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coralinnii · 1 year

Note

Hi, I saw your requests were open could you do a sequel for Malleus and Idia villainess? And if it’s not too much work could you do for Rook and Lilia?

being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy feat: Lilia, Rook genre: drama note: set in the same universe as previous works (Malleus and Vil’s ver specifically), prominent non-canon characters (Yung, etc), not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used, sculptor!reader in Rook’s portion,

You remembered that the dating sim game you found yourself in was at most PG13 but oh, how you wanted to swear in your native language and the language in this madness of a new world you were currently in.

Couldn’t you be a rich but nameless aristocrat or even a dumb mob character? Why did you have to be the hopeless puppet of your evil parents who just purchased a dragon egg from a black auction?!

At the persuasion of your “parents” (they certainly don’t act like it), your character went to buy a dragon egg, hoping to raise it to overthrow one of the love targets and become the new Dragon King. All for the slim chance your family would be proud of you. You knew the unfair ending to your person that was offered as a sole perpetrator of this act of treason. Your life was written unfortunately as such, short and unloved.

But you weren't their child anymore. You chose to rebel this horrid destiny by running away with the dragon egg in your arms. You weren’t sure how to get the egg back to its people but you weren’t going to let your family get their hands on it.

You were adamant of your choice of action. You were going to find a way to reunite the young dragon to its family. Easy, right?

No. No it was not. Especially when the moment a small cute boy hatched from that egg, you were running around your secret cabin trying to reign in the surprisingly powerful child.

“Love, please get off the ceiling. Slowly float your way to me-ahh the curtains! Get water!”

Realising you were way over your head, you were racking your brain to figure out the best solution. Aside from just your inexperience with children, it’s plain to see that the youngster in your care is developing skills you couldn’t possibly know to support.

You had no choice but to find him

“This is certainly an odd predicament here”

Lilia casually commented as he curiously observed the unplanned visitors in his manor. Lilia’s eyebrow quirk upwards as he watches the young dragon fae playfully squirming in your lap as you nervously nurse the tea Lilia’s servants prepared in haste.

“I understand you must have questions. I can explain everyth-“ you started to speak but you were cut off by the Duke.

“May I take a guess first?”

For someone who is smiling, Lilia still manages to instill a sense of fear in you to the point that you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but nod your head.

“I’m aware of your family’s…avarice for power and their disdain for Lord Malleus since their lost in standing” your breath hitched when you accidentally locked eyes with Lilia’s darkened scarlet gaze “Young dragons are rare but their strength can change the world’s power dynamic when raised into adulthood”

Lilia’s words were vague but his tone was pushing a dangerous weight onto you. With a few sentences, he already knew your family’s plans for treason and you were being carefully judged by his watchful gaze.

“Which is why dragon eggs are extremely difficult to obtain, and considered illegal to own or sell to non-fae if one were to find ways to find one.” Lilia continued. “Coming to me with a young dragon fae is sort of a confession of your crime, you understand that?”

Of course you did. It was why you didn’t want to get involved with Lilia or anyone in the first place. You were a criminal the moment you obtained the egg and you were being used as a pawn in your parents’ greed for power. You initially wanted to leave the egg deep in the woods and run away from your family.

But before you could, Yung was born. And you instantly fell in love. The tiny child crawled into your arms and into your heart. You decided to risk imprisonment if it means the innocent fae grows up happy and strong, with the love your host body never received.

Shaking away your nerves, you stared straight into Lilia’s scarlet eyes which surprised him. “I know the risks, but only you can save this child from my family's greed.”

You, albeit awkwardly with the young fae in your lap, bowed to the powerful duke as you made a bold and desperate plea.

“I beg of you. Please take this child into your care”

Unbeknownst to you, Lilia wasn’t distrusting of you at all. While he disliked your family, he pitied you as he could see only a lonely human that begged for love. He heard news of your disappearance but to think you would appear before him with a tiny fae with great potential. He deduced that your family planned to raise the child to usurp the throne from his young lord but you rebelled and ran with the innocent child.

He silently praised you for your bravery, which led him to his next words.

“Very well, I accept your request”

You lifted your head in shock at the quick reply. You’ve heard that the young(?) Duke was laid-back to a certain degree but you’d assume he put more thought when taking in a whole new ward into his care. But you weren’t going to complain about his benevolence so you fervently thanked him.

Lilia reached his arms out, glancing towards Yung in your arms and you took the hint. He needed to take the young dragon from you if he was going to raise him. You knew that, it was obvious. But that knowledge didn’t help the painful throb in your chest.

Perhaps because he was still quite young, Yung was sensitive to your aching heartbeat as he squirmed anxiously in your grasp, tightening his grip on your shirt and started to cry out for you.

“W-wuv, wuv!” He cried out his nickname for you, something he picked up after hearing you call him Love over and over again. You couldn’t risk the possibility of him attaching to you so you avoided parental titles but alas it didn’t stop anything. He was calling for you with that endearing name.

“Oh, love” you whispered painfully, reaching to the young fae’s tiny hands with your own shaking hands. “You need to let go. I can’t stay with you anymore”

But you couldn’t calm the young one down. You couldn’t even stop your own emotions as you felt the sting in your eyes from the tears that were cascading down your cheeks. You stayed with Yung day and night as you did your best to raise him. You got to see his first crawl, his first stand, his first flight, and so much more. You had dreams where you watched the young dragon grow up with love and you forgot that you weren’t meant to be a part of that. For Yung to be happy, he should be far away from your family, including you. Your mind understands that, why can’t your heart?

