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iydiamartinx · 1 month ago

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DRAWN TO YOU

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 972 synopsis: You get curious about what Damian is drawing. a/n: I low key feel like I fucked up the ending cause its so cheesy lol. Also again aged up Damian Wayne cause of the romantic subplots if you squint

The early morning light slanted golden rays through the tall windows of the library room, casting a warm glow across the usually dim room and making it feel brighter, more open. The manor was hushed, save for the distant clatter of Alfred preparing a late breakfast for the house’s more nocturnal residents, the occasional muffled footsteps of Duke pacing in an upstairs study, and the quiet mutters from Damian beside you.

Damian sat cross-legged at the far end of the couch, a sketchbook balanced on one knee, pencil in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught gently between his teeth as his hand moved in quick, practiced strokes. You’d been watching him on and off between scrolling on your phone, finding the soft sound of the scratches of his pencil on paper oddly soothing.

“What’re you drawing?” you asked eventually, nudging his ankle with your foot.

“Nothing,” he replied a little to briskly, not even looking up.

You arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s not ready,” he said flatly, tone clipped and guarded. “It’s… unfinished.”

You smirked and leaned a little closer, craning your neck to peek over the edge of the page. In one swift motion, Damian tilted the sketchbook away, , shielding it against his chest..

“Don’t,” he said sharply.

“Why not?” you teased, lips pulling into a pout. “You never let me see.”

“Because,” he muttered, still refusing to meet your eyes, “it’s rough.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You knew Damian well enough to recognize when he was hiding something. He rarely ever got flustered. Or if he did, it wasn’t an emotion he allowed to be seen so easily. But right now, it was obvious from the way he avoided your gaze and the flush of red creeping up the tips of his ears. Whatever he was drawing, clearly meant something to him.

So, you waited. Pretending to drop the matter and go back to scrolling on your phone casually. You patiently waited for him to relax. And when he stood to grab the eraser he’d left on the coffee table…

You struck.

Quick as a flash, you snatched the sketchbook off the couch and jumped to your feet, dancing just out of Damian’s reach. He lunged for it, but you were faster, already backing away with a triumphant grin.

“Y/N—don’t—!” he exclaimed, his voice rising—not in anger, but in something far rarer for him.

Panic. Pure, wide-eyed panic.

You grinned. “I just want to see. I’ve caught glimpses of the landscapes you paint, and they’re amazing. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about a ske—”

Whatever you were saying died on your tongue the moment your eyes dropped to the page.

You froze, your breath catching.

It wasn’t just a quick sketch or a casual doodle—it was a detailed portrait of you.

He’d drawn you the way he saw you when you weren’t looking. Curled on the couch, phone in hand, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The way your hair fell over your shoulder. The slope of your jaw. The softness in your expression. Every line was purposeful, every shadow carefully placed. There was a quiet reverence in the way he’d captured you—it made you feel as if you were something precious to him.

You looked up slowly, heart pounding. “Damian…”

He stood rigid a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—his eyes were uncertain, almost vulnerable.

“It’s not finished,” he muttered, gaze dropping. “The hands aren’t right. The shading needs—”

“Damian.” You said his name again, softer this time.

When he finally met your eyes, you crossed the distance between you and held the sketchbook gently to your chest, like it was something fragile. “This is… beautiful.”

Damian didn’t answer. He stood stiffly by the table, arms crossed, expression tight with embarrassment judging from the flush on his cheeks.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice soft now. “I didn’t know you looked at me like that.”

He glanced up—just once. And then looked away again. “Tt. Of course I do.”

You closed the book carefully and stepped toward him, smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really talented, Damian.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he muttered, arms folding across his chest in a defensive habit.

You shook your head gently. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

When you reached him, you rose up on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—just enough to send the flush returning to the tips of his ears. His hand twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to grab you or cover his face.

“Next time,” you murmured, “just ask if you want to draw me. I’m happy to pose for you.”

He studied you for a moment, brow still faintly furrowed. “You’re not just saying that?”

Your expression softened. “Damian. I mean it.”

You held the sketchbook out to him, and he took it slowly, fingers curling around the edges with a careful touch.

“You’re the only thing I want to draw lately,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming behind your ribs at the quiet sincerity in his words.

“Then draw me,” you said, gently. “However you see me. I want to know.”

He didn’t answer, but something in his posture softened as he sat back down—just enough for you to lean in and rest your head on his shoulder. Watching in contentment, as he opened his sketchbook again, pencil already in hand.

And so the rest of the morning continued to pass in a peaceful silence, sunlight warming the room as you continued to watch him and the way his pencil moved across the paper. Steady and careful, drawing you in the only way he knew how— like you were the only light to his darkness.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #damian al ghul x you #damian al ghul x reader #dc robin #dcu #dc universe

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madsxyins · 1 month ago

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Not Subtle

pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none

synopsis: Paige caught being around u a little too much by fans from Dijonai’s live

anon req

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Okay, I’m going Live. Y’all are being funny and I feel like sharing the chaos.”

Nai props her phone up against a water bottle and hits the button, adjusting the angle until it catches a wide view of her kitchen and living room. There’s a half-eaten pizza on the counter, music playing low, and half the team either sitting on the couch or floating around the kitchen grabbing snacks.

“You know it’s a real off-day when nobody has real pants on,” Nai says, lifting her camera to scan the room.

“Speak for yourself,” Maddy says from the couch, raising a bag of pretzels like a toast. “These are my fancy sweats.”

“Okay, Target Couture,” Arike fires back, not looking up from her phone.

Nai zooms in on Arike’s face, then swings the camera around as Lou walks into the frame, sipping from a Solo cup.

“Lou, the people want to know — how many times has Arike beat you in Uno today?”

“Zero,” Lou says confidently. “She hasn’t touched a card since last time I reversed her into a draw four.”

“Don’t make me get the deck,” Arike warns, grinning.

Meanwhile, the comments are rolling in — lots of heart emojis, fans asking for room tours, people begging Nai to prank someone. But a new wave of comments starts trickling in.

@courtvisionbuckets: ummm not paige following HER around in the back 😭

@softbueckerszn: y’all see that?? she hasn’t moved more than 2 ft from that girl

@wingsarewinning: she’s literally trailing her like a shadow

@paigeandwhoshe: the grip she has is insane 💀

@sneakybutnotreally: i swear every time Nai turns the camera paige is just… right there

Nai’s mid-convo with Maddy when she pauses and looks down at the flood of comments.

“What are y’all talking ab—”

She flips her camera, looks toward the kitchen, and catches it for herself: Paige, casually leaning on the counter beside you, your shoulder brushing hers every few seconds as you both look at something on your phone.

A moment later, you move to throw away a napkin.

Paige follows.

You open the fridge. Paige grabs a water behind you like she’s helping.

You laugh at something she says. She grins down at you like it’s the only thing she needed to hear all night.

Nai blinks. “Hold on—wait a minute.”

She zooms slightly.

“Was Paige just—wait—has she been doing that this whole time?”

“Doing what?” Lou asks from the couch, craning her neck to see what Nai’s talking about.

Nai glances over. “She’s been tracking Y/n like a homing device.”

Arike looks up. “Oh yeah, she’s deep in it. Been doing that since y’all walked in.”

“Really?” you say from the kitchen, clueless but now mildly suspicious.

Paige just shrugs, sipping her water like nothing’s up. “I’m literally just existing.”

Maddy snorts. “Nah, you’re existing at a 1-inch radius.”

“You mad?” Paige fires back, smirking.

“Not mad,” Maddy says, “just impressed. I didn’t know you could orbit someone indoors.”

The Live comments are losing it.

@lightwork4her: this is PEAK golden retriever behavior

@okaywife: why is paige standing like she’s ready to defend her in a team huddle

@softsoftsoft: every time y/n moves, paige adjusts like she’s GPS synced

@naiwiththeassist: nai plsss go sit with them

Nai turns the camera to herself. “They want me to go sit with y’all and stir the pot.”

Arike, without looking up: “Do it.”

Maddy: “Absolutely do it.”

Lou :“Ask if they want matching bracelets.”

“I hate y’all,” Paige mumbles under her breath, cheeks a little red now.

You shake your head, amused. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she says easily, like it’s a fact.

You freeze for a half second, surprised at how casually she says it — but your small smile gives you away. And Nai definitely catches that.

