#usually i would’ve edited the human ears out but he still had them in the stamp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo-satoru-x-reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader romance #gojo x reader romance #gojo x reader imagines #gojo satoru x reader imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #gojo-satoru-x-reader smut #suki: 500 milestone event #suki: scheduled

2K notes · View notes

good4olivia · 4 years ago

Text

homework and the truth

Edward Cullen x Reader

Requested: Yes

Summary: Edward tells his human best friend that he’s a vampire and after she’s okay with it, he confess his feelings for her.

A/N: requests are open! i do headcanons too :) + i did a skim edit so they may be some mistakes

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Y/N asked Edward while she was got herself a glass of water, “I never see you eat or drink anything, it’s kinda of weird.” She laughed. Her back was to him, while she was looking for a glass.

“I told you I’m on that special diet.” Edward chuckled.

“Right that one your foster doctor dad has you on.” Y/N said skeptically. She knew something was different about that family, there was just too many weird things to ignore but every time she tried asking Edward about it he’d brush her off and the mood would damper so she let it go.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” Y/N asked as she sat next to Edward on the sofa.

“We have homework to do, love.” Edward would always call Y/N cute nicknames like that. At first he thought that she would find it weird but she never said anything. Edward couldn’t read her mind, something that frustrates him a lot especially considering he was basically in love with her but couldn’t make up his mind if she felt the same way or not. Sometimes he was positive she felt the same way but then she would talk about another boy at school and all the doubt came running back.

“Ugh, you’re always the voice of reason. But do we have to do it here? Can’t we go to the place you know in the woods? That pretty meadow?” Y/N asked. Edward had taken her there a few times on the weekend.

“It’s already 4, it takes an hour and a half to get there and it would be dark by that time. We can go on the weekend?” Times like these Edward wished he could tell his best friend that he was a vampire, it takes him 5 minutes to get the meadows when he’s running and he just wants to do what makes her happy but he’s too scared that she will want nothing to do him with anymore and he can’t stand the idea of loosing her.

“Yeah you’re right. Ugh okay, enough procasnating. Should we start with math? Get it over and done with?” She suggested. She liked having Edward over for study dates, it made it easier that had the same homework being in basically every class together (what she didn’t know, was that was no condience on Edwards part).

Of course, Edward knew everything the teacher taught, probably better than the teachers themselves and could do the homework within seconds but he dumbs it down to spend time with you and help you with your homework.

—

“I love doing homework with you, it’s only 5:30 and we’re already done!” Y/N exclaimed as she packed up her books, “Do you have to go home? Or can you hang out for a bit?’

“Of course.” Edward smiled, it always made him happy when Y/N wanted to spend time with him, especially cause he got self-conscious about taking up too much of her time.

They decided to put on a movie and within the few hours, Y/N had subconsciously moved closer and closer to Edward until her head was on his shoulder. They had never really been this close before and Edward could hear Y/N hearts racing. Edward knew his heart would’ve been the same if it wasn’t dead.

“It’s getting late, your parents are probably expecting you soon.” Y/N said, though she didn’t want him to leave.

“Can I tell you something? Before I go home?” Edward asked nervously. He had to tell her he was a vampire. Nothing really happened this evening but the little that did happen only made him want more.

“Yeah sure.” Y/N answered, she could sense the that something was wrong and she was worried. “Is everything okay?”

“I hope so. So you know how I’m on that diet and how I always text you back even if it’s 3am or how all my siblings and I look a lot alike even though we’re not related?” Edward started off, he could hear her heart racing and suddenly he wanted to back out. All anxieties about how she was going to react came flooding back to him.

It had been a moment or two and he hadn’t elaborated more, “Edward? Can you please just tell me what’s going on. I promise you can trust me, whatever it is I won’t run away and I won’t tell anyone.”

Even without his ability to read her mind, from the look in her eyes he could tell she meant what she said, “I’m a vampire Y/N.”

Y/N eyes tore away from Edward and she felt her stomach drop. Not in a million years would she guess this was Edward’s secret. She loved Edward, how could he be this monster? She stood up from the couch and took a few step backs, “The-The hikers that have gone missing, the supposed animal attacks? Was that you and your family?”

Edward stood up, which caused Y/N to take another few steps back. This was Edward’s worst fear, for Y/N too see him for what he was, a monster. “No love, I promise my family and I we are different from others of our kinds. We only drink the blood of animals, thats why were able to stay in one town for so long. Please, you have to believe me. I can’t lose you.”

“How can I believe you?” Y/N whispered. Part of her knew that Edward wouldn’t hurt her, they had been friends for months, he had plenty of chances to hurt her if that was his true intention.

“You would ask about my eyes, why they change colours. When they’re black, it means I haven’t hunted in a few weeks and when they turn back to topaz, it means I’ve hunted - on animals not humans. If I fed on a human, my eyes would red. Does that make sense?” He sounded so desperate, he knew he did but he hoped she could believe him.

“What about those missing hikers? Was it really just animals?” She asked, Good, this is good. This means she probably believe me. Edward thought.

“Those were nomads passing through, we made sure they’re not coming back I promise. I would never let them hurt you.” Edward realised after it was too late that his last sentence was a bit too intense but it didn’t seem to make her more anxious, possibly the opposite.

“Do you want me to leave?” Edward asked softly.

Y/N shook her head, she moved closer to Edward and wrapped her arms around him, “I guess this is also why you’re so cold.” She laughed.

“Yeah. So you’re okay with all this, you still want to be my friend?” Edward asked, needing the confirmation.

“I know that I freaked out a little at first but I really did mean it when I said you can trust me.” Y/N said.

Edward nodded, it was completely rational for her to be a bit freaked out but he was happy she came around. Realising that he just did the one thing he was most terrified of, he decided the other thing wasn’t as scary.

“There’s something else actually.” Edward started off,

“Don’t tell me Forks is also home to witches and werewolves.” Y/N joked.

Edward chuckled, “No, the witches at least,” Y/N eyes widen, “Another time love. But what I wanted to tell you was that I love you.”

“I love you too Edward, you know that-“

“No not like that, not like a friend. I love you as something more.” Edward told her.

Y/N didn’t say anything after a moment, Edward started to panic, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way-“

“No! I mean, yes I do feel the same way. I love you, Edward. I just- I just didn’t think it would be possible for you to feel the same way about me. I mean I’m me and you’re you.” She confessed.

“If only you could see yourself the way I saw you.” He told her as he brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” She smiled.

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her. Kissing her was everything he ever thought it would be and he only broke up apart so he would have time to catch her breathe.

“I love kissing you.” Y/N gigged and leaned her head into his chest.

Edward pressed her further into his chest and kissed her forehead, “Can I stay over tonight?” He really didn’t want to think about going home right now, not after getting what he wanted ever since he first met her.

“Yeah. My mum usually goes straight to bed after her shift and she doesn’t wake up before I go to school.” Y/N explained to him.

Y/N got herself another glass of water, she was so happy knowing the real reason why Edward never drank or ate anything and especially that they were boyfriend and girlfriend now.

She loved seeing Edward laying in her bed, “You don’t sleep do you?”

“No, not ever.” He answered.

“Won’t you get bored all night?” She wondered.

“I’m never bored when I’m with you.” He confessed to her.

She climbed under the covers and turned on her TV, “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”

“Hmm and you’re my girlfriend.” He said while pulling her closer to him.

#edward cullen x reader #edward cullen imagines #edward cullen #edward x bella #twilight imagines #twilight #robert pattinson #twilight x reader

516 notes · View notes

mossharpy · 3 years ago

Note

Do u know any TOH fics where it focuses on human culture/Luz being different? I can't find any :(

i've got two! but then this prompt took me by the hands and i ended up writing my own little drabble.

from ao3:

crossing paths by Vikingfangirl23 | 2991 Words | One-Shot | Summary: Luz deals with bullies, Owlbert's been following her longer than she realizes.

It's Just Hair by foolish_snail | 1889 Words | One-Shot | Summary: Luz is tired of getting bullied for her hair. May as well do something about it.

from me (under read more):

Willow and Gus were avoiding her. It was frustrating; all day they’d been skirting around her questions and attempts to confront them about their unusually skittish behavior. They told each other everything—why was this time different? Luz had briefly worried she’d done something to upset Willow, who tended to still be sore about how much time she was spending with Amity.

Luz understood where the witch was coming from, she’d be upset if her best friend started dating her ex-bully too. But, if that was the case, why was Gus avoiding her? Gus was brutally honest about his feelings; he wore his heart on his sleeve. Willow was more closed off, but Gus was always willing to play middleman if a miscommunication occurred. Even worse, when she’d asked them about wanting to sit together at lunch, the two came up with some on-the-spot excuse about having detention. Luz loved her friends, but they were terrible liars.

But she didn’t push. Luz let them go.

The human poked her PB&J, sighing. She didn’t like being ignored.

Fridays were usually her favorite day of the week. She loved Hexside—don’t get her wrong—more than she’d ever loved school, but on Fridays, as soon as school let out, Willow and Gus would follow her back to the Owl House. There, they’d begin their usual ritual of eating far too much junk food and watching crappy Boiling Isles reality TV. It was fun, it was their chance to put aside all their worries, about school, about magic, about getting home, and let loose.

Their distance made Luz think her friends weren’t willing to hang out that night.

A plastic tray gently found a place next to her, and Luz let her eyes wander upward to land on the face of her girlfriend. She smiled, worries abandoned, and focus turned toward Amity, who nervously pulled a string of lavender hair from her face, a pale blush creeping over her nose and tinging her face.

“Are Willow and Gus joining us?” She spoke formally, a trait the witch often defaulted to when trying to hide how flustered she was.

The question made Luz frown, and she let her head fall against the lunch table. “They’ve got better things to do.”

Amity nodded, taking Luz’s hand under the table, and hesitantly letting their fingers intertwine. “I guess they would be busy, what, with the party, they’re planning and all.”

“…Party?”

The purple-haired witch made a small face, “You didn’t know? Gus has been talking my ear off all day about it.” She conjured her scroll to show her girlfriend, gesturing to the dozens of unread penstagram messages she’d likely chosen to ignore.

“The two of them have been insufferable today, how am I supposed to know the difference between Pep Ph.D. and Dr Fizz? And what in Titan’s name is a clown.” She threw up her hands, irritated, before resigning to letting them sit crossed over her chest.

Luz shrugged, still staring at the number of messages, “Pep tastes kinda like barbecue sauce if it was carbonated, Dr Fizz is sweeter, bubblier, and by far the better soda. And clowns are a staple of every good party.”

Amity looked slightly baffled, like she wasn’t expecting Luz to have an opinion either, then gently took her scroll back to rapidly text a message to Gus.

“…What’s the party for?” The words came out muffled, and slightly anxious. She wanted to help, she was a great party planner—Willow knew that, Gus knew that, why were they leaving her out?

“Oh,” Amity was stilly texting, “I think Gus’s birthday is coming up.”

“WHAT?” Luz slammed her hands on the cafeteria table, startling Amity and bringing the attention of the rest of the lunchroom to both of them, various Hexside students glaring or staring, judgingly.

Amity gently brought her hands to Luz’s shoulders, pulling the human back into her seat and nervously laughing. Said human leaned in, close, raising a hand to her mouth to whisper.

“What do you mean Gus’s birthday is coming up?” She was his friend; she should be an expert in these kinds of things! No wonder he and Willow had been avoiding her, they probably didn’t want to break the news to her that she had forgotten one of her best friends’ birthday.

“The party is this weekend,” Amity supplied, mimicking her girlfriend’s hushed tone. “They’ve been sending out invitations on penstagram all day.”

She turned her scroll toward Luz again, this time, a fun-looking, brightly colored invitation with a doodle drawing of Gus throwing confetti, sprawled across her penstagram dashboard. The specific details were cut out, but she could see that Amity was right—the party was this Saturday.

A small knot formed in Luz’s stomach. She couldn’t get a scroll—they were too intertwined with witch magic, and without a bile sack, it was hard to get one. Normally, if she really wanted to see what was going on, she’d ask Eda to borrow hers, but she didn’t have one of her own. Gus knew that, so did Willow. Did they not want her there? Why wouldn’t they give out invitations in person? Why were they hiding this from her?

She slumped onto the table, burying her face in her arms.

“I guess, well—” Amity faltered, catching up on her girlfriend’s sudden deflation, “It is his thirteenth birthday.”

Luz cringed.

“No, no,” Her girlfriend continued, “It’s his thirteenth birthday, Luz.”

She stared, blankly. “I don’t get what you mean. Why are you saying ‘thirteenth’ like that?”

“Oh shoot,” Amity face-palmed, a pointed ear twitching, “Of course you wouldn’t have the thirteenth, I forget how fragile humans are.”

“Hey,” Luz dragged out the word, scowling, “We’re not fragile, we’re just not meant to digest fairies or survive boiling water.”

Her girlfriend snickered, “Like I said, fragile. Anyways, when a witch turns thirteen, you have to go through some… trials.”

“I like trials,” Luz mumbled.

Amity smiled, fondly, then grimaced, “They’re not fun trials, Luz. A witch’s thirteenth birthday is said to be cursed; you have to spend the day with bad luck, and if you manage to survive, at the end of the day you can throw a party, celebrating your ability to wield magic and become a real witch. It’s a rite of passage.”

She ‘oohed’, “That sounds cool. Why wouldn’t Gus tell me about it?”

The purple-haired girl made a face, “I’m not sure. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, even if you are… squishy. I’m confident in your ability to survive the death threats of a thirteenth.”

Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Luz grumbled. “Thank you.”

She moped the rest of the school day.

When her final class came, and the last bell screamed, Luz sulked, taking her time to put away her spell books and potions, slowly zipping her bag and slowly tucking away her pencils. She wasn’t looking forward to walking home alone.

Her feet felt heavy, footsteps echoing down the bustling hallway as other students excitedly talked about their weekend plans. She tried to ignore every whisper of ‘party’, flipping her cowl up to hide her face. Normally, Luz didn’t mind people staring. At home, she got enough of it already, but in the Boiling Isles being the only human made her feel… important.

She didn’t feel important right now.

Her hand gently pushed the front door of the school open, light momentarily blinding her as her eyes got adjusted to the outdoors.

“Luz!” An excited voice called her name, forcing her head to instinctively turn toward the offending noise.

Suddenly, two bodies were tackling her, and Luz found herself toppling to the ground.

“Ohmigosh, are you okay?” A very frantic Gus clambered from their pile of entangled limbs, pushing himself and Willow off of Luz.

“Wha—Gus? Willow? What are you guys doing here?” She blinked a few times, rubbing at the arm she had stupidly hit on the stone ground. Dumb human arms, always getting injured. “I thought you would’ve been getting ready for the party.”

They both cringed.

“Oh… you found out about that?” Willow fiddled with the hem of her skirt, looking away from the human’s face.

Luz felt her face get hot. She was not going to cry about this. Absolutely not. “Of course, I found out! What I wanna know is why my two best friends decided I’m not cool enough to go to their really scary thirteenth birthday party? I know Gus has to go through dangerous trials, and like, prove himself and whatever, but I’m tough! I can take it.”

Gus looked between her and Willow, as if debating whether he should say something. A beat of silence passed.

“Of course, I want you at my party,” the younger witch finally spoke, “actually, that’s what we were coming to talk to you about—”

He scratched the back of his neck, pausing briefly.

“Eda told us that humans don’t have bad luck rituals on their thirteenth birthday, so we—well—we may have—”

“It’s a double party!” Willow interrupted, face quickly turning bright pink. “Sorry, sorry! I’ve been dying of anticipation all day.”

She pulled a rolled-up parchment from her bag, unfurling it to show Luz an edited version of Gus’s party invitation. This one included a small doodle of Luz as well as Gus, both donning matching party hats and throwing confetti. At the bottom, the date and time were clearly listed.

Saturday, 9:00pm, The Owl House.

Luz’s eyes widened, a large grin forming on her face.

“You guys!” She d’awwed, pulling them into a group hug.

“We didn’t want you to miss out, and Eda said you’d be able to handle all the bad luck just fine, and King’s okay with it as long as we bubble-wrap you, and we didn’t want to miss your birthday in case you had to go home before we can celebrate—” Gus cut his own rambling off, taking a breath.

“We got a clown!” Willow laughed, excitedly clapping.

Gus nodded enthusiastically, repeating her, “We got a clown!”

“Is this why you were texting Amity all those weird questions?”

Her friends both gasped, Gus especially offended, “I wanted to be as accurate as possible, the party is human-themed after all. Amity wasn’t supposed to tell you about it! That’s the point of a surprise party.”

“Eda was setting up pre-birthday decorations at the Owl House for tonight’s sleepover.” Willow added.

“Sleepover?” Luz repeated, awestruck. “Oh, my Azura, you guys are the best.”

The three kids hugged again, laughing about their birthday schemes. Human or not, Luz should’ve known better than to think her best friends would exclude her like that.

This was going to be the best Friday ever.

#long post #ask ask #writing bits #talking bits #writing recs #ao3 #toh fanfic #toh writing #toh luz #toh oneshot #the owl house #my bad if this is a mess it's not beta read and i wrote it in like. an hour #jhkjhkj enjoy!#misunderstanding trope my beloved #dirts and drabbles

25 notes · View notes

fallowdoe · 4 years ago

Text

Heat of the moment F!MC x Wolf!Lucifer

Possible TW: dub-con

NSFW! SMUT

also they say Ily at the end coz I’m soft 🥺👉👈 first smut never ended up editing it bahaha

“I’ll give you a chance, though I doubt you can make it.” He smiles mischievously and steps back again.

“A chance?” You look at him confused but the way he puts his ears down and smiles while showing you his teeth is rather meaningful.

“Come on little lamb.” His gaze darkens. “Run from the big bad wolf.”

A quiet buzz follows every new text in the group chat. You clutch your bag and scroll through the conversation, little boxes filled with pastries clank happily inside – a result of the whole day spent baking with Luke. Animal versions of the brothers were cute but after almost a whole week you needed a bit of a break. You were just making your way back from Purgatory Hall, the wind gently blew making the leaves on the trees surrounding you move. Usually, someone would walk with you, but it would appear that everyone was too busy, had it been further from HoL you’d just stay the night, probably sleeping on the couch in Solomon’s room, but by now you knew that the short walk alone wasn’t all that dangerous. A few new messages roll onto your screen. Mammon ranting about his photoshoot, Beel mentioning something about training, even Belphie claims he needs to go take care of something. It would appear so that the potion incident didn’t have as much of an impact on the brothers as you thought it did. The tiger version of Mammon on the cover of the next volume of Majolish was definitely something to look forward to. Your brows furrow as the realization sits upon you. With each one of them being busy it looks like you are going to spend the whole evening alone. That would be the first time you being alone since you came to the Devildom. Suddenly HoL doesn’t seem as friendly anymore, it was, after all, a big, possibly haunted, mansion.