You impressed yourself that you managed to register a sudden warmth atop of your hands in your chaotic mess of a mind. You felt Lilia’s hands encase your trembling ones that were wrapped around Yung’s. You locked eyes with the duke’s which you felt your heart skipped a beat at the beauty of his orbs. The entire conversation, you felt his gaze to be intimidating but now it’s slightly different. It was…gentler.

“Oh dear, I supposed there is nothing else we can do” Lilia let out a sigh as he raised to his feet. He gestured for a servant’s attention and announced, “Prepare two rooms for our guests”

“Sir Lilia…” you uttered in confusion but Lilia responded with a playful smile on his pale lips.

“You’ll be staying with me for a while” He smiled with a slight mischievous glint in his eyes

That was how you, a criminal, started living with the great Duke Lilia Vanrouge along with the baby dragon you ran away with.

If you had an unfair life before, the universe must have been dying to prove you wrong by showing that your life could be more unfair. You reincarnated as the story’s most unluckiest character. You were the desperate and foolish noble that fell for Rook Hunt, respected knight and fanatic of beauty in all its form. Stupidly falling for Rook’s flowery words of appreciation, your character begged to be engaged to the knight but grew jealous every time Rook decided to focus his adoration elsewhere, which was every single time.

Blinded by jealousy, your character recklessly attacked Neige and his love interest which ultimately led to imprisonment and presumably death since you never appeared in the story after that.

You thought it was simple to avoid that ending, just annul your engagement and that’s it. However, apparently the original script failed to mention that your family received a large sum of money to arrange the engagement. And there’s no way your family was gonna give the dowry back.

Welp, guess you gotta pay this yourself then.

You proposed a deal with Rook and his family. You would find a way to earn the money that his family spent on you and the engagement will be annulled which certainly shocked the Hunt household since you were so desperate for the union between you and their son in the first place. But they ultimately give the final word to Rook, who was strangely calm.

You were nervous under his gaze but by some miracle, Rook agreed to your deal and you sighed a breath of relief. Now, you just need to figure out how to make money

Coincidentally, like Rook you were also an admirer of all things beautiful but fortunately for others, your method of appreciation is capturing beauty through art, specifically sculpting. You love being able to immortalize one’s visual beauty with your own hands and you were confident that you could make some money out of it.

It started with smaller requests, desk decors of fake flowers and animal sculptures. Soon, your talents were spreading as you were receiving commissions to make busts of loved ones. They were appreciative of your ability to bring out life from inanimate mediums.

But that was partially due to Rook as well.

While he was careful not to overtake your process, Rook’s keen eyes were helpful in the smaller details that made all the differences. He tells you how your client’s face crinkles slightly or how the dimple dips into their cheek when they smile. You suppose you couldn’t blame your original body to love Rook, not completely anyway.

But you refused to make the same mistake. You were determined to change your predestined fate. Afterall, you were a completely different person.

And someone else noticed that as well.

He’s not trying to brag but Rook Hunt was not a typical man. There’s not a single misplaced hair that he wouldn’t notice or a thread misaligned that he wouldn’t catch. So obviously, he noticed the drastic change in you.

Your walking pace is different, your breathing has changed, your typical habits were replaced with new ones.You were more level-headed than usual, determined as always but your goal has changed. It was as though you woke up as a completely different person.

He noticed everything about you but did not mention a word to you, preferring to continue his observation without your knowledge. And through his observations, he’s picked out aspects of you that he can’t seem to look away from.

Firstly, your eyes. While he objectively admired the pure infatuation of your old gaze at him and he was intrigued by the frequent crazed glare of jealousy, Rook finds himself captivated by the new look in your eyes. Your eyes stay the same but they’re clearer, more confident with professional focus when you carve or mold your work. Your eyes seem calmer as you converse with him on occasion, gone was the obsessive looks he once received.

Next, your hands. Since you started sculpting, he began obsessively watching you work, entranced by your practiced strokes and cuts. Your hands glide skillfully against the material as you shape your medium to your whim with confidence. He voiced his envy towards your sculptures for having your hands grace its surface (you chose to ignore that). Your movements differ so much from your old self that Rook started to doubt your identity.

Finally, your lips. You haven't changed your morning routine with the servants so your facial features haven't changed in that sense. However, your smile held his heart in a vice grip, his gaze trapped by your lips like a bramble of thorns digging into his thoughts. He found beauty of all forms to be equally exquisite, and he was not lying to you when he sang praises about your lovestruck grin that showcased the maddening effects of love. But why did that smile seem dull in comparison when he watched the small satisfied smiles formed on your face whenever you were proud of a new project or the shy upward quirk of your lips when your client gave you their words of appreciation for your hard work?

Since your change, Rook grew more and more fascinated by you. He waits to see a new side of you or even glimpses of you he has already seen, just wanting to see you that day. But when he does see you and you offer a polite smile and a wave, his mind turns blank with nothing but you for a second which for a knight and hunter such as himself is frighteningly concerning.