“Ohhh,” Nai says like she’s narrating a documentary. “‘I’m not trying to be.’ Okay, player.”

Then she grabs her phone and marches toward the two of you.

“We’re going live from the scene .”

Paige groans, still leaning against the counter.

“Say hi to the internet,” Nai tells you both, flipping the camera to frame you and Paige perfectly — her shoulder near yours, your bodies angled just close enough that anyone watching can feel the tension.

You give a small wave. Paige doesn’t move at first.

“Too cool to say hi?” Nai teases.

Paige finally looks into the camera, her expression relaxed. “Hey.”

That’s it.

But it’s enough.

@noliejustvibes: she said that like it was private

@notmecrying: THIS ISN’T EVEN A HARD LAUNCH THIS IS A WHOLE COMMERCIAL

@pbgonnamarryher: my whole chest hurts from that one word

@thebackgroundtellsall: y/n didn’t even flinch. like this is normal???

“You know what,” Nai says, pulling a barstool closer to sit next to you both, “I feel like y’all just soft-launched a relationship on my Live and now I’m complicit.”

You laugh. Paige shakes her head but doesn’t deny it.

Lou calls from the couch: “Get them matching hoodies next.”

“I’m begging y’all to stop,” Paige mutters, but she doesn’t move away from you. In fact, her hand grazes the back of your chair like she forgot it was being watched.

She didn’t.

Arike’s voice cuts through the room: “I give it three weeks before y’all get caught courtside at a Mavs game sharing popcorn.”

Nai leans into the camera. “Y’all heard it here first.”

The chat explodes.

And Paige?

She just bumps your shoulder and says under her breath, “Might be worth the popcorn.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

author’s note: my bad for the late post anon😔 i forgot to post it lmao lowk shitty but i hope u guys enjoyed it! thanks for reading!!

#madsxyins writes #paige bueckers #wlw #paige bueckers x reader #basketball #dallas wings #wnba #wbb

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suguwu · 9 months ago

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WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings.

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,” she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.”

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides.

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.”

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji.

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet.

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun.

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair.

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again.

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa.

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly.

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.”

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say.

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering.

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate.

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod.

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji.

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath.

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.”

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!”

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control.

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.”

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth.

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.”

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.”

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir.

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum.

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon.

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.”

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down.

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.”

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.”

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky.

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.”

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.”

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms.

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately.

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words.

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo.

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do.

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training.

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring.

Life, ever unmoved, continues on.

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle.

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes.

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist.

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #bee writes jjk #fic: would that i

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

Text

just some flowery fun

Pairing: Azriel x fem fairy reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral fem receiving, p in v, flower sex.

Summary: There's one final fairy custom yet to complete. And it involves, you, Azriel and a flower.

Wings Universe - more from your favourite couple here.

Azriel found you on the outskirts of a night court meadow, the one where every kind of flower seemed to bloom. It was as if a rainbow had been painted across the land, as shades of coral, emerald and indigo overwhelmed the earth. Amongst all the colour and distraction, he noticed you though. No matter where you were, even if you were hidden, he would always find you. That blush coloured glow you unknowingly emitted, had trapped him like a siren’s call long ago.

Azriel watched you from a distance, crouched down, pulling little mushrooms to put in your basket. He wondered if you were collecting them for dinner or if you’d trade them at the market in the morning.

You looked so beautiful under the evening sun. The beacon in the sky, casting it’s golden hues across the land. The light flickering through your rosy wings that were unfurled behind you.

“Sorry I’m late my love,” Azriel spoke softly, his steps crunching through the forest grounds to meet you at the woodland border.

You had already known he was near, if it wasn’t that glowing bond that always seemed to tell you when he was close by, it was his little shadows who would often sprint ahead to meet you before their master. The little wisps were already threading their way through your hair, some helping you with your task at hand. Hastily picking the mushrooms and placing them in your basket neatly.

There were a few that were also a little impatient at times, perhaps a direct reflection of their master. You always saw his shadows imitating parts of him, parts he tried to keep hidden, even parts he felt embarrassed to show.

There was his nurturing side, how he always wanted to take care of you and support you. His shadows would often help you with tasks, or carry your tools for you. There was his playful side, a somewhat rare appearance but his shadows often liked toy and tease you. And of course there was his obsessive side, now only amplified by the mating bond– and the exact reason why some of his shadows were so desperate for you to see Azriel instantly.

The little tendril pulled your hand with a desperate tug as it sensed Azriel near, his voice singing through the trees to reach you. But you didn’t relent to its touch, finishing your task at hand as you felt your mate step beside you.

The shadows were like impatient little children, they would learn– with time.

A gentle smile spread across your lips, your hand coming above your brow to block the sun as you glanced up towards your beautiful mate. The golden hour reflecting off those hazel eyes you loved so much.

“You’re not late, don’t worry,” You reassured him, moving to your feet, your head still craning to look at your Illyrian giant of a lover.

It was only a mere second before Azriel’s arms engulfed you, his wings following suit as they wrapped around protectively. Shadows swirling around in delight that you were both finally reunited– you’d have thought by their reaction that it had been days.

No, only a mere eight hours.

But you allowed this. Didn’t pull away. Because if there was anyone more deserving of these kind of touches, it was Azriel.

You would always indulge him, never pull away first.

If he had his way, he would be attached to you at the hip. There were definitely some adjustments that were made when you first came back from your mating trip. Despite the mating frenzy supposedly being over, Azriel’s clinginess never seemed to dissipate. There was something about touching you that calmed him in a way nothing else ever could.

So he actively seeked it out.

It was such an interesting revelation to his family. The usual brooding stoic Shadowsinger, who preferred to accompany a quiet corner of a room or a boring wall– was quite fond of public displays of affection. Maybe it was the clinginess, or his possessiveness wanting to lay claim for everyone to see, but Azriel couldn’t stop touching you.

There were plenty of times your found-family would watch their brother follow you like a lost puppy, hands and shadows always reaching for some skin-to-skin connection.

It was endearing really, and well…you loved his touch too much to ever reject it.

After a few moments, you felt Azriel press his lips atop of your head, felt him inhale your scent before allowing his wings to unwrap and loosen his grip on you. Although, his hand had found its way to the small of your back, keeping you close while his other hand gently brushed the hair from your face. His fingers softly adjusting the flowers you’d braided into your hair that morning.

With a slight tilt of your chin, your lips brushed against his wrist. Leaving a light kiss across the delicate skin, causing a lazy smile to grow across his tan face. A smile he only ever showed when he felt calm, safe and content.

The meadows were quieter now, evenings were always a little softer. A change in shift patterns meant fewer fairies roamed and of course the day creatures were getting settled for slumber.

A breeze flowed that scent of night-chilled air and cedar that could send you into a slumber or a frenzy depending on your mood. You closed your eyes for a moment, to allow yourself to fully embrace that sense. As if the sense of sight might just distract you from its loveliness.

“Now…will you tell me why I had to meet you here? Not that I mind picking you up from work. But I didn’t think we were doing this anymore,” Azriel questioned, wondering why you had been so adamant he met you here.

The pad on his thumb trailing across your lashes gently before you fluttered them open again in a hum.

Originally after you’d accepted the bond, Azriel had been insistent on taking you to work, picking you up from work and well… not ever leaving your side. It rapidly became apparent that you had a slight problem.

Not that you didn’t love your mates company, god's no. Azriel was your favourite person to be with. But you were dedicated to your work, in fact a little finicky when it came to it…and your prowling possessive mate would sometimes complicate things.

There was also the fact Azriel was skipping his own duties, taking delegating to a whole new level. Not once in his life had he ever delegated his workload to others, but after the mating frenzy he fully embraced it. Something the Spymaster never thought he would do.

But you see Azriel would do anything to spend more time with you.

Including skipping work.

It had taken a long but soft conversation to come to the agreement you’re at now. A lot of hushed disagreements and finally some whispered promises that you would be okay if he wasn’t always by your side.

But of course Azriel knew you would be okay. It was he who could barely function without you.

You had both settled on a compromise, one you knew Rhys was also incredibly happy with. Especially as the way Azriel was heading, it seemed as though a retirement was a more likely outcome.

Azriel would take you to work, and on every fifth day he was allowed to join you for lunch in the meadows. But, and this was important, you would commute home with your friends, meeting Azriel in the city before coming home.

You loved your friends, your community of fairies. This part of your life was so incredibly important to you, and you were so ingrained in the culture that you weren’t willing to compromise on it, especially not to satisfy a needy– sometimes simply horny– mate.

He would survive.

Most fairies lived out in the meadows, but some, just like you and Elodie lived in the city. Preferring the hustle and bustle of Velaris.

It wasn’t just Rhys, and Elodie who were happy to get more time with their friends again. A lot of your fellow male fairies were extremely pleased and grateful, to not have the deadly Spymaster glaring at their backs while they worked.

It was intimidating for sure, but you couldn’t deny that you’d thought it was actually a little attractive. You never told him though, knowing it would have made him throw in the towel and retire right then and there. Choosing to spend the rest of his days as your own personal bodyguard.

“Hmm oh yes, well there was something I wanted to ask you Az,”

Azriel quirked his brow in question.

“You’ve been so dedicated to embracing my culture and customs…but,” you said with a slight smirk, your fingers trailing down to the daisy chain bracelet that was wrapped around your mate’s wrist.

Your fingers touched him lightly as he peered down at the flowers with a frown.

Had he done something wrong? Perhaps he’d been wearing the flowers incorrectly or not simply not wearing enough? It wasn’t a difficult adjustment, just different. Azriel wanted to so desperately fit into your world, that as soon as he noticed not just the females but male fairies wearing flowers everyday, he took it upon himself to try.

Try and incorporate those little buds of colour into his very dark wardrobe.

His first attempt, weaving them into his hair caused quite the reaction from his brothers. Rhys and Cassian howling when he came into a meeting one day.

Instead you had started making him jewellery made from flowers, them being a more subtle touch that spoke of the type of mate he had.

As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps he’d pushed it down the bond you spoke quickly. Wanting to reassure him. “You’ve done nothing wrong my love, so far from it in fact…but there was something else I wanted us to do together…”

“Anything.” Azriel blurted out in a hurry, the word swifting off his tongue like a smoke caught on a breeze.

Anything, anything, anything. His shadows sung in unison.

You chuckled lightly to yourself, at how your beautiful mate would do absolutely anything to please you. You couldn’t deny you relished in that a little. The power you held over the oh-so-scary Spymaster. That you could have him crumbling to his knees at just a smile or a please.

Or sometimes nothing at all. Sometimes he would wake up and sink himself down on you, muttering whispers like a prayer as he worshipped you with his words, fingers, tongue, co—.

“Really Azriel? Anything?” The switch in your tone caused goosebumps to rise on azriel’s skin, the sultry melody of your voice sinking into his ears as he watched your lids blink slowly. Your seductive gaze filtering up under your lashes.

He heard the shift, felt the shift, in your tone, body language– everything. Something he was well attuned to now. Body pressing deeper against his, you leaning up on your tiptoes, lips only a hot breath away.

The frenzy was long gone, supposedly. Although there wasn’t a day that went by that Azriel didn’t want you– didn’t have you. He devoured you day and night, sometimes more if he was able to sneak out of work and find you.

In fact, that desire didn’t seem to fade at all. Only grew, and you both just became somewhat better at managing it. Actually that was lie. You were good at managing it, Azriel not so much.

So whenever you would relinquish that control, Azriel couldn’t stop himself. Wouldn’t dream of depriving you.

“Anything for you my butterfly, what did you have in mind?” he purred, his hands moving to your hips to press you closer. Heat flaring up under his skin, as he noticed the change in both your scents.

“Hmm, you see there’s this custom for fairies that we have yet to complete. It’s considered a right of passage…” your own hands had found the collar of his shirt, fingers toying with the material as you glanced away playfully as you spoke. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth lightly, that almost caused Azriel to groan right there and then.

“Tell me more about this custom.”

Tilting your head towards the bed of flowers that consumed the meadow, chewing the inside of your cheek as you tried to find the best words, “For new couples, it is considered tradition to bless the relationship by making love in a flower.”

The notion caught Azriel off guard. His eyes widening ever so slightly, as a faint blush heated his ears. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. Whatever dominating composure he did have, had swiftly slipped away at your words.

“In a flower?,” he managed to stutter out.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Now Azriel wasn’t one to shy away in the bedroom. He wasn’t a novice, far from one in fact. And he’d proved that to you in your early months of the mating frenzy. So this rare display of bewilderment and bashfulness was rather endearing.

“Yes Azriel, I want you to fuck me in a flower. That flower to be specific.” Your slender finger pointed to a pink flower that stood tall beside your willow woven basket on the ground.

Your bluntness caused a stir within him, his gaze darkening slightly as if he finally digested your words.

This was different. Something he hadn’t even known existed. He had been very thorough when doing his research on you, but this little custom hadn’t been in his books.

There was also the factor that your suggestion was very…exposing. Not that Azriel was against being caught, voyeurism was something that had excited him in the past. But perhaps it was that innate carnal desire, the mating frenzy’s grip still tight on him, that Azriel didn’t particularly like the idea of someone seeing you.

“Oh Azriel, there’s no need to be so possessive…there’s no one here.” You teased, a playful glint in your eye as you pulled yourself away from him, hands grazing down his chest and torso lightly before putting some space between you both.

He sometimes hated how transparent he was to you, even without his emotions rippling through the bond. You just always knew. Knew what he was thinking, knew what he was feeling– always.

“Come join me Az,” you purred, this time not allowing your invitation to even be considered for rejection by the possessive male. “I want you to make love to me right there.”

Azriel’s closed the space between you, he wasn’t going to deny his mate.

𓇢𓆸

Whatever previous misgivings he may have had, were completely gone by the time you’d both dwindled and flown into the flower.

The floret you had chosen was pink and peachy, it’s hues resembling the colours that flickered off your wings in the sunlight. Velvety petals stood large and grander than he had ever imagined, stepping inside the flower was like stepping into a room. A small room, perhaps double the size of the large bed you both shared, but plenty of space for what you were wanting from him– needing from him.

The petals existed as tall large pink walls, with a ceiling of the changing sky above. And there was the bed of pollen, cushiony and pillowy beneath him that had him chewing his lip at the mere thought of having you there.

“Y/n-” he went to say your name, pulling his gaze of awe from the flower bed you’d pulled him into, to see you slipping your dress from over your shoulders. The material falling down and pooling at your feet as your wings flickered in a glow.

“Azriel, are you really going to make me wait much longer?” You whispered, a sensual strain on your voice as Azriel acknowledged just how desperate his little mate wanted this– wanted him.

Azriel grunted back a groan as his darkened hazel eyes drunk up your naked figure. Eyes grazing across every curve, just before his shadows seemed to follow suit. Mirroring his gazes with a touch.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Azriel had followed suit, stripping himself of his leathers, his eyes studying you as you stepped closer to him. Each step padding across the fluffy pollen, your hand slowly grazing up your body in a lazy but seductive manner. His shadows were swirling around your figure, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

That alone made his cock twitch.

Your teasing tone from earlier had already caused a stir within him, and seeing your naked form now only hardened his pulsing cock further.

There was also something so intimate about being here with you. In this flower, being in a part of your world, a part that you had so desperately wanted to share with him. Time and time again, Azriel was in disbelief that he was even worthy of being in this space.

You stood directly in front of him, the peaks of your breasts touching his chiselled torso as the mild evening breeze gently brushed through the petals. Your scent catching on the wind, that only confirmed to Azriel what his next move was.

Your eyes widened slightly, as you watched your beautiful mate come down to his knees, his wings slumped down casually behind him. His arms wrapping around your hips as his lips pressed against your lower abdomen, sinking further a trail of kisses down to his desired destination.

He gave you one last look up, that sultry stare under his thick dark lashes before you felt his lips latched onto your core. Your back arched instantly, head rolling back and your wings stretching further behind you.

Azriel groaned at your taste, sweet just like honey– sweet just like you.

For support, his arms quickly hooked under one of your legs, hiking it over his shoulder ensuring you were straddling his face– just the way he liked it. His other hand cupped your ass with a squeeze.

That Illyrian of yours, showing off his strength by supporting you fully with his arm strength alone. And then there was his skill, the way his tongue danced against your slick. Devouring every drop of your wetness. Your fingers instantly connected with his hair, tangling in the wavy midnight locks. You began to grind then, against his lips, pushing light pressure against his tongue that caused a groan to ripple up his throat.

“Azriel…” You breathed, a rosyness and heat filling your cheeks at the position before another whiney moan left your lips. You loved how your mate could quite literally throw you around, hike you over his face, or hold you while he fucked you.

But gods, his tongue was worshipping you, every stroke sending a wave of pleasure that was sending you into a blissful daze.

Azriel’s mouth suckled gently on your clit for a moment, making sure it was swollen and puffy before you felt his lips stretch into a smirk. Gently he placed you down, your feet reaching the plush pollen beneath you. His large calloused hand moved from your thigh up to wrap around your back.

“Fine,” he purred, knowing too well what that whine meant– that he was sending you to ecstasy and your body was about to give in.

He moved you gracefully to lay beneath him. You were sprawled, your back plush against the soft centre of the flower. Pockets of pollen and fairy dust filtering the air around you as your hair stretched out beneath you, they looked just like his tendrils of shadows.

Azriel watched you for a moment, your radiant figure vibrant under the moon's glow. The way your hand reached up for him, fingers grazing the line of his jaw. Your wings spread out below you, beautiful and glowing.

This. This moment right here was it.

He had to take a moment to remember it, treasure it and keep it safe in his mind.

Then, he leaned down. His mouth slotting over yours in a passionate ravenous kiss. Your mouths moved in synchrony with one another as it grew deeper and wetter. You felt his pelvis against you, his erection obvious. You pulled away for a moment, eyes glancing down over the curves of your breasts to see his large leaking cock between you.

“Azriel…stop making me wait,” you whined at the sight, your hips lifting up to rock against him.

His lips pulled into a light smile at your desperation, but he dropped himself down. Finding himself in his favourite place again- between your legs.

He wanted to drink you up first.

𓇢𓆸

Azriel sat against the petal wall, his large heavy wings sprawled out behind him in a slump. You angelically moved to straddle him. Each movement causing a puff of pollen to float in the air, which only amplified the glow of your wings.

Wisps floated in the space around you, illuminated by the moonlight shining from above.

“How long have you been waiting for this, my little butterfly?” Your wetness still covering his lips as he teased, his calloused fingers gripping your ass cheeks gently. Once, twice, he squeezed before he grazed his fingers down your thighs and up again. Then, he slotted his mouth over the peak of your breast. Finding that gentle balance of sucking and nibbling that he knew had you quivering.

“Longer than you would assume-” you gasped at the feeling, eyes rolling back for a moment as you bit back a moan.

“Tell me when.” Azriel almost commanded, one hand weaving its way in your hair to tug at the way your head rolled back. The sight of you fighting bliss as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment shot straight to his member. It clenched and tapped against his abdomen, pre cum stringing from his tip to his torso.

You moved then, hovering slightly over his leaking cock, your soaked wet folds grinding over the head. Mixing your sweetness with his. Your wings twitched as his hot tip rubbed over your sensitive clit, Azriel had already made you finish three times.

Azriel growled out a moan at the touch. So light and teasing.

“Tell me.” He demanded again, this time pushing you down onto him his hands holding your hips as he guided you. The stretch filling you with a pleasure that elicited a sweet moan. Azriel groaned as he felt himself fill you fully. His large thick cock feeling so tight in your heat.

Slowly you began to roll your hips, finding a rhythm you knew he loved. Azriel’s head rolled against the rubbery petal, his pupils wide, mouth agape.

“I’ve been waiting for this since I showed you how to dwindle,” you admitted, referencing a time well over a year ago now.

So much had changed since that time. But one thing had remained the same, you were completely and utterly in love with the Shadowsinger.

Azriel growled, not just at the pleasure you were edging him towards but to the reality you’d both come to terms with since accepting the mating bond. That for years prior you had both been pining for one another.

“You’re telling me we could have been doing this for a year already?” Azriel grunted, his face coming to the curve of your neck as he held you steady, his own hips rolling up to rock into you.

“We’ve been over this Az,” you couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your lips. “You’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly and with a tight grip on your hips, he pushed even deeper.

“I can do that.”

𓇢𓆸

It was Azriel’s wings that were twitching now, yours were tucked away by magic while your mate’s hard chest pressed against your back. His hips rolling into you from behind, as he embraced you tightly, hand squeezing your breast.

Azriel’s face was burrowed into the curve of your neck, he had left many marks there, laying claim. But now all the Illyrian could manage was flurry of moaning whispers and whiney words as you felt him near his release.

“So– mhm– feels so good angel,” he choked out, a guttural moan leaving his swollen mouth from where you’d kissed and sucked so much.

“Azriel–” you breathed out, your hand tangled so tightly in his hair little tiny daisy’s had grown from your magic touch. Weaving their way into his strands.

His rhythm was getting quicker, thrusts shorter but deeper. Sweat was beading off his face onto your neck as he brought his hand round to touch your clit again. That sensitive bud he couldn’t leave alone.

That extra touch was enough.

A sweeping, rolling hot wave moved from your centre, you back arching into your mate as you cried out in pleasure. Your release consuming you as your mate joined. Azriel thrusted deeper into your core, the feeling rippling through his body as he juttered into you.

Ribbons of his hot sticky cum filling you up.

You both laid there for a moment.

Your finger gently untangled from his hair, coming down to rest on his hand that was holding your waist. Your finger slightly grazing over the deep scars set into his flesh.

Catching your breaths, you glanced up at the twinkling stars that basked their light down onto you.

“I love you,” Azriel spoke first, his lips so close to your ear you felt his mouth move against your skin. He pressed a sweet kiss on the curve of your neck, just below your ear. His nose gently brushing up and down your soft skin.

You turned at that, reluctantly pulling yourself off him to get a look at him. His cock softer but still throbbing as it left a trail of his seed down the inside of your thigh. Azriel had a dazed but loving look in his eyes, his hazel gems pulling your lips into a smile. He was sweaty, rosy and hot, and just so beautiful.

Gently your fingers began to fuss over the flowers that had grown from your release, softly pulling them from his hair.

He watched you, his eyes taking in every inch of your expression. Your heated cheeks, the sheen from sweat that just made you glisten more. You were just so beaut–

With that thought Azriel’s cock throbbed again, a moan climbing up his throat as he hastily pulled your hands away to kiss you. Hips pushing against you for more. Bursts of pollen sprung into the air from his sudden movement.

Chuckling through your kiss, you called his name. Really again? It was the fourth round tonight.

“I need you–” Azriel went to defend, only to cut himself off with a violent sneeze.

Bursts of pollen spun round the space, as you watched your mate’s nose scrunch into another sneeze.

“Bless you,” you giggled when he finally stopped, your arms wrapping around his neck as he positioned himself above you.

“Blessed I am to have you,” he replied sincerely.

𓇢𓆸

Cassian let out another giant sneeze, causing Rhys and Azriel to give him an unimpressed look from across the table.

“Could you at least use this when you sneeze, I get enough yuck and gunk with the kids” Rhys spoke with annoyance, throwing a silk embroidered handkerchief across to his brother.

Cassian glared back, snatching the midnight material and wiping his nose slightly before stuffing it in his pocket.

“I can’t help it, Azriel stinks!”

Rhys stole a sideways glance at Azriel before returning his attention to Cassian again.

It had been a few days since that night in the meadows, a night Azriel was keen to repeat again. But Cassian was right, he couldn’t seem to shake the pollen.

“I don’t understand, what have you been doing? Rolling around in a field?” Cassian scoffed, folding his arms as he looked across at his brother in question.

Rhys couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin that spread across his face, his hand coming to cover his mouth as he stifled a laugh.

Azriel fought off a smirk. “Something like that Cass,” however it was only a second before Rhys bellowed a laugh. Azriel was quick to follow, with a chuckle.

“Wait! What is it? What am I missing?” Cassian demanded from them both.

“Nothing Cass, don’t worry about it brother,” Azriel replied, his jaw hurting from trying to contain his laughter.

“I swear if this is a sex thing and you’re not telling me I won’t forgive you!!!!”

a/n: the flower sex is finally here!!! yaaaayyyyy hahaha okay so this was actually so hard to write, smut does not come easy but I'm somewhat satisfied with the outcome. Lemme know what you want from these two next! Enjoy my loves <3

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @marscardigan

Wings tags: @minaethrym

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meleeyz · 8 months ago

Note

ekko enemies to lovers? literally metal flowers was SO! GOOD! where reader is a pilte and she goes down with cait and vi in s1?

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗘꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance if something reads strangely or is poorly written.

୨୧ Hello darling! Maybe this isn't exactly your idea (?), but I thought it would be fun to have a tension-filled conversation when the reader is supposed to be... you know, kidnapped. Tell me what you think! I'm also glad you liked the metal flowers one-shot 💞💞

୨୧ THANK YOU VERY VERY VERY MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT, THIS IS THE FIRST REQUEST I HAVE AND THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY, YOUR NICE COMMENTS ARE ALSO GREAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AGAIN 💓

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It all happened too fast: Vi shouting warnings, the blue-haired lunatic and her sick laughter had been the least of your problems.

And now you were here, restrained in a damp, dimly lit room, the sack over your head smelling of grease and mildew. Caitlyn’s muffled voice called for you, distant and strained.

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair, teeth gritted. The door creaked open, and hurried footsteps approached. The sack was pulled off. A Vastaya man loomed over you, his bat-like ears curling inwards as he studied you for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he left, closing the door behind him with a resonating clang.

Blinking against the sudden light, you glanced around, your gaze landing on someone seated across the room. He wore an owl mask, his posture lazy yet somehow threatening.

Your stomach churned. You’d seen him earlier—watching from the shadows as Silco’s men attacked. He hadn’t intervened then, just observed with unnerving intensity.

“Got something to say, or are you just going to keep staring?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The masked figure tilted his head, amusement evident in the way he leaned back.

“Staring at people like that? Kind of counts as harassment, you know,” you continued, forcing a smirk despite the pounding of your heart. “But hey, let me go, and we can settle this properly. I promise I’ll be… kind.”

The voice that responded came distorted through a modulator, low and mechanical. “You should learn to take care of that mouth. If it weren’t for the other two, you’d already be dead.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and despite yourself, you let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Big bad owl man is bothered by my mouth? Then why didn’t you just kill me outright?”

His laugh echoed back at you, though his tone remained clipped. He stood, his figure tall and imposing as he stepped closer.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It was tempting.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze—or what you assumed were his eyes—through the owl mask. “Oh, I’m trembling,” you deadpanned. “What a scary owl.”

His movements stilled for a moment, the tilt of his head indicating surprise. You pressed on, determined to keep the upper hand in this strange game.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking again. “Sitting around in a mask all day makes you feel tough, huh? What’s next—dramatic monologues about justice?”

He chuckled, stepping even closer until he was towering over you. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, craning your neck to meet him. “You think this is guts? I just call it basic survival.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, tension crackling like static. Then, slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edge of his mask.

Your breath hitched, the weight of the moment sinking in as he pulled it away.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His features were striking, all sharp angles and raw intensity but softened.

You blinked, momentarily speechless, which was enough to make him laugh again. This time, it was unmodulated—rich and almost boyish, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin wide. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you struggled for a response. The sheer absurdity of it hit you like a freight train. For all your mother’s warnings about suitors back in Piltover, none of them could hold a candle to him.

And, of course, he knew it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly, stepping back.

You clenched your fists, suddenly grateful for the handcuffs keeping you from doing something you’d probably regret.

“Don’t look so smug,” you said finally, recovering enough to glare at him. “You still kidnapped me, remember?”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Rescued is more like it. You’re lucky I was watching.”

“Lucky?” you shot back. “You’ve got a twisted sense of gratitude.”

“Stick around. You might just learn something.”

You scowled, your cheeks warming despite yourself. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you sat there under the sharp gaze of the boy—no, young man—in the room. But his attention was no longer casual. His gaze was razor-edged, appraising.

“Enough games,” he said finally, his voice steady, though it carried an undertone of curiosity. “What do you know about the hextech gemstone?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you were caught off guard. Hextech? You wracked your brain, recalling snippets of overheard conversations.

“It’s… like an energy booster,” you said hesitantly, your brows furrowed. “Anyone can use it to build pretty much anything. Something about it being ‘limitless potential’ or whatever.”

Ekko tilted his head, clearly not expecting you to be so forthcoming.

“You just told me, just like that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t kill me, which is already better than everyone else we’ve run into today. If you’re not trying to gut me on sight, you can’t be that bad.”

His laugh came low, warm, and rough, as if you’d surprised him again.

“You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Bit of both,” you admitted, flashing a quick smile “So, what’s next? We keep playing twenty questions?”

He chuckled dryly, though his next words were serious.

“Alright, let’s talk about your friends. What’s their deal? And what’s your relationship with the Enforcer?”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest. But the harder you tried, the more it broke free, until you were shaking with quiet.

“Enforcer?” you finally choked out, wiping the corner of your eye with your shoulder. “Caitlyn’s more like… I don’t know, a girl playing dress-up as an Enforcer. Her mother would die if she let Cait face real danger.” You tilted your head toward him, smirking. “Like this.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh, and don’t leave the lovebirds alone too long,” you added, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “It seems like Cait’s taken a liking to the pink-haired one.”

That earned another huff of laughter from him. His gaze lingered on you, sharp yet tinged with reluctant amusement, as though trying to figure out whether you were always this reckless or just putting on a show.

“Alright, alright. My turn. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not how this works at all.”

“Sure it is,” you shot back, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “If you were a conventional kidnapper, I wouldn’t have said a word. You’d have had to torture me for information—and, frankly, I don’t think you’d do it. Too soft.”

Ekko’s brow twitched, though he said nothing.

“Anyway, this isn’t a conventional kidnapping, right?” you added, your grin widening.

For a moment, he studied you, clearly debating whether to humor you. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“Ekko.”

“Ekko,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It suited him. “Alright, Ekko. Next question.”

He crossed his arms, his brows lifting in mock exasperation.

“I said one question.”

“You really need to loosen up,” you teased. “I want to learn how to ride that hoverboard of yours. That thing looks incredible.”

His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you said. “My wrists are starting to hurt. Being handcuffed is not exactly comfortable, you know.”

Ekko sighed, dragging a hand down his face, though you could see the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty Piltie can’t handle a pair of handcuffs? I’ll free you when the time comes.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“When the time comes,” he said again. “I’ll free you.”

“Ekko!” you called after him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just—hey!”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. The door creaked open as he stepped out.

Outside, Scar leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a bemused look on his face. He watched as Ekko adjusted the straps of his owl mask, preparing to slide it back into place.

“Something on your mind?” Ekko asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Scar raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door where you were still yelling.

“Didn’t realize we were starting a dating service for Pilties now.”

Ekko shot him a glare, the owl mask concealing the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What?”

Scar smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Ekko adjusted the mask, his thoughts lingering on the strange girl tied up in the other room. A rich Piltie liking him? The thought was… well, distracting.

But he pushed it aside. There was work to be done.

“Where’s Vi?” he asked, his voice low.

Scar gestured down the hall. “Waiting.”

Ekko nodded, his mind shifting gears as he prepared for what would undoubtedly be another tense conversation.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi arcane x reader

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graphicpolicy · 10 days ago

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Shadow of the Golden Crane #4 preview. A demon-possessed dagger brings Agent Xiang together with Hellboy and Agent Koestler to stop these ancient, dark forces before they infect much, much more #comics #comicbooks

#chris roberson #comic books #Comics #dark horse #Dark Horse Comics #michael avon oeming #mike mignola #shadow of the golden crane

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noirscript · 3 months ago

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the lion's claim, pt. 1

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Description: After a fleeting taste of freedom, you were traded between kings—claimed, but never freed.

Warning/s: Yandere. Nothing else. 🫠

Note: This has around 10k words in it. Will divide it into parts. Also, released an ebook yesterday (which you can grab here). Might also release Callixto's story as an ebook once it's done. Also, the ebook is also written in 2nd person's PoV (reader-insert). Another thing, I've opened my membership on ko-fi. Just one tier though. And the complete version of this is already posted there. Will post more about this. Another thing! You can fill up the form to be added to my taglist. Kindly fill-up the form linked on my pinned post. Also, I'll be creating a masterlist for this series. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The journey to Aurelian’s capital was not a mere transport—it was a statement.

The carriage you rode in was built for royalty, lined with deep blue silk, its dark mahogany polished to a perfect sheen. The golden embroidery of a snarling wolf stretched across its panels, the emblem of Aurelian’s rule. Everything about it was meant to exude power, to remind you that you were being displayed, not simply transported.

Outside, the rhythmic pounding of hooves never faltered. The knights surrounding your carriage moved like an extension of Aurelian’s will—silent, unwavering, absolute. The sigil of the wolf gleamed on their banners, catching the light as they rode through villages lined with spectators. Some villagers craned their necks to see inside the grand procession, while others whispered behind raised hands.

You did not need to hear them to know what they were saying.

You kept your gaze low, unwilling to meet their stares. To them, you were not a person—you were an offering, a prize, something won and traded between men who ruled kingdoms.

A subtle shift in movement pulled your attention from the passing scenery. The carriage tilted slightly, aligning with another on the road. The creak of wheels grinding against dirt, the faint rustle of silk behind a partially drawn curtain. A presence, one that coils deep in your gut before your mind fully places it.

Slowly, cautiously, you press two fingers against the edge of the fabric, parting it just enough.

The second carriage is as grand as yours, though its gold embellishments glint differently, catching the late afternoon sun like molten fire. The crest of Aurelian’s royal family—his wolf, poised mid-snarl—is carved into the door. And through the narrow slit of the window, you see them.

Aurelian sits with the ease of a man who has never known restraint. He looks entirely at home, one arm draped lazily against the open window, golden eyes half-lidded as he surveys the landscape. The wind shifts dark strands of hair across his forehead, but he makes no move to fix them. His expression is unreadable—apathetic, indulgent.

Until he turns toward you.

Your breath catches.

It isn’t a look of curiosity. Not even of interest.

It is certainty.

Like a man admiring something that already belongs to him.

Your fingers clench slightly against the fabric, but before you can look away, his lips curve—not quite a smirk, but something close. Something deliberate.

And then you see her.

She sits beside him, partially obscured by the dim light of the carriage. Unlike Aurelian, she does not lounge. Her posture is composed, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She wears no heavy silks, no golden adornments, yet there is something unmistakably regal about her presence.

Your stomach twists.

She does not look at you at first. But Aurelian’s gaze lingers long enough that she feels it. That she knows.

Her head turns, slowly, carefully, and your heart stills.

Recognition flickers across her face, as brief as a shadow passing over water.

You have seen her before.

She had once stood in the doorway of your shack, breathless and desperate, her clothes damp from the rain. She had clutched the steaming mug you had given her as if it were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And now, she is here.

Beside him.

She does not look frightened now.

She does not look relieved.

She simply is.

The moment stretches, thick with unspoken words. Then, as if nothing has passed between you, she turns away.

You let the curtain fall.

The golden spires of the capital come into view as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city streets. The moment the carriage doors open, the scent of burning incense and crushed roses fills the air.

Aurelian steps out first.

Then his darling.

And finally, you.

The shift in atmosphere is immediate.

Aurelian’s darling does not acknowledge you as you stand beside her. She does not speak. She moves with quiet grace, her expression unreadable. But the weight of her presence, of everything that has been left unsaid, presses against your skin.

The gilded cage has been locked.

And both of you are inside.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The palace is a labyrinth of towering pillars and endless halls. The scent of polished wood and candle smoke fills the air, mingling with the ever-present perfume of lavender and chamomile. Every step you take is swallowed by thick carpets, the silence unnatural.

Aurelian has not confined you to a single room. That would be too crude. Instead, he allows you to roam. The grand library, where tomes of ink and parchment line the walls. The gardens, where roses climb stone archways, their scent thick and sweet. Even the kitchen, where the warmth of the ovens and the scent of fresh bread wrap around you like something almost safe.

It is there that you meet him.

The head chef.

The first person in this palace who looks at you without caution, without reverence—without fear.

The kitchen is alive with movement, the sound of knives against cutting boards, the bubbling hiss of oil in hot pans. The scent of roasting meat and fresh herbs wraps around you, something familiar, something grounding.

You hesitate near the doorway, absorbing the scene.

Then—

“You’re standing in my damned way.”

The voice is gruff, unimpressed. A broad-shouldered man with a graying beard and a stained leather apron scowls in your direction, a wooden spoon clutched like a weapon. He does not bow. He does not avert his gaze.

For the first time since arriving, someone looks at you not as a possession, but as an inconvenience.

You step aside. “Apologies.”

He huffs, striding past toward a counter where a young cook kneads dough too aggressively. Without missing a beat, he smacks the back of the boy’s hand with the spoon.

“Too rough, you little idiot. You’re murdering it.”

The boy flinches, nodding.

You hesitate. “You need to let the butter chill before folding it again,” you say. “The layers will hold better.”

The old man turns sharply.

The kitchen stills slightly, a few servants glancing up from their work.

The chef’s gaze flicks over you, assessing.

Then, to your surprise, he snorts.

“Hah. A woman who knows her dough.” He crosses his arms. “Where’d you learn that, royal pet?”

You ignore the name. “I used to sell bread at the plaza.”

His brow lifts. “You?”

You fold your arms. “Not all of us were born into castles.”

A beat of silence.

Then, to your utter shock, he grins.

“Well, at least you weren’t raised useless.” He waves a hand at the counter. “Let’s see if you’re all talk.”

The flour is soft against your fingers, familiar. You lift the edge of the dough carefully, folding it over itself, pressing just enough to keep the layers intact.

The chef watches, arms crossed. When you step back, he nods.

“Decent.” A pause. “Not bad for someone who’s spent the last few months getting dragged between kings.”

You tense, but he only laughs. “Relax, girl. This place has more gossip than rats.” He gestures toward a wooden spice box. “Come here. I’ll show you the trick that won his favor.”

Your stomach twists.

“His?”

The chef doesn’t elaborate.

But you know exactly who he means.

And still, you listen.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of roasted spices and slow-cooked meat clung to your skin, the warmth of the ovens lingering even as you stepped away from the kitchen’s glow. Despite yourself, you had stayed longer than intended. Perhaps it was the familiarity of it—the scent of fresh herbs, the feel of flour beneath your nails, the rhythmic sounds of knives chopping against wooden boards.

Or perhaps it was because, for the first time since arriving, someone had spoken to you like a person rather than a prize.

The head chef wiped his hands on a rag, giving you a sharp look from beneath bushy brows. “So, what’s the verdict?”

You blinked. “The verdict?”

He motioned toward the dough you had just finished folding, the softened butter sealed between each layer. “On whether you’re completely useless or just mostly useless.”

A flicker of something close to amusement crossed your face. “I suppose that depends on your standards.”

“Hah. You say that now. Let’s see if you still have that smugness when you taste what I make next.” He turned, reaching for a bundle of dried herbs hanging from a hook near the hearth. With a practiced motion, he plucked a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers before dropping them into a simmering pot. The fragrant aroma curled into the air, rich and earthy.

You stepped closer, inhaling deeply. “That’s not a local herb.”

The old man cast you a glance, something flickering in his gaze. Approval, perhaps, or simple curiosity. “No, it’s not.” He gestured toward the spice rack near the stone wall. “Most of what’s in there was brought in from other kingdoms. Some of it from His Majesty Callixto’s lands.”

Your stomach tightened.

The chef continued as if he hadn’t just peeled open an old wound. “His Majesty Aurelian doesn’t like heavy flavors. He likes control.” He tapped the edge of the pot with his spoon. “Most cooks drown a dish trying to impress him. But the trick is knowing when to stop. When to hold back.”

You watched the slow swirl of broth, the way the colors deepened as the herbs steeped. “You think food is enough to keep his interest?”

The old man huffed a laugh. “Not food. Restraint. You ever notice how people come back for something they can’t quite get enough of?” He smirked, raising a bushy brow. “That’s what keeps a man like His Majesty Aurelian eating. Give him too much, and he’ll lose interest. Give him just enough, and he’ll make sure no one else gets a taste.”

Your frown deepened slightly. You weren’t sure if you were still discussing food.

The chef studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’ve been in the hands of too many men who take whatever they want, haven’t you?”

The unexpected directness of the statement knocked the air from your lungs.

Your fingers curled slightly against the wooden counter. “Is that supposed to be a question?”

His expression darkened, though not with pity. Pity was a useless thing, and he didn’t seem the type for it. Instead, there was something colder in his gaze—acknowledgment.

“No,” he said simply. “Just an observation.”

You forced yourself to hold his stare. It was a rare thing in this palace—to be seen. Truly seen.

A beat of silence. Then, he turned back to the stove. “You want to be useful in my kitchen? Watch.”

You did.

For the next hour, you listened, you watched. You learned how to layer spices rather than smother a dish. How heat could be both a tool and a weapon. How patience—restraint—was the difference between something indulgent and something irresistible.

At some point, a presence flickered at the edges of the kitchen. You felt it before you saw her.

Aurelian’s darling stood by the far side of the room, speaking in hushed tones with one of the maids. She did not look at you directly, but she had seen you. There was no doubt.

And still, she said nothing.

The weight of her presence settled between you like a shadow cast by a flame, stretching long and thin across the marble floors.

When the final dish was left to cool, the chef exhaled sharply, stretching his back. “Not bad,” he muttered. “You pick things up quick. Better than most of the green-eared idiots they send me.”

You arched a brow. “More high praise.”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.” Then, after a pause, his voice dropped just slightly, edged with something unreadable. “But a word of advice, girl.”

Your fingers tightened against the edge of the counter. “What?”

The old man leaned in just enough that his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the two of you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.”

A prickle of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced your expression to remain neutral.

The chef watched you for a moment longer, then straightened, his usual gruffness returning. “Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got real work to do.”

You didn’t argue.

As you stepped back into the cold stone hallways, the scent of herbs and fire still clinging to your skin, you felt the weight of his words settle deep in your bones.

Not as useless as I expected.

You’re playing a dangerous game.

And just before the door swung shut behind you, you heard a soft voice—Aurelian’s darling, speaking to the chef.

“She’s learning quickly.”

The chef huffed. “Let’s hope she learns fast enough.”

You did not linger to hear more.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of fire and spices still clung to your skin as you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the kitchen fading behind you. The cool, perfumed air of the palace wrapped around you once more, but it did little to erase the lingering weight of the chef’s words.

You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.

The implication was clear, but it was not just one wolf that lurked in these halls.

Your fingers brushed absently against the fabric of your sleeve as you walked, your mind still caught in the steady rhythm of kneading dough, of layering spices just enough to keep a man wanting. The lesson was more than just culinary. It was a glimpse into the kind of power that existed within the confines of this palace—power that did not come from brute force, but from patience. From knowing when to yield and when to withhold.

But would that knowledge ever be enough?

The palace was a labyrinth of endless corridors, gilded and vast, but never truly free. Every turn, every shadow, carried the weight of unseen eyes, of carefully veiled whispers that never quite reached your ears. It was a place built on indulgence, yet one step out of place would remind you that you were only permitted to exist within its walls—not beyond them.

Your feet carried you past towering windows that overlooked the vast gardens, where the last remnants of sunlight stretched long across the manicured hedges and climbing roses. The air smelled of evening rain, of damp earth cooling beneath the night sky.

And there, standing against the stone balustrade, was her.

Aurelian’s darling.

She had been waiting.

She did not turn immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the last golden sliver of daylight was swallowed by the creeping dusk. The wind lifted the loose strands of her hair, catching against her cheek, but she made no move to fix them.

You hesitated, your pulse steady but slow, as if your body already knew that this conversation—this moment—was inevitable.

Finally, she spoke.

“So.” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge beneath it. Not unkind, but measured. “You stayed in the kitchen longer than I expected.”

Your fingers curled loosely at your sides. “And you knew I’d be there?”

A faint, knowing smile. “There aren’t many places in this palace that still feel real.”

The admission settled between you, heavy in its simplicity.

She turned then, her expression unreadable. The dim light cast long shadows across her face, sharpening the delicate angles of her features. There was no hostility in her gaze, no resentment—only quiet acknowledgment.

How long had it been since that night? Since she had stood at your doorstep, drenched from the rain, her voice raw with desperation? She had been running then, fleeing something unseen, something she had not spoken of.

And now, she was here.

Beside him.

Aurelian had taken her first. And he had kept her.

The realization did not bring relief.

It only solidified the truth you had been unwilling to face.

There was no saving either of you now.

Her gaze flickered briefly toward your hands, still dusted faintly with flour, before returning to your face. “The staff will listen if you ask for something.” A pause. “To a certain extent.”

A warning. A quiet offering of understanding.

Your throat tightened, but you did not let it show.

Before you could decide what to say, she turned away, her steps silent against the polished floor as she disappeared into the halls.

Even after she was gone, the weight of her presence lingered.

And the unspoken truth settled between you.

You had once saved her.

And now, neither of you could save yourselves.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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smillingcartoonist · 5 months ago

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Shadow of the Golden Crane 2 #

#shadow of the golden crane #chris roberson #michael avon oeming

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jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear · 5 months ago

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The Scarecrow || Recommended Reading || Master List

For your reading pleasure, here follows a master list of all SCARECROW-CENTRIC comics (cameos and one/two page appearances will not be mentioned) listed roughly in order of release. Note: some comics are included even if Scarecrow is not the main antagonist, but only if he plays a centric role in the overarching story

Feel free to message me if you think I missed something! This list is comics only, and does not include children's books or other media.

GOLDEN AGE

World’s Finest #3 - Riddle of the Human Scarecrow

Detective Comics #73 - The Scarecrow Returns

The Brave and the Bold #197 - The Autobiography of Bruce Wayne!

SILVER AGE

Batman #189 - Fright of the Scarecrow

Batman #200 - The Man Who Radiated Fear!"

Detective Comics #389 - Batman's Evil Eye

BRONZE AGE

Detective Comics #503 - The 6 Days of the Scarecrow

Batman #373/Detective #540 - The Frequency of Fear/Something Scary

The Super Friends #32

Detective Comics #571 - Fear for $ale

Joker #8 - The Scarecrow's Fearsome Face-Off!

Batman 400 - Resurrection Night

THE 90s

Batman #455-#457 Identity Crisis: Part 1 + 2/Master of Fear

Batman: Haunted Knight- Legends of the Dark Knight Halloween Special #1 - Fears

Batman #495-#496

Batman: Long Halloween (Series)

Shadow of the Bat #1

Shadow of the Bat #16-18 “God of Fear”

Batman Dark Victory (Series)

Batman: Haunted Knight - Fears

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight Halloween Special #1

Batman Annual #19 - Masters of Fear

Batman Adventures #4 - #5 - Riot Act

Batman Adventures #19 - Troubled Dreams

Batman Adventures Annual #1 - Study Hall

Batman Gotham Adventures #32 - The Remote Controller

Batman/Scarecrow 3D

Catwoman #58 - #60, #93

Fear of Faith (Legends of the Dark Knight #116, Batman: Shadow of the Bat #84, Batman #564, Detective Comics #731)

New Year's Evil: Scarecrow - Mistress of Fear

Batman Crimson Mist

Nightwing #9 - #11

2000 - 2009

Batman Daredevil - King of New York

Detective Comics #820 Face the ɘɔɒᖷ

DC Super Friends #8

Batman #608–619 (HUSH)

Batman Gotham Knights #16 + #49 / Batman: Black and White

Legends of the Dark Knight #137-141 - Terror

Gotham Knights #23 - Fear of Success

Superman/Batman: Torment (#37-42)

Batman #626-630 - As the Crow Flies

Superman/Batman #38 - 40

Batman Eternal #47

Batman and Robin Eternal #6, #14- #15

DC Halloween Special #1 - The Ballad of Ichabod Crane

Gotham After Midnight (Series)

Joker’s Asylum: Scarecrow

Year One: Batman/Scarecrow

2010 - 2020

Blackest Night #6 -Blackest Night

Untold Tales of the Blackest Night - Blackest Nightmare

DC Halloween Special '10 - Trick for the Scarecrow

Forever Evil: Arkham War (Series)

Batman the Dark Knight #10 - #15 - Cycle of Violence

Batgirl Vol 3 #2-3 - Batgirl Rising: Point of New Origin

Detective Comics v2 #23.3 Scarecrow

Swamp Thing #19-20

Harley Quinn #28 - #30

Batwoman #7 - #9 - Fear and Loathing

Green Lanterns #17 - Darkest Knight

Nightwing #50, #53 - #56

Batman ‘66 Meets the Man from U.N.C.L.E (series)

Batman '66 #28 - Scarecrow Comes to Town

Kings of Fear (series)

Batman/TMNT Adventures #4 - To laugh so not to cry

Shazam #12 - When Strikes the Scarecrow

Wonder Woman: Agent of Peace #4

Legends of the Dark Knight #16

Batman: Gotham Nights #17 - Harvest of Fear; He Who Eats Last...

Batman: The Adventures Continue #10

Fear State (Series) (FS Alpha + Omega, 106, #111–117, Detective Comics 1056, Harley Quinn #6)

Future State Harley Quinn #1- #2

2021 AND BEYOND

Truth and Justice #10

ArkhaManiacs #1

Man-Bat (Series)

Wayne Family Adventures #55 - #56

Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant #1

Detective Comics #1049 -1050 - House of Gotham

The Joker Presents: A Puzzlebox #8 - #9

Knight Terrors: Nightwing (Series)

DC's I know what you did Last Crisis

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War: Red Hood #2

Batman: The Audio Adventures Special #1 + #6

Batman '89 Echoes (series)

The Batman & Scooby-Doo Mysteries #7

Suicide Squad: Kill Arkham Asylum #3

Little Batman: Month One (series)

Batman: The Brave and the Bold #19

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #The Scarecrow #Comic Recs #Master List #Scarecrow Comic Master List #Recommended Reading #this may be missing one or two #let me know #again #scarecrow has to be a main part of the story for it to be on this list not a cameo or one page appearance #DC #DC Comics

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emilys-bangs · 9 months ago

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my sleepless night, my winless fight | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, use of petnames, no use of yn, sleep deprived emily, this is so soft omg

Summary: Emily can't sleep. She comes and joins you on the couch, hoping to find sleep with you.

Word count: 1.3k

You’re on the couch, reading with the lights dimmed, when Emily shuffles in. She’s wrapped herself in a midnight blue blanket, her hair trapped under it as she plops down next to you and immediately curls into your side.

“Aw, hey.” You greet, setting your book face-down on the couch next to you. Your girlfriend is painted golden in the soft light of the lamps; you smile at the shadows of her lashes on her cheeks. She shifts to sit sideways onto your lap, just like you knew she would. “Does my little baby want a snuggle?” You coo, your arm automatically hooking around her waist to keep her close.

“Shut up,” Emily mutters, her words holding no weight with the way she burrows into you. Her nose nuzzles under your jaw, her legs spreading over your lap; the tips of her socked toes nudge against your book.

“Mmm, you’re just like Sergio,” you whisper, threading your fingers through her soft hair. It’s trapped beneath her blanket so you free it, letting it spill down her shoulders in waves of black. “I live with two clingy cats, it seems.”

“It seems like you want your clingy privileges revoked.” Emily shoots back, her voice muffled into your skin. You stifle a shiver at the vibration of it, warm and rich through your body. The skin of your neck loses its warmth as Emily comes out of her hiding spot, half-heartedly glaring at you with gold swirling in her eyes.

“No, your highness, I’m sorry,” you say solemnly, tucking your hand into the burrito she’s made herself into and searching for her own hand, freeing it and bringing it to your lips. Her knuckles are cold, and you make your kiss linger. “Stay here as long as you like, baby.” Your voice is soft this time, sincere, and Emily doesn’t even protest the nickname.

Her fingers curl around yours. She smiles, soft half moons curving in her cheeks. “You can be sweet when you’re not being a little fuck.”

You grin, “Ditto.”

Emily pokes her tongue out and you chase away the petulant expression with a kiss, your playful dispute dissolving with a sigh. Her cold hand—how is she always cold?—cups your face, fingers parting around your ear and pulling you down into her. Your neck cranes, your back protests, but her lips are the sweetest balm, soft and tasting like the purplish blue of frustration.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask against her mouth.

“No,” she grumbles. Her lips brush yours and she takes them in another kiss, slow and unhurried like she’s trying to soothe herself to sleep. You let her have it, tangling your fingers in her hair and gently scraping your nails against her scalp while she presses soft kisses to your mouth.

Eventually her breath puffs across your chin in a low inhale. Emily leans back into your arm, trusting you to hold her weight as she rests her head on your shoulder.

“Keep me company?” You skim your knuckles along her pale cheek.

Emily’s mouth pinches at your unnecessary question. “Why else would I have come here, then?”

“Smartass,” you chide lovingly. “Just answer the question. God, you’re cranky when you’re sleep deprived.”

Suddenly her brows knit together. “Don’ mean to be. Sorry, amor.” She whispers, her eyes turning doe-like with regret.

“Quit that,” you murmur, gently kissing the tip of her nose to show her it’s alright. She’s not convinced, so you kiss her frown; the scrunch loosens beneath your lips. “We both know I’m just as bad when I’m hungry. ’Least this you can’t help.”

“I just don’t know why.” Emily huffs, a frustrated pout curling her lips downward. “I’m so tired and I’ve been trying for hours, I just wanna sleep already.” Her voice is the tiniest bit whiny, but with the dark circles under her eyes, you think it’s justified.

It breaks your heart to see her like this.

You nudge her off you. “Here, scooch a little.”

Emily frowns deeper. “You’re kicking me off?” She sulks.

“No.” You kiss the tip of her nose. “Just get up a little, you’ll see what I wanna do.”

She does so reluctantly, retracting her legs from your lap and standing up. As you situate yourself on the long end of the couch, she watches while chewing on her lip, her eyes bleary as she toys with the edges of her blanket.

You place two pillows behind you and spread your legs straight, adjusting your book next to you before holding your hand out for Emily. She takes it and you tug until she reaches the edge of the couch. You tug again and she gets the hint, carefully climbing on your lap—on top of you, really.

It takes a few seconds before she adjusts herself, slipping an arm around your waist and fitting a knee between yours. When she stops shifting you ask, “Comfy?” into her hairline.

“Yeah,” Emily whispers. “Thanks, dolcezza.”

“You’re welcome.” You kiss her forehead. You wrap your own arm around her back, securing her and her fuzzy blanket to your chest. “Just stay here with me, alright? You’ll get bored enough that you might fall asleep anyway.”

“Never bored when I’m with you,” she murmurs into your neck. Her lashes are wispy on your skin, ticklish as she blinks.

A smile tugs at your lips. “Ah, cranky Emily is gone, time for lovergirl Emily?” You pick up your book again, holding it open with one hand and keeping the other on Emily’s back. “Welcome back, sweetheart, I missed you.”

Emily sighs into your neck; you can’t tell if it’s frustrated or not. “You really are somethin’.” She says, her voice like warm honey.

Regardless, you kiss her forehead. “You are, too, babe.” Of its own accord, your hand slips into her hair again. Emily sighs as you lightly drag your nails over her scalp, the warmth of her breath sinking into your neck.

“Read to me?”

“Sure.”

As you open up Jane Eyre, your eyes skimming the passages you’d read countless times, a thought comes to you.

“Hey, Em?” You rake your fingers through her hair.

“Hmm?”

“You know, you remind me an awful lot of Jane.”

A small, huffed laugh escapes her. Emily’s hand slips under your shirt, finding your warm skin underneath. “Why’s that?” She asks softly. Her voice is close to drowsy, so you make sure to continue your rhythmic scratching along her scalp.

“I’m not sure. Think it’s ’cause she’s so blunt. Makes me laugh.” You kiss her hairline, gently trying to nudge her into sleep.

“Honesty is a virtue.” She replies. “One I definitely have.”

“One you definitely do.” You agree. “Can I read now?”

“I wasn’t the one who interrupted you,” she retorts.

“Okay, well, hush. The sound of the dressing-bell dispersed the party.” You begin. Your voice is hardly the most melodic, but you try anyway. “It was not till after dinner that I saw him again: he then seemed quite at his ease.”

As you continue reading, Emily grows heavier on top of you. The circles she’d been rubbing on your stomach start to slow, then they cease entirely as her breath evens out. You still continue reading out loud, your voice a low whisper, still continuing to play with her hair long after she’s gone to sleep.

When drowsiness starts to force your own eyes closed, you fold the corner of the page and toss the book somewhere on the couch. Emily doesn’t stir and you wrap both arms properly around her now. She’s warm enough that you don’t need an added blanket despite the winter, and you brush your lips along her forehead in another kiss, your whisper of, goodnight gone unanswered.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #fic #divider by saradika

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