Just as you consider turning back and spending the night at Purgatory Hall you receive a new text from Simeon. It’s a picture of the sorcerer in the cooking apron holding a pot filled with purple mess followed by a shaking emoji. It would’ve been a really cute pic if not for sorcerer’s sinister kitchen abilities. After doing quick math you came to the conclusion that a few ghosts would make for a safer company than whatever would come out of that dish and with that you arrived at the door of the House of Lamentation.

All the lights off definitely didn’t make it the cosiest but with the help of a tub of ice cream and a few blankets, you should make it through the night. The moonlight was seeping through the windows as you were walking down the hallway towards your room. The D.D.D still keeps buzzing as some stupid argument is going off in the group chat so you just throw it onto the bed and grab some random shorts and a t-shirt to change into. As you were taking your pants off suddenly you realized what else could you do now, that no one would interrupt. Living with seven men constantly fighting for your attention was amusing but makes it hard to focus on your more human needs sometimes. Especially after Asmo made it clear that they could tell, apparently it was something with how you smell, if you were getting busy with yourself. He did it of course in his own style, by acting hurt that you didn’t invite him, he wasn’t shaming you for it after all. Still, it did make you a bit uncomfortable.

Now was the perfect occasion you thought, taking your bra off and looking at your breasts in the mirror. Your panties suddenly feeling too tight, also were removed. Laying down on the bed your fingers started ghosting the area around your thigs, and when they finally reached your pussy you let out a content huff.

The sight of your laundry basket’s content being thrown all over the floor made you promise to yourself that you’ll clean your room tomorrow.

With the ice cream on your mind, you make your way into the kitchen only to be surprised by the light coming from the library. Certain that you didn’t turn it on you make you way there with a slipper in a hand as a weapon. Not the deadliest one but if you were to go then at least it wouldn’t be unarmed. Taking a look inside it would seem that the room was empty. What got your attention was the not-so-secret door to Lucifer’s study. After coming closer you could hear the sound of one of his favourite vinyl’s coming from inside. Maybe he finished earlier and came home while you were changing?

You start walking down the stairs and just after you hit the final one you realise how indecent you must be looking. Why would you wear a bra on a night dedicated fully to eating ice cream and watching Netflix? Remembering your earlier activities made you feel even more embarrassed. Relief washes over you when you notice that he’s not inside. You sigh and make your way upstairs again. It was stupid, you’re a grown woman and if he can’t stand the sight of your tits under a shirt then that’s his problem you thought.

Just in case if he was going to flip out, it was Lucifer, after all, you skip towards the kitchen so you can grab the ice cream and bury yourself in your bed, away from any judging eyes, with a Disney movie on.

You grab the tub, close the fridge and turn around only to be met with the sight of the eldest of the demon brothers standing in the doorway, his wolf tail waging slowly behind him. His large frame blocking it almost completely.

“You’re home.” He speaks after a minute, still not taking his eyes off of you.

“You too.” Your reply and put the tub on the counter. His red, glistening eyes follow your every move, slowly taking in your figure. One of his eyebrows rides up and he smirks. After a moment you realize what is he thinking about and try to justify yourself forgetting all about your earlier agenda.

“I thought that I was gonna be…” you nervously stutter.

“…Alone?” He finishes for you and takes a teasing step in your direction, making you automatically take a step back.

“Yeah.”

“It would appear so,” he got closer again, his tail still slowly waging. “that you were wrong.”

“I uuuh…” the building up tension started clouding your mind. Your back finally met the counter and if he took just one more step you’d be trapped.

His predatory gaze didn’t leave your face for a moment, you could tell he was tense for some reason, the pair of wolf ears on his head kept twitching and his nose was scrunched up. It really did give him a canine-like expression.

A gloved hand came to rest at the counter next to where you were standing, effectively cutting any escape routes. He leans in and you can take a better look at him now. It’s not only that he’s stressed, it looks almost like he’s holding back? There is some sweat on his face and his upper lip quivers as if he wanted to bare his teeth. He smells different too but you can’t quite tell what is it.

Not saying anything he dipped his head down and brought his nose to your neck making a trail towards your jaw. His other hand came to rest on your side, making you shiver and effectively grounding you in place. Your still sensitive pussy was beginning to get wet again.

“Did you know that this form enhances every smell around me? And my dear, I must admit that right now…” He made another trial, this time towards your clothed breasts. “… you smell absolutely divine.”

The coldness of his hand makes you arch your back a little when he lifts your shirt and his fingers wander towards your nipple. His body towers over you and he chuckles when he feels you squirm.

“Or maybe you knew? Maybe when you say you were sure no one was home…” He lifts up your shirt and tosses it somewhere on the ground. “you’re lying.” His hand now fully palms your breast and you can feel his tongue on your neck. He pulls back and after eyeing your dishevelled form before kissing you. His body presses onto yours so you have to lean back again. The hand previously caging you against the counter now make your way under the waistband of your shorts. You moan into his mouth at the new feeling, the wetness between your legs now making itself even more known.

He suddenly steps back and you quietly whine.

“Tell me, my love, were you hoping for something?” He makes his way around you, he’s standing next to the fridge and the light starts leaking into the corridor again. He chuckles again when you shot him a confused look. “For someone to come home and find you in your room while you’re touching yourself?”

Before you can answer he puts his hands on your bare waist again and holds you against his chest again. He buries his face in your hair.

“Were you hoping it would be me?” One of his hands now palms your ass and you whimper. “Or perhaps you were waiting for one of my brothers?” He growls out and you shiver in his hold.

“Lucifer…”

“How am I supposed to control myself when you’re right in front of me smelling this way?”

“What way?” you mutter out.

“Like you’re practically begging for me to take you.” His hold on you tightens. He pulls back just enough so that he can look you in the eyes. The way his pupils shrink makes him look like a predator waiting to pounce at its prey. “I’ll give you a chance, though I doubt you can make it.” He smiles mischievously and steps back again.

“A chance?” You look at him confused but the way he puts his ears down and smiles while showing you his teeth is rather meaningful.

“Come on little lamb.” His gaze darkens. “Run from the big bad wolf.”

You freeze for a second and wait for him to start laughing but he just keeps looking at you hungrily. It dawns on you that he’s serious and you take a hesitant step back. He takes one too and smirks when you take another one.

Next thing you know you’re dashing out of the kitchen and, wearing only your sleeping shorts, make your way to the living room. You can tell that he’s behind you, probably going slower to give you an actual chance. Dashing behind the couch seems like a good enough idea so you do. You can hear his footsteps when he stalks into the room.

“Come on MC, is that as far as you can go?” You can hear his tail wagging in the air.

You peek out from your hiding spot and wait for him to turn around, the second he does, you start running again, this time towards the dark stairs. Your breathing heavy as your veins fill with adrenaline at the sound of a pleased growl and footsteps chasing after you. Fear and excitement finally catch onto you as you make your way upstairs in the dark. At the top, you stop and take a quick look behind you but the only thing you can see in the darkness is the week gloom of Lucifer’s red eyes. You take off at the sight and find yourself in the dark hallway leading to the brother’s rooms. Instead of running you lean against the wall next to the entrance and try to ease your breathing, hoping that when Lucifer enters the dark space he’ll assume you run towards your room.

Only now you have noticed that your body trembles with excitement and at this point you’re really unsure whether you really want to keep running.

Just as you hoped for, Lucifer goes right towards the end of the hallway.

“MC, my dear, do you really think you can hide from me?” You take a chance and as he’s talking, quietly open the nearest door and slip inside.

Much to your dread turns out you entered the wolf’s den. You take a look around Lucifer’s room and try to figure out where can you hide. By now he probably already knows you’re not in your room. The wardrobe seems to be the safest choice so not thinking much you duck inside and close the door. Sitting in the darkness and trying to pick on any sounds you pant quietly. You didn’t notice before but the chase left you rather tired, especially the stair climbing.

The door creaks and you can hear Lucifer walking around the room checking the more obvious spots. The footsteps keep getting closer and you hold your breath.

“You smell like you’re in heat.” He opens the door and doesn’t spare you a second to try and run again as he picks you up. “Only a fool wouldn’t find you. Though I must say I didn’t expect you to try and hide in my room.”

His lips find yours as he hungrily kisses you, the chase must’ve riled him up as much as you. He carries you towards his bed and lays you down under him as his hands roam your body, following every curve and trying to take in the most of your form they can.

“If you want me to stop,” he breathes out between the open-mouthed kisses on your neck “tell me now.”

“Don’t stop, please.” You mewl out as his hand finds your nipple again. He rolls it between his fingers and you hiss at the sensation. He growls at your response and stops to take off his vest and shirt. As soon as he's back on top of your hands start roaming his warm chest catching onto whatever piece of him they can reach.

“You are…” he mumbles into your neck as he keeps sucking and biting on it, surely leaving bruises “…all I can think of.”

You moan when his mouth finds your other breast and your chest presses into it. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel his hand slide under your shorts and tug them down. He looks down at your naked, blushed form and smiles. That’s exactly how he likes seeing you best.

You try to sit up but he grabs your wrists and puts them against the bed next to your head with a growl. His knee rides up to press against your womanhood as he sucks on your collarbone, his teeth occasionally ghosting your skin. A string of mewls and moans escape you as you rut against his knee.

“That’ll show them.” He pulls back and takes a satisfied look at all the marks on your neck. His hands let go of your wrists and he sits at the edge of the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows only to see his malicious smile as he grabs your thigs and spreads you in front of his face. You shudder when the cold air meets your wet pussy. He shots you a dark look and stars kissing down your tigh not breaking eye contact for a second.

When he finally licks up between your folds you moan loudly and close your eyes at the sudden rush of pleasure. It seems to stir him up even more as instead of teasing you he stars hungrily lapping at your heat every few seconds taking a turn and circling your clit with his tongue instead.

More moans fall out of your lips sometimes mixed with his name. Your hips shudder and your body instinctively tries to back off but his grip on your legs, which he put on his shoulders, doesn’t give you a chance to move back.

“My name.” He snarls between licking up your folds and sucking on your clit.

“Luci… Ah! Lucifer!” You keep moaning, if anyone came home by now they could definitely hear you.

You throw your head back as Lucifer’s tongue enters you feeling your orgasm approaching.

“I’m close.” You manage to form a sentence in between the chanting of his name and moaning.

He doesn’t reply instead he slides two of his fingers inside of your pussy stretching you out and starts fingering you as he sucks on your clit. After a minute the heat building inside your tummy breaks out and you wriggle in his grasp and moan loudly as your orgasm washes over you.

“Lucifer.” You pant heavily, your pussy twitching around his fingers. He looks up at you but doesn’t stop and you shudder from the overstimulation. “I need more.”

He growls but eventually pulls back and you whine at the sudden emptiness falling back onto the bed. You hear the rustling of clothing and again, he’s on top of you kissing you passionately. You expect him to cage you in between his arms again but instead, he wraps his hands around your waist and turns you around lifting your ass up. His hands guide your back down and you bury your head into the sheets waiting with anticipation. You clench with excitement as he lines himself up with you.

First, he pushes his tip in and you arch towards him, your body wanting more. He puts his hands on your hips squishing softly and slowly pushes deeper making you stretch around every inch of him. You know that he is big but feeling him inside especially in this position is overwhelming. After a while, he finally bottoms out. You turn your blissed face towards him. He can’t seem to stop starring at you, teary eyes and a red blush coating your cheeks. You give him a nod and he exhales softly. Slowly he pulls out and then pushes back all the way in again making you cry out into the sheets.

“Lucifer! Luci… Ah!” you moan loudly as he sets a pace. He leans forward so that he can press himself against you and keeps slamming into your pussy, this way he hits so deep that you’re afraid he’ll reach your cervix. You roll your hips against his and your hands dig into your hair. One of his hands snakes in between your legs and rubs your clit which makes you push against him even more.

“Lucifer!” His name keeps rolling off your lips.

“Louder” he commands as he feels you clenching around his dick. You cry out into the sheets. The thrusting of his hips picks up with speed and the only thing keeping you from falling onto the bed is the grasp of his hands on your hips, his hands dig into your skin making you wonder if he’ll bruise you there too.

Suddenly he pulls out and flips you around, being on top again. His mouth immediately finds your neck again as he lifts your legs so that you wrap them around him.

“Lucifer!” You scream as he bites your neck pushing you past your second orgasm.

“Mine. Mine. Only mine.” He keeps chanting. You cry out even more sensitive now as he keeps pounding into you. “You wanted me to take you like this didn’t you? MC?”

“Yes! Yes, Lucifer!” Your voice getting hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.

“Tell me who you belong to dear?” He bites down on your collarbone hard enough to draw blood.

“You! Lucifer!” You cry out getting close once again. The only thing you can think about by now is Lucifer and his cock inside of you.

He licks at the wound he just made and with that you cum once more as he hits that one spot inside of you. As you shudder under him he finally reaches his release and with a groan spills inside of you panting heavily. He pulls back from your neck to look at you. Face wet from tears, hair a mess with a bruised neck and a bleeding wound on your collarbone. He kisses you once again and finally pulls out making you whine at the loss. His seed keeps leaking out of your core.

“Don’t move.” He says, now with a gentle look on his face. “I’ll bring a towel.”

You nod and pant heavily as you try to calm your body down. He’s back after a minute and soon enough you’re clean. He pulls you with him under the sheets and you settle into his arms, laying your head onto his chest. He puts his arms around you rubbing little circles into your skin.

“MC?” he asks hesitantly.

“Hm?” you’re almost asleep at this point.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” You mutter and hear him chuckle as you doze off.

#obey me!#OBEY ME #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mc

83 notes · View notes

cuinnamonbun · 4 years ago

Note

Hi again! I got another HC idea. 😌

How would the brothers + angels react to a laidback Muslim MC whose also really violent? Like their mood switch flips instantly lmao

Aye, wassup friend! Regarding your ask, at this point you’re just describing ME lmao, somedays I really do just wake up and choose violence 😭 aite let’s do this 😎

The Demon Brothers + Angels Reacting to a Laidback Muslim!MC Turning Violent

Lucifer

At first this man loves MC and the amount of calm and composure that they have

Though he finds it irritating when he’s threatening them and they would just look up at him with the most dull expression on their face (like seriously human, you should be SCARED)

But still, with how chaotic his brothers are, he appreciates a collected and peaceful demeanour whenever he finds it and MC is breath of fresh air even if he won’t admit it

Silence with them always felt comforting and never awkward

One day, he noticed that MC was rather tense and rigid and had asked them if they were fine to which they replied yes through gritted teeth

Sensing that perhaps they were not in the best of moods, he let them go only to hear them politely ask Mammon to get out of their room

Of course our resident dumbass (affectionate) refused in an attempt to tease them, only to be YEETED from the room and into the hallway where Lucifer was standing with a bewildered look on his face

MC was standing by the door with a dark look in their eyes and the most sinister looking scowl that could rival Satan’s before they slammed the door shut in their faces

When he finally got over his shock, he would be extremely, extremely enthused

He will now spend his free time trying to rile up MC just so he can see them lose their temper again

He couldn’t help himself. He knew that Islam emphasises heavily on the virtues of patience as a sign of piety and so he just assumes that MC would just,,,,never yield to anything

This is when he realises he has a corruption kink ok sorry not sorry

May or may not pop a boner if/when he succeeds and they blow up (not literally) in his face

Mammon

He adores this human. Partly because he’s head over heels in love with them he hardly has anyone to drag with him along with his schemes and this human just seems to be down for anything, and mostly because they’re always so coolheaded

It allows him to pull off his plans without a hitch because MC’s composure allows them to be able to think up a quick solution whenever the two of them inevitably face a brick wall during one of Mammon’s schemes

With them around, Mammon would be 15% richer than he would be if he went alone so he’s keeping them around thank u very much

The first time he witnessed them turn violent is when the two of them were hanging out in his room when Levi bursted in, screaming his head off about how Mammon stole his wallet (he didn’t) and that the limited edition Ruri-chan collection was dropping soon in 24 hours and yada yada yada

And when he found out that Mammon didn’t, in fact, steal it, Levi wouldn’t apologise, oh no no no no. Rather, he would proceed to insult and degrade his brother until MC finally have had enough and went. off.

Seriously, the two demons were so shocked that the usually chill human was now on their feet and threatening to ‘deck Levi over the head WWE style if he didn’t quit it with the insults’ that the two brothers just stopped arguing

If Mammon weren’t so astounded, he would’ve found the whole thing hilarious because here is one of the rulers of Hell, turning white as a sheet as he is being cussed out by a small, furious human

After their long-winded (and frankly terrifying) speech that were riddled with not-so-subtle threats, Levi mumbled an apology and quickly shuffled out of the room with his tail between his legs and MC just plopped back down on his couch with their usual dull expression back on their face as if they didn’t just go on a tirade just seconds prior

Mammon’s love for the MC increased tenfold right then and there

Leviathan

Oh, you’re really quiet and laidback? Cool.

He doesn’t really care about it but he does enjoy having them around during his gaming sessions or when he needs a buddy to watch anime with him because they’re the only ones who would listen to him prattle on about theories and endings whilst enjoying the game/anime

He also vents to them A LOT and is the first person he seeks whenever he’s annoyed or frustrated by his brothers

He was heading over to the living room for movie night with his brothers and MC when he found his brothers all bickering with one another (no shocker there) and MC sitting on the couch reading a hard cover book

Of course, once they saw him enter, he was immediately dragged into the argument about which movie they were gonna watch

Now as the otaku of the family, Levi’s pretty very vocal and highly opinionated about the type of film they should watch for movie night and he dislikes it whenever someone would argue with him on his choice of film

So when Satan told him to his face that his movie selection sucked and he should just leave his input out, Levi would be so, so, SO offended and upset which was evident from his expression alone

Before he could defend himself though, a book suddenly went hurtling through the air and hit Satan right in the middle of his forehead like a bullseye

At first Satan was FURIOUS but it quickly died down when all the brothers finally realised where the book had come from: MC’s direction

They all turned to see an irritated look on their usually placid face and dominant arm raised as if they’d just thrown a shot put

“Oops. My hand slipped,” they said monotonously before sauntering away from the now-quiet living room

Levi is now cautious of accidentally angering MC, but he can’t help that moe feeling that MC actually threw that book in his defense

Satan

As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan is extremely attuned to people’s rage and MC is no different

He was honestly the only one out of his brothers who wouldn’t be surprised if one day MC woke up and chose violence

I mean, he usually keeps his wrath under wraps, hiding it well with an easy smile and friendly demeanour and he could tell that MC was the same

He knew that no one human could ever have that high amount of patience, especially when dealing with his brothers, doesn’t matter if they’re religious or not

In fact, he was waiting for the day he would finally see them snap and release all the pent up rage he knew they bottle carefully within themselves

Of course it happened when Asmo would not stop pestering MC about going to the club

As MC is a Muslim, it’s not a surprise that they’re against going to places like clubs, casinos or bars

Usually MC was able to tune out Asmo’s pleas like white noise but it was when Asmo turned to physically dragging them that became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back

The poker-faced MC now looked more like an Avatar of Wrath than Satan himself

Satan only watched in amusement as MC dug their heels in the pavement, cradled a confused Asmo’s face in their hands...and pulled his cheeks with a bright smile and the most ominous look in their eyes before telling him ‘fuck off before I proceed to give all of ur prized makeup and skincare for Mammon to sell and use our pact to make u watch as he earns his cash’ in the sweetest way possible

Asmo no longer pesters them to join him clubbing

Satan: I’d just like to say, I’m your biggest fan

Asmodeus

Asmo loves loves LOVES having this human around because they always let him use them as his own personal doll

That means impromptu fashion shows in his room, makeovers, spa days, mani-pedis you name it

So he always assumed they were this paragon of patience and stoicism, never once losing their cool

The first time he saw them turn violent was when the two of them were walking down to the kitchen with Asmo chatting their ear off about some scandal this succubus has found herself in with these two demon best friends while they just listened and occassionally chiming in

When they reached the kitchen however, they found Beel by the kitchen, no shocker there

But MC had stopped dead in their tracks because right there in his hands was the chilled lemon soufflé that they’d been making for Lucifer (upon his request)

It’d taken them hours to perfect the dessert to Lucifer’s standards and they’d left it in the fridge to chill before serving it to him for tea time

So when Beel raised the now-empty glass to show to MC with a happy look on his face, it was enough to send them over the edge and scream bloody murder to the brothers’ surprise

Beel will apologise sheepishly but MC will force him to remake the dessert without letting him eat anything until it is perfect

It was torture for him and Asmo vows to never unintentionally set them off again because...holy shit MC

Beelzebub

Beel is a chill dude most of them time when he’s not hungry

All he wants is for his brothers to stay safe, happy and healthy and he’s a happy demon 🥺

He likes having a laidback MC around whether it’s during studying, snacking or even when he’s working out

Their presence is always so calming and comforting for him since their lax nature just reminds him so much of Belphie

The first time he saw them truly angry was when they’d found out that their favourite sweater that they brought back from the human world had been destroyed and discarded in the trash

As it turned out, Belphie had been rumaging through their room for something to snuggle with while MC had been away at Purgatory Hall and found their sweater

In an unfortunate string of events, a loose thread from the sweater had caught on the end of a door latch and the sleepy Belphegor hadn’t enough patience at the time to gently untangle it

Instead, he forcefully yanked it, causing the sweater to tear

Deciding that it’s better to just grab their blanket or something, Belphie discarded the article of clothing in the trash before stealing their blanket and stalking away to the attic for a nap

When MC found out, they. were. furious.

That means a lot of smashing, screaming and shouting until Beelzebub or Lucifer finally managed to calm them down

He’s sad that MC is so angry at his twin but he never wanted to see MC lose their temper like that ever again

Belphegor

Exam season was rapidly approaching at RAD and that means more assignments, quizzes and tests

For the average student, it also means sleepless nights, mental breakdowns and consuming a concerning amount of caffeine

For Belphegor, he simply couldn’t give a shit

No amount of exams is scary enough to get his ass out of bed and study

And like his other brothers, he assumed the same for MC

They always had that poker face on them as they studied and they never once argued or talked back to one of his brothers even though they were being so annoying and irritating (to him) and were clearly disturbing their revision time

He sees the hard work that they’re putting in their studies and reputation and even though they hide it behind a blasé mask, he knew they were exhausted

It was up to Belphegor to recognise their cues and force them to take breaks by napping with him

He was peacefully napping in the common room beside a studying MC, patiently waiting for their 25 minute break from their pomodoro session when Lucifer had walked in and begun to bark chores at them that even woke up the younger demon beside them

And to their surprise, rather than wordlessly carrying out his commands like the demons had expected them to, MC slammed their pen down on the coffee table and yelled at him

MC: you know what, Lucifer? Why don’t you take your ***** and ****** then shove it up your ****** and let’s not forget to *****, you little ***** ***** *****!!!

Belphegor had never been more proud and concerned for this little human who was far too brave for their own good

Simeon

It’s said by everyone who knew him that Simeon is always so calm and composed, always greeting everybody with a kind smile and gentle eyes

He never once loses his cool, but that doesn’t mean that he does not feel anger from time to time

Like Satan, Simeon is understanding of MC’s anger and would never reprimand them for blowing up

Anger is healthy after all

He has expressed concern before for MC’s mental wellbeing as they were far too patient for their own good

Of course, in all his years of living, he has seen remarkable humans with superhuman patience before like the Prophets Muhammad and Jesus (peace be upon them) but even that was because they had divine intervention

The first time he saw them finally snap was when the two of them were enjoying a pleasant walk towards the House of Lamentation from RAD when Mammon and Levi appeared out of nowhere and began fighting again

It had been non-stop screaming, insulting and fighting with these two for almost three weeks now and MC was so, so, sooo close to yeeting them off the side of a cliff

Their composure finally snapped when Mammon and Levi had been roughhousing so close to them that they accidentally stepped on Simeon’s robe (or is it more of a cape?? idk) and tore a small hole in it

Simeon has never been more surprised to see MC roar at them and begin a stern lecture that reminded him so terribly of Lucifer

He was so amused that he couldn’t help but laugh when they forced the two to apologise to him before dragging them over to the House by their ears, completely ignoring their desperate cries for mercy

It was a hilarious sight and he would’ve recorded that entire scene on his DDD if he weren’t so hopeless with technology

Luke

MY SONNN

Luke is reminded of Simeon when he first got to know MC

They were always so collected and level-headed even though they were thrown in Hell out of the blue for an exchange programme that lasts a whole year

He never understood how they could be so chill with living with 7 demons under one roof though like??? hello????? human are u functioning well?

But he likes having them around because they’re always so nice to him and always keen on spending time with him

Which is where he finally saw them snap

The two of them were carrying their cupcakes that they’d made for their picnic date alongside Simeon and Solomon and had left them on the table for a few minutes while they went to gather the rest of the supplies

They came back to see that the cupcakes had been ravaged by Mammon, Levi and Beel who all looked so pleasantly happy munching on their hard work

Luke was extremely distraught and upset over this and protective MC will NOT tolerate this kind of behaviour to their son

So using the power of the pacts, they forced the brothers to grovel at his feet and apologise by doing whatever Luke wants them to do

He wants a glass of water? LEVI GET UR ASS TO THE KITCHEN RN! He wants pizza? MAMMON U RUN UR CUT LIL BUTT TO HELL’S KITCHEN AND GET HIM A LARGE PIZZA STAT! He wants to be fed? BEEL U BETTER MOVE THAT FOOD FROM UR MOUTH SON AND FEED IT TO HIM ASAP!

Luke secretly enjoys it but he still can’t help but feel kinda bad for the brothers and slightly scared of MC now

94 notes · View notes

drev-the-procrastinator · 4 years ago

Text

the mando fic for the wip title thing

As promised, I made this into its own post. @purplecarseat and @lastwordbeforetheend, here thanks for the asks, and hope you like this!

Right, so the Mando fic!

This is the first Mando fic I came up with, not too long after the season 2 finale, and I've been kinda calling this like... the opposite of a fix-it fic? Like by coming up and possibly writing this I'm doing the opposite of manifesting, I'm manifesting for this to never happen in canon ever, you know :') This one's gonna be long too, I might put it under a read more. We'll see!

EDIT: This is definitely going under a read more, it's like 4k words or something. It's like, half notes, half almost-prose, so um. H. Hope you like it? Buckle up boys, this is a long one ajhdalsfhklaskfja

Right, so! Hm. Where to start.

Let's try this. It's about 100 years after the season 2 finale. We follow Grogu, entering a bar or an inn or some other establishment. He's now maybe a teenager - I'm not sure how age works on his species - but he travels the galaxy alone, doing what? I'm not sure! He trained in the ways of the Jedi from when Luke picked him up to the destruction of the Jedi academy in the hands of Kylo Ren. He'd perhaps finished the necessary training by then, or was away by complete chance, but he survived, and spent the next few years running and hiding from the First Order. That threat is gone now, but he's still touring the galaxy.

Maybe he's still looking for his dad, even though he knows, logically, that humans only live for a hundred years if they're lucky, and he was already older than his dad when they met, but... Or maybe he's looking for other Force-sensitive children? The Jedi way doesn't seem to be working since they've now failed spectacularly twice in a rather short tim, so maybe he's kind of doing his own thing. Maybe he's going to the children and teaching them to control their abilities and to live with them. He's trying to make sure no one else has to be separated from their parents and family, like he was.

Anyway! He's been going around for quite some time now, and now when he walks into this establishment, he spots all kinds of patrons, including... Mandalorians. It's not that unusual - I don't know what happened to Mandalore, but there are more Mandalorians around now, he's witnessed their growth in his time travelling the galaxy, and he comes across them from time to time now. He tries to talk with them whenever he can, which is usually when they're not hostile towards him, which isn't that rare! They are, however, rather guarded towards outsiders, which he knows he is, he did knowingly choose the path of the Jedi all those years ago after all.

Even so, he has learnt things about Mandalorian culture from those chats, and some Mando'a, too, but not much. Sometimes he's just had to sit near a group of Mandalorians to try to learn Mando'a by listening to them, when he's been desperate. He has learnt a lot though, different beliefs, dialects, clan names, clan signets - he's seen dozens of those, heard many stories behind them. These Mandalorians all have some part of their armor painted red - honoring a parent, he knows. Maybe Grogu doesn't see the signet well at first? He's too far away. The shape is a kind he doesn't remember seeing before, but it's somehow familiar. Maybe he creeps closer, gets a table near them, sits down to eat his food and to listen, brush up on his Mando'a, if they'll speak any, it's not always the case.

Then. Suddenly. He hears it. A name he only vaguely remembers, but remembers anyway, despite hearing it only once or twice ages ago. A hundred years. Idk if it's just the Mandos in red beskar, or if they have someone else there too, but someone calls one of the Mandalorians by their surname. The sound of it cuts through the chatter of the establishment. Djarin. One of the Mandalorians was called Djarin.

"Tell them it's from Din Djarin-”

"-Carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it-"

It's like he's been hit by lightning, energy crawling all over his skin, like he's supercharged. Hope surges in him, but dies as quickly. It's been too long, and surely, if it were him, he would've recognized him? And it's been too long. Even so, he turns in his seat to look at the group. He's close enough now that he spots it. The sigil, on the right pauldron. The vaguely familiar shape.

It's a mudhorn.

-Him, in his small pod, straining, lifting a giant horned creature, using the Force for the first time in years, after the Dark, Dad looking at him in wonder, the two shiny pieces of his armor covered in mud-

Grogu doesn't sense the familiar, safe presence he remembers, but it must be the same signet. It must. One of the Mandalorians turns their helmet just a bit but he can tell they're looking at him now, so he turns to his food and tries to merely look fascinated by the beskar, even if it is kind of rude, and not like. Like he's seen a ghost, which is probably pretty close to how he feels.

He probably finishes his food - it would feel rude to eat when others can't - and makes his way to the table where the Mandalorians are. He speaks Mando'a to them to get their attention, ljust a greeting, and they're surprised he knows any, and the discussion starts from there. He tells them he's quite fascinated by the culture and has taken any chance he gets to talk with Mandalorians. Even if his Mando'a isn't very good. He says he hasn't seen their signet before, and they tell him it's a mudhorn. Clan Mudhorn.

They introduce themselves, just a little, they're still cautious, but give their first names at least? One of them, a younger boy, a teenager maybe, is called Din, though he's not the one referred to as Djarin. Grogu remarks it's not a very traditional Mandalorian name, to which they tell him it's probably not, as the boy is named after the founder of their clan, and he was a foundling himself. "Oh", is all Grogu can say, because he's sure now, these people are from his clan. Their clan. Their little clan of two.

He asks about the story behind the signet, and they tell him quite eagerly! It's grown and been both simplified and exaggerated, polished, but Grogu can recognize the battle he remembers. He's in it too. Saving their ancestor - saving Dad - and to his surprise, the story doesn't end there, but instead includes also the betrayal and the redemption, when he was exchanged for beskar and when he was rescued. He didn't guess Dad would've felt so guilty about giving him away; he'd rescued him, Grogu had already forgiven him then.

They're still a little cautious, but maybe they've heard form other mandos that the little green guy with the big ole ears that speaks Mando'a is a cool dude, so it doesn't take that much for Grogu to get some more stories out of them. Like how their clan started to grow, a.k.a. how Din found his second foundling, and the third, and how he was the Mand'alor for a sec, and how he did not like it at all, and of other things he did, and then, eventually, Grogu gathers the courage to ask what happened to him.

But about the foundlings. How the clan began to grow. If you thought Din "Mandadlorian" Djarin could turn off his dad instinct once it was activated, you'd be sorely mistaken. Granted, it took some time, but once the wound of losing literally everything scabbed over a little and the pain of having to have given up his child eased somewhat, he did find more kids for himself to parent.

I think the first foundling would've been, hm, not quite as young a child? I think maybe she were a teenager, or even a young adult. She wasn't a foundling, per say, but Din probably took her under his wing anyway? Maybe she was a young Mandalorian from a similar covert as the one he'd been in, but she'd survived some attack on it, as the only one, and crossed paths with Din, who then first was just gonna teach her to, idk, do bounty hunting, help her join the Guild, but then she stuck around. She would've already had her own name, so she's of the line the younger Din Grogu met is a part of.

The second would've been a small child again, this would've been around the time of the First Order's existence? They would've come across a village destroyed by an attack by the order, and from the ruins Din would've discovered a young child. Not much older than Grogu was, really. He would've taken them in, and raised them. Eventually he did adopt them both, and this younger child would've been given the name Djarin, because they wouldn't have found their original name, other than the first name. And the first child would've gotten married and the spouse would've joined the clan, and they'd found more foundlings, as would Din, too, eventually, I'm sure, and not all of them were kids? But he probably adopted them anyway. With the Mandalorian adoption vow.

There would've had to be a realization from him, though, I think at first he took his time saying the vows because he hadn't said it to Grogu when he'd had the chance and he would've felt like it'd been a betrayal to say it to these kids but not his son, the one who taught him to love like a parent. But he would get, quite quickly, that him loving these kids doesn't take away of the love he has for Grogu, and that it's not right by them that he would reserve a place in his heart only for one child. He can and should love all of them, and he does realize this, and does adopt them, and loves them all like the bestest single space dad he is. Grogu is happy to hear that; he was such a good parent to him that he's glad that other kids have had the chance to have someone love and protect them the same way he was loved and kept safe. He does feel a pang of sadness as he does everytime he hears of the adoption vow, and feels a little as if he's been forgotten since they don't know his name in the stories, but he does know they only had a relatively short time together, so it's no wonder then, if compared to the many years the others have spent with Dad, he had been a little forgotten.

The way the founder died, though. Family is important to all Mandalorians, but seems to be even more so to Clan Mudhorn, Grogu observes. When he hears about the story of the clan signet, they tell him that's not the only story everyone in the clan knows by heart. There's also the story of how the founder died, and the first time he's not brave enough to ask and no one offers to tell him, but later he gathers his courage and does ask. And they tell him.

Grogu hears of the restless times of the rise of the First Order. The chaos. Bloodshed. Tyranny. The clan had been more or less in hiding on a planet, trying to lay low and stay out of trouble, but they'd been found and attacked. For the beskar, for some other reason? Were they on Mandalore? Was that attacked again, by the order? Maybe? Whatever the reason, it had been calm, too calm, like the calm before the storm, and then the attackers had come. The founder had died protecting his family, the Mandalorians tell Grogu, he'd bought them time to escape.

He'd saved the oldest of the foundlings, his first daughter, really, who'd been the mother of the eldest of the Mandalorians Grogu met in the inn, an older woman going by the voice and what the Force was telling him. Her mother had been pregnant with her at the time of the attack, and her life was directly saved by the founder of their clan, Din Djarin. Grogu's Dad.

It's like a thread, connecting Grogu and his dad and this woman, through the decades. Something concrete, tangible proof that he, Din, Dad, had lived and been alive and existed in this world. Sometimes Grogu thinks it might all have been a dream he dreamed up in between hiding from the Empire and hiding from the Order, because a year feels like such a short time for him, sometimes, and it has been so long. But no. This person is proof. His father had saved her. She is alive because he existed. Just as Grogu is.

The final thing the founder had done before going into battle, they tell Grogu, had been to hand an object to his eldest daughter, something that'd been the Child's, and to make sure he would get it. And she had promised. That's the reason this story has been passed on with the story of the signet, to keep the promise and deliver the object to the Child, should their paths someday cross.

What happened to the Child, Grogu asks - he doesn't know if they haven't passed on his name or if they just don't want to share it with an outsider - and the Mandalorians tell him the clan founder tried to keep the child safe, but he wasn't strong enough and failed, and even when he rescued the child, he knew he couldn't provide for him in the ways the child needed, so he was given to the Jedi to raise. This is what happened, Grogu knows, but his heart aches to hear Dad thought he wasn't good enough. Grogu would've gone back, he tried, after the temple was destroyed, he's been trying, but...

And he tells them that it's not so simple. That even if the founder failed, he still came back for the child and saved him, and let him choose his own path, and loved him so much and so purely that he was able to let him go, to let him follow the path he'd chosen. And that he was the greatest buir the child could have asked for, and that anytime the child was terrified, anytime they were scared, anytime they felt they were not brave enough to take another step, there was the beloved, familiar voice telling them to not be afraid, and always the child found the courage. And the child tried to come back, he really did, but the galaxy was so big and the child so small and he could not find his way back until it was too late.

And it seems like the older Mandalorians had guessed, by now, but Grogu takes out the mythosaur pendant he's had all these years, and tells them it's from Din Djarin.

And they welcome him home.