You were dangerous for him, but he likes it

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twst imagines #lilia vanrouge #lilia x yuu #rook hunt #rook x reader #villainess au

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arieswritez · 14 days

Text

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 1

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; snapshots of you and mark growing up together. neither of you make it to the other end of the spectrum - budding adulthood - unscathed . . . but at least you have each other. what is it they say? Sandbox love never dies.

a/n: alt title [vignettes of a life: growing pains]. here's something to make you wish you were never born xx. this came out wayy longer than i expected & i figured the only way to properly digest it was by breaking it up into chapters. this one’s pretty intense so please heed the warnings. they'll be included in every chapter forward. enjoy! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

1 .

you still remember the fog of childhood innocence.

the fluffy pajamas that were both comfy and scratchy all at once. the stickers on your bedroom wall, on your wooden headboard. plastic restaurant playground mazes, fishing out toys from greasy boxes. the feeling of chalk staining your fingers and gravel digging into your soft knees: chubby legs soon to be scarred.

and amidst the fog, you remember mark. the sporty, hyperactive kid who’d run across the school yard with a sweater wrapped around his neck like a cape, arms spread wide pretending he could fly.

you remember him.

vibrant, loving, quick witted.

it was glaringly obvious all the kids in your grade wanted to be friends with mark grayson. he had a posse: his very own group of 'superheroes', as the teachers used to call it. and before you learned to multiply, something inside you brewed like a poison. you wanted to be like him but you weren't, and so, your stubborn, little kid mind decided you didn't like him.

you hated him, actually. you hated the way he knew all the right answers in class. you hated his laugh. you hated how he was the fastest during sports. you hated how he was fun and smart and good at everything you weren't.

but dislike or not, that didn't stop your fixation. you continued to watch him from afar. and in your journals - to the best of your ability - you drew yourself striding across the playground with a sweater tied around your neck.

you kept to yourself. painfully shy and practically non-verbal: despite your daydreams of someday being a 'normal' kid like mark. your teachers held conferences with your parents about your struggles. despite the fog that blanketed the memories of your childhood: the feeling of dread settling deep in your tummy during the meetings is something that makes you wince to this day.

while you traced patterns into the table in front of you, they'd talk about you as if you weren't in the same room. your teacher did most of the talking. . and, like most of the time, your brain blocked out the sound of her droning voice. instead, your parent's voice was who you heard. and despite struggling to keep up with the onslaught of information, too, all your parent offered was a hushed, “I don't know what's wrong with them.”

you couldn't pay attention. you didn't talk to the other kids. you clung onto your teacher while in class. . and onto your parent during drop-off.

you were different.

intelligent.

but different.

the former a more pressing concern than the latter.

after countless tedious meetings, you soon associated being different with being singled out. being different meant spending an hour sitting in a boring office, listening to teachers repeat the same information - over and over and over again.

a mention about a doctor your parent(s) always refused.

regardless of the calming - sympathetic? - smile of your teacher, it always felt like you were in trouble. even if you couldn't quite put your finger on what you were doing wrong.

on the way home, your parent(s) would eye you through the rearview mirror. you pulled at the loose strings from your sweater and pretended not to notice.

the front door of your childhood home would creak open. your parent(s) would sit at the dinner table, silent, immobile, and - quiet as always - you'd go to your room until you were certain they were asleep to sneak either dinner or a midnight snack.

you were in trouble.

you just didn't know how to stop getting into it.

your teachers grew evermore desperate.

when suggestions of socializing would cause you to clam up: they decided to bite the bullet and break you in by force, hoping your behavior was caused by childhood timidity. one you’d soon outgrow instead of. . something else.

they’d grouped you with myriad of students in hopes you'd socialize or at least participate in something that wasn't independent school work. soon, your tears of frustration when you couldn't communicate correctly no longer held it's child-like charm. your teary, red eyed protests were ignored.

or met with indignation.

until finally - as a last ditch effort you assume - they sat you next to mark grayson.

you protested. not because he made you nervous - which he did - but because you wanted to dislike him. because being in the proximity of everything you wanted to be would be too much to bare. because mark would only make you look even weirder in comparison. but none of it mattered because as soon as the two of you met everything just. . fell into place.

much to your pleasure, he did most of the talking and didn't seem weirded out by your social skills - or lack thereof.

you found your tummy didn't hurt when he spoke to you and he didn't ask you something along the lines of why are you this way? why aren't you like the rest of us?

for the first time while in school, you were comfortable. the overwhelming pressure of having to perform was nonexistent in mark's company.

he'd ask you about your favorite cartoons and movies, and books, and “oh! do you read any comics?!”, and ranted on how unfair it was that the two of you would soon be forced to read books without pictures in them.

his excitement barely let you get a word in. his energy was contagious, all consuming, and the attention he gave you felt like the praise you'd hardly ever receive. you forgot all about your dumb vendetta, wondering why you had one in the first place. and you morphed into a mini version of him.

the two of you were attached by the hip by the end of the week. much to the dismay of your teachers, who you were sure began to rethink their decision when the two of you wouldn't behave in class.

and, perhaps, it was a mistake. they wouldn't want you to potentially stunt mark’s growth - what if it was contagious?

unbeknownst to you, your teachers did think about separating the two of you. but the risk of you reverting to your old ways and the possibility of invoking debbie grayson’s wrath must've been far too high for their liking.

ultimately, a unanimous decision was made to grit their teeth and bare it.

in the meantime, his posse reluctantly welcomed you in. mark even gave you your very own superhero name! and you tried your hardest to keep up with him. for his sake. for your own.

god knows you tried.

but you were never good at performing.

you weren't as fast or as agile as him. you couldn't jump high enough and your sound effects were nowhere near as good. and in an attempt to overcompensate, you overestimated yourself, took a leap you knew you couldn't make, and scraped your knee.

and like a true hero, mark was the first to come to your aid. he'd sat you down on the plastic playset of the playground while you sniveled - part due to embarrassment instead of the stinging, throbbing pain of a scraped knee. he'd dabbed at your injury with crumbled tissue and placed a colorful seance dog band-aid over your cut.

when you finished rubbing your eye with your tiny fist, you didn't see beading blood and irritated flesh, instead, you were met with big, dark brown eyes that glimmered as they stared into yours.

he was close enough to count his eyelashes.

“see?” he patted a chubby hand against your knee gently. “all better!”

and, yeah - heat spread across your cheeks with newfound emotion - it was all better. all evidence of injury, the throbbing pain and blood, was long gone save for the aid he’d given you.

he’d patched you up. he'd made you better. in more ways than one. and what remained was a fuzzy feeling inside your chest.

he’d grinned at you with missing front teeth.

and you found yourself grinning back.

CHAPTER 2

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #yandere mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson #invincible #invincible x reader #when he's just like his dad </3 #FIRST MULTICHAP FIC LETS GOOO #god this is gonna be a trip

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wilt1ng · 7 months

Text

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

PRICE TO PAY

PT. 2 [NSFW 18+]

If you haven't read the first, I recommend doing so, but it's not completely necessary.

I attempted to stick with gender neutral terms as I did in pt. 1. However, the reader presented here is afab non-binary. 🫶

WARNINGS: NSFW, Mature Content, Kidnapping, Toxic Themes, Dubcon, and Fingering.

You had been locked inside his manor for more than a few days now. It had been that long since your capture and the night he had "punished" you for breaking in and stealing what was his.

It was difficult not to be lost in thought about who the man was, his intentions, and how he touched you. The very thought made you shudder, emitting goosebumps on your skin from the idea of his rough hands taking hold of you once more. You wondered when the next you'd see him would be, considering he had locked you away for the time being.

What was most uncomfortable, however, was the ropes he bound you with. Your wrists and ankles were tightly secured against the bed frame with little to no wiggle room. You could practically feel the tension pulling at your muscles. You began to ache after your first night being bound like this, and after enduring a few more days, you were unsure how you could bare it any longer.

The only thing you could do in your downtime was think. You imagined various scenarios where you escaped, potentially killing your kidnapper. Or when you got sick of obsessing over that idea, you'd simply imagine being somewhere else, a happy place. Somewhere, you could pretend to be free, push away the thoughts of him, and ignore the hunger pains that often times consumed you.

While in the middle of meditation, you couldn't help but sense that you were no longer alone. Your heart began to race as you opened your eyes, peering into the room as they adjusted to the darkness. Your panicked breaths gave away your fear as you searched the room.

"Hello?"

Your voice was much raspier than before. It's sweet tone had been replaced by a weary, defeated one.

"Please. It hurts."

You began to plead with the shadows in your room, desperate from the pain in your aching muscles.

Within a few moments, you heard footsteps approach your bed. Although it was difficult with your only light source being the moon and stars, you made out the same figure as before. It was him.

You watched as he examined your body, shivering as he brought his hand to your cold skin. Brahms caressed your leg all the way up to your inner thigh, where he could feel the faintest heat. His eyes never left you or your body, and his uneven breathing suggested he was in another mood.

Brahms turned his attention to the rope, which was tightly restraining your limbs to the bed. He began to remove the rope, which bound your wrists. The release from tension made you cry out in a mix of relief and agony. Tears welt in your eyes as he did the same with the restraints on your ankles.

Finally, you were free to move as you pleased. Only you didn't want to. The pain was too great, and the only thing you could do was lay there in agony as you tried to slow your breathing.

Brahms continued to watch you curiosity, with his head cocked to the side like usual. He said nothing but offered his touch as he crawled onto the bed, hovering over your body. His curly hair tickled your face, and he leaned in close, Inhaling your scent.

"Help me... please." You whispered, not even sure if he could hear you.

Perhaps Brahms took pity on you, or he felt as if you were learning your lesson. He shushed you almost like a parent does their child and cupped your face into his hand. His thumb caressed your lips, dipping in and from your mouth ever so slightly to get a feel of your warmth. Your touch made him shudder.

He wrapped his warm arms around your body and gently lifted you from place. You were unsure where he was taking you but couldn't protest or fight back from how weak you became. That's when you noticed a candlelit room. He took you into the bathroom, where you were surprised to see a bathtub. Brahms set you onto the floor next to the tub in confidence, knowing you wouldn't be able to get far. He turned on the faucet, and as the water poured, he returned all attention to you.

Brahms fiddled at the bottom of your shirt with his fingers while looking into your tired eyes. With the faint lighting, you could see how blue/green they were. You tried your best to sit up as he lifted the shirt above your head, exposing your top entirely. Your pants were next as he wasted no time unbuttoning and removing them from you, leaving you only in your underwear.

He never hid his lust for you as his eyes trailed up and down your body, despite your attempts of covering yourself with your arms.

"Stand." He demanded, his deep voice surprising you once again.

"I-I don't know if I can." You uttered in response, avoiding his eye contact.

Brahms sighed in annoyance and wrapped an arm around you, pressing your weight into his as to help you stand. Once you forced most of your weight into the wall behind you, you were mostly able to stand on your own without his help. He got onto his knees and grabbed the hem of your underwear with his dirtied hands. He began sliding it down your torso, using the anticipation for his own pleasure and your discomfort. You even caught him leaning in, his nose brushing your inner thigh as he inhaled you some more. Once you were fully exposed, he slid the underwear down your legs and tossed it to the side with your remaining clothes.

While remaining on his knees, Brahms grasped onto your hips with his hands and dug his fingers into your skin harshly. You gasped as he forced you close, trembling from how close his face was from your exposed cunt. He leaned in closer as he slid his hand up your legs and between your thighs. Your knees buckled, and you nearly fell, but he ensured you wouldn't. Using his forearm, he pressed you into the wall as he continued with his free hand. He spread open your legs, and you could do nothing but watch.

Wanting to know your reaction, he made sure you were looking at him as he circled a finger around your clit, even playing at your folds. Your gasps were music to his ears, especially knowing he had barely touched you yet. He grasped onto your hip with his hand, which was big enough for his thumb to rest on your pelvic bone. He slid his other in between your slits and finally forced a finger into your cunt. You buckled against the palm of his hand as he tightened his hold on you, thrusting his finger in and out. The intrusion was proving to be overwhelming as you gasped, releasing small crys as he continued selfishly.

You began pulling at his hair for him to stop, but he showed no intentions of doing so. Instead, angered with your attempts, you shrieked as he inserted a second finger within your cunt. You balled his hair into your fists, pulling it back roughly as he continued. Brahms didn't care and even enjoyed the pain. He continued thrusting for every time you reacted, finding the way you'd clench around his fingers so tightly intoxicating. His imagination grew wild with every scenario that resulted in him finally fucking you, but he knew he needed to wait, leaving you begging for more. Finally, Brahms removed his fingers from your cunt while still holding onto you. He brought his two fingers within your sight and forced them into your mouth, making you taste your own juices. As perverted as it was, you took it and obeyed as he acted, exhausted beyond belief. He wiped the excess from the bottom of your lip and caressed your cheek in the process. You looked like a mess, his hot mess.

The tub was more than full at this point, so he left you against the wall and turned the faucet off. With little to no time to recover from what he had done to you, he helped lift you into the tub. The moment your toe hit the water, you cringed from the lack of warmth. He submerged you within the lukewarm water, acknowledging how cold it was as he shushed your whimpers.

"Shhh."

Brahms scooped up some of the bath water with a stray cup and poured it over your head to dampen your hair. He continued hushing you as he combed his fingers through your hair, attempting to remove any grime. All he had was a bar of soap, which he lathered in his hands as he washed your limbs one by one. He commanded you every which way, and you did as you were told, mostly to be able to leave the cold water as soon as you could.

After some perverted touching and cleansing, Brahms had finally finished washing you. He made you stand as he helped pull you from out of the tub, not caring about your dripping form getting him wet. He wrapped you in a tattered towel and lifted you into his arms.

The house was freezing as he walked through the hallway and back to the bedroom. For once, you were excited to crawl back into the bed if it meant escaping the cold, but when you watched as Brahms grabbed the rope your smile quickly faded.

"No, wait." You placed a desperate hand onto his arm, making him stop in place.

"Please. No rope." You begged him, making sure his eyes met your own.

"I swear to God I'll behave. I will." You continued to plead, not even noticing you were digging your nails into his skin.

Brahms cocked his head and merely chuckled, at least you think he did. He grabbed your hand and pulled it off his own as he dropped the rope. You shuffled further on the bed as he approached you slowly. He once again crawled over your body, his dominating presence leering over you. He pushed his knee into the heat of your cunt as his hands grasped onto your wrists. He buried his porcelain face into the corner of your neck as he grew to love your scent. You felt his cock harden at that moment.

He wasn't finished with you just yet.

Wasn't originally planning on making a part 2 but ♡

Lemme know if you want the final part;)

Apologies for spelling/grammar errors. I don't often revise on busier days.

#slashers #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #theboy2016

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sug4r-sp1c3 · 6 months

Note

Hi!

Could you maybe do villanous x a reader who has rabbit ears please? Thanks!!

RULES ARE RULFES NO SPECIFIC CHARACTERS OR THINGS ITS BEING A HC UHHHH

ok lets begin since i'm sleepy ITA 1 AM WHAT THE FUCK

"but sugar-sp1c3 you said your limit was 4 character-" I KNOW OKAYI' JUST FORGOT WHEN DOING THIS

VILLANOUS WITH A S/O WITH RABBIT EARS HCS !!

Characters, Demencia/Dementia, Dr.Flug, 5.0.5(platonic?), Black hat, penumbra, Sun Blast, Miss heed(not in order lol)

Demencia / Dementia

she woudl make fun of then

but like

A LOT

"Hey bunny ears!"

i feel like she would bite them idk

i mean yes she mocks of you BUT THATS HER WAY TO SHOW LOVE TO YOU..at least i think!

she haves 2 sides

the left one where she mocks and jokes and bites of you ears

and the right side where she praises you and your eyes and- you are basically her new black hat

she would often play with them

or if you have both rabbit and human she would be like:

"SO YOU HAVE SUPER HEARING!!?! OMG THATS SO COOL"

Dr. Flug

his first honest reaction is that gif sorry i don't make rules

HE THINKS THEY ARE COOL AND PRETTY ASF

HE MELTS IF THEY EVEN MOVE LIKE

HE JUST STARES AT YOU IN AWWE UNTIL HE SNAPS BACK TO REALITY!

unless his with black hat bc in that case he avoids to look at your ears at all cost since the "jefecito" can notice and idk yeah

he would probably want to do some experiments

but only friendly ones!!

like testing if you can do other things

if you have extra sensitive ears

or somthn idk i have no ideas rn

he would like to caress them on his little free time

oh btw he would LOVE if you and 5.0.5 where like best buddies or you would be his second parent-like figure(i swear i am trying to make his non specified gender I SWEAR GUYS)

he just lvoes you and you ears so much

5.0.5

he's a fucking bear bruh 💀

ok so thsi will be platonic like buddies or a second parental figure, or smthn like that

he loves to "talk" about your ears or ask you questions.(if you don understand them he would force flug to translate lmao)

he is very careful when he is trying to touch them since y'know..big paws

but he still tries!!

i imagine if he maked cupcakes the icing would be a drawing of an airplane, of dementia, a chameleon or a black hat idk, for you YOUR RABBIT EARS AND A HEART BECAUSE I THINK THEY ARE CUTE!!!!

he would even "ask" you to use you as inspiration for any dessert, or drawing or smthn.

i bet if he haves a rabbit plushie he gives it to you and/or puts something on the ears(ribbons, little hats, etc) he would be like "bow bow!" [siblings!]

Black Hat

he probably threats to rip off your ears

and eat them

basically hurt you

DUDE HE IS LIKE THE ANTI CHRIST ON HIS UNIVERSE WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO TURN HIM INTO A ONCELER?

Penumbra

SHE

LOVES

YOUR

EARS

SHE OFTEN POSTS THINSG ON HER INSTAGRAM(with your consent ofc) LIKE "my sweetie's ears where a bit messy today! so me and sun blast fixed them just a lil bit.... loved the result! 🐇💜"

she would ask if you are sensitive to things like sound or something to try to not let a lot of hard things that can cause a hard sound when they fall or make sure Curie or Sunblast don't throw things

she oftenly tries to impulse you to not cover them! but if you like to have them covered, she would be okay with that too!

the same that flug

she would ask to make some little and non-offensive, experiments on your ears

if you don't want, its okay!

if you want, its okay too!

"look! i got you this! i bet it would make your ears fur brighter!..and curie's too"

Miss Heed

okay she would POST LIKE 10000 HISTORIES, POSTS, AND A LOT OF THINGS IN ALL HER SOCIAL MEDIA

LIKE SAYING "HAH MY s/O'S EARS ARE UNIQUE AND YOURS NOT"

but she would never say that out loud.

she would ask to records tiktoks or anything about them, like idk trends, popular songs or just quick vid like "watch me take care of my Sweetie S/o ears!"

if they are sensitive, during the event of when she had everybody under her control or smthn she would keep you away from them

yes she would be a bit sadistic and evil but she still cares abt you

..or she just does the same thing that she did with them..

when she's at..THAT place..she draws in a corner a lot of little ears, like if she misses you and misses your ears..

if you visit, she would beg to touch them again , to feel them..she would be crazy for it..

Sunblast

Red BEFORE the "The Dreadful Dawn".

Orange AFTER "The Dreadful Dawn" and BEFORE the events of the comic and The "Heedeous Heart"

Yellow AFTER "The Dreadful Dawn" and the events of "The Heedeous Heart" and the little comic

even if you where his S/O he would mock of you and of them..

listen he knows you are his S/O but he just..feels like its the right thing or it doesn't matters

he doesn't even minds as i can think

he is just like "oh i am just joking! geez.."

Now under Penumbra's uhm..how do i say it?..NOW WITH PENUMBRA LMAO

he realized that he may have been a bit too much harsh with you..

he persuades Penumbra to localize you or visit you to apologize

if things go well..you both could try again!

and he is better.

He even tries to make you be friends with Penumbra! like he did with her

He still makes jokes but he thinks about them for a long time like

"no..that would hurt their feelings..NO ITS BAD..well- no wait..no..oh...this one may be good.."

he fears of you getting like the other ones..he tries to protect you at all cost

if you do get under Miss heed's..thing

he would be like mad but that multiplicate it for 10 and then for 100

the only thing that keeps him away from hurting heed and all her followers its his current little size and Curie

when you aren't under heeds control he makes sure you and your ears are okay..

he asks everyday if you are 100% SURE IF YOU ARE OKAY

after the Miss heed thing he is worried more than he should be but like c'mon

leave the little guy alone :(

he lost 2 of his most special people in his life just because a pink bitch

#Missheed x reader #villanous x reader #dementia x reader #Penumbra x reader #black hat x reader #x reader #sunblast x reader #dr.flug x reader

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carpathianspaceprincess · 1 year

Text

To Be A Soldier - (hbo!)Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: In which you have gotten yourselves and your young cargo into quite a dangerous situation. Now you have to decide who can be saved, but you're nearly out of time and Joel is as stubborn as ever. Rating: E. Minors DNI. CW / Tags: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Desperation. Soft kiss. Non-gendered reader. Detailed description of wounds and several mentions of death and/or bodies. Established relationship. Open ending. Recommended listening: The Day After Tomorrow - Phoebe Bridgers. A/N: HELLO DARLINGS!! dawg idk what this is. It's been in my drafts for at least three weeks while i hummed and haaaaed over it. Realised halfway through that I was subconsciously pulling from my own personal relationship with death and grief, particularly towards the end. (aka I have daddy issues lol) PLEASE interact if you liked it (or hated it!). Also note I hate sad shit LMFAO this is the rare angst for me - there will be more and this is not the end of the story.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Maria assured you this job would be a breeze. All you had to do was drop off some cargo over the river. “Cargo” being Johanna, a girl of around six, who was to be reunited with her ecstatic parents after several months of Maria trying to locate them. How hard could it be?

The ride up was familiar terrain, and with the promised payment of around 200 cans (two hundred!) sitting safely in a storage unit, you considered the whole thing a win-win. The only con? You’d been forced to leave Ellie at home, a conversation you’d mistakenly left to Joel. You tried to explain that the bridge crossing was safely abandoned, and assured her you’d be back the day after tomorrow, but she wasn’t having it.

“I miss you when you’re gone! You can’t just leave me behind again!”

“It sucks, I know… what if I bring you back something cool to make up for it?”

“Fine, but you better make it good.”

“I will, I promise.”

Having smoothed things over, you’d started out optimistic; Joel allowing the brush of your hand against his own as you passed folks shoveling snow and raking leaves, cheeks rosy as summer faded and made way for the fresh, icy winter air. You delighted at Joel’s unexpected patience and humor for Johanna, and as the three of you rode, your laughter hung between the dense firs like streamers.

Then a FEDRA unit caught your unsuspecting trio by surprise up near the river bank, a mere two hours after setting out. Things had spun out of control quickly, and in the scuffle to escape Johanna had suffered a fall. You’d found the only cover you could in this shithole of a shepherd’s shack, fending off gunfire while you and Joel tried to figure out how you’d get back to Jackson with no horses and dwindling ammo. In your effort to push the little girl under a solid table for cover, you’d been careless and exposed yourself to the aim of one remaining officer.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Fuck!” You stumble, back thudding against rotting wooden panels. “Fuck i’m stupid. fuck. fuck. fuck!”

“Shit.” Joel kneels over you, wild eyes reflecting your own. The steel of his shotgun gleams in the blistering sunset. Flustered concern etched in his forehead. “He’s down. How bad is it?.”

Wheezing in the dust and dripping sweat from your furrowed brow, you move your unsteady fingers over dirt-scuffed denim to get a better look at the sizable hole entrenched in the muscle of your inner thigh.

“Ahhh..I- I don’t know. Pretty deep.”

You shoot a dirty look to the bloodied bullet sitting just to your left. What a piece of shit. How could something so small cause so much fucking damage?

Warm, velvet red ripples steadily from the split skin.

“Bullet still in there?” He’s breathless.

“No.” You bite out. “Clean shot.”

You lift your hand, blood sticky and gross on your palm. He clicks his tongue as if it isn’t that serious, but the way his face whitens betrays him. This was all wrong. He should never have let you take this job. He should’ve convinced Maria to pick someone else.

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. Scooch up now, I'll grab the kit.”

“No, no i’ll do it. Just…keep watch. I’ll be alright.” You rebuff his hovering anxiety, with more certainty than you feel. Mostly for his benefit.

Waving his hesitant form away with marginal annoyance, you grumble out a half-serious “s’fine.”

You will be, right? Fine? You’ve been through worse injuries than this. It’s not like you’re infected. Reaching up to rifle through the drawer beside you one-handed, you note that you can no longer feel the sting of your fingers, pinched over the wound to keep it closed.

Joel still hasn’t moved an inch, so you wave him off once more, needle and thread secured in hand. “Need you to keep your eye on the driveway, Joel.”

Christ, It’s only your lives at stake here. The last thing you need is him losing focus when he’s the only one with a gun, and you need him to actually use it if you want to make it out of this alive.

He reluctantly concedes, mumbling to himself. Anger and adrenaline still burn bright and hot in his chest at the sight of your wound, so while you pull on the edge of the thread with your teeth to free it, he turns away to focus on something else that isn’t covered in your blood, eyes landing on the corpse of the last soldier outside.

He knows he should feel bad that he’d gunned down that young boy without hesitation, should feel guilty. Some of these “officers” were still just kids, shoved out in front of threats as fodder.

But he doesn’t feel bad. He’ll do it again.

FEDRA radio static crackles from beneath the rest of the bodies splattered in the overgrown grass.

“Second unit ten minutes away, over.”

Okay. No reason to panic. You have ten minutes. This is fine.

You try hard not to focus on the mess as you thread the rusty needle with far more force than is required, slippery hands pressing the tip into the top section of flesh that’s split open. You push, wincing.

And the stupid thing breaks.

Snaps in two. Like it’s nothing.

No. no. no no no no.

Joel’s back is turned, and he misses the horror splashed across your features. Your heart beats out of your chest.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“I broke it.”

He whips around, reaching for you immediately. “What? Broke what?” He spots the split metal beside you, red thread hanging limp, and picks the two ends up with an unreadable expression.

Forcing your eyes down purposefully into your mangled, pulsing leg, you barely see the fat lining through the ripples of blood and muscle. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, you tear your sweat-soaked flannel over your head, pulling it as tight as you can stand. You can’t stitch it up, so this will have to do for now.

You shiver. Then two hands are firmly gripping your shoulders as you wither beneath Joel as he looms over you, dizzy and disorientated in panic. You grip his wrists to stop from losing face.

“Fuck. Okay…s’fine…just keep it wrapped. Won’t be long til’ the last of those dirty fuckers show up.” The timbre of his voice is deep, trembling. “I’ll take care of them ‘n then we get the hell out of here. We’ll head straight to Tommy’s..” He pauses. “You just gotta hold out for a bit longer, okay?”

You nod but can’t bring yourself to look at him as he brushes his large palm against your cheek in reassurance, standing to take his position against the wall by the door. You chew on your lip, tasting blood. How long can you really last like this? Night is closing in. The temperature is dropping fast. Your flannel is already wet. The reduced circulation will slow it down, give you maybe fifteen minutes of grace to figure something out.

But then what?

The faint rumble of engines sends electric shocks zip-zapping up and down your spine and Joel stands up straighter, index finger hovered over the slope of the trigger. He’s itching to pull it, to kill them all, end this horror of a day. Bury it in the past where it belongs. He’ll take you back home where it’s safe and run you a bath and forget this ever happened, banish it to the recesses of his nightmares.

Glossy with cold sweat, your pulse flutters. The ominous creep of a slippery puddle has begun to form between your inner thigh and the mottled floorboards. You count the seconds. And breathe. In and out. In and out. Think. think. think.

The silence is suffocating as you mull over your possible options. You could look around for another med kit, but what would be the chances? Plus, you can barely move and it would be a waste of energy. What about something to plug the hole? Tampons, pads…anything? Sweeping the barren room, you can’t see shit in the shadows except Johanna’s small frame, lying flat against the mattress. She’s been eerily still and quiet throughout the standoff, and you wonder if she’s afraid. Tear tracks stain her little cheeks. You chide yourself at forgetting to check on her.

“You alright, honey?”

She nods, but you notice the odd angle of her leg, and how she quivers. You had forgotten how dependent young children were, because Ellie was older and fairly self-sufficient now. An adult could potentially manage with a broken leg on foot for a while on regular terrain, but not a 6 year old. She needs a doctor, antibiotics. Joel will need to carry her back to Jackson.

The thing is, the numbness in your thigh that’s creeping steadily toward your hip tells you that the bullet has almost certainly nicked your main artery. Logic suggests you’d never make it to Jackson in time to stop bleeding out. Not even if you could run, let alone being unable to walk by yourself.

You watch the blood pool and spread, sinking into bug-bitten damp planks. Soaking the soil beneath. There shouldn’t be this much of it.

You turn back to Joel warily, angling yourself so that only your good leg is facing toward Johanna. She’s already seen far too much today.

“How many rounds you got left?” You ask.

“Enough.” He lies.

“Even if you manage the whole unit, I can’t run like this.” You gesture to your leg, but he doesn’t look.

“I’ll carry you. S’fine.” He swears, wavering. Convincing himself.

“Look at me, Joel.” You hiss.

You’re glaring at him as he methodically checks every part of the gun and frustration bubbles up inside you. You do not have time for his denial.

“Joel!”

He looks up at the sound of your growing desperation and you shift, grimacing as your thigh pulses with blistering pain. His eyes lower as you gingerly lift the shirt so he can see how bad it really is, plastered and dripping in the evidence of your failure. The uselessness and futility of it all. He starts toward you. “Don’t fuckin’ take it off! Jesus christ.”

“Hand me the gun, Miller.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You try to push back the tears that are brimming in your eyes. How can you convince him?

“Cop on, for christ’s sake. You only have two hands. If you give me the gun you can get the hell out of here and ta-”

You don’t get to finish your explanation as he slams the shotgun down on the table. The walls shake with the impact of it. “What kind of man do you fuckin’ think I am? Huh? You really think i’d leave you here? Abandon you?”

You exhale gratuitously, trying to get ahold of yourself so you don’t ruin this more than you already have. “It’s not about me Joel.” You plead, “I know what kind of a man you are. But look at that kid, she can’t fucking run!”

“ Don’t make this difficult for me” You whisper, biting back a wave of grief at how beautiful he looks in this light, even in his anger.

His eyes bore holes into yours. Silent. Unwavering. He won’t let you do this, there has to be another way. He’ll find it.

You look him dead on, mustering all the courage you have left in you.

“Could you live with yourself? if you let her die, just because you’re too much of a coward to let me go?” You almost regret the weight and severity of your words, but you’re pulling your last card here. Somebody has to survive this mess and you’ll do what you have to do, though it breaks your fucking heart to know you’ll never get the future you were imagining this morning - that you’ll never feel the warmth of the sun again or be able to see Ellie grow up, never have the garden you wanted so badly, or feel the rush of exhilaration when you ride out with Joel for a job. You’ll die right here when he leaves you behind and you have to make him do it.

Because if he doesn’t take the girl and get the fuck out out, all three of you are done for.

“You’re a dad, Miller.” You change tack, voice softer now, lilted. “You know what you have to do.” Your heavy, tired eyes flit to the left.

He’s silenced by that, pained gaze turned to where the youngster is sat. He knows her leg hurts and he can see the bone is resting at an odd angle. You’re right, she can’t run. But there has to be something he can do.

Joel looks at her like he has to double check several times before turning back to you - words twisted and caught in his throat. A large, soft hand rests on your thigh. “I-I’ll find another needle and thread and we’ll patch you up right here, okay? You…you can run if it’s stitched. We’ll make it.”

Tears burn your eyes as you see the devastation mirrored in his own. The longing. You turn your head down, snaking your hand through his curls and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. Savouring every part of him as much as you can.

“I’m dying, Joel.” You release the words in one breath, but you surprisingly find you accept them easily. Naturally. You’d thought it’d be difficult to actually acknowledge it, but there’s no apprehension or venom in your voice.

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare say that.”

You open your eyes and take him in, heartbroken. All orange and red and purple, soft and dream-like. A smile touches your cheeks and Joel marvels at that, how beautiful and angelic you are, even while you’re bleeding out in front of him. It’s too much for him and his chest constricts painfully. How could he have let this happen? You can’t be dying. He won’t let you.

“You have to let me go, Miller”

His head ducks down and he swallows thickly. Joel has felt helplessness before, more times than he cared to remember. This time it’s also denial that crushes him as he scrambles, trying to find a solution he knows already doesn’t exist. This is all happening too fast, his whole life falling down around him. What would he say to Ellie? She would hate him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not if he did this.

“I won’t. I won’t fail again.”

Panic rises in you at his reluctance and you grip his hand as tight as you can. “You’ll fail me if you don’t get that girl to a doctor! I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t make it home to her mama, Joel.”

“It’s not your fault.” You add, softly, though he shakes his head ever so slightly.

You hear the disruptive crackle again. “Unit dropping in five, over.”

He stands abruptly and you do too, taking his outstretched hand and letting him support your weight as you both peer across the lawn, searching for the vehicles, but unable to see much beyond the winding driveway and thicket of trees.

The engines are a little louder now. Shouts and orders echoing distantly from empty streets and the valley edges. There’s nothing else alive here to make noise, save for a few infected wandering the edges of town.

Joel’s arm slides comfortably around you and you lean into it. So warm and good. Always there for you. Looking after you. Supporting the weight of your whole world. And as much as your exhausted body is begging for his touch, screaming for the comfort of his arms, dying for him to pick you up and carry you home and wrap you up to lie lazily in his bed, it would be real fuckin