I'm sorry. I’m so fucking sorry —" 

His apology was cut short as you surged forward to kiss him. Regulus was stunned for a moment as your lips met, but it didn’t take long for him to reciprocate. One arm slid around your waist to pull you closer while the other cradled your cheek. His kisses were hungry, like he was a man awaiting the gallows and you were his final meal. It was full of passion, the longing and yearning evident as he gorged himself on the taste of you. 

Coming up for air, Regulus finally opened his pretty emerald eyes and looked at you. His gaze pierced through your skin, raw and vulnerable. “You’re not mad at me?” 

“Are you kidding? That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Regulus sighed in relief, pressing his forehead against yours. “Plus, how can I be mad when you make such a cute little kitty?” 

Regulus laughed, the sweet, melodious sound filling the room. You brushed his curls back and grinned. “For the record, I’ve fallen for you too.” 

“That’s a relief. My friends have been pestering me on finally making a move for months. Pansy cornered me last night and lectured me on asking you to be my girlfriend before you realize that you’re too good for me.” 

“I think I like Pansy.” 

“Don’t tell her that,” Regulus groaned. “She’ll definitely try to steal you away from me.” 

“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that.” 

“Good, I don’t want Parkinson getting any ideas about running off with my girlfriend.” 

You raised a brow. “Oh, I’m your girlfriend now?” 

“Girlfriend. Love of my life. Apple of my eye. Take your pick, mon cœur.” 

“I’ll take all of the above, boyfriend.” 

Later that morning, after much cuddling and kissing, you and Regulus finally decided to head to the Great Hall for breakfast. You smiled as he held your hand, bumping your hip as the two of you walked through the corridors. It was strange how at ease you felt. You were vaguely aware of the eyes that trailed your every move, but they quickly blended into the background when Regulus pulled you close and kissed your cheek. 

Luna and Ginny perked up at the sight of you, surprise marring their faces when they spotted Regulus at your side. Their eyebrows raised to the skies, pointedly staring at your linked fingers. 

Later, you mouthed. You had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, but your friends merely smiled and nodded. 

“Finally,” Pansy announced exasperatedly. She patted the seat next to her as you shyly slipped in. “I was beginning to think that we’d have to scheme to get the two of you together.” 

“No need,” you said with a smile. “I think we took care of that on our own.” 

Regulus smiled and nuzzled against your shoulder. The boys flashed him shit-eating grins, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Stop scaring my girlfriend away, Pans.” 

“Oh, is it girlfriend now? It’s about time. I’ve only listened to you pine and yearn for months.” 

“Excuse her,” Blaise said. “She’s just happy to have another girl in the group.” 

“Damn right I am. I’m tired of spending so much time with you heathens.” Pansy patted your shoulder. “I hope you’re in the market for new friends, because you’re not getting rid of me now. My first act of friendship will be to determine whether or not to hex that little trollop for glaring at you. Do you know that girl, Y/N?” 

You turned and found Britt frowning at you with her arms crossed. “It’s alright, Pansy. She’s not worth it.” 

At the same moment, Tom sauntered through the aisles. Once he reached Britt, he cut her a glare that would paralyze a basilisk. She cowered back and made a hasty retreat. 

Tom merely continued walking before taking a seat next to Mattheo. “So, that hag, “ he says in a no-nonsense tone. “Would you like me to take care of her?” 

You glanced at the group in concern. “What exactly does taking care of her mean?” 

Mattheo’s curly head popped up from his plate. “Oh, he means he’ll feed her to his snake.” 

You laughed at the jest, but Tom remained stone-faced. He was obviously just kidding. Right?

“He’s dead serious,” Theo added. “I’ve seen him do it before.” 

With a gulp, you turned back to Tom. “That won’t be necessary, Tom. Please don’t feed Britt to your snake.” 

Tom shrugged as though you were discussing the weather. “Suit yourself.” 

When everyone returned to their morning banter, you turned to Regulus. “What have I gotten myself into?” 

Regulus smiled and pecked your lips. “You know, I considered clawing her ankles off, but I think Tom’s way will be much quicker.” 

“Regulus Black.” You scolded, though it wasn’t entirely convincing given the grin you were biting back. 

“It’s Reggie to you, love.” You stared at him pointedly, which only made him sigh dramatically. “Fine, Tom’s snake will not have a new snack, but only because I have a saint for a girlfriend.” 

“And I have a devious little sinner for a boyfriend.” 

Regulus smirked. “I’ll make sure to worship at your altar for penance.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but blush as Regulus laid his head down on your shoulder once more. You ran your fingers through his curls, smiling to yourself when he let out a satisfied hum that sounded awfully close to a purr. 

[mariasont]

THE BIMBO RECEPTIONIST WAS SO CUTE

now id like to introduce, goth/metalhead!bimbo!reader x spence ( more of the opposites attract vibe )

super dark clothes and jewelry and looks like elvira a little bit, maybe a few piercings and tattoos for spencer to oogle at

Brooding - S.R

a/n: EEK i hope u love this as much as i loved writing it :)

bimbo reader has my heart <3

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x goth!bimbo!reader

warnings: mmm none! fluff! just two cuties being cute!

wc: 0.6k

Your pen was a flurry of motion, streaking bold lines upon the sketchpad. Technically, you should be sorting through the endless stack of files, keeping them pristine and accessible for the agents. You were always ahead of your tasks, and this job, while not earth-shattering, mattered to you. But when you had a muse as captivating as yours, it was hard to put the pen down. 

That muse being the man rifling through the files before you, his face a masterpiece of pretty lines and angles, unaware of the intensity of your focus. You contemplated expressing your admiration aloud, but the idea seemed a little too forward. So, you poured that impulse into a portrait, tracing the contours of his handsome face.

But it proved difficult to accomplish with his relentless pacing. Each step he took sparked another round of redos on the pad. Your tongue, tipped with a silver piercing, unconsciously found its way to your lip as you wrestled with the proportions of his nose, erasing furiously to get it just right.

You let out a sigh, louder than intended, and it was enough to pause his steps. "Sir, can you please stand still?"

He looked utterly baffled, lifting his brows toward his hairline. As your eyes met, he pointed to his chest, his question simple and unsure, "Huh? Me?"

A quick nod sent a ribbon of dyed hair fluttering before your eyes as you beamed at him. "Yes, you! Please, if you don't mind," you murmured, your fingers racing over the paper. "I just need, like, one more second."

He stood frozen, brows remaining quizzically raised. Why he complied, he couldn't say, but the sight of you, so engrossed in your art, your necklaces chiming in time with your movements, and how your bold makeup seemed to frame your face perfectly kept him rooted to the spot.

You peered up through your lashes, giving him a sheepish grin, cheeks lightly flushed as you set the pen down.

"All done! You're free to go. Thanks for being so patient," you chirped, gently waving the paper in the air as if to dry the ink faster.

"Can I at least see the result of my patience?" Spencer asked, his approach casual yet expectant. 

You hugged the sketchpad to your chest, a gentle laugh escaping you. "Well, I don't usually just let anyone see my work, especially strangers."

Spencer's smile was tinged with amusement.

"Considering I'm the subject, I think I have some claim to it," he joked. "And by the way, I'm Spencer Reid. There, we're practically acquaintances now."

You couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from your throat.

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I can make an exception," you said, drawing out the last word with a wink.

The portrait made Spencer do a double-take--it was him, but as if seen through a gothic, moody lens. His usual composure cracked, and a deep, genuine laugh broke through. 

"I never knew I had such a brooding side," he commented with a smile. "I look like I stepped out of a Brontë novel. Perhaps Heathcliff on one of his better days?"

Your head cocked to the side, hair cascading over one shoulder, looking at him through lashes heavy with mascara as you shrugged.

"Heathcliff, huh? I'll take your word for it, but I get the brooding part," you said, with a bubbly laugh. "Come on, it's so you."

Spencer fiddled with his tie, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he felt a pleasant heat rise to his cheeks.

You squinted sightly, pretending to mull it over.

"Flattered, for sure," you said. "Broody types are just secretly plotting world domination, right?"

He grinned. "Well, maybe not world domination, but certainly plotting something."

Your voice was light, but your question was pointed. "So, what are you plotting, Spencer? Should I be worried?"

He tried to remember what Morgan had taught him.

"Absolutely. But some things are worth the wait--patience, you'll see, can be quite rewarding."

And with a promise like that, you found yourself more than willing to wait. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[animasola86]

🎃 A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

misc!monsters x f!reader 🔥 words: 1.5k

You are invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, promising a night full of surprises. Are you ready for this adventure?

GENERAL WARNINGS/SPOILERS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Sex with strangers! Knife kink! Slimes and tentacles! Werewolves! Vampires! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: Welcome to this CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! Please enjoy this "prologue" that will lead you into a night you won't forget! After setting the scene, you will have three choices as to what happens next! (You can also read these chapters in succession, whatever you like best!)

Staring up at the large house, you realize you have no idea where you are. You've lived here your whole life and yet you've never seen this particular house. You'd clearly remember it. It's too fancy not to notice. Old. Dark woods and black metal elements. Gothic almost. Definitely not your typical house, not around these parts.

You'd figured it might just be a themed hotel that had its grand opening only recently, hence why you've never heard of it before. The invitation came a few days ago, and quite frankly, at the best time possible. You didn't have plans for Halloween, and you were not in the mood to open your door to random kids that evening either, so being called away onto the countryside, to this fancy place even, and all of it for free? Hell yeah.

Your Uber driver had been a little confused by the address, but somehow still found the hidden place. And now you look upon the large entrance doors, and despite being alone, you are intrigued. This is an adventure, a step away from your boring day-to-day life. Sure it was all a little ominous, with this mysterious invitation and all, but you figured you've been randomly selected maybe, perhaps won something for the first time in your life? You should probably be more suspicious, but then again, why not?

You are young, this is Halloween, why not live a little, right?

Fumbling the sturdy envelope out of your purse and the thick paper out of its sheath, you take another glance at the printed words:

Welcome to a night you'll never forget! Come and enjoy an evening full of surprises! You are invited to party, drink and eat like you've never had before! Your adventure awaits! Stay till the morning breaks, if you can. Come in costume. Stay for free. Happy Halloween!

You chose to dress like Little Red Riding Hood, mainly because you had the short skirt, the blouse and the red cape from your last costume party, and you couldn't be bothered to buy a new one. Putting your hair into braided pigtails added to the innocence you tried to portray, and who knows, maybe you'll find a nice guy in a wolf costume to match your freak? You don't expect much, but that's usually the best thing to do anyway. It can only get better then.

Yet when you enter the house, its windows lit up by bright colorful lights, the low bass of the music making the floorboards vibrate, you realize this might just be your typical Halloween party. From the lobby you can take a look into the adjacent rooms, fancy sitting rooms with fireplaces, already filled to the brim with people in costumes.

You see a group of masked serial killers, from Ghostface to Michael Myers, there's even Freddy Krueger and the guy in the hockey mask whose name you always forget. The sight of them would normally scare you, but these guys stand around a beer pong table, and whenever they throw the ball into a cup, they lift their masks and expose their rather normal looking faces to drink it, acting like the frat boys they probably are.

In another corner you see a bunch of girls, cheerleaders, you'd say, all dressed very skimpy, but you are indoors (and you are dressed a little similar also, so you shouldn't judge), but seeing a sexy ladybug next to a sexy office lady, laughing with a sexy cow girl (as in cow girl, literally, with black and white spots and very distinctive udders), it does look a little ridiculous. Well, at least they all found their crowd.

As you turn your head to look around more, walking up to the large staircase leading to the upper floors, you are suddenly startled by a waitress carrying a tray with little shot glasses filled with a green liquid. “Oh,” you make, as you take a step back to not walk into her.

She smiles at you, her eyes sparkling under the light of the large chandelier above you, holding out the tray. “Welcome to the mansion!” she tells you. “Please, have a complimentary drink!”

You look at the shots and hesitate. Looks like jello shots. Vodka and gelatin never sounded appealing to you, but you told yourself to enjoy the night, let loose for once, so you grab one small glass and give the waitress a nod. She quickly hurries off again, focusing on another group of people filtering into the house. Looking around, you try not to dwell too much on the drink you slowly put to your lips. There's a strangely earthy smell to it. Ugh, probably some herbal liqueur to add to the green coloring of it.

Inhaling deeply, you tilt your head back and gulp down the shot in one go, feeling it slide down your throat, as slimy and unpleasant as you would have expected. But it does give you a little buzz, and that's a start, isn't it? Clearing your throat, you look around for the waitress or a place to discard your empty shot glass, and suddenly she's back, picking the glass out of your hand, gently nudging you further into the house.

As you enter one of the sitting rooms, you find yourself among more groups of people, laughing and chatting and having fun, their costumes ranging from vastly unimaginative (one guy just wears a white T-shirt that says This is my costume) to extremely elaborate and fancy. Leave it to the Goths to really celebrate this day. You admire their beautiful gowns and make-up a little longer as you feel your stomach churning slightly. You should have eaten more before you came here, you realize, but luckily you then come across a large banquet table filled with food and drinks.

There's a big bowl of chips, but there are also a couple of three-tiered platters filled with little canapés, and you decide to try the more fancy stuff first. As you put various things on your napkin (things you've never seen before and couldn't possibly name), you look around the nicely decorated rooms. They do look old and out of a different time period, even the furniture looks as vintage as it can get. There's a lot of dark woods and wallpapers with intricate designs, also countless ancient looking paintings of landscapes and people in period clothing, and to make it look really halloweeny the whole space is plastered in fake-looking cobwebs, with plastic spiders and bats hanging from the ceiling and walls.

The lighting is different in each room, from bright green to dark red, flowery pink and icy blue. You admire the work that went into decorating the place like this. You've certainly never been to a party like this before. It looks perfect. The food is good, the music isn't too loud or obnoxious and fits the vibe pretty good (you recognize a few horror film soundtracks), it seems like a good Halloween party. You don't regret coming here at all, though the social aspect still feels a little daunting. All these people stand in groups, laughing together, and you seem to be the only one who came alone.

You don't normally mind it that much, being alone, most of your friends had other plans or were too busy to indulge in some childish little party. It sucks to be in that age group where half of your acquaintances try to be the adults they supposedly are now, while the other half can't let go of their youth, but even those thought this party seemed lame, and as you are right in the middle, unsure where you fit, you decided to just go alone, hoping you'd meet someone here.

Maybe a bit more alcohol will help you get closer to the other guests. Shoving something baked into your mouth, you turn to the drinks. A bowl of fruit punch calls your name, but then you see the beer cans and grab one of those instead. You already drank that ominous jello shot, you shouldn't risk whatever was swimming inside that punch bowl. Cracking open the can, you take a swig, feeling the refreshing beverage rush down your esophagus, but as soon as it fills your stomach, another churn goes through you. Then a cramp.

Oh dear. Leave it to your sensitive guts to ruin a good night out. Putting down the drink and food, you press a hand to your belly and turn back, looking around for the bathroom you clearly need now. You push past people dancing to the music or standing in clusters, laughing and chatting, you even pass the occasional love or horn dog unable to hide their desires as they make out right there in the middle of the room, until you find a long hallway. You'd expect a long line in front of the bathroom as is usually the case at these parties, but you are the only one in the hallway.

It's lined with intricate wooden doors, left and right, and one at the end. No sign or anything to indicate what's behind them. Feeling another cramp, you let out a groan and stare from door to door.

Where to go?

You now have these choices:

Do you...

...reach for the door closest to you?

...go through the door a few feet on your right?

...walk all the way to the last door that seems to lead outside?

ALL PARTS: 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7

End notes: By the way, justice for our boy Jason Voorhees, of course I remember his name, poor reader just isn't focused on serial killers that much. Or is she? :3

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒, 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄.

💞 — in which vil invites a vampire hunter to live in your castle as a guard. this hunter seems to enjoy pressing your buttons quite a bit.

💞 — vampire!vil schoenheit x vampire!reader x vampire hunter!rook hunt (implied poly)

💞 — warnings: SUGGESTIVE!! nothing crazy, but it is suggestive, hopefully in the gothic romantic sort of way. obvi, blood, mentions of gore. rook says "bon appetit" at some point. vil and reader are "married" but in the eternal partners thanks to immortality sort of way

💞 — 2.2k words. HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY @v-anrouge!!! when i was wondering what i should write, i remembered you were the one who gave me the thought of vampire hunter!rook which has completely haunted me since. i wish you a million more happy days <33 think imma do a whole au tagged as "𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄." bc wow i miss vampire stories

Vil could not have been serious about this.

You looked at him in disbelief as he sat at the luxurious table. He ignored your look of disbelief and continued to sip from his wine glass, the rid liquid sloshing to and fro. Any idiot would assume it was just wine or fruit cordial, but no, this was a bit too thick to be either. Your eyes then darted to the smiling blonde bowing at the both of you. That bastard hunter that you and your kind were constantly trying to get away from. He was grinning without a care as if he was not in the presence of one of the most feared vampires in all of the Twisted Wonderland. 

“You don’t look too pleased to see me, mon vampire,” he said, tilting his head to the side, smile ever present.

It took everything in you not to scrunch your nose, “What vampire would be pleased at the sight of a hunter?” you retorted, before looking back at Vil. You assumed he was bluffing when he told you he would employ a vampire hunter to keep watch over the castle. You knew why he did it—all that power came with enemies and artifacts that all manner of magical creatures wanted to steal for themselves. But come on, you hoped he would settle for a protective spell.

Vil finally sighed, “He won’t harm you, or me if he knows what’s best for him.”

“Oh, Roi du Poison, no need for worries. I could never dream of tarnishing such beauty,” he replied, standing straight again. Despite that smile of his, there was something sinister beneath it all. He was hiding something, that much was clear.

“Vil, darling, you can’t be serious—”

All the vampire did was stand and make his way over to you, standing behind your seat and placing one of his hands onto your shoulders, and then he used the other to cup your chin so that you were glancing over at him, “Stress ages the skin. Relax your brows,” he told you. Your immortality would keep you from aging just fine, yet he still insisted that you follow these human regiments with him.

After a moment, you sighed, letting your shoulders drop before sending a half-hearted glare at the hunter, “Fine,” 

“Good,” Vil moved away from you and to the blonde hunter, his hand quickly grasping his jaw, “And you,”

“Yes?” Rook asked, practically beaming over the fact that the poisonous vampire himself was touching him. He could barely keep himself from reaching out and embracing the vampire.

Before this, he had just been admiring you and your spouse. All of this was like something from one of his dreams. Here he was, in that gothic castle which he had only seen in paintings, with the famed vampires hiding in it. Rook could not wait till he was free to explore the place and uncover the magical secrets that were hidden there. Perhaps he would even get the chance to collect skeletons from the closets.

Your glares were exhilarating and Vil’s touch was just… arousing. This was the type of opportunity he would kill for. He probably did kill for it, no one could know when it came to him.

Vil’s lavender eyes traced over the hunter’s face, before narrowing in on his eyes, “You will be on your best behavior, yes?”

Rook nodded, placing a hand on his chest, “Of course, my queen.”

“Darling, quit your pouting already,” Vil said, glancing at you through the mirror as you tended to his hair. He never let anyone tend to his beauty process, but you. Who would not trust their eternal lover? He began to rub a serum into his skin, “I know you’re not happy, but you’re a vampire, not a toddler.”

You nearly tugged his hair at that, “You know how I feel about vampire hunters,” you told him, “And him? Of all the hunters to bring into our home, you have to bring the one with the most kills under his belt—if he tries anything, I’ll… I—”

“We’ll both feed off of him. Don’t worry,” he said, cutting you off as he turned around to face you. One of his hands reached for the brush and he set it at the vanity behind him while gazing up at you. His hands cupped your hips and forced you closer, “You worry too much. If he messes up, he’ll make for a great meal.”

His hands trailed up and down—hips, to thighs, hips, to waist—he had done this thousands of times before, “You’ve heard of his skill, his strength. A man with such endurance must have plenty of blood… all that running and fighting he does has to show in the health of his arteries. I’ll even let you use those fancy chalices you like,”

Oh, Sevens. He was so attractive when he went into his informative tangents.

A blush covered your cheeks and your hands reached to grab onto his shoulders so that you could balance yourself. Centuries later he still managed to make you blush like a rose. He claimed you were his spouse, but sometimes you felt more like a devout worshipper. His body was the shrine you bowed to, your love was the offerings you held out to him.

“I just ask that you play nice,” he said, his hand drifting from your hip, up to your cheek. A smirk came to his lips as he tugged your face towards him. He smirked when your eyes trailed over to his mouth, “You can do that, right?” 

All you could do was nod in response.

“Good,” And finally, he gave in and kissed you, teasingly dragging his fangs along your bottom lip. Vil knew how much you loved when he did that, he could feel it in the little shift you did as he held you close. He pulled away after a moment, just to let his hands dip down to the back of your legs and pull you into his lap, “Now, let me take care of you.”

Living in the castle with Rook was strange, but not completely horrible. He had so much to satisfy his curiosity, so most days you did not see him unless you were in places that he was monitoring. You caught him a few times in the secret tunnels beneath the castle, and the various hiding places that no one knew about.

He tried to get into your good graces with his… strange shows of affection. Last night, when he was walking you home from the opera, he told you how much he wished you would let your rage control so that you would sink your teeth into his pale freckled skin.

Strange, and yet your mind drifted back to the thought of it. Letting go of your control and pouncing onto the hunter, tearing the collar of his shirt, piercing that pretty skin of his. You forced the thoughts out of your mind when you began to imagine what his gasps and whimpers may have sounded like.

Vil seemed to be much more quick to let up when it came to Rook. He did not think the green-eyed hunter was a threat and just let him share his amorous and romantic poetry. At the dinner table, he would laud you and your Queen, comparing himself to the knights of yore, bound to protect and never to touch—and Vil did not interrupt him once. He looked pleased, instead, amused even.

Even more absurd was when Vil began letting Rook help him out with his clothes or his makeup. That had truly caught you off-guard, but you still did not seem to let up on your suspicions. He was just so unsettling sometimes, despite his sweet moments. You worried he would turn around and set a trap for you, or worse, for Vil. 

Vil could take care of himself, but you loved him too much to not worry.

“Ah, mon vampire!” 

You turned around when the hunter suddenly called out for you. Of course, he just happened to be in the gardens at the same time as you, “Rook,” you muttered, “Do you never sleep?”

He quickly took his spot at your side, his hand drifting to hover around the small of your back, “Now why would I tell a predator like you when I am most vulnerable?” he asked, this thumb sliding over your spine a bit. His green eyes looked a little more threatening for a moment, “That would make me a poor hunter, non?”

That look in his eyes made you shiver.

“I suppose you are right about that.” 

You were sure you could take him on in a fight, but you also wished Vil was out here too. Rook always seemed a little more behaved in the presence of Vil, since he was more of a threat than you were—or perhaps Rook just enjoyed toying with you more. When the two of you were alone, Rook seemed more like the bloodthirsty creature, except he thirsted for your ire. He was just begging to be your meal with the way he acted.

His touch grew firm, “Looking for an escape?” he asked, raising a brow, smiling at you. He looked quite pleased with himself.

“No,” you retorted, a little blush coloring your cheeks, “That’s what you should be doing.”

Rook laughed at that and his hand moved off your back and to your hand instead. Gently, he tugged you with him deeper into the gardens, “I would never want to escape from you. No matter how vicious you became,” he told you, affectionately.

You scoffed, “I don’t believe that for a minute,”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. You’d run with your tail between your legs just as the other mortals do.”

He tugged you a bit harder once he came to a stop, forcing you to fall against him. The blonde nearly shivered as your hands met his chest to steady yourself, “Mon vampire,” he whispered, “You and I both know I would never run from those gorgeous fangs of yours,” he said as his free hand cupped your jaw.

The foolish hunter was guiding your face toward his pale neck. A soft growl came from the back of your throat, “Stupid hunter,” you muttered. That familiar bloodlust began to seep from your every pore.

“Go on,” he cooed, “bon appétit.”

You decided to give in—his blood just smelled too good. You brushed his blonde hair behind his ear before slipping a hand behind his neck to force him closer to you, causing him to place his hands on either side of your head, against one of the pillars in the gardens.

Fangs glittered beneath the night sky like swords on the battlefield, his neck was your enemy. All you wanted to do was suck him dry, and end that dull beating you could hear where his blood was rushing. Vil had told you athletic people carried more blood. He shivered as your tongue swiped against his neck.

“Ah—wetting my neck to make it easier? You are just so—”

Before he could finish with his teasing, you quickly and violently sunk your fangs into his neck, humming in satisfaction as his blood hit your tongue. His body tensed up for a moment and then he relaxed, leaning his body against you, pinning you to the pillar. He gasped a bit at your harsh sucking, but never once did his protest.

Instead, his fingers tenderly carded through your hair, “Mmm… Tu es merveilleux.”

You could not even bring yourself to pull away and reply to his compliments, instead opting to dig your fangs in even deeper. The blood began to drip down your chin, Vil would scold you for that, but you did not care. His blood was delicious.

“What have I told you about getting blood on your clothes when you’re feeding?”

Speak of the devil—erm, vampire.

Quickly, you pulled away from Rook’s neck and you were just about to wipe your face on your sleeve, until you felt Vil’s sharp glare and Rook’s hand grasp your arm in time. 

The hunter gave you a teasing smile, before turning his attention to Vil.

There was a frown on Vil’s face, “I can’t believe you managed to make such a mess in the five minutes that I have left you alone.”

“Merci, I do my best.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Look what you have done to mein schätzelein,” he scolded, as he took out a handkerchief to wipe up your mouth for you. His attention was now on gently wiping away the blood that dripped down to your chin and onto your chest. He patted it down, careful not to rub too hard. A brief look of hunger flashed in his eyes as he wiped the blood. He nearly bent down to lick it off of you instead. “Such a mess... and I thought we promised we’d feed on him together? Greed is not a pretty look for you.”

The flush on your cheeks brightened, much to both of their amusement.

“Don’t scold them, Roi du Poison. It was my fault. I was teasing too much,” Rook interrupted before you could speak. One of his hands trailed down your back, while the other slipped around Vil’s waist, “But since you’re here now, you can have a taste as well.”

Vil rolled his eyes, “I am much better at controlling myself,”

That was a lie. His eyes kept drifting between the pierce marks on Rook’s neck and the little bit of blood stuck on the corner of your lips.

©rooksamoris 2024. do not steal or translate my work!

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[redstarwriting]

the clash | i. hey, ho! let’s go!

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 1.1k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie

a/n: it’s here 😎 no but fr, i proudly present a new series focusing on hobie brown, loml. i‘m trying to make it gn, so if you spot anything that needs fixing lemme know. i also did include a bit of a description of what you look like, but it’s mainly just to affirm the gothic spider-person look. and if you don’t like it, you can just pretend it isn’t there, my character designer brain just took a hold while explaining lol. enjoy y’all, there’s more where this came from 👀

now reading: i. hey, ho! let’s go!

next chapter: ii. time bomb

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In theory, the two of you should have been great friends. Best friends, even. He’s called Spider-Punk, and you’re called Spider-Goth, this alone made Miguel assume the two of you would get along better than all of the Peters. Unfortunately for Miguel, he was dead wrong. It was fine at first, a good introduction. “Spider-Punk, meet Spider-Goth,” Miguel says, motioning to the two of you. You simultaneously turn your heads towards him, “Don’t call me that.” You look at each other, seemingly sizing each other up after speaking the same words at the same time. In reality, the two of you were checking each other out, but no one needs to know that. “Fine. Hobie, meet (Y/n). (Y/n), meet Hobie,” Miguel says as Peter B. Parker hops next to him, excited to see the two of you interact. Your gaze first fell on his many piercings, which suited him very well. Almost as well as the spikes coming out of the shoulders of his tattered denim vest. “See somethin’ you like?” you hear his thick cockney accent, and you shrug. “The constant changing makes it difficult,” you say, causing him to shrug. “I hate consistency,” he says, staring you up and down. “I like the guitar,” you say, and he nods. “Everyone does.” You raise an eyebrow, and he takes in the way your heavy black eyeliner makes the expression look more exaggerated than it is. His eyes go down, taking in your outfit, which seems to be varying in different gothic styles, but overall is all black with silver studs, spikes, and charms sticking out everywhere. He notices the two of you share a liking for combat boots, and perhaps his favorite thing about you are the intricate and all black spider-web tattoos on your hands crawling their way up your arms. Hobie clicks his tongue. “Goth, eh?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem with you or something?”

“Feisty for a goth.”

“Instigative as all punks are.”

“What… is going on,’ Peter whispers to Miguel who shakes his head. “I thought they would be best friends?” Peter suggests as he places a binky in Mayday’s mouth. “I did too…” Miguel says, “Maybe this is just a way these types of alternative people talk?”

“Tal vez tengas razón… Hobie does love to be abrasive for no reason,” Miguel concludes, and Peter shrugs and they zone in on the two of you again. “...I don’t suppose there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along,” Hobie suggests, raising an eyebrow at you. “I agree. We probably think similar things… for the most part.”

“For the most part, huh?”

“Just that we have similar ideas, but most likely not the same,” you respond, and he crosses his arms, his guitar moving loosely behind his back. “Opinions on anarchy. Go.”

“It’s the ideal society—”

“Good start—”

“But completely unrealistic.”

“Excuse me?” Hobie looks at you with a glowering expression. “Humans are inherently assholes. Selfish, shitty, assholes. As amazing as it would be to have anarchy running rampant,” you shrug, “It’s unlikely it will ever happen.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” Hobie says, exasperated, “I mean you actually think that we can’t achieve it? You get enough people angry, and they rebel, they push for anarchy. I’ve seen it happen; I’ve led a rebellion.” You roll your eyes. “And do you live in a perfect anarchical society now?”

“Not yet, but we’re gettin’ there,” he clenches his teeth, and you sigh. “I admire your blatant idiocy disguised as an ambitious dream,” you say, and he huffs. “Would you just talk like a normal fuckin’ person and stop usin’ these dumbass words and shitty poetic language?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, or are you as deaf as your ideologies?” This time you scoff. “I don’t have the time to be berated by someone who lives in their own delusions to try and feel the slightest bit less angry at the world for giving him the shitty cards he was dealt.”

“And I don’t have time to listen to the rubbish ramblings of a miserable twat who digs desperately into their black hole of a heart to try and feel somethin’ when the truth is they don’t even know what they stand for,” he fires back. You glare at him. He glares at you. As if on cue you both flip each other off before you web away. Peter’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Well, that went horribly!”

Miguel punches him on the shoulder, resulting in a soft ‘ow’ and a tiny angry noise from Mayday. “What the hell was that Hobart?” Miguel nearly yells and Hobie snaps his head towards him. “Don’t call me that, neither! They don’t get it. It’s not enough to want to make a difference in the world. You need to take action. Goths love to sit on the sidelines and lament instead of playing the offensive,” Hobie explains, a deep frown on his face, “Watch out for them. They might not be able to do what it takes when it counts.” Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hobie, you’re supposed to show them around—”

“No, fuck that. I’m not goin’ anywhere near that gothic monstrosity,” Hobie says shaking his head in defiance. “We made a deal. You would show all the younger spider—”

“Yeah, well you can shove that deal up your fuckin’ ass, mate, I’m not doin’ shit for them!”

“Okay, okay, calm down there, man. Why don’t you just ask Gwen to help you? Maybe Miles and Pavitr too? That way you fulfill your promise, 'cause I know promises are important to you, and you won’t have to talk to them!” Peter reasons and Hobie looks over at him. He furrows his eyebrows. That would help the situation. And maybe he’d be able to help you see just how garbage your take was with Gwen on his side. “Fine. But I’m not doin’ it cause I need help, and I’m not doin’ it because you told me to. I’m doin’ it cause it’s the last thing that they’d want,” Hobie says, pointing at Peter while saying it, flipping Miguel off, and then webbing away. Peter looks at Miguel who is clenching his fists… and his jaw. “You seem stressed, but don’t worry about it. Not all of us need to like each other, I mean there’s so many there’s no possible way we all could and look at you, you hate Miles even though he’s awesome and—”

“Shut. Up. Peter,” Miguel growls, stalking away while mumbling various things in Spanish. Peter looks down at Mayday. “Tough crowd,” he says as she giggles up at him.

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『 tag list 』

@casmosmoon* @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom​ @weyrrii* 

*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

[aventurineswife]

I would like to ask which of the HSR characters would be their favorite type of Goth Girl and how they interact with the goth girl reader.

HSR characters and their favourite type of Goth Girl

Hmm, that's a good question! I'm not very familiar with fashion, so I had to look up the different subtypes(?) and styles of Gothic fashion. Here’s what I came up with, but keep in mind—this is just my opinion on these specific characters!

Blade – Traditional or Occult Goth

Blade would gravitate towards a goth style that embodies the Traditional or Occult Goth aesthetic—dark, intense, and reminiscent of ancient mysteries. This style complements his own fractured soul and aligns with his sense of danger and fatalism.

Blade would admire her goth style in a quiet, intense way. He’d likely avoid compliments, but his lingering gaze would speak volumes. Occasionally, he’d make cryptic remarks about her choice of symbols or accessories, intrigued by the darker meaning behind her look.

He’d invite her on nighttime walks, where they could talk about life, pain, and purpose. Blade would share his own views on suffering and self-destruction, finding solace in knowing that someone understands the allure of darkness without flinching.

When she shares her own struggles, Blade would respond with empathy, quietly urging her to embrace her scars. He’d consider her as a kindred spirit, united by a mutual understanding of darkness, perhaps even guiding her towards finding strength in their pain.

Kafka – Elegant or Victorian Goth

Kafka would be enchanted by an Elegant or Victorian Goth style, one that exudes mystery, timeless beauty, and a touch of refined danger. A style that combines old-world charm with darker, alluring elements would captivate her attention.

Kafka would treat her as her accomplice, matching her elegance with her own polished look. She’d appreciate her ability to blend dark, regal sophistication with subtle danger and would often compliment her in her composed, low-key way.

She would revel in their shared love for all things dark and alluring, occasionally teasing her with whispered secrets and mysterious invitations, making her feel like part of an exclusive, hidden world.

Whenever the reader/she reveals a darker or emotional side, Kafka would listen intently, then offer her hypnotic words of wisdom, nudging her towards a balanced yet sophisticated approach to their emotions. She’d subtly manipulate her into embracing her elegance as armor.

Sunday – Dreamy or Romantic Goth

Sunday would be drawn to a goth style that embodies a sense of ethereal beauty and dreamy mystique, like a Romantic or Dreamy Goth. This aesthetic, filled with delicate lace, ethereal black layers, celestial accessories.

Sunday would admire her goth look as if she's an angel of the night, often complimenting the dark beauty she bring to his Sweetdream Paradise. With poetic and enigmatic language, he'd express how she reminds him of a serene vision, free from the pain of the waking world.

Behind closed doors, he’d reveal a gentler, protective side, seeing her as someone worth preserving in his dream-like world. He’d subtly ask her about her philosophy on life and pain, curious if she'd share his perspective on a reality without suffering.

Whenever she displays a darker or more melancholic side, Sunday would be there to “soothe” her spirit, gently guiding her towards his paradise—although this “soothing” might actually involve urging her to escape painful thoughts.

Robin – Ethereal or Pastel Goth

Robin would admire an Ethereal or Pastel Goth style, with softer tones like lavender and violet combined with traditional goth elements. This blend of gentleness and depth aligns with her own music and tragic past, which holds an undercurrent of beauty amidst sorrow.

Robin would feel a comforting connection with the reader’s look, as it aligns with her own aesthetic of blending light and dark. She’d often give small, heartfelt compliments, noting how her style reminds her of a bittersweet melody.

She’d enjoy quiet moments with the reader, perhaps inviting her to her studio, where they’d share their thoughts on beauty, darkness, and the ways they each express their emotions. Robin might even dedicate a song to her, inspired by her unique blend of innocence and mystery.

When the reader is feeling down, Robin would offer soft-spoken support, listening patiently and reminding her of the beauty in every emotion, treating her struggles like notes in a beautiful song that deserve to be heard.

Aventurine – Cyber or Industrial Goth

Aventurine would appreciate a goth style that leans into cyber or industrial aesthetics—think metal accessories, bold colors, and futuristic touches. This type of goth aligns with his strategic mind and love for taking calculated risks, mixing sophistication with an edge.

Aventurine would be fascinated by her bold look, often pulling her aside to compliment her style in a playful, flirtatious way. He’d likely buy her accessories, such as metallic chokers or bracelets, to enhance her look and treat her style as another high-stakes investment, always encouraging her to be bold.

With his knack for creating excitement, Aventurine would take her to the casinos or exclusive places where they could revel in the aesthetic together. He’d suggest that every encounter and style choice is part of a larger game, creating an atmosphere of thrill and risk, which he finds irresistible.

When the reader shares her darker feelings or thoughts, he’d humorously encourage her to “double down” on it, teaching her to gamble with her emotions, to transform them into something powerful and alluring.

I hope you like it! I tried my best, and it was challenging to decide styles (and writing for a female reader as I'm used to writing for gender neutral) and all, so I really hope you enjoy it 🫶❤️‍🩹

[klemen-tine]

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car. 

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here. 

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.” 

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.” 

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach. 

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage. 

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?” 

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them. 

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it. 

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness. 

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway. 

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling. 

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day. 

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.” 

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face. 

A white rose. 

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention. 

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes. 

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras. 

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment. 

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?” 

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.” 

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook. 

The exact same clothes. 

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything. 

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs. 

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar. 

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair… 

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy. 

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway. 

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off. 

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here. 

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this. 

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.” 

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year. 

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming. 

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently. 

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs. 

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet. 

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure. 

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way– 

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them. 

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here. 

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling. 

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps. 

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t. 

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.” 

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’” 

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?” 

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.” 

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.” 

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake. 

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea. 

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.” 

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.” 

“...Since when did you read gossip?” 

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama. 

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument? 

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off. 

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs. 

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules. 

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned. 

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences. 

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods. 

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion. 

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student. 

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier. 

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation. 

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.” 

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-” 

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.” 

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce. 

“Alfie–” 

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?” 

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person. 

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them. 

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–” 

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is. 

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries. 

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject. 

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?” 

“Alfred.” 

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their  lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?” 

“Young Master Y/N–” 

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?” 

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen. 

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room. 

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall. 

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway. 

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done. 

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor. 

Something not exactly normal, but expected. 

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room. 

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago. 

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone. 

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on. 

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking. 

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin. 

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror. 

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement. 

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model. 

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks. 

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door. 

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked. 

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed. 

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine. 

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind. 

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows. 

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass. 

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in. 

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate. 

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did. 

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them. 

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.” 

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.” 

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.” 

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off. 

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen. 

“And that one.” 

“And that one.” 

“That one there.” 

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off. 

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway. 

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs. 

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched. 

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them. 

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled. 

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?” 

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

[faulty-writes]

So hi,how are you? Are requests open? If so could you write a headcanon for Tokoyami with a reader who was a goth style and looks super badass but is a sweetheart inside? Thanks

Yes hello, at the time you submitted this, my requests were open. Currently, they are closed, however. As a goth myself, I support this request! Let's get to it! I love support for minor characters.

Fumikage admired your style. The way you integrated black, red, and purple into your outfits was astounding. The lace, velvet, and elegant embroidery that composed your clothing had him speechless. Not to mention that perfect touch of make up that made his feathers stand on end.

You matched perfectly with his own dark aesthetic and shared interests. He found himself falling for the mysterious aura that surrounded you, and perhaps it was shameful to admit, but it was the very thing that made him eager to learn more about you.

"What!? Are you nuts man? Y/n is more intimidating than Bakugou!" His friends quickly dismissed the idea of him befriending you, but even if what they said was true, he sensed kindness deep within you. "I would prefer to find out myself, thank you," he wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise.

The two of you favored venturing to the library and on occasion, Fumikage would find himself engaging in conversation over horror stories and spell books. The two of you shared recommendations of reads, and he found himself at ease, even when he introduced you to Dark Shadow who tried his best to behave.

Like with his appearance, he noticed the stares and the unjust comments others would make about you. "I would like to ask you to stop speaking in such a way about Y/n," was his way of putting a gentle stop to it. Even if he was laughed at in response, Dark Shadow usually managed to scare them off.

You continued to surprise him with your unexpected kindness like bringing him his favorite snacks or little Wiccan gifts when he was feeling down. Dark Shadow would sometimes get jealous of the attention you gave Fumikage, so you'd usually make it up to him by spending time cuddling.

"I...hope this is acceptable to you," he panicked the first time he insisted the two of you take a late-night stroll. Even with the dim streetlights, he thought you looked like a beautiful God or Goddess who shared his love of darkness and seclusion.

At times, you'd get tired of the way people looked at you or ran away when you happened to walk by or be in the area. Their taunting whispers and fear of you just because of your outward appearance got old sometimes. But Fumikage was always there, acting as a pillar of unwavering support on the days you struggled, and was ready to face any form of darkness with you.

"I...I..." he was in shock the day you brought up adopting a pet and a little offended that you'd want a pet raven. Dark Shadow managed to talk you out of it. "What are ya nuts!? Fumikage tell them you're all the bird they'll ever need!" Although those words made him blush, he did agree. He wanted to be the only feathered creature you had feelings for.

Gothic-themed gifts were a priority for Fumikage, and he'd often shower you with vintage jewelry or darkly romantic gifts like black flowers. He hoped they served as a reminder of the darkness the two of you adored and the affection he felt for you.

"It would be an honor if you joined us," one of your favorite things to do with Fumikage was spooky movie nights. The thrill of watching horror movies while cuddling your feathered sweetheart was joyful. Although most of your classmates declined the offer to join the two of you.

Despite your intimidating appearance and the occasional feeling of not belonging, you realized what you and Fumikage had was special. Two souls finding each other amid darkness was beautiful, and the unique bond you had was certainly reminiscent of true love.

[entitled-fangirl]

He may always be a demon from hell, but she still loves him.

Crowley x human!reader

Summary: The reader and Crowley discuss what she's reading. She says it reminds her of him, to which he panics.

Words: 1,784

Warnings: demon, heavy makeout session, angst, alcohol

Author's note: I don't own the character or the book mentioned in this! Eeeeek enjoy!

Masterlist <3

.............................................................

Crowley looked up from the glass of bourbon in his hands as he sat in one of Aziraphale’s many chairs. There she sat across from him. The pretty little human.

Her legs were pulled up onto the couch, her body curled into itself as she held her book out in front of her to read.

She was quite pretty. He had always thought so. Of all his years on this earth, this one was by far the best he had seen. And her soul simply solidified it. Her mind, body, and soul were precious. 

She was entirely focused on her book, not noticing Crowley’s gaze. He took that to his advantage, his eyes scanning her entire frame before finally resting on her face. He opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he would do anything to talk to her as much as he could in her lifetime.

“What are you reading, Flower?”

That was his name for her. Aziraphale was his angel, sure. And she seemed like an angel herself, the metaphorical kind, anyway. She was not like a real angel, which is annoying and dull. No, she wasn’t like that at all. He hadn’t read many books but knew how humans romanticized the term 'angel.' The innocence it carried in its title. 

No, no, no. She was his flower. He spend many days searching for the right name, but once he came up with that one, it stuck like glue. He loved plants. He loved plants so much. And he loved her. She was his flower.

Now, her head perked up to let her eyes meet his. She held his gaze, admiring the snake-like pupils the demon had. She seemed to snap out of it quickly, regaining her composure. “Oh, uh…,” her voice soft, ��it’s the Phantom of the Opera. Have… Have you read it, Angel?”

His eyes closed. He loved it when she called him that. He was no angel by any means, but she used the term every chance she could the day she learned that he had once been so. She had two angels as far as she was concerned. And while one had a significantly more gothic wardrobe, she still considered him just the same.

He nods, “I was around when it was written and published. Hated it then.”

Her lips slowly pull into an amused smile. “And now?”

He shrugs, looking back into her eyes, “…Do YOU like it, Flower?”

A soft breath comes from her lungs, “…Not sure, but I believe so. Won’t say until I finish it. You know how it ends, Angel?”

He shakes his head, “Can’t say I do. Didn’t care enough to finish it.”

She finds that quite amusing. She pulls her legs closer to her to get comfortable, trying to keep herself warm. “Well, I’ll let you know when I’m done, yeah? If it’s good enough, will you try to read it again?”

“Tell me why you like it so much, Flower.”

She considers his words carefully, “I… perhaps see similarities in it… sometimes. You know?”

His eyes move back down to the liquor glass in his hand. He remained quiet, a silent sigh for her elaborate on her findings. 

“That was… stupid. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m… I’m sorry…”

He was much more intrigued than before. Sorry? For what? He wished sometimes he could just see what was going on in that funny little brain of hers. “No. Tell me.”

She knew that wasn’t a reassurance that he wasn’t annoyed. It was more of a demand. 

“I don’t know, Crowley…”

He grins, pulling the glass to his lips to take another sip.

“Tell me what you DO know, Flower.”

Her eyes wander around the room in thought. “I suppose I feel remorse for the Phantom…”

He hums.

“…and… everyone makes him out to be a horrid creature. A vile beast worth ending. And he believes it too about himself. That he’s awful and cruel. But they don’t know anything about him. Nothing. They even assume it’s a ghost sometimes…”

By now, he’s hooked on her words. Not that he cared for the plot much, but just her. She was beautiful like this, the sunlight from the windows behind her casting a light against her back, giving her body a glowing effect. 

“…anyways, this girl falls in love with him. And she finds out he’s just a man. He’s a man like anyone else. He’s not the vile thing everyone makes him out to be.”

He’s taking in every word.

Her voice drops to a low volume, “They call him a demon from hell.”

Crowley felt his jaw clench at her words. 

“…But, he’s not. Not at all. He’s just a man. A man who deserves much more than life handed him. He was no demon. He could’ve been an angel. He’s kind and fair. Honest and witty. He protects her with his life. And he’s loyal. He is quite admirable, honestly.”

She held this look. It was a loving look as she stared at Crowley. This time, he could read her like an open book. She was referencing him. That everyone believed Crowley was vile and cruel. But he was just like a man. 

“…You’re awfully quiet, Angel.”

That sold it for him. Angel. Her angel. His eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. 

He stood up quickly, setting his glass on the side table before approaching the sofa she occupied. She noticed, scooting over slightly to make room for him, but he didn’t sit. He kneeled in front of the couch, in front of her. 

If his eyes could produce tears, they’d be running. “Flower? You truly think that of me? That I’m just a man?”

She nods, her breath quickening at his proximity. 

He wanted to believe her. He truly did, but he couldn’t. He leaned in, making their faces inches apart. 

“You think all this and you haven’t finished the book?”

She nods again, her gaze staring to settle on his lips.

His hand reached forward, grabbing her face gently. His voice became a low growl, “And what if this angel truly is a demon from hell? Would the girl stop loving him, Flower?”

She isn’t sure what to say. She’s not sure who they’re even talking about at this point. Her gut told her to say one thing, but her head said another. And his grip on her face was not helping her focus.

“I.. I don’t think… love takes what they are into con… consideration when it chooses them…”

Satan, she was perfect. She always knew exactly what to say, the sneaky thing. It stilled his vessel’s heart, his eyes still drilling into hers. 

“And… will she truly listen to her heart?”

She nods. “She would be a fool not to, Angel.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Here she was, sitting so pretty for him, her words causing a fire to erupt in his stomach. He leaned forward, pulling her face towards his. 

Their lips meet in a gentle kiss. It doesn’t last long because Crowley pulls away.

“Maybe you should finish the book before you make your conclusions, Flower. Perhaps he’ll always be that demon from hell.”

He stands, sliding his hands into his pockets with a sigh before exiting the bookshop.

…

Days pass and Crowley acts as if their interaction never happened. It broke her heart. Aziraphale couldn’t take the two ignoring each other and decided to fix it. 

He told Crowley to be at the bookshop at a certain time. But Aziraphale wouldn’t be there. No, this was to get the demon alone with her to talk again, as they had before. And that plan worked perfectly.

This time, however, she was placing books on the bookshelf when he entered. He walked in confidently, but the confidence soon fell as he saw her pretty face. 

“Oh. I… where’s Angel?”

She shrugs, “Haven’t seen him all day.”

Curse that blasted angel from his stupid plans that always work. 

Crowley sighs, “I’m sorry I ran out on you.”

Her eyes finally move to find his. “I finished the book.”

His shoulders dropped somewhat at her sudden change of subject, but he went along with it nonetheless. “…Well, Flower?”

Her fingers lightly played with the spine of the book she had in her hand. “He may always be the demon from hell, but she still loves him.”

He was so stupid to leave her. To abandon his sweet Christine like this. His little flower that was always in bloom. 

“Oh, Flower…”

He moved forward, immediately wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her in for a kiss.

This kiss was very much different from their first. Where the first was soft and hesitant, this one was heated and passionate, as if this was their only method of communication. And to Crowley, it was. He needed her to see just how much her words meant to him. How much he craved to feel her lips on his again. How he imagined her the nights before. 

Her hands move to him, the book in her hand long forgotten. One rested on his forearm, the other cradling his face. She kissed him back with as much reverence as he did. She needed him to know she didn’t care. She didn’t care about what he was. What he did. She needed him to know that she loved him.

She loved him.

His tongue darted out to swipe across her bottom lip. She left out a soft moan, paring her lips. His tongue gently began to explore her mouth, their bodies holding each other in fear that they could be ripped from each other at any moment. 

She gently pushed him away, needing to catch her breath. “Sorry… sorry, Angel.. just… just gotta breathe…”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her jaw lightly, trailing the kisses up towards her ear before whispering softly, “‘If I am to be saved, it is because your love redeems me.’”

She let out a soft gasp, and her hand moved to the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. “You… you know it?”

She could practically feel his smile against her neck, his voice vibrating the bones there, “Read it again after we talked…. All the way through this time…”

She was speechless at his words. He had went back and not only read the story for her, but then was able to quote it. She had never felt love radiate in a room until this very moment in time.

She pulled him back in for another sweet kiss.

He was no demon. To her, he was an angel. Her angel.

.............................................................................

[endless-ineffabilities]

of perilous desire

chapter one - se mōris (the end)

vampire!Aemond x f!reader (modern AU)

story synopsis: the reader works the night shift as a receptionist at the local hospital. Someone comes in one night to drop off a patient, and she subsequently suspects that this person is pursuing her. Why is there no real trace of him anywhere? Why does she see him in her dreams? Here begins a craving that may be never be satiated, a desire so perilous it might cost her everything...

word count: <1k ▪︎ masterlist

The night is young.

You've just made your third trip to the personnel break room, filling up on a much-needed caffeine fix, slumping back in your swivel chair in a bored huff.

It's 3 in the morning, which means you have four more hours to go. Oh joy.

Working in the hospital is decent enough; it pays the bills, it keeps you from being unemployed. But it feels like it's supposed to be a transitioning - a jumping off point into bigger and better things. When you were a child, your dream certainly was not to be a night receptionist at a hospital. But it's been a year, and you are still here for some reason.

Were you stuck? Perhaps you have grown complacent? You're meant to be doing something else, something worthwhile, and you know this. Granted, you do help people to some extent, but nurses and doctors are the true heroes.

Anyone with a semi-decent high school education can do your job.

The coffee is stale, and it suspiciously tastes of the antiseptic that is always in the air. You drink it anyway, grimacing with every sip.

The tap tap tapping of your pen against the desk distracts you, and it must have kept you from noticing the new arrival.

"Excuse me."

You snap up, half in a daze, the coffee doing nothing for your alertness.

And you see him. Clad in all black - leather overcoat, leather shoes, well-pressed trousers. Long white-blonde hair flowing smoothly down his back, neatly kept away from his face. One eye a blazing purple, the other a ghostly white. He looked like something out of the gothic romance novels you used to read in middle school.

Unusual. Poised. Beautiful.

You have to swallow hard in order to find the strength to speak."How... how can I help you, sir?"

"My... friend," he says, coolly maintaining eye contact that it's almost unnerving. Or maybe it's the effect he has on people, looking the way he does. "She needs some assistance."

"Oh," you stand up, looking behind him and seeing the woman slumped on the bench in the waiting area. Leaning against one arm, with her black hair partially obscuring her face. She blinks as if in a stupor when the man glances at her, smiling goofily despite her state. "Is she alright?" you ask him, and he doesn't answer, only continuing to stare at you. You press on the paging system, calling on a nurse to come her aid.

You come over and crouch down in front of her. "What's happened? Can you tell me your name?"

She giggles wildly, like you just cracked the funniest joke. "My name is Alys," she says. "At least I think so." You notice her pallid complexion, her lips taking on a bluish tint. She appears to be awake but not truly aware of her surroundings.

The nurse on duty is taking a while, so you turn back to the man. "What happened to her? Does she have a concussion? Are you her husband or a relative?"

Seconds pass. You look at him expectantly, but he gives you nothing. He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"Hmm," he finally makes a sound, though it isn't really a response.

Growing impatient, you stride behind your desk and recover the necessary forms. "I'm going to need you to fill these - "

When you turn to address him, he's gone.

One of the nurses, Patrick, arrives to assist the woman called Alys.

He goes through the motions, flashing a penlight in her eyes, checking her pulse, asking her simple questions to keep her conscious.

"She came in alone?" he asks you, as he waves another nurse to come help.

"No," you shake your head, "her companion was just here. A man - "

"What man? Did he run away or something?"

Did he? He had seemingly vanished in a split second, and you were sure you didn't hear him rushing out the front doors. You didn't hear anything at all.

"I don't know," you shrug, confused. "He didn't even fill in a form or anything."

The nurses manage to situate Alys in a wheelchair, the dark-haired woman still smiling and mumbling to herself. Just as they wheel her away, you hear her soft voice crooning, "Ae-mond, oh, my Aemond!"

"Well, shit," you mutter, the momentary commotion had come and gone. The coffee still sits on your desk, now cold. The air still smelled of sickening sterility.

You were still, as dramatic as it sounds, lost and adrift. You snort to yourself. What a thought.

If only you could have your head in the clouds, all blissed out, like the Alys woman. Though her state was likely brought on by hard drugs.

Or was it him?

Everything is the same. Except that the stranger has become ingrained your mind.

Who was he?

An hour later, you stand outside in the portico, cigarette balanced between your fingers. It's a nasty habit, sure, but people would probably be shocked at how common it is among the hospital staff. The nurses, even.

You're supposed to feel terrible about it, working at an establishment that champions health, but you justify it in that you're just a receptionist. Weren't the medical professionals the real hypocrites? How else will you keep awake?

The smoke billows out of your lips. You watch their shapes dissipating in the cold morning air, entranced.

Suddenly, you sense something shuffle from the corner of your eye. Shivers erupt all over your arms, your mind immediately grasping at the worst possible scenario.

"Hello?" This is how the side characters die in horror movies, quickly and unceremoniously, forgotten before the main act actually begins. Your shaking hand squashes the cigarette down on the wall-mounted ashtray.

It was probably nothing, likely one of the stray kittens running around. Despite that, you determinedly walk back to the entrance, fists bunched in your pockets.

Then there's something again. A gust of wind. A flash of pale blonde hair. A feeling like you're being watched.

Is the entrance so far? You're going to get kidnapped, you're sure of it.

The doors are in sight, those lifeless glass windows within reach, when you're spun around swiftly that you don't have time to think of anything at all.

You're floating, your feet had left the ground.

Pushed into something smooth, cocooned around your paralysed form. Leather.

He hushes you, brushing his lips against your cheek, featherlike, careful not to make full contact. You want to fight, you should fight, but you can't.

Something coaxes you into accepting this, so you do.

The painful prick against your neck is momentary. Followed by complete and utter bliss.

Your final thought is the word Alys was singing so sweetly. That strange name, which now exits your lips like a prayer.

"Aemond."

taglist*: @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @sprinklesprinkle888 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @angel6776 @different-tale-student @world-of-bitchcraft @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid--person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa

*refer here to be tagged in hotd works; comment below to be tagged in only this fic.

a/n: me 🤝 running with new ideas before even finishing my ongoing series works!!! I've always wanted to do a vampire Aemond fic. Call this a tester/taster (literally, in Aemond's case). Let me know what yous think, and we'll see how it goes!

[sunnami]

deleted draft/scene - watch me, don’t touch me, love me, don’t hurt me.

legitimately cannot write anything at the moment, so please have this for a bit T-T

“LILY, DARLING! That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Amidst the Yule Ball festivities, a crowd gathers in the corner of the icy ballroom; far beyond the ages of awkward teenage hand-holding, and an acquired taste for Firewhiskey rather than fruit punch. In the middle of it all—is you. Obnoxiously catching everyone’s attention, whether they like it or not. But even the Dementors in Azkaban would find themselves drawn to your shrilling voice and careless display of wealth; like a bee to a field of flowers. Your gown is dripping in black, hand-woven gothic lace, and drapes of ruffled, yellow satin skirts. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. A pear cut, Canary Diamond necklace sits atop your neck. The capelet around your shoulders is of black velvet and gold trimmings. 

(Always the belle of the ball, but Sirius Black wonders if there’s anything in your head at all.)

(“Bloody hell.” Marlene grabs the flask of whiskey from Sirius’s hands and pours the burning liquid down her throat. “I’m going to need more of this if I plan on surviving the night. Surely there are more important matters to discuss than French designers and our frilly dresses. It’s like I’m back in sixth-year all over again.”

Sirius shakes the now-empty container in amusement. “And you thought stealing my stash was the best idea? Do you know how hard it was to sneak this in with Minnie glaring down my shoulders? I swear that woman treats me like I’m still fourteen.”)

“We work in the same castle, Lily flower, but it’s a pity we don’t run into each other much,” You say liltingly, lipstick staining the rim of your champagne glass. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were deliberately avoiding me!”

Lily flashes you a constrained smile. “On the contrary, I’ve been rather busy these days helping Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary. My responsibility, after all, is first and foremost—the children.” She raises a brow at you contemptuously. “Not all of us have the luxury of skipping work for tea and gossip.”

You hum, lips quirked in amusement. “Oh? That’s a shame. Narcissa and I would love for you to join us one day.” 

“Perhaps when I’ve no longer important things to do,” says Lily in a saccharine-sweet tone. 

You grow bored of toying with Lily—to her relief—and decide to throw a bone at Rita Skeeter. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. You have nobles from pure-blooded families kissing at your feet for a moment of your time; entertaining a crowd like this takes no effort. (Except for the Marauders, you find. They’re the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you’re conducting.) 

“You wouldn’t believe it, Rita darling, of all the people I come upon in Rome—it’s Vittoria Zabini!” You throw your head back in laughter as Rita’s eyes grow wide as a bug’s. “On a honeymoon, no less!” You wink at Rita. “This makes her fourth one now, I believe.” 

As predicted, Rita greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page at our hands.” 

Lily hides a scoff by taking a sip of her sparkling beverage. “Surely we have more important news for the wizarding world than an innocent woman’s marriage.” 

You gasp melodramatically. “But this is Vittoria Zabini! Haven’t you ever wondered why her husbands mysteriously disappear after months of marriage?”

“Not even once!” Lily slams her glass down onto the round, draped table; nostrils flaring and chest heaving. “Sorry.” She dabs a napkin at her lips with a heavy exhale. “Please excuse me. I’ve just lost my appetite.” 

“Poor dear,” You mutter as the red-headed beauty makes for the group of Gryffindors a few feet away. She instantly collapses into James’s arms, no doubt complaining about your charming personality. There’s an odd ache in your heart as you watch the McKinnon girl pat her back comfortingly; Remus Lupin taking Lily’s hands and easing her anger. You’ve never felt a camaraderie such as theirs. Always the Gryffindors, and their flagrant displays of loyalty and whatnot. 

How repulsive. 

this was one of the first ever drafts for the fic! and no, the yule ball scene won’t be like this, it’ll be quite better, i hope. ;0

[prefer-to-be-vilified]

The Addams curse is just the far majority of the family being demi-sexual and insane.

It’s why that although they are a family of powerful witches no one has managed to break the curse. Because no curse was actually cast.

But the legend and subsequent ‘proof’ of its existence has lived on so they all believe it’s true. Most of these ace-spec bitches genuinely believing they’re immune until they fall in love and then they’re like “aha! the curse has struck again!”

Morticia figured this out not long after meeting Gomez’s extended family, but shit stirrer that her younger self was decided to keep that information to herself and played along for her own amusement.

Which has paid off ten fold as she now gets to watch her fiercely independent walking advertisement for the Addams curse of a daughter drive herself mad trying to break the curse after noticing that she’d developed *gasp* feelings for an overtly sensitive, brightly coloured werewolf girl with the personality of a rainbow.

“I’m not in love with Enid. The very idea is ridiculous. I just like looking at her and smelling her and holding her hand and sometimes I fantasise about dying in her warm embrace… But those are just symptoms of the curse, there is no other explanation. I should have taken the warnings more seriously.” - W.A.

Which then leads to six months worth of frequent conversation similar to the following that Morticia will never let go of,

Wednesday: Mother it pains me to say this but I need your help. The curse has me in it grasp and it’s killing me. I cannot focus on breaking the hold it has on me and our family because all I can think about is her… and the way my name sounds upon her sweet lips as if she’s calling me to my own doom.

Morticia, flipping through gothic wedding magazines and trying to think of ways to include pink without making half their family nauseous: Why don’t you take Enid out on a friendly excursion darling. Perhaps if you’re around her for an extended period of time the yearning will wain and you’ll be able to focus on your task more efficiently.

Wednesday: Good idea. I’ll take her for a walk through the cemetery.

Morticia: There are roses in the conservatory I’ve yet to chop the heads off you can bring to her. And don’t forget to tell her she looks pretty or your father will be very disappointed in you.

Wednesday: Obviously. I’m not an animal.

Morticia: And if you feel the need to kiss her I wouldn’t fight it. Who knows what will happen if you do.

Wednesday: Nothing good, I presume. It must be done. Thank you, mother. You’re advice has been satisfactory.

Morticia: Of course, darling. Have an miserable date with your beloved.