Later, when they take Grogu to the rest of the clan he is introduced to everyone. There are so many. Their clan of two has grown so big. There are more than one species, too. Many foundlings. Not all choose to follow the Way, and the ones who do not are let go, to find their own paths, and loved all the same.

He asks what they did to his Dad's armor. Most of it went to the foundlings - of this clan and of others who might've needed it - but for two parts. The right pauldron, which is now passed on from clan leader to the next, with the original clan signet, and the helmet. They'd thought the helmet was destroyed, it was stolen by the people who'd attacked their clan way back then, but they'd recently heard rumours of a helmet of pure beskar found in some stashes of the First Order that had been unearthed somewhere. No one knows where it is, though, but they're planning on getting it back, someday, somehow. Grogu promises his help in that endeavour.

The clan also finally fulfills the eldest daughter's promise. The object is delivered to the Child. Grogu sees it and kind of wants to cry.

It's the ball. The knob. From the Razor Crest. He takes it and probably does cry a little. It has so many memories written into every tiny scratch and groove. He thanks them, but when they offer him a place to sleep he declines and goes to the inn or his ship. He is not Mandalorian, he chose the path of the Jedi, and that's it, he thinks, sadly. He doesn't think he can really be a part of this clan, this family, because he chose not to be, you know? He's pretty sure you have to be born or brought into the Mandalorian Creed, to be raised in it, or at least adopted. He hasn't been, or someone would've mentioned it if he had, and as if he'd ever call anyone else his buir. No way. So, this is it, he thinks, he knows what happened to Dad, he can move on now, he guesses.

That night, before bed, he examines the ball again. It looks a little strange to him, not as he remembers. Didn't it have a hole in it where it got screwed onto the gear stick on the Crest? It did, it must have. Grogu remembers turning it with the Force, around and around until Dad noticed and gave it to him. It doesn't have it now. That's strange. It's like... it's been filled in with something.... He fiddles with it and he must press or nudge something, or maybe it was the Force he used, but something pops out. It's an old fashioned holo-stick? Like an usb stick, but like, space-y.

It takes him some time until he finds a player (or maybe we'll just have the ball play it, idk) and he plugs it in one night, alone on his ship (or that same night if we skip this ahdkshd). A hologram flickers to life. It works! There's a small moment of triumph before his breath freezes. That's Dad. In the hologram. The armor and the helmet and the voice. All of it. Just like in his memories, just blue and flickering and transparent as holos are. But it's Dad.

Grogu doesn't know when it was recorded, and he doesn't particularly care. He just listens to Dad's familiar, soothing voice.

What he tells him, though. If Grogu is seeing this, that means he couldn't keep his promise.

"I'll see you again. I promise."

Ni ceta, ner ad'ika, he says, he hopes he can destroy the stick when they meet again in person and he can tell this to the kid face to face, but it has been. Restless. Recently. So he thought he'd make this, just in case.

He wants the kid to know he has said these words to himself a hundred times, in his mind, out loud, and they have been true in his heart since at least the moment he looked upon the face of the child he had risked it all for, faced stormtroopers and all of the guild, that one night on Nevarro, when he'd shielded him and gently stroked his tiny little head, content with that being the last thing he would ever get to see but full of guilt for not being able to give this child a better life. Since then, at the very least. But, even if he can't say them to the kid face to face, he swears he has said them and meant them every time. They will hold true until the end of time, even after he's gone and joined the manda, even after this recording is gone and no evidence remains.

Here, he pauses and takes off the helmet, and Grogu looks upon the face of his father for the second time in his life. He has gotten older, of course, grey streaks in his dark hair and wrinkles on his face, but he is still the same man, the same safe presence, with the same gentle sadness, the same overwhelming love in his eyes as that day that ended up being their final together in this world. Grogu has to blink away the tears blurring his vision to drink in the image of the one who saved him, one who protected him, one who cared for him as the first person after the Dark, the first one who loved him. His father. His buir. Dad.

Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu.

The hologram of his father smiles a little, almost like he can see Grogu's hand touch his face on the hologram, desperate to let him know he heard the words and has wished, known, to hear them for so long, and that he loves Dad, so, so much. Dad once again says he hopes he'll get to tell him in person, but that even if he won't, they'll be true all the same. He hopes Grogu has found his path and place in the world, and that whatever it may be, Jedi or Mandalorian or both or neither, he is, and will forever be, so proud of him.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. That's the last thing he says, before clearing his throat and a little awkwardly putting his helmet back on. It's so like Dad that Grogu almost smiles. When Dad leans forward to stop the recording, he stops for just a second with his head bowed. Grogu doesn't know if it was on purpose or just by coincidence, but it is the perfect spot for him to lean his head forward towards the hologram, and for a second, just a moment, he can almost feel the coolness of the beskar gently press against his own bare forehead, through the years and parsecs. Then the hologram flickers out, and he is left in the darkness.

However, there's a warmth in his chest he hasn't felt in a long, long time. It will stay there, forever, long after the members of their clan have passed and joined his father in the manda, centuries, even after the recording will be unusable and he will have long forgotten his father's face and the sound of his voice, the knowledge that he was there and he existed and he loved him, loved Grogu, so thoroughly and deeply and so much, that will stay.

Tonight, though, they're both bright and clear in Grogu's mind, and the warmth in his chest blazes like a thousand suns, and even as he sleeps, and his tears dry on his cheeks, he smiles.

And that's the fic.

Hope you liked it! I've also got like, hm, a companion piece? It's like a shorter one shot, about what exactly happened to Din, like how he died? I've got that written in actual prose, not this half-ramble-half-fic format, but I didn't add it here becuse this is long enough already. If you'd like to see that, too, hit me an ask or a reply! I'd be glad to share that too! Hurted me to reread.

Oh, and since I mentioned a song that inspired the space fic, this one's go two, too; Shelter by Porter Robinson & Madeon, and The Truth Is A Cave by The Oh Hellos, especially the bit that goes "I was blind to every sign you left for me to find", via the logic that like... after the stuff that went down at Jedi School, Din and Grogu kept looking for each other in the galaxy but kept just barely missing each other all that time, until his mortality caught up to Din, after which Grogu still kept looking. But, as he said, the galaxy is so big, and he is so small. There was also a third song for the part with the hologram, but I've forgotten what it was because I didn't write it down anywhere. :( It might have been Arctic by Sleeping At Last... I really don’t remember, and this annoys me a whole lot rn. Hm. >:/

In any case! If someone wants to see the part with Din, let me know, and I hope you enjoyed my ramble. Thanks for asking about it!

#the mandalorian #star wars #drev's fics #noromo mando #??? in theory at least sorry if i've misused your tag #anyway. this is. long.#sorry about that too lmao #I was not going to make this so long but it just happened #ohhh and you would not believe how much not remembering that one song pisses me off #I am so upset #why oh why didn't i write it down anywhere :(#anyway!!!! than u again for asking about it #and really if you wanna read the companion part do tell me and i'll happily post it in a reblog or smthn #I just didn't wanna put it here because it would've made this already-long post even longer #so. yep. that's it

21 notes · View notes

captainrexisboo · 4 years ago

Text

In A Single Night

Here it is, my lads and ladies and lovers. Only six hours after posting the promo lmao. Sitting at 1685 words, this is the first chapter to my WereRex AU (accidentally prompted by this ask), as well as my first installation of my Monster!Clones series (because apparently I have no self control).

This specific AU takes place during some vague historical time period, outside the Star Wars universe. More supernatural and magic than sci-fi. It is a romance! But, I don’t think it’ll be explicit. There will be very loose reminiscing of lovemaking, but no detail will be shared (yet- I mean c’mon, it’s me).

In this chapter, there will be warnings such as: body horror (not gore tho), the act of pinning, An Anxiety Attack, and An Actual Attack (again, no gore), and ANGST

Tag list will be in the replies, let me know if you would like to be added! Thank you all for your support, and as always any comments are welcome!!! Happy reading!!!

Edit: link to pt2

“Rex!”

Your whispered shout cut sharply through the still night air, not daring to be any louder. You’re not sure what you were afraid of, there was nothing in the woods to fear- except for the reason you were there to begin with. The pressure of the task at hand made your head swim, and the anxiety from terror made your hands shake, thinking of what you witnessed, your grandmother’s age-old guidance, and Cody’s blessing, it all came crashing down onto you in frantic waves.

You forced down a breath, the air scratching down your dried throat. Eyes frantic, you glanced in every direction, praying you found him before he found you. Your grip tightened on the rim of the helmet- of his helmet- and you stared into the blue jaig eyes that graced the front of the dome. It was the only bit of armor you brought with you, the most familiar to use, the only other clothes being his nightwear. The entire armored set and flowing blue mantle that he wore about the castle would’ve been too much to carry, too heavy. You needed to be able to move quickly, which was already proving difficult in the dense underbrush of the overgrown forest that he had escaped into, the leaves and low branches making your trek much noisier than you would have preferred. Dried twigs snapped under your boots, and every rustle from a night critter or chirps from various insects made you spin around with shoulders raised, terrified but ready to commit to the mission at hand- bring Captain Rex home.

You couldn’t believe it when only hours ago you witnessed the esteemed Captain fall into a frantic heap into the grass, a terrible aching cry ripping from his throat at the edge of town, the giant archway of the tall brick barrier that surrounded the village framing his crumpled body. He had been waiting for you, he had asked to meet under the light of the moon tonight while he was on break from patrol, just outside the town gates. You were about to run to the aid of your lover when something cold ran down your spine. An instinct to stop, stay out of sight- you’re unsure if it was the force of the raw wail or the way he seemed to be moving under his jacket...as if the muscles formed underneath his skin were realigning, morphing, writhing...growing.

You stood back, frozen, breathless. You couldn’t tear your widening eyes away. Especially when you saw the thick fabric of his pristine white coat begin to tear and rip, partially from the swelling of his form, but also shredding from the clawing of his shaking hands, as if the material were burning him and he needed it off as soon as possible. Underneath, instead of the tanned expanse of scarred skin you thought you knew so well, was a coating of shining blond hair, almost a soft golden in the glinting moonlight. His screaming had subsided, but you could still hear his rough, ragged, deep breathing, even from how far away you were. His grunting and groaning were painful, you could tell his throat was already scarring from the harmful strain of voice, and yet he still found it in himself to howl into the night sky, throwing his head back in a gruesome, bitter ballad to the full moon above you. As the furious sound waned from him, you could see his form slacken in relief. His breathing was heavy, laced with an outraged growling. He moved from being lurched over on his knees to gaining onto his haunches. Where you thought he would be shaky, you noticed him channeling whatever was left of himself into standing up with his signature battle-ready grace.

He stood tall, like usual...but with an extra two feet added to his height. The blond coating of, not hair, but thick, coarse fur, extended over his limbs, bristling in the cool of the night. His form not only stood taller, but also gave him a wider stance, even with hunched shoulders he was hulking, skin nearly ripping at the sudden growth. He rolled his neck and shoulders back, the sudden crack of settling bones finally bringing your lungs back to life as you took a gasping breath, a single stumbling step backwards- you were too loud. He whipped his head around to face you with a wild snarl, bounding to you, covering nearly two hundred meters in a matter of seconds. You shrieked, falling back onto the uneven cobblestone as he was suddenly on top of you, caging you beneath him in his new massive form, your heart hammering as whimpers stuttered past your quivering lips, his hot breath washing over your face, claws cracking into the hard rock next to your cheeks, threatening to cut at your hair.

His plush, bow-shaped lips curled over to showcase protruding fangs, mere inches away from your face as you flattened yourself against the cold hard ground, practically trying to will yourself beneath the surface before the unthinkable could happen. His face kept most of his shape, nose a little longer, a little pointed upwards, and jaw widened as if to take mauling bites out of anything- no, out of anyone. His normally cleanly shaven face was covered in the same fur as the rest of him, except for where his brows had been. The fur there was almost forming something like a dark mask, making a T-shape over his eyes and nose. All of this you could take in stride as he sniffed over you, you could stand any of this transformation as he kept you trapped below him, but it was his eyes that had you quaking.

His kind, honeyed stare, the irises that held such adoration and desire for you as you whispered promises of love and devotion to each other behind dark corners and between soft bed sheets- that was gone. No trace of your dearest paramour to be found. Instead it was a fiery golden gaze, a purely carnal type of hunger, and for what you couldn’t be sure. His pupils had shrunk into pinpoints, surveying you like a piece of meat, like a meal. He opened his mouth with a throaty growl, baring his teeth to you even more, craning down to your neck with thick saliva dripping from his maw. As his teeth skimmed over your flesh, just before they could pierce through, is when you finally found your voice, previously dammed from terror, choking out a broken, “Rex, please…”

He paused at his name. Holding over you, as still as the hanging moon, upright ear twitching in response to your begging. Your breath shakes in anticipation, tremors running through your otherwise petrified body. He rears his head back harshly, suddenly, letting out a grim bark, and you screw your eyes shut tight to brace for the searing pain of your ripping flesh...that never comes. After a thick moment of watching the synapses of nerves spark behind your eyelids, you blink them open, slowly shifting up onto trembling elbows just in time to see him disappear into the shadows of the trees.

You’re terrified.

You want to cry.

You don’t understand what’s happening, so you stay lying on the ground, curling in on yourself as you silently sob out his name. You roll to your side, letting fat tears stream down your face, throwing your hand over your mouth as you push out heaving breaths, seeing the sharply pierced stone next to your head, splintering cracks coming from each hole at the force with which they were made. You laid there for what felt like hours, alone, shaking, small under the laughing moon. Emotion wracked through you, storming through your mind and body until you were left rasping for precious oxygen, completely emptied of your tears, the streaks having marked their pathway down your cheeks and neck to under the collar of your shirt.

Something whispers at the back of your mind as you’re coming down from your rush, a suddenly clear vision of your childhood, your grandmother telling you stories of shapeshifting beasts. Simultaneously man and monster, both in body and soul. You had asked her before she tucked you into bed once, while you were throwing on the covers and trying to blink away fatigue to finish the tall tale, “Is there any way to change them back? Aren’t they still human under their fur?”

She looked wistful then, staring out the window of your bedside, looking up into the moon. A sensitive shine came across her gaze, delicately reflecting the candlelight as she spoke so quietly you had to strain to hear her, even in the hush of your bedroom.

“If there’s someone who loves the beast enough, despite knowing their cursed form, underneath the light of the stars they can present the fanged horror with clothes-”

“Clothes? Grandmere, that doesn’t sound very-”

“Very what? Extravagant? Magical?” she chuckled, a little broken, wiping away sitting tears on her lashes, “Child, love is the most magical thing in the world. If it’s love in the purest form, telling the beast to come home, it will leave it’s brutish whims behind and dutifully follow it’s love back to the safety of a warm bed.”

She touched the garish scar you knew hid under her blouse, drawing in a sharp, shaking breath as her fingers traced the marred pink flesh of her shoulder, “If it’s not true… they’ll leave you. They’ll lose their last bit of humanity in that moment. Make you wish you had spared the energy you’d used to find them to begin with.”

You crash back into reality, her warning sitting heavy in your mind. You finally sat up, still in the middle of the empty road, surrounded by the dark windows of closed shops showing you your ragged reflection. You dusted off, getting onto wobbling legs before stalking off towards the castle. More specifically, the soldiers’ dormitory.

If the memory held any truth, then you didn’t have much time. You had to find his brother.

71 notes · View notes

thepeakyfckingblinders · 5 years ago

Text

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary: n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed. As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable.

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes. Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!” Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love.

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong. And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!” That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-”

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them” Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch” Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?” Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?” Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her” Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders” As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @stassaurus, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent, @hp-hogwartsexpress

2K notes · View notes

purplecatghostposts · 4 years ago

Note

Omg PLEASE write a part 2 for the Pining Gordon snippet you did, if you want! It was sooo cute and so fun to read them banter!!

Hell yes.

Continuation of This

There’s two requests for a part 2 so this is Part Two and THEN there’s gonna be a part thREE.

Unlike most of my shorts/drabbles, I actually came up with a title for this one. It’s called ‘Lights Out’

Edit: Adding a lil ‘Keep Reading’ thing since this got kinda long

——

Gordon’s first mission of ‘Don’t fall in love with the security guard’ failed. Now, his second mission of ‘Don’t flirt with the security guard’ is on the same downhill path.

In Gordon’s defense, it’s been a while, okay?

Before the Resonance Cascade, Gordon’s life was pretty cut and dry. Wake up, take Joshua to kindergarten, double and triple check that his babysitter would pick him up afterwards and if they couldn’t, contact the backup babysitter, and worst comes to worst, contact his ex.

Once he knows Joshua is in good hands, Gordon goes to work, spends most of his day there with the occasional bathroom and lunch break, might catch up with a few coworkers and have to turn down any offers to go out, then head straight home, cook dinner, ask Joshua how his day was, probably draw or watch TV with Joshua, put him to bed, go to sleep, and it starts up all over again.

Rinse and repeat. Being a single dad takes up most of his time, he hasn’t gone on an actual date since Joshua was born and Gordon and his partner decided to split, much less flirted with anyone. Not to mention, nobody’s flirted with him much either.

This isn’t new or unfamiliar territory but... Gordon kinda forgot what it was like to have this feeling in his chest.

Benrey yanks him out of the sight of a turret and when Gordon nearly falls, Benrey catches him just before you hit the ground. Gordon must look as bewildered and flustered as he feels because Benrey can’t hold back a snicker. “What, got two left feet or none at all, Gordon?”

“I’m gay- GREAT, I said I’m great.” Gordon sputtered, quickly standing up straight. Benrey must’ve not heard him because he looks more confused than smug, and Gordon knows he would’ve looked smug if he heard him.

“Whatever you say.” Benrey shrugs, letting it go.

Gordon got off the hook this time but he’s losing it. The latch on Benrey’s helmet broke so Benrey has been wearing his helmet less and less as of late and all Gordon can think of is the fact that he so badly wants to touch his hair.

The idea of asking embarrasses him. How is he supposed to defend himself? Or worse, Benrey is chill enough to where he’d let him. What is Gordon even supposed to do if he says yes? He hasn’t even got that far, every time his mind tries to imagine it, Gordon’s heart palpitates and he has to chill out before Benrey notices.

Assuming he hasn’t already. Benrey’s not an idiot and Gordon’s not a great actor. The inevitability of him putting two and two together is there and it looms over him.

The longer they spend time alone, the longer Gordon can feel himself becoming more and more comfortable with him.

They settle down in a quiet corner of Black Mesa, an office that’s a little worse for wear but it has a door meaning they’ll hear if anyone comes in. The heat must be broken around these parts because Gordon finds himself shivering for once.

A hand reaches over and flicks his nose, because Benrey can never get his attention the normal way, can he? “How are you cold? This... ‘S nothing. How have you even survived this far if this makes you shiver?”

“We’re in New Mexico, Benrey. I’m used to it being hotter.” Gordon shoots back. There’s no bite in their words anymore. With the rest of the Science Team still missing, they’ve fallen into a rhythm. The teasing is still there but... Well, it’s just between friends now.

“You haven’t seen real heat until it’s 170 degrees outside.” Benrey releases a short cackle. Gordon rolls his eyes but the ghost of a smirk betrays him.

“Stop trying to one up me in every conversation with stories about your planet. I get it, shits intense there and you’re like a... Alien god or whatever.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Benrey grins. It falters for a split second when Gordon’s shivering gets a little worse. “Hey uh... Since you’re a loser who can’t control your body temp at will, c’mere. Would be... Would be pretty lame if I just let you die.”

Gordon feels his heart stop, but by some miracle, he inches closer and leans against Benrey. He’s cold, but only for a second. Then he suddenly feels like a heated blanket and Gordon stops thinking. He lets out a breath of relief and without meaning to, drops his entire body weight on Benrey.

Benrey luckily doesn’t budge, nor make much of a fuss. Gordon buries his face into his shoulder. “How..?”

“Huh?”

“You can just... Heat up like that... How are you so lucky? Not fair.” Gordon tells him in a muffled voice. Benrey stifles a laugh.

“I wouldn’t call myself lucky but-” Benrey’s abruptly cut off as his voice turns into a pleasant song. Gordon turns his head and gets a look at pink and golden balls floating in the air. He sits up, staring at them curiously.

When he looks at Benrey again, his face is a deep red. “...As- as I was uh, saying before I was rudely interrupted-”

“What’s gold to pink mean?”

“It’s pink to gold- fuck.” Benrey quickly shut his mouth. It did nothing to sway Gordon’s interest.

“What’s pink to gold mean, Benrey?”

“Look... Do you want the translation or the heat because you’re not gettin’ both. ‘S not fair.”

Gordon groaned and didn’t answer. They both knew what his answer was going to be- he wasn’t going to give up the heat. “...Do you sleep at all or is that another perk of yours too? Don’t think I’ve seen you actually sleep.”

Benrey made a noncommittal noise. “Kinda. It’s less ‘Unconscious’ and more ‘Hitting pause on a video game and taking a snack break’ you feel me?”

Gordon wasn’t entirely sure he understood what that meant for Benrey physically but he nodded anyways. “Think everyone else is okay?”

“Huh? Yeah of course.” Benrey snorted. “Not a single one of ‘em are fully human like you, they’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Gordon’s eyes drooped.

Benrey must’ve noticed because the next words out of his mouth were, “You gonna become Gordon Sleepman?”

“Maybe...” Gordon mumbled, eyes closing and refusing to open again. Benrey laughed but it got further and further away until Gordon slipped into a dreamless slumber.

—

Fighting by Benrey’s side took some of the usual stress away. Gordon knew that Benrey had his back, it became easy to relax a little and focus with him there.

The assassins were tough but with their power combined and a few explosives, it wasn’t hard to drive them away. Gordon had to take a breather afterwards, leaning up against the wall, but there was a smile plastered to his face. They were really doing this- they were going to get out of here alive.

God, Gordon couldn’t wait to see Joshua. He’d get an earful from his ex but he knew they meant well and would only be worried about him. Not to mention, Gordon wanted Benrey to meet Joshua. Something told him that they’d get along and Gordon wanted Benrey to be apart of that life.

“You good?” Benrey was looking over him carefully, eyeing a particularly nasty looking wound. “Lookin’ a little red there... In the face too.”

Gordon shook his head. “Just need a breather. And possibly a first aid kit.”

“I know where one is.” A new voice told them. Benrey and Gordon blinked and turned to the source. Gordon’s jaw dropped and his eyes lit up.

“Bubby! Dude, where- where have you been?”

Bubby seemed to shift in place. Something about him looked off, the look in his eyes, his arms crossed, the halting way he was talking- did he actually swallow before speaking? “Around.” Bubby said simply.

Gordon blinked. “You... You good, dude? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine, Gordon. Do you want a first aid kit or not?” Bubby snapped at him but his shoulders were tense.

Carefully, Gordon made his way over to him with Benrey on his heels. “That’d be great, thank you, Bubby.” Gordon paused, determining that stress seemed to be the answer and offered Bubby a hug.

Bubby took a step back. Gordon refused to take it personally. The guy looked like he was having a bad day. If he needed space, so be it. Gordon would be here when he was ready.

Benrey’s eyebrows raised at Bubby. “Where’s Coomer ‘n Tommy?” He asked slowly.

“...We got separated.” Bubby turned his back to them, moving forward. “Let’s just go already.”

The lack of expression alarmed Gordon. Did something happen? Why was Bubby acting so... Distant.

“You can tell us anything.” Gordon told Bubby. “We’re a team, no matter what.”

His offer fell on deaf ears.

Bubby stopped in front of what looked like a supply room. At the very end of the room laid a first aid kit, just as Bubby said. Gordon turned to Bubby and gave him a smile. “Hey. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Bubby’s face dropped and while his mouth opened, no words came out.

Gordon entered the room, with Benrey following behind and Bubby in the back.

The lights went out.

—

The lights going out temporarily surprised Benrey until his night vision kicked in. Not a moment too soon either as soldiers suddenly surrounded Gordon and his stomach dropped.

Benrey was ready to lunge forward but arms wrapped around him and held him back. Benrey struggled until there was a voice in his ear.

“Don’t interfere or you’ll get hurt too.” Bubby hissed.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. Benrey turned his gaze to Bubby furiously, though Gordon’s cries in pain pierced his heart. “You- you did this?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Bubby’s grip on him was tighter than iron. “You don’t know what they would’ve done!”

“I wouldn’t betray a friend, even if my life was on the line.” Benrey felt his form start to shift, getting less humanoid and more monstrous in his anger.

“It wasn’t my life!” His arms were shaking now. Benrey stopped.

Oh.

“How-” Benrey tried to say but Bubby cut him off.

“It doesn’t matter how.” Fear and fury leaked into his voice. “But I didn’t. Have. A choice.”

Benrey wanted to argue- he would’ve- but something else stopped him. Stopped them both in fact.

There was a soldier with a hunter’s knife and Gordon was screaming.

Bubby’s grip loosened enough for Benrey to break free, but Bubby didn’t seem to care when he did. Instead, his eyes were paralyzed. “I... They never said they were going to... Bastards.”

Benrey felt his form shift and grow before finally he made his attack.

He was too late to save Gordon’s arm but Benrey wrapped him in his own arms and bolted out of there. He looked back, only once, to watch Bubby burst into flames.

Benrey let his instincts guide him- out of Black Mesa, into the sun, and away from the soldiers. Nothing else around them except for a headcrab but Benrey sent one dirty look to it and it ran.

Gordon was bleeding- a lot. Too much- and missing an arm. Benrey could regrow those but Gordon was too human to do the same.

“G- Gordon?” Benrey said carefully. His breath hitched in his throat when his eyes cracked open, squinting. “Hey uh... You’re- you’re not gonna die, are you?”

Gordon paused for a long moment. Then he laughed to himself. “Benrey... Thanks. For getting- getting me out of there.”

“You- you’re good, right? Thinkpan still working? Got- got a lot more blood than this, right?”

Gordon blinked before nodding slightly. “I... Think so? It’s- it’s really hard to think right now. I think I should sleep... Man I- I really need a first aid kit now, huh?”

He laughed again. He kept doing that but Benrey didn’t get what was so funny. “Gordon?”

“You look- you look beautiful, you know that?” Gordon’s one good hand reached up and cupped his face. Benrey didn’t know how to deal with that, his mind was moving too quickly. “Your hair... You should take off your helmet more.”

“You- you don’t know what you’re sayin’...” Benrey stuttered.

“I mean every word.” Gordon stifled a snicker, eyes looking far away.

Benrey shook himself. He didn’t want to go back into Black Mesa but he needed to patch Gordon up before he passed out. Benrey was afraid of what would happen when he passed out. “Keep- keep on chattin’, okay? Stay with me, Gordon.”

Gordon laughed again but this one was softer. “You- you know, I really like it when you say my name. Sounds good when you- when you say it.”

Not actually flirting with you, he’s just delusional. Benrey told himself, keeping his focus as he carefully entered Black Mesa through a pipe. “That’s- that’s cool, Gordon. Uh, what else do you want to talk about?”

Gordon went silent. Benrey panicked. “G- Gordon? C’mon, stay with me, man.”

“What’ssss... What’s Pink to Gold mean?”

Benrey swallowed. Anything to keep him awake, right? “Pink to Gold... Means you’re a sight to behold.”

“Oh. Ohhhhhhh!” Gordon got a stupidly, cute grin on his face. It would’ve caused even more pink and gold sweet voice had Benrey not been stressing like he was. “Benny... Do you loveee me?”

“...I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Benrey thought it was. He was so very certain that Gordon knew. He finally spotted what he was looking for and sprinted over to it, setting Gordon down against the wall and taking it apart. “Stay still- I’m gonna help you, alright?”

Gordon didn’t resist but he did keep talking. “What’s obvious?”

“...I uh, care about you a lot, Gordon?”

Benrey wondered what Xen would say about him if they saw him now. The Great Benrey, running away from home and falling in love with a completely regular human. Except Gordon wasn’t really ordinary- he was... Everything. Funny, kind at heart, protective- a little stiff at times but he loosens up when he can relax. Not to mention, the guy had a great laugh and an even better face.

A face that had such a kind smile on it right now. Benrey wanted to protect that smile- no matter what. Gordon deserved to get out of here safely.

“I- I care about you too, Benny.”

Benrey swallowed. If it weren’t for the fact that Gordon wasn’t looking so hot right now, he might’ve really liked that nickname. Another time- if Gordon ever called him that again, that is.

“I’m gonna wrap this up, okay?” Benrey gestured to where his right arm used to be.

“Okay.” Gordon was still smiling, eyes half lided. “I trust you.”

Those three words went a long ways for Benrey. He shook his head and got to work. As soon as he was done, Gordon promptly passed out, his head against Benrey’s shoulder.

Gordon needed the rest. They’d figure out what came next later. Benrey would take care of him until then.

——

So. I might’ve gone a bit wild with the plot because I couldn’t stop thinking about how differently thing’s could’ve gone with the events in this AU so yEAH!

Hopefully it was good though! Made sure there was some softer moments as well as the darker one. How well I balanced it is up to y’all I suppose!

Thank you for the request! Hopefully Part Three won’t take as long!!

#SB Speaks #SB Writes #To Love A Security Guard AU #Request #Long Post #hlvrai #frenrey #injury #blood #medical m #Was kinda nervous about Part Two bc a lot of people liked Part One and... Expectations and Writer’s Anxiety y’know?#But I think it came out pretty okay #Part Three is gonna be... Interesting #It may or may not take place on Xen ;)#All I’m sayin’#Don’t wanna spoil too much #dismemberment #If I need to add anything #Tell me!

97 notes · View notes

seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 8)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 7

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt seemed to always get involved for a royal favor; no matter how he avoids it, they keep slithering back until he agrees to accept. Though, the sorceress wants you involved in it as well. After the unlucky incident back in the marketplace, the witcher was keen on bringing you back to where you belong; sparking up an argument with the bard as Jaskier could feel that there was something palpable and precious with the odd like care you were receiving from the Butcher of Blaviken. Destiny just knows how to play the game well.

Warnings: Sorceress and Tybalt being touchy feely. (I know you want Geralt being touchy feely as well. You’ll get it soon I promise. HAHAHHA) Jaskier spitting some truths. Geralt being hot and then cold again, you just can’t understand what he wants. *sigh* I can see y’all planning to get a razor and make Geralt bald. XDDDDD

Words: 5.5k+

A/N: DANG. GERALT OF RIVIA. YOU’VE TAKEN THE CURSE OFF ME. I usually lose all my ideas after chapter 5. But, here we are. This will freakin’ take 30 chapters (I said 25 in the last chapter? DID I? OH. AHIHIHIHIHI) and I think I won’t regret it because of how slow paced I am. AHAHHAHAHAA. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING ON THE LAST PART OF THIS CHAPTER? HEEHEE! WHAT ARE YOUR HUNCHES?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

In the other side of the town where it is all serene and neglected, a red carriage has been waiting in silence for the return of her aide. The sorceress peered out of the tiny partition used as a window to see people outside where her glowing purple eyes can only be seen.

Tybalt sat beside her with a grimace, huffing out breaths full of vexation at the events that has happened which ruined all of his plans for the night with the Duke and some noblemen who wanted their maidens.

"Is he---??" The sorceress trailed off, sounding fascinated as she squinted her glowing, purple eyes out in the open as she saw a child, a bard and a witcher who was carrying a small bleeding woman in his arms. Tybalt grunted his approval, acting so stingy by the change of events, "The witcher we'd been looking for,"

The vampire was heaving deep breaths because of his boiling wrath for the witcher; feeling a sudden need to feed was tempting him to calm down and he would. There were tons of maidens in the castle and he would take one or maybe a pair to satiate his hunger as always.

He rarely does this. Only when he was triggered or frustrated about certain things that kept his anger at bay.

"---Slaughtered all of my men for the sake of saving that little harlot," he continued with a grumble and a tight knot of his brows. The sorceress scoffed to the news that was given, expecting a successful gather of the women who were used as debts to serve the royalty or noblemen. "Even Terrowin?" she questioned with utter interest, raising a brow as she scrutinized the arms that surrounded the witcher who had ruined all of Tybalt's plans, "Even, Terrowin."

"Such a shame. He was one of the best horsemen for the king," Sorceress Ingrith tutted to her disappointment, sighing as the knight's death was nothing but a passing of the winds. Her wavy hair fell on her hips, swaying as she turned her head to watch you leave before loudly closing the partition.

"---But, not better than the witcher," the firm announcement was enough to tell Tybalt that the sorceress considered Geralt's skills as remarkable. She comfortably sat on her carriage and laid her glowing purple eyes on the vampire who had bowed his head as a sign of respect, "---Get me the witcher," she commanded with authority, "---and also the small maiden,"

Tybalt shook his head, a wince forming his features as he tried to get the witcher to accept his favors for years and years end. But, he was too obdurate. Never wanting to get involved by their hierarchy because of certain reasons he won't tell. The event that has happened was just a lucky shot for the vampire as it doesn't happen often, "He won't comply that easily because he has been avoiding us, my lady." Though, his opposition seem to be invalidated as she continued with a strong will to have the witcher walking to the path towards the castle, "---King Viduka must be mirthful for the news ahead," she ignored his statement, "---the prince will be healed soon,"

Sorceress Ingrith languidly blinked at Tybalt who was giving her a tight frown for her commands, "---As long as the witcher will be promising,"

The sorceress tutted for the second time, noting his foul expression that made her cross her legs as a sign that she was stronger and powerful than the latter; like her word is the law. She'd gave him a life back; even better than it ever did and now he wasn't hiding as he did back in his hometown.

Ingrith licked her cherry red lips and could feel the vampire's hunger grow more as she'd swiftly brushed her hair to the side, showing her delectable neck to him as a sign of approval to be used for his satiation again whenever it was full moon, "Use the maiden for him to comply," a sly smirk and a way to give him pleasure was all it took for him to nod in submission, "She...seems important for him to not hesitate and kill my men,"

The sorceress pondered in front of him, seeming to be in deep thought other than the fact that her men has been killed with just one man except for Tybalt because of his abilities. The latter languidly maneuvered till he'd given her no space in their carriage, their warmth embracing each other in a way that could get the devil laughing for their souls. "She...also feels different," Ingrith breathed in a deep breath, feeling Tybalt lean in close to that favorite spot of his on her neck, "What do you mean?" he mumbled against her neck, lightly giving a soft kiss to her sweet spot.

She exhaled a breath of pleasure as she felt his sharp, wet tongue licking a stripe from the line that connects her shoulder till the back of her ears as Tybalt groaned in satisfaction and from her delectable scent, "Her...Her body is an embodiment that makes me feel baffling," Another hitch of her breath. "What are you suggesting, Ingrith?"

"Give her to me when she comes to the castle," she firmly pressed and felt him sucking her soft spot that made her whimper, "---I just need to be sure,"

They hurriedly taken you to a healer and it was the right time because in any more minute you would've lost a lot of blood that can get death defying for a mere human like you. After bandaging you up and with Geralt's persistence that you should be taken home rather than to stay with a healer got you what he wanted. The healer has given herbs to be taken to numb the pain when it hits you like a train.

The princess wasn't doing good as well; mentally. Thinking that it was all her fault that they had to play hide and seek with the kids and happened to hide on a part of the town that had been deserted. Geralt reassured her that it wasn't her fault and she should stop crying because you wouldn't like it that she would be weeping for your selfless integrity; especially that he knew you were there in Cirilla's room last night, comforting the princess.

The witcher was actually impressed that it only took you hours for her anger to die down rather than him and Jaskier who managed to have a block of wood thrown to them as they coax her to stay calm.

Jaskier was sat on the witcher's bed where he has laid you upon; Cirilla was in her room and trying to relax from all the events that has happened. Geralt stood on the wall next to his door; his hefty arms crossed as he was giving the bard a scowl as he continued to pat your sweat-filled face.

The bard's ocean blue eyes gave him a once over, grinning in the process of his continuous soft pats on your temples because of how vicious he appeared to be.

Jaskier puckered his lips and gave a low chuckle; swiftly throwing the towel in the bucket of water. He shifted on his side of the bed and was face front towards the brooding witcher trying to drown in his own shadows. "Oooh, the scary face," the bard gestured with his index finger; drawing a circle far from his face before abruptly rising to his feet and ushering to you whom was resting on Geralt's bed; looking slightly dull from all the blood lost from you, "---Will you do the honors? It seems like you're throwing daggers behind my back as I clean her face with a face towel,"

The witcher grumbled a rough hum, his eyebrows raising as he lifted himself off the wall and languidly passed by Jaskier with a frown etched on his face. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt dubiously sat on where the bard has been seated and reached out for the towel drenched in the bucket of water; mindlessly squeezing the excess with one hand before turning and actually planning to wipe those cold sweat running down your forehead.

The witcher ceased his actions before the towel even touched your skin. He'd cursed beneath his breath and deeply groaned to himself, scrunching his nose for his peculiar gestures, "You could've said something!" Jaskier crowed as a matter of fact and gave him the stink eye as he was restlessly cussing like a sailor.

He was just taking care of you because of the guilt that it was his fault for bringing you with them at the marketplace. It wasn't because his senses were telling him to do it because it was the natural thing to do.

There he was again, acting strange like he'd been when you've first arrived in their lives; offering to bandage your wounds for you when you could've done it without anyone's help.

Was this destiny fucking with him? He shouldn't have listened to the part where Durriken has spat shit about his destiny like he knew what was about to come.

The old man was probably inebriated when he had the talk with Geralt. Definitely had too much ale.

"You know what, Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly thought out loud, leaning on the wall where Geralt has been as he watched the witcher softly pat your forehead with the towel; like you were some fragile little thing. Though, the bard was sure he hesitated at first because it took him a minute of self meditation before cleaning to your aid, "This rat..." he trailed off as Jaskier had his arms crossed over his lean chest; voice solemn and with regret, "---I was actually frightened to have lost her,"

Geralt hummed in understanding to tell the bard that he was listening. But, his words made the witcher's bushy eyebrows knot together in intrigue; waiting for Jaskier to continue as he continued his gentle gestures; incapable of not studying your relaxed features as you slept.

You were at peace and utmost looking adorable as you slept, he was sure of that.

But, nobody needed to know his opinions about you. It was better kept unsaid because of the bothered feeling inside of him that wanted to swallow him whole; just like his soul, not like he even had one anymore.

The bard continued his comments and watched the witcher give care to another person without any second doubts aside from Cirilla and him. He never said it out loud but he does care for him, Jaskier was sure of it. That was just how he is, he never tells anything. Never wanted people to see through him because it would be a tough flaw. Other witchers grew old with having no emotions because of their brutal trials, but not Geralt. He had everything. The feeling of love, anger, lust, sympathy, joy, fear and a lot more. However, reading his emotions would be as difficult as to climb over that wall he was using for cover.

It takes years and expertise to read him like a book, and the bard knew that for sure.

Jaskier had a small smile written on his face as he honestly blurted out loud, "---But, not as scared as you happened to be,"

The witcher ceased his actions on cleaning your face. Jaskier's words echoing inside his head like a damn bell from a church. He languidly blinked and calmly breathed out of his nose at his accusations towards the witcher's feelings. Another feeling boiling that strange void inside his chest.

"You know that berk?" Jaskier managed to ask; completely unaware of the witcher deeply sighing before him. The bard held his chin as he looked at the ceilings; seeming in deep thought, "---If I remembered correctly, his name was Ty...Tyran---"

The latter evidently exhaled a deep; loud grumble of a name he started to hate since the moment he saw him again. His lips flashing a scowl in a way that says he wanted to burn the guy alive after all he's done, "Tybalt. He's a vampire feeding off the castle,"

Jaskier nodded as he lifted himself off the wall, puckering his lips as he hadn't let the thought process inside his head, "Oh, a vampire." Abrupt pause. Before his eyes grew thoroughly astounded, "---What?! You're not serious?! I thought vampires were much more...uglier and not looking like humans?"

"He's a more higher form of a vampire; much more higher than a Bruxa, Ekimmaras, Alps, or Katakans. A very rare species. It doesn't need blood to survive, but they drown in it preferably in full moon,"

The witcher straightened his back, hovering away from you as a soft, light snore resonated from your lips, putting back the towel inside the pail; thoroughly relaxed unlike when he had you in his arms, bleeding like a waterfall. It was a feeling he had been dreading as he'd already felt that fear before and the witcher didn't like it one bit as the hollow feeling that was knocking on his doorstep agitated him; thus, which leads to vulnerability that he never had after those events before you came along.

"He's the most trusted of the king," Geralt bluntly answered for the bard's question, trying to distract himself from those thoughts that would consume him like a never ending nightmare, "---Other than the sorceress leeching off the castle as well,"

Jaskier wandered across his room like he'd never before; he already did but he was trying to see if there was some new changes. Yet, there was none. Sadly.

"You know the sorceress?" The bard's question consists of shock, hearing Geralt tell him stories about the people in the castle like he'd known them when he never did. However, the way Jaskier said it seemed to be like it had a double-meaning, "---Of course, you do." he chaffed; voice lacing with sheer sarcasm.

Geralt gave him a look, shifting on his bed as he tried to force himself to shift his eyes away from you. It was the only time he could look at your face without you blushing like a virgin, "No, I don't." the witcher uttered; unenthusiastically.

"Well, that's a first!" the bard squeaked and stumbled from the witcher's sword that was leaning on a particular wall; snapping a lackadaisical glaze of his glowing golden eyes towards the bard who was muttering his apologies and actually hopping on one foot because it was heavy and it hurt his pinky toe.

Jaskier continued his hops of protest, ceasing once he'd heard the witcher surprisingly share something other than sparing one word answers to people's questions. He was finally sharing something other than the word 'fuck' or those displeased hums.

"I never wanted to get involved with their pestilential hierarchy," the witcher murmured, staring at the walls to his room. It had the same design as to what Cirilla had; but his was much more doleful. Technically, a room that couldn't give him comfort and warmth as he sleeps.

Geralt knew what happens around the kingdom. He knew how wicked and utter evil the castle can get; no matter how he tried to refuse their favors, he'd heard a lot of gossips about the king and queen, especially their son who happened to be the prince.

They were a family who outgrew the kingdom with fiend, corruption and selfishness. No kingdom has been perfect; though theirs were the worst of everything.

The witcher continued; heedful of the steady heartbeat of yours as you slept on his bed, "---It's their culpability to have a witch in wrath for their wrongdoings," he gruffly shared, a small smile creeping his face as he exhaled a sigh out of his lips; remembering the real reason why the prince was cursed; with jealousy being the actual reason of it all, maybe also a stab to the ego or dignity for the queen of Kaedwen, "--and I have no will to help people drowning in malevolence,"

Jaskier hasn't realized that he was gawking at the Witcher's back for so long as he talked; sauntering to the other side of the room where Geralt was as he weirdly eyed him with a judging look, "That's...the longest I've heard from you. It makes me want to shed a tear,"

"Hmm,"

The witcher's smile instantaneously fell at the ridicule that was sent. He firmly shook his head at the bard and huffed a breath before turning his head to inspect your state; calmly breathing like you had no worries in your life.

His lips straightened into a tight thin line, roughly saying his next words with those careless thoughts slipping out of his mouth and quickly staring back at the bard who was grinning, "The quicker we find a djinn, the faster she returns to her home,"

Jaskier's facial expression molded into disbelief. Exhaling one deep, heavy breath as he had his hands on his hips, eyes fluttering repeatedly from the words that left the witcher's lips like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Wait, wait, wait," he scoffed, "Why the sudden hurry, witcher?"

Geralt gave him a look that had hostility shading his eyes, "I thought you wanted me to help her?"

"I do, I do!" Jaskier nodded and uttered as a matter of fact before side-stepping till he was completely face front at the brawny witcher who had his normal grumpy face on show, "---But, I didn't thought you'll be tossing her away that easily,"

Geralt gave him a subtle frown, looking away from the bard as he sighed in tiredness because it seems like he didn't want her to go away as soon as possible; unlike the first day that Y/N appeared like a woman from the swamps; all soiled and dirty like she has been drowned by a Kikimore. "Do you really hear yourself right now? Are you sure you want her to leave?" it was a question he expected from the bard, yet a query he didn't want to hear from another person because it was frustrating him in some ways, "---After seeing you cradling her like a bairn, I suppose not."

The witcher ignored his protests and lowly emitted a groan that vibrated off his chest, his eyes sharp when it landed on Jaskier again. "She needs to leave," he sternly mentioned with emphasis and firmness. Jaskier noticed how the sentence was actually not for him, but actually for the witcher himself. He sounded like he was in need of thorough persisting about the fact that you needed to leave and so, the bard went on with his jabbers, "You don't sound too sure of yourself now, are we?"

Geralt hissed back, his brows in a tight knot; body posture turning rigid as he carried on. "Jaskier, she doesn't belong here. She never will," he gave a dour to his friend, "Have you seen what happened?"

"---and you handled it very well, might I add. Very heroic of you,"

"I can't always be available whenever she gets involved by whatever troubles she may bring,"

Jaskier lifted his eyes off from checking his nails, landing them on the rhadamanthine witcher who had a grim expression on his pleasing features, "Why do you sound scared?" he suddenly spat a question towards the upset trunk of a man. He'd seen how Geralt's nose scrunch in agitation, making the bard step back when the latter began to stand on his feet, towering before him with a nasty looking grimace, "It's because I am not, bard."

Jaskier probably struck a nerve this time because he was looking at him very differently; like he's done with everything; tired of even living.

He tried not to let him see how he swallowed the nervous jitters that stuck inside his throat; trying to confidently straighten his back as to not back down from his irk towards him, trying to stand for his point, "You always have a habit of shooing people away when you're actually already caring for the latter,"

Geralt's mouth twitched in exasperation; his annoyance coming out of his nose in deep breaths as he obviously struck a nerve.

"Jaskier."

Maybe, Jaskier's timing really did suck all the time.

Unaware of the witcher's piqueness and cynicism, the bard couldn't stop his mouth from trying to prove a point. Technically not disturbed that the witcher's nose was flaring in displeasure.

"Oh, alright! Whenever you're in the midst of questioning yourself, you always answer people with violence or brutally hurt their emotions!"

Jaskier didn't mean for it to go there. The bard's facial expression immediately scrunched to regret because of how it sounded out of his mouth. Harsh. Truly, it was better inside his head rather than being said out in the open. The bard couldn't help but flinch when Geralt stepped a cautious foot closer to him; his jaw tense and teeth clenching from complete vexation at what he has been saying. His golden eyes blazing in ire.

"What do you want me to do, bard?" he raved as he was trying to burn him with his death stares, "---What are you fucking implying?"

Jaskier has been avoiding his eyes at all costs, stepping back when the witcher stepped another foot close to scare him off; but the bard never does. He side-stepped to escape from his wrath when he was close to being cornered and opened his arms as he threw another fact that he'd already seen when he was with the witcher and his journeys before:

"Go on. Do your foolish actions by pushing her away or leaving a woman when she's in the right state of mind of being in her vulnerable best!" the truth was said without any pauses nor did the bard inhaled a breath, "---Treat the midget like how you've treated Yennifer and wait for her to leave you as well in the end because of your utterly boorish attitude!"

It was an utter mistake. Jaskier shouldn't have said that out loud because he could see fire burning behind Geralt as he heavily marched to where he was. He didn't intentionally wanted to mention Yennifer and what happened to his relationship with her before; and it was one ounce of patience that was snapped from the witcher himself when Jaskier began to even recall his mistakes in the past like having nightmares and that void inside his chest wasn't enough for his sufferings.

The bard shrieked as he dodged Geralt and slid under his arm; his lean body being an advantage from the wrathful witcher. "It...was a mistake! Although, it's not! I am sorry to have hurt your very much virile ego! You left Yennifer then! Not the other way around---Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked and contemplated whether or not to jump on the bed when he'd seen you laying with your bloody bandages; sequentially raising his arms in surrender and tightly closing his eyes shut for the blow; waiting for another strong punch in the gut for his rotten mouth.

Thanks to Cirilla who has entered the room, Geralt has ceased on choking the bard alive; sensing that the princess was irked by their foolishness as she entered with a frown on her face, "This is why you both must not be in the same room together," she scoffed and dashed her way towards where you were, seeing your bandages with blood made her upset yet again, "---I don't know when you're foolishly sharing banters or actually fighting already!"

The witcher was fiercely glaring at the bard, his cat eyes not helping the image that would certainly give Jaskier nightmares because he'll worry that Geralt would choke him in his sleep. Cirilla promptly sat beside your bed, scanning your wounded body as your eyebrows suddenly twitched together, straining your forehead in disturbance.

The bard continued his relentless, rational reckons while Geralt went on with giving him the stink eye. Your head was hurting with Jaskier's nonstop blabbers which adds more pain to your aching head as you felt a brisk, chilly wind caress your feet till it traveled in every part of your body.

You were breathing heavily. Dry chapped lips quivering like you were trapped outside the brumal night. Your consciousness knowing that your body was also trembling from the chills with a fever that came with the wound.

"Geralt," His child of surprise muttered, entirely alarmed by your noticeable quivers, "---She's shaking,"

Both men instantly snapped their heads from where Cirilla was. Geralt's senses catching your unstable temperature as he roughly spat coherent profanities; shaking his head. "Ugh--fuck,"

Geralt let out a baritone of a snarl which caught everybody's attention as he promenaded to where you rest. Cirilla promptly dragging herself out of your side as the witcher took place; covering your forehead with the back of his palm to check how hot you were.

You've keened before his touch; the witcher's hand so comfortable for you which aids to your shivers and sighing when he'd used his palm to check you better, a rough huff of breath escaping your lips as you've momentarily felt the warmth scurrying away.

The princess was kind enough to help Geralt, squeezing the excess towel out of the cold bucket of water. Her, being the good child she was; volunteering to wipe cold water all over your face. The witcher gave the child some space for her as you shivered like you were being thrown in a bath tub full of ice.

"---And now he cares again, ladies and gents,"

Geralt swiftly turned his head to Jaskier and gave him a scowl; thoroughly pissed off by his nonsense already and Cirilla did as well. Snapping back at the bard with tired pleads, "Jaskier, will you please?"

Soon, silence has engulfed the trio. The bard has already shut his mouth and actually pondered his regret on even uttering out those foolish things to the witcher with no reason. But, he'd given a little bit of positivity in it that maybe he'll actually consider that you weren't just an animal that he wanted to shoo away with no goodbyes.

Cirilla gave a soft sigh as she'd seen your shivering die down a bit; though, if you look closely, there was still some tiny quivering because of the cold wind coming from the opened windows.

She'd wondered out of nowhere, staring at the candle that was lit beside Geralt's bed before a shocking suggestion was said out loud to cease the trembles, "You need to hug her while she sleeps!" the princess excitedly announced like it was the best idea ever; standing in haste and spinning on her heel for effect to give her attention to the witcher who seemed to be staring back at her, unfazed.

"Hugs...aren't my forte,"

She raised a questioning brow at him, remembering how they hug whenever he goes somewhere and comes home safely, "She's having chills!"

Geralt sapped, languidly blinking back in exhaustion as he shook his head in negation, "It'll pass, princess."

Cirilla stubbornly crossed her arms; demanding in a way that sounded like how she was back in her castle, "Hug her!"

The witcher exhaled a long, heavy, perceivable breath. Sometimes, her requests could get to his head and make him want to just utter the deepest blasphemy he could ever say out loud. But, he always fought himself not to and tended to what she wanted as per usual before she throws woods at him again.

Geralt reached his arm out to gently pat on your arm, making your nose scrunch as you rested on his bed; wanting to wake up because of those warm pats on your arm, yet you had no power to as you wanted to continue and rest.

Jaskier and Cirilla stared at the witcher like he'd grown three heads, figuring out what the heck he was even doing. The witcher eyed them back with a look that tells them what was wrong.

"Is that a hug to you, Geralt?!" Cirilla managed to finally commented out loud in disbelief. Geralt shrugged his thick shoulders and cocked his head to the side, still tenderly patting you like he was dusting off some dirt on your clothed arm.

"It's close enough."

The princess of Cintra wanted to protest out loud, even wanting to start a petition about how patting someone on the arm was as close as to giving a warm hug for comfort, but no words were spoken as she massaged her temples like she was close to being stressed out already, "You're just patting her on the arm like an old man!"

Thus, it was Jaskier's time to shine. The bard took his time and started to tread towards where you were; "I can hug her, if you want? No malicious thoughts perceivable through the naked eye---" he was hastily stopped by the witcher who happened to clasp his strong fingers around his lean arms, ceasing him from circling around towards the space on the bed where he could give you a hug while you rest.

The ivory haired witcher gave another one of his snarls; voice grumbling so deep they could mistaken it as a growl, "It's my bed, bard." he lackadaiscally said, stating the obvious and that there was some kind of hindrance that shouldn't be stepped over.

Jaskier subtly gave Cirilla a once over, stopping himself from smirking as he tried to appear salty and just nodded back at the witcher. Leaving him to whatever solutions he had for you to stop from shivering.

Perhaps, finding a Djinn was not the best solution for you. It was a secret avant-garde for the witcher's heart as you started hopping inside that void with all smiles, ignoring the darkness that could possibly consume you as it was the only world he may bring.

Unbalance.

You felt like floating in thin air. Vision all blurry and hazy from an unspecified fog that made you squint your eyes shut as you walked into the sweltering path that had no possibility of reaching an end. It was murky and had no end; like a maze that give you entrance but promises that it has no return. There was voices reverberating like an echo in the deepest caves. Some voices were definitely unfamiliar and also sounding to be in rage while the last echo sounded a lot like Jaskier and Cirilla's laugh that made you snap your head towards where they were coming from.

Another delicate step along the path dusted in twigs, mud and rocks; the scene unexpectedly changed, bringing you to a glorious looking banquet. Scrumptious looking food plated in the most rakish way as strangers sat in front of you; their barbarous laughter and prattles completely opposite of how you were acting in the middle of it all. Thus, you've heard singing all around the place. Your curious self studying the whole setting as you noticed that you weren't in just some hostelry but rather in a huge great hall inside an unknown castle you've never seen before.

Your eyes immediately snapped to where the singing was all happening as you saw a familiar face who was strumming his lute with a smile. You've wanted to giggle at how he appeared to look ecstatic on entertaining everyone in the large room, yet from the moment you've opened your mouth; no voice could ever leave your lips.

One blink was all it needed for the event to change, seeing a silhouette of a man who stood beside you which caught your attention as your vision scanned the man who hurriedly snatched your cup of ale on your hands.

It was Geralt of Rivia and he was surprisingly dressed in something flamboyant that could keep him camouflage amongst the circle of people; though he appeared to be maddened by something as his golden eyes were flaring in hostility.

But, there was an eerie, disturbed feeling deep inside of you as he was smiling back at someone who he was toasting for. You wanted nothing but for him not to drink the liquor on his hands with no particular reason. The next two cups full of ale sat in front of you on the wooden table.

"For your imperishable, spectacular prosperity that runs in the castle," the witcher took a swig until it was empty as he gently lowered the cup with a soft thud. You've noticed the hesitance he held when it appeared to be like he didn't want to grab onto the second one; yet he still did as he gave you a once over with a strange, tender gaze that you weren't accustomed with.

You couldn't move, nor could get your fingers twitching as your head was the only thing motile. That eerie feeling molding into something greater; fear for what was about to come. Geralt grabbed onto the second cup of ale without blinking an eye, his smile falling for one second; only for you to see as he deeply stared onto the cup on his hands, "May...you have strength and faith for your majesty. For the fraudulent happiness you've always envisaged,"

Everybody was staring at the witcher who was giving wishes and you couldn't look at anywhere but Geralt who'd scoffed before chugging down the second round of ale. He'd subtly shook his head from whatever he was thinking, a forced smile lifting his lips that seemed phony.

"Your highness," he lifted the last cup for everybody else to see, giving a toothy grin as his smile consists of mischief and dread that only you could muster, "---and this...is for your son's shitless death to the fore,"

FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Y’ALL ARE PROBABLY HATING GERALT RIGHT NOW. AHONHONHON. PATIENCE, BB’S. PATIENCE.

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007

314 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

Text

Pinky and the Brain: A Pinky And the Brain Christmas Review or I Just Think Schotzie’s Neat

Christmas Continues on this blog... and getting away from one set of Christmas commissions and into another, I offered my friend Blahdiddy three commissions as a present. The other two we’ll get to eventually, but with Animaniacs on the brain, heh, due to the reboot, he selected two Pinky and the Brains and one Animaniacs for me to cover. And while I intended to cover this one sometime this month anyway, my friend’s recent and sad covid diagnosis meant i’m bumping this one all the way up to the front of the line so he has some christmas cheer during this rough time. So with that in mind let’s talk about pinky, pinky and the brain brain brain brain brain shall we? Of course we can’t really talk about pinky and the brain without talking about Animaniacs. I absolutely love the series, I grew up with it as a kid and reconnected with it as an adult when it ended up on netflix. It was smart, well animated and most importantly really fucking funny. I highly recommend checking both the original and reboot of it out some time if you have Hulu. Speaking of the reboot while I might go on in full about it at some point it’s pretty good, with some creatvie jokes, some nice updates, with Rita Anita Anrita being a great new addition to the warner side of things. It’s only real flaw is it gets a bit reptitious as for the most part there’s only really the warners and pinky and the brain with a few exceptions one of which DAMN well deserved at least two segments and we all know which one that is.

Bring.. this.. to series. The warners and pinky and the brain segments weren’t bad, but as is inevitible in a screwball comedy some just weren’t as good as others and those fell harder when you’ve already seen 2 or 3 better versions of this sort of skit in the season. They did really find their groove towards the end and if you like both Animaniacs and Pinky and the Brain, or even just one or the other, it’s worth checking out. But enough about the reboot let’s talk about those labratory mice whose genes have been spliced. Thanks to wikipedia, I now know the duo were based on Eddie Fitzgerald and Tom Minton, who worked with Tom Rutgeter on Tiny Toon adventures, with menton being the one who came up with Narf, even saying it in one episode of Tiny Tunes. During the creation of animaniacs, Bruce Timm, yes THE Bruce Timm, sketched the two, and Ruetger added mouse ears and the rest was history. Maurice LaMarche was the one who added the Orson Welles to the character, as LaMarche saw the Orson Welles in Brain, ran with it and got the part and a long and storied career in voice acting as a result. In a nice and fitting bit of contrast, Rob Paulsen got the part.. because he was already on the show. Not to downplay Paulsen’s clear talent, I just find it hilarious.

That’s about what I could dig up on the behind the scenes of the show. From what I can tell it was greenlit because Animaniacs was a massive it, and Pinky and the Brain was the most popular segment, so it just made sense. The show would likewise be a massive sucess with both adults and kids, and go on for three seasons and what should legally be considered a war crime.

For those of you blissfully unaware yeah, that happened, no no one people actually LIKED from Tiny Toons was in it. And yeah if you want me to talk about it commission it otherwise not going near this one. While I do need to tackle more bad animation... I’ve successfully avoided watching an episode of this show for 22 years next wedsday, I’m not breaking the streak for free.

But some.. things aside I remembered liking the series as a kid but just never got around to seeking it out as an adult. I had nothing against the animaniacs segments and I even still have a stuffed brain doll I got at a garage sale.. the pinky is sadly missing and persumed dead. I just wasn’t as bit into it as I was the slappy bits rewatching animaniacs and didin’t really see reason to watch the show. Watching this though made me realize I was wrong and I probably watch more of it in the future This special is damn good, i’m pleased ot review it and to revive and old childhood memory. So with all the exposition out of the way let’s talk Pinky, PInky and the brain brain brain brain christmas edition after the cut.

This was indeed a special: while it was presumably produced with season one of the show and is packaged with it both on DVD and on Hulu, where I watched it, the special was aired in prime time and even put on it’s own VHS.. which I found out and of course, like with my review of the Darkwing Duck Pilot, had to use as the art for old VHS’ tapes for cartoons.. was really fucking beautiful and it’s a nice break from my traditional screencaps. So we open with a clever Christmas rendition of the theme, frequently sprinkling in bits of other christmas stuff, utterly fantastic. The intro animation is less impressive as it’s literally just the regular intro but with a stock snow effect over everything. In case you thought Ducktales doing that was a new thing. I do not blame the team however, as apparently they only had a week to get the scripts out, so I highly doubt warner was forking out more cash for the animation than they had to. They still forked out enough to make it LOOK really good mind you, something I wish they’d do more often with their DTV Movies but do do with their animated shows still with certain exceptions so good on them, i’m just saying they clearly cared more about money than having a memorable christmas opening. Given a budget to actually make one, i’m sure the animators would’ve come up with something lovely, and i’m sure the same is true of Ducktales and other shows and like i’ve said, i’m highly in favor of shows actuallly doing unique openings for the holidays, especially since Holiday episodes tend to get reaired every year as long as the show is in circulation on the network. Sometimes even if it isn’t. So it’s fully worth the effort to fork out a little extra for this as while you’ll most likely only use it once, you’ll be using the special for years. You can afford to treat yourself networks come on. It’s...

Just like Pinky, Elmyra and the Brain. But onto the episode itself after 80 years. We find Pinky writing his Christmas list to santa, complete with Narf, a gag I like. As usual for a comedy show, I will try to gloss over as much of the gags as possible, to avoid repetttion but yeah this episode is really damn funny and reminded me just how good these characters are. Maurice and Rob just have perfect chemistry. It’s like Tom and Jerry: It’s a very simple premise, that one being “Cat chases mouse and Mouse beats shit out of mouse”, and pinky and the brain of course being “Super genuis mouse and dimwitted but loveable sidekick try and takeover the world eveyr night”. But a simple premise can be used just about anywhere and adapated for anything. To me a cartoon’s premise only has to be as complicated as it needs to be to work. Sometimes you have a vast complex tapestry behind the world like She Ra, Steven Universe or Avatar with lots of planning and ins and outs and deep character stuff.. and sometimes you just have two mice who get into shenanigans because one is a would be dictator who sounds like orson welles and the other’s a loveable british weirdo/moron. Sometimes simple just works.

Anyways, Brain, noticing Pinky’s distracted and replaces himself with a horrifying poorly made doll of himself called Noodle Noggin, which is both an excellent name and not the only time they’d use the name either, as there was an animaniacs short about Brain making himself a fad to endear himself to the children of the future with the same name. It’s just an inherently funny set of words, but also shows Brain’s genius in a subtle and clever way as he never spells it out, but despite sounding kind of ridiculous for such a buttoned up intellectual like brain... he knows that’s the kind of name kids will eat up. His schemes may often fail, but he’s an objectively brilliant schemer and i’ts often either PInky’s incompetence or his own miscalculation of humanity, either over or underestimating them, that undoes Brain. Back to the plot, so Brain’s plan is to distribute noodle noggins around the world, make it the hot new toy, and as always, take over the world. Problem is naturally two Mice simply don’t have the resources to make the billions of dolls. But PInky stumbles upon the solution in the paper: a want ad for elves! Everything about that sentence except “pinky stumbles upon the solution” has not aged paticuarlly well, but point is they have a plan and we have our christmas special. This does bring me to my one problem with the special.. Brain’s weird inconsistency towards Santa. What I mean is he spends the portion doubting Santa can do anything he’s claimed to despite being proven frequently he can. That part is not all that annoying as it’s in character with him and while yes, he is a talking mouse, he’s also a man of science and reason and Santa is the opposite of that. That would be fine... IF it wasn’t for the fact that said magical bollocks weren’t constantly part of his plans. Despite Brain constantly throughought the special doubting Santa... his plans FREQUENTLY rely on everything we’ve heard about him being right. His initial plan here ENTIRELY runs on the fact Santa has a massive workforce to make the toys yet even if that’s true by Brain’s own logic, he wouldn’t be able to deliver them. Later when the boys need to escape, They hide with the Reindeer despite Brain just saying santa can’t be everywhere in one night.. which if he can’t then the odds are slim he’ll wind up at Acme Labs isn’t it? It would be fine if the special acknowledged any of this outside of one bit we’ll get to, but other than that one bit.. they don’t. IT’s just really frustrating and really sticks out since the rest of the special is perfection, so this one failing bit really grates. That being said, it dosen’t last long enough to really drag the episode down as a whole, just to annoy me a bit every so often. It speaks to the episodes quality that the bad part ONLY drags so much because everything else is so well put together. So our boys head to the north pole with the help of a kooky pilot and a santa dummy, this pilot is voiced by Tress MacNeile and is easily one of the best parts of the special. And naturally given their luck, she asks them to take the wheel so the plane instead jerks and causes them to fall out. Luckily they end up near Santa’s workshop and soon apply for temp work with local head of things and gruff type Shotzie, played by Jeff Bennett. And yes that is his name. I like Shotzie: he’s a goateed elf and Bennett just plays him well.. hard to explain honestly I may just like his name and Bennett’s voice for him, one he used before in animanaics for various bit parts and in shows after this, it’s just a voice i’ve always liked.

They get put to work in the mail room, which is the bit I mentioned: Brain earlier scoffed at Santa answering all the letters with Pinky simply suggesting that Santa had his elves go through all of them. Turns out Pinky was right... while he may be a BIT stupid, one intresting thing i’ve found about Pinky after watching the reboot that ironically the friend who comissioned this and I discussed is that he’s not ENTIRELY stupid, it’s just , much like Dan from Dan Vs his knowledge is just random.. he can not know how a lot of things work, but sometimes like in this instance Pinky generally just GETS something. It’s part of why he and Brain are such a good team despite their failures: Brain is all about planning and thought and research, Pinky is about intuition and gut instinct. He just does things and it often works out. This also makes their recently added backstories all the more brilliant as they explain this well: Pinky started life just being told to find the diffrence in cheeses and thus was taught form childhood to trust in himself and his weird brain. Brain was cruelly torturued with an experiment on learned behaviors via electroshock, and was taught to never give up control again, to always know what’s going on and to always control it. It perfectly sums up who the two are and why they are that way. Brain however quickly pivots, as the mail room ends up being the perfect location to start his plans. Since their job is to file away what each person wants Brain simply adds Noodle Noggin to it and plans to put his plans into the workshop. While Santa and Schotzie are suprised and baffled, Santa quickly adds it to the list. However things hit a snag when Schotzie gets supscious when the two try to sneak into the blueprint room to drop theirs off and he accidently yanks off their disguises leading to a REALLY fun chase scene, as the boys end up in a toy wherehouse and thus try out various toy cars: a barbie dream car that dosen’t have a working motor, a toy truck that dosen’t go very fast, and finally an rc car that while fast naturally just means Schotzie can grab it and capture them. It’s easily my faviorite scene of the episode just for how clever it is and as someone whow as a kid around the time this came out, I applaud the accuracy.. granted I didn’t have any of those personally but I had lots of friends so yeah.

So our heroes are interrogated.. and again Brain brilliantly pivots. Schotzie assumes since they have the blueprints their spies for the easter bunny or the tooth fairy or Herschel, the Hanukah Goblin. Why Herschel never got his own Hannukah special trying to stop Pinky and the Brain from using it to take over the world, I genuinely do not know and that’s something the reboot really needs to adress in the future. Seriously Hannukah needs a mascot and it’s either Herschel or the Hannukah Zombie. Kwanza already has Kwanzabot. I want to see more of Herschel the Hannukah Goblin dammit!. I love goblins. Especially this one.

And this one

And most of all this one

I likes goblins. It’s a thing. So anyway, point is Schotize has the blueprints taken in while our boys slip out and sucessfully make their way outside, though they have to find a way home to turn on the mind control device. They see Santa and brain being a dick refuses to let pinky hand in his letter.. but does as mentioned earlier have them pose as reindeer. So our heroes make their way home and in time to be able to activate the device once santa’s route’s finished!

And.. then land directly on the mind control device thing, meaning they now have to scramble to repair it. Oh and Pinky is inconsolable after realizing Santa didn’t get his letter and Brain is a HUGE dick about it. Easily the worst i’ve seen him just far more focused on his machine than his friend’s wel lbeing especially since ALL he needs from pinky is for him to throw one lousy switch.

But we then get easily the best part of the entire special. As Brain scrambles to rebuild his device while abusing his best friend we get a really nice tense sequence as Brain rebuilds while kids all over the world warmly receive noodle noggin. I mean.. it’s not the creepiest doll I’ve seen a kid enjoy.

Also Bill Clinton gets one because the series apparently really likes “Bill Clinton is stupid jokes” Oh you poor innocent dears who haven’t had to suffer through the president being revealed to be a sexual predator, the one after him being even dumber if not a predator, the one after that being easily one of the best people around, and the outgoing one being a waking nightmare whose both a preadator and dumb beyond all comprehension ina dangerous and soul crushing way.

But yeah onto the good part, Brain, for whatever reason, reads the letter.. and finds Pinky asked for nothing. He just wanted to give Brain the world at long last, recognizing his friend really and genuinely means well for it and that he’s worked hard to conquer it. And with that goal in reach, with the very thing he’s always wanted his... Brain instead uses the device to wish a merry christmas. He sees through his friend’s kindess and selflessness that he himself.. has been selfish once again turning something into a world destroying plot and being cruel to his best friend... when all his best friend wanted was to selflessly make sure he finally got what he wanted. It’s then that Brain, for all his cold and cynical logic and superiority complex, realized the true meaning of christmas, which i’ve said before and i’ll say again: it’s about giving, about giving someone something with your heart and soul just to be nice with no expectation of something in return. It’s about being selfless for once instead of selfish. I’ts about love. And Brain loves his friend too much to destroy his faviorite holiday. For once the world can wait.. and for once they all join in saying merry christmas to one another and in love and camradire. And I know not everyone celebrates christmas, there are other winter holidays and not everyone in the world would willingly do this. I know all that.. but the special has such a well meaning message, I really can’t be mad at that or get into the weeds too much> This isn’t some jackass making an entire movie, of which there have been several, saying “There’s a war on christmas” which instead equates to them just bitching about not everyone celebrating HIS holiday. It’s about a mouse for one moment truly being selfless and putting ihs loyal and faithful friend over his greatest want to give him a nice christmas and to do something nice for the world instead of trying to take it. And that.. that’s really damn heartmelting. So we end on the two exchanging presents, with it being a little extra heartwarming as Brain likely already got Pinky something meaning even before his big revelation, he really does care beneath all the dope slaps. Pinky got him a keychain of the world and rather than be frustrated like you’d think.. Brain just takes it in stride. It is christmas after all.. the world.. it can wait. For now it’s just the two of them having one moment in time, this merry christmas. Final Thoughts: If it wasn’t obvious, I loved this freaking special. It’s funny, clever and has one hell of an ending. There isn’t much more to say other than go watch it if you have Hulu.. you will not regret it and a sepcial thanks to Blah for comissioning this. it was an amazing time and is now a competitor for a spot on my best christmas special list. For now though it’s just really good and I say go check it out. Merry christmas, happy holidays and later days.

#animaniacs #pinky and the brain #warner brothers #pinky #the brain #santa claus #christmas #blahdiddy #christmas specials #reviews #animation #kids wb

28 notes · View notes

megastarstriker · 5 years ago

Text

~{Unfortunate Events}~ 𝑨𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒚 ---------------------------------------------- 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 •·················•·················• ===============

“Faithful Encounters”

Part One

=================================

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Good Omens

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,298

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: She was just the new angel that day, only to be casted out on the spot, like a baby bird being thrown out of its nest to learn how to fly on its own against its will. She was an outcast and had no place or purpose there or even in the pits of fire. Now she finds herself reliving her traumatizing nightmare when she was child, as she counts the final days of the world’s demise as she plans ruining ‘The Lady Above’s Great Plan’.( I do not own Good Omens or its characters only the ones I create.)

𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒔 :

(Y/N) = Your Name

(S/C) = Skin Color

(B/T) = Body Type

(H/C) = Hair Color

(H/L) = Hair Length

(H/S) = Hair Style

(Y/A) = Your Accent

(C/N) = Country Name

(P/N) = Pet’s Name

(F/C) = Favorite Clothing

=============================================================

Falling..........

Falling...........

I was Falling..........

At least that’s how it felt. The strong pressure of the fall and whistling of the wind as my eyes were closed not daring to look at what was happening and not being able to almost as if it was forbidden to me. I screamed but my voice was silent and only pitch ringing of church bells stroking were only heard through my ears. As my wings carried me downwards as I tried to flap my way up, I felt a burning sensation at the tips of my wings feathers. A haze of smoke traveling through my nose causing me to panic. The pain of the burns wasn’t excruciating but it was indeed painful. Moving downwards I could picture the pure white clouds in the sky; feeling their delicate and soft touch grazing barely against my skin through my outstretched arms, small beads of sweats hanging at the tips of my (S/C) toes. My eyes releasing a cold liquid substance onto my (S/C) rosy cheeks, sticking to my skin as my (H/C),(H/L) hair flew gracefully in the wind surrounding me.

Was it the rain in the sky falling or was it my tears silently leaking down my face?

I would never find out..

Because as soon as I opened my eyes...

I saw a group of shadows above....

a choir of laughs and whispers reaching my ears.......

Although blurry, my sight was focused on them...

I begged them, screamed, and shouted for help as I tried to fly my way out of harm’s way and towards them.

But they then disappeared...

Vanished.....

I was angry at them for being so selfish and insensitive that they couldn’t help...

I tried my best to steady my wings and force them to go up as I hissed in pain.....

But as I looked down to see the state of my hurting wings.....

I realized that my wings were missing and there was nothing residing on my back at all only glimpses of what looked like to be solid ground a couple a feet or miles away from me.......

I screamed at the top of my longs as soon as the solid ground were only mere inches away from my falling, (B/T) form.

__________________________________________

I bolted upright on my bed, as beads of sweat rolled down and dripped my freezing forehead, as I gasped for air. Propping myself on my elbows, I turned the lamp on my bedside table, and looked at the clock on the wall. As it was making a bell chiming noise, that alerted me it read.

𝟕:𝟎𝟎 𝐩.𝐦.

Then the chiming from the Victorian clock dissipated as soon as it hit ‘7:01′ A few moments later.

❝Stupid Clock❞, I muttered angrily in my American/(Y/A) accent.

Grabbing and throwing my pillow that was resting on my bed, at the wall a few feet below were the clock was pinned up, but purposely trying to hit the clock.

I groaned tiredly rubbing the dirt of my sleepy eyes and stretching my eyes as a small yawn came out of my lips. I then stood up, causing a slight creak as my weight left the warm, cozy covers and comforts of my bed. I approached the curtains and tugged them to the side to reveal the bright world and beaming sun from the other side of my window. It was quite sunny without a doubt, a great day for outside activities, like picnics, and walks on the park. I smiled a bit as I thought of going for a walk, as I looked down at the people who were walking across my apartment on the streets of London. That’s Right.

I live in Soho, London.

Not the grandest thing like I would’ve liked back in Sweet America/(C/N), but well enough to enjoy, I guess. Besides, I could switch countries whenever I want, its really one of the perks and miracles of well you know an angel.....or a demon....I really don’t have a clue right know, but I really couldn’t care less right know as much as I wanted to. My mood quickly changing its sour and angry demeanor to a sweet and giddy one as I watched the world doing its wonders and works.

❛Speaking of works❜, I thought as I remembered my ‘human’ friend,❛Gotta get ready, wouldn’t want her to scream her head off because of me.❜

I laughed softly to myself wondering the look on her face, the color of a cute tomato in fury as she yelled at me for being late to meet her at the Ritz for some ‘sweet news’ and ‘gossip girl talk’ on her job as she liked to call it.

❝Well, better not keep her waiting❞, I muttered softly as I looked ahead at the window’s view from outside.

❝Right, Socrates❞, I said while not turning my head and still keeping my gaze fixated on the view.

I then heard a slight hiss from the glass box near the table next to me, keeping the beady and slit-pupiled eyed creature secured who was looking at me in a sassy manner.

I laughed lightly at its response. I had many names for Socrates, because well I didn’t know a name good enough for it to be official, so usually I would call him Socrates or (P/N) just to be respectful.

As I brushed my silky and soft (H/C),(H/L) hair, I thought about that horrible dream much said nightmare last night. It felt real, thinking about it gave me chills and goosebumps. Never even want to mention it or talk about it much.

I shook my head in thought and looked myself in the mirror after I finished brushing my hair and did it nicely into a (H/S) style. I then made my way over to the closet and picked what I thought would look nice and was great for days like these. I picked out a gallant looking suit it was grey and looked very sketchy but cute overall and it hugged my perfect figure nicely. It almost made me look like a business woman of sorts. I was still debating whether to wear this or something else from the other clothes I had, but I guess I’ll go ahead and try this for today and if the weather gets a bit hot for me I can always bring my personal (F/C) to wear later.

I then went down stairs and went to my bookshelf of my old collection of editions and went and grabbed one entitled ❛The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri❜

I hummed satisfied as I looked at the polished cover and took it with me in case I was bored and wanted to read. I put it in my bag and as I finished putting on any needed accessories on myself. I was off the doors of my household and walked down the pavement of the streets of Fancy Soho, London. Happily humming a sweet tune of ❛Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen❜ as I walked with each step of my feet as a sort of dance.

Halfway at my destination I swore I spotted a familiar vehicle parked a few feet away from...a very classy Bentley and a beautiful one too. A very similar now that you can remember. I then heard a horn going off as I walked halfway past it abruptly stopping as I did. I then stopped and looked at it closer.

❛Hmm....❜, I squinted a bit at it but then kept whistling and humming Queen songs as I did and occasionally a few classics like Beethoven,❛ It couldn’t be ....I’m just imagining things ,huh.❜

Then as I kept walking through a crowd of people, I could catch a glimpse medium and wavy flaming red and ginger hair walking between the crowd of people. Then while I was distracted, I bumped into someone causing me to stumble slightly. I then looked up and saw something that made my eyes widen slightly and my heart beat faster. The person had ginger flaming medium length hair that swayed freely with each step and wore Jet black glasses, a very nice combination of outerwear consisting a leather jacket and greyish black shirt and pants with very classy dark shining shoes. What made him stand out the most was unnoticeable hidden tattoo of a snake below his sideburn.

❛ Crowley !!❜ , I thought.

But before I could confirm my suspicions he was gone in a flash and I lost sight of him.

❛ That could’ve been any ginger head man.... Right?❜, I thought as I made my way to the restaurant.

----------------------------------------------------------

This part one of the Prologue of my Good Omens Series on the next part we will maybe have an encounter with a lovely angel friend

I hope you enjoy~

#GoodOmens #michaelsheen #davidtennant #aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphalexreaderxcrowley #crowleyxreaderxaziraphale #good omens #neil gaiman #amazingshow #imsoft #SoftBastard #ineffable idiots #ineffable #angel #demon #archangel fucking gabriel #Comedy

83 notes · View notes

teatitty · 4 years ago

Text

Jailhouse Rock

A/N: Hey remember when I said I wanted to write a traditional fantasy AU with Patrochilles and DiarCu? This is based in that. I hate copy-pasting things to tumblr bc it never keeps my italics and I’m too lazy to edit this so here it is on AO3 as well

Days of peace were rare for Patroclus; even rarer still were the days without Achilles or Cu Chulainn around to stir up mischief. On his own, Patroclus liked to think he was a perfect example of good behaviour and that his own troublemaking was nothing more than a direct result of knowing two of the biggest arseholes this side of the continent, but whenever he voiced such a thing out loud, the response from his companions was always an intense roll of the eyes and a bark of laughter, so maybe he was just lying to himself.

Given his current predicament, that certainly seemed to be the case. In retrospect, he should’ve figured he’d end up getting arrested one of these days, but when you spend most of your time in the company of two people who somehow - consistently - manage to get themselves out of trouble, well, you sort of forget that consequences for your actions are a thing you need to worry about.

In his own defense, he hadn’t planned on getting arrested. It isn’t much of a defense, because he cannot recall a single person who has ever wanted to get thrown into a jail cell with shackles on their wrists (it didn’t matter that his own had been taken off earlier, it mattered that they’d bothered to put any on him in the first place), but he also hasn’t met every single person on the planet, so he supposes the defense counts for something.

He wonders who Achilles will be angrier at when he finds out about this; Patroclus, for punching the stupid fucking Guard in the face and breaking his pompous nose, or the Guard himself, for calling re-inforcements and manhandling Patroclus into this dingy, damp little cell. It’s not a matter of if Achilles will find out, so much as when he finds out, and Patroclus can only hope it’s soon, because he’s only been in here for a few hours and he’s already bored out of his god-damned mind.

The Guards posted outside of his cell won’t even talk to him. It’s extremely rude, in his opinion, not to entertain a guest when they’re groaning pitifully on the floor, even if said groaning was mostly due to the head pain. He really needs to learn the name of the Guard who clonked him. Bastard had a real mean arm and Patroclus itches to get some sort of revenge for the hit.

Alas, it doesn’t seem as though he’ll be getting that information anytime soon. He’ll just have to track the guy down once he gets sprung from this place and then clonk them from behind and see how they like it.

“You know,” he says conversationally, “if you ask me, I did you all a favour. I mean, he just has one of those voices, you know? The really annoying ones? The ones that just invite you to hit someone?” Nothing. Typical. Patroclus sighs up at the ceiling with exaggerated effort. “I love our little talks. Can’t get enough of them, truly.”

Maybe, if he talks long enough, one of them will actually tell him to shut up instead of just trying to glare holes into him through their helmets. Patroclus snorts at the thought. If that worked, then Achilles would’ve been dead a hundred times over by now. Or just covered in a lot more scars than he already has. Which is none. Obviously. Ugh, he really needs to get better company.

As if the Gods themselves heard his plea and were, for once in their lives, actually offering to help him, a commotion from the halls causes him to sit up with immense interest, and the Guards by his cell close their eyes and actually groan.

Whoever is being led - in chains? Sounds like it - down the hall, everyone clearly knows them, because even the other prisoners, who’ve been silent until now, start murmuring curses to themselves.

Finally, Patroclus thinks, some variety.

“ - I just think that in the grand scheme of things - and purely for everyone else’s interest, of course - that stealing a few rings from the locals isn’t that big of a deal when I’m just going to be selling them later. I’m helping the economy! Helping you pass money from one hand to another and get it circulating. How’s your wife, by the way, is she still getting the bad cramps? Of course she is. I can see it in your face. You really should take my advice and -”

“Diarmuid.” A Guard has never sounded so long-suffering before.

“Hm?”

“Shut up and get in the damn cell.”

Surprisingly enough, with a huge stroke of good fortune, the cell that this blessing in disguise - Diarmuid, his name is Diarmuid, Patroclus reminds himself. He’s never been very good at names - is dancing his way into, happens to be Patroclus’ very own, and he finds himself looking at a man who is decidedly, one hundred percent, not human at all.

Patroclus grins, absolutely delighted by this turn of events. Diarmuid, noticing that he is not alone in this cell, cocks his head to the side and just sort of. Stands there. Presumably blinking at him, but it’s hard to tell behind the tinted glasses perched on his nose. “Oh my gods,” Patroclus says before he can stop himself, “are you an elf?”

“No,” replies Diarmuid slowly. “But I can see why you’d think that.”

“He’s a menace,” one of the Guards mutters and Patroclus’ grin only widens.

“I knew you could talk,” he tells them and then to Diarmuid he says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get them to say something.”

“Oh,” Diarmuid says, “I’m not hallucinating then.”

“Not used to having company?”

“Not usually.”

He looks - well, if Patroclus had to hazard a guess, he’d say that Diarmuid looks completely out of his depth. “Don’t worry,” Patroclus tells him. “I don’t bite.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. He doesn’t bite usually but all bets are off when tavern brawls happen.

Diarmuid’s nose wrinkles. “Is that a hickey?”

It is, actually, though it’s a wonder he can see it at all amidst the other bruising. “I don’t bite,” Patroclus repeats, “but my boyfriend’s a bit of a dick.”

Something in Diarmuid’s posture relaxes at that admission, which is very interesting, and Patroclus pats the spot beside himself invitingly. He’s actually surprised when Diarmuid sits next to him. He’s less surprised that there’s an obvious gap being kept between them and that, unlike himself, Diarmuid’s posture remains straight and alert.

“Soooo…” Patroclus starts, “what are you in for?”

“That’s the best you could do, huh?”

Oh, a snarky one is he? Good thing Patroclus is used to that, or he might actually find this guy irritating. “What do you want me to start with, then? The fact that you’re apparently a regular visitor here? That you probably know everyone’s first names and family histories?”

“I wish he didn’t,” mutters the other Guard forlornly.

“Shut up,” hisses the first one, “don’t encourage them.”

“Too late for that,” they say in unison. The Guards curse.

There’s a long beat of silence as Patroclus waits to see if Diarmuid will reply to his earlier question. His patience pays off when, finally, Diarmuid sighs and says, “I got caught selling stolen goods for twice the profit.”

Patroclus whistles. “Impressive.” He means it. Sure, he got caught doing it, but the fact he had the balls to try at all - and, by the sounds of it, actually managed to make some of said profit - is worth applauding.

“And you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Broke someone’s nose.”

“Holy shit,” Diarmuid breathes, “you’re the guy who finally shut Claudius’ trap up?”

“His name is Claudius?” A nod. “No wonder he’s such a dick, then. Hey! Tell your boss that I don’t regret what I did, alright? With a name like that, he had it coming to him!”

“You’re going to get a longer sentence if you do that.” Diarmuid sounds amused as anything. Patroclus grins back at him. He wonders how long Diarmuid’s sentence is and how many times he’s gotten his way out of it.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”

“Because of your boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“Lucky,” Diarmuid whines. “I have to rely on my natural charm, and here you are getting Out Of Jail cards for free.”

They’re only ‘free’ if you don’t count the cost on Patroclus’ brain cell capacity, because for all that he loves Achilles with his entire soul, his boyfriend is, in fact, an idiot, and this has only seemed to get worse since they met Cu Chulainn a few years back. How does that saying go again? ‘Birds of a feather flock together?’

What does it say about him that he’s part of this flock? Nothing good, probably, so best not to think too much about it.

“Are you a vampire?”

“Okay, now you’re just naming every creature with pointy ears.”

Patroclus slumps down in his seat. “I don’t have much else to go on.” And it doesn’t look like Diarmuid is going to willingly give him any hints. “A dragonborn, maybe?”

Alright, maybe that one's a little bit of a deep cut, given how rare they are these days, but, hey, if he’s going for every race with pointed ears then…

“Also,” he continues, “you’re not a ‘creature’ you’re just a different race to a human.”

“Flattering,” Diarmuid says dryly. Patroclus doesn’t really get how any of that is ‘flattering’ in any way, shape or form but then what does he know? He’s human, after all, so maybe he really has just said something that - whatever. Doesn’t matter. He’s making friends! Cu will be so proud of him.

Does he have a concussion? Probably. None of his thoughts are making any sense today.

“I’m not a dragonborn.”

Okay, strike two off the list.

“Or a vampire.”

Strike three.

This would be so much easier if he wasn’t just relying on ‘ears pointy’ because that...really doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. Are there really that many races with pointed ears? How has he never noticed this before? “You sure you’re not an elf? Or, like, elf adjacent?”

“If you were anyone else,” says Diarmuid, “I would’ve hit you for that. Luckily for you, I’m pretty sure you’re just a mouthy moron like I am, so congrats on saving your own skin, I guess.”

“It’s a gift,” he grins.

Diarmuid snorts. Progress is being made. Fuck yeah. “You’re not used to being in a cell, are you?”

Patroclus shrugs. “Not particularly.”

“First time?”

Oh now that’s just too easy a line to pass up. “Being in the company of a gorgeous man like yourself?” His lashes flutter and Diarmuid actually looks a little bit bewildered. “Hardly.”

“You...have a boyfriend.”

Astute of him.

“I do,” he agrees. “We have a comfortable and confident relationship.” By which he means that they’re allowed to flirt with whoever they want, whenever they want, it’s just dating and sex that are off limits until further discussion. Diarmuid - doesn’t really seem to get what he means. Which. Okay then. “Flirting is fine,” he clarifies with an easy tone.

“Oh.”

He still sounds a bit miffed by the whole thing so, in an effort to bring them back to their earlier comfort levels, Patroclus says, “lets play a game.”

Diarmuid stares at him. “A game,” he repeats.

“Just something to pass the time.”

“Am I going crazy or are you always like this?”

“It’s just me.” He feels no embarrassment in admitting it either. His mouth often moves faster than his brain can catch up, or his brain will move faster than his mouth, and rarely do they ever operate at the same capacity as each other. He forgets that not everyone can keep up with his rapid changes in conversation. Achilles’ mother is the only one who can understand him all of the time, but she’s back home in her river, so he has to - make an effort to slow down a little bit here.

How annoying.

“Ever heard of 21 Questions?”

The silence continues for long enough this time that Patroclus is almost completely certain he’s just gotten rejected. Diarmuid sighs. “Sure. I reserve the right to refuse answering anything personal, though.”

For all his earlier chatter, he’s surprisingly guarded and private. This, along with his keeping his own race a secret, intrigues Patroclus a lot more than it should. There’s a dull and distant warning bell ringing in his head; caution, it screeches, CAUTION.

“I reserve the same thing, then.”

Diarmuid blows some hair out of his face and, presumably, rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “I suppose,” he sighs dramatically. His lip twitches into a smile. Generously, Patroclus lets him go first. “What’s your name?”

He blinks, startled, and then laughs. “Oh I’m such an idiot,” he says and then holds out his hand. Diarmuid is wearing leather gloves under his shackles. Interesting. “It’s Patroclus. Pleasure to meet you.”

His grip is a little firmer than Patroclus expected but nowhere near the strength of Cu Chulainn’s. Which is a bit of an unfair comparison considering Cu’s specific bloodline but. Well. He doesn’t have a whole lot of non-human references to go on. Diarmuid holds himself as though he’s waiting to get shanked in the gut and Patroclus, ever so politely, asks, “what’s your favourite drink?”

Diarmuid blinks. “What?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, wagging his finger. “Not your turn to ask a question.”

“...tequila,” Diarmuid says at last.

“Oh that’s strong! I thought you might be an ale drinker, what with all the leathers and the -” he gestures to the window of the cell, hoping to encompass the city as a whole.

“Ah,” says Diarmuid. “Ale’s too bitter for me.”

“And tequila isn’t?”

His lip quirks. “Not your turn.”

“Right you are! Continue, then.”

“Who's your boyfriend?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Achilles.”

Diarmuid promptly chokes, as do the Guards outside. “You’re kidding. You don’t mean - you can’t mean -”

Patroclus inclines his head, delighted by the reaction. Achilles is famous here! Who knew!

“Holy shit.” Diarmuid’s voice raises a few octaves. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I doubt it,” says Patroclus dryly. “He’s more likely to whine about me getting better prison company than he did.”

“I’m not talking about Achilles,” hisses Diarmuid. “I’m talking about Cu Chulainn!”

Wait.

Wait a second.

Patroclus takes a step back to examine the man before him. Dark, curly hair? Check. A penchant for getting arrested? From what he can gather, check. Pointy ears? Absolutely. And -

He leans closer to try and get a whiff of whatever scent Diarmuid carries.

-- the distinct smell of a winter breeze.

A lot of different things fall into place at once.

“You’re the friend that Cu’s been looking for. The one that lost his favourite jacket.”

“I’m dead,” says Diarmuid. “I’ve been trying to get it back for him and now I’m going to die before I get the chance.”

“Is that why you were selling stolen goods?”

Reluctantly, Diarmuid nods. “I know where it is,” he admits mulishly. “I just don’t have the money to buy it back.”

Patroclus thinks this over. He doesn’t have any money either. Fuck it, he thinks, we’re already criminals anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “If you can get us out of here, I’ll help you get it back.”

“Don’t even try it,” warns Guard number one.

Diarmuid gives Patroclus a pathetically hopeful look. “You will?”

“Yes. On the condition,” he continues, “that you return it to him in person.”

“You know where he is.”

“I know where he is.”

Diarmuid considers this for all of two seconds. “Deal.”

And then he slips out of his shackles and shatters the fucking window with them.

#fate series #my writing #2.6K words of crack tbh #i dont know what this is please just take it

13 notes · View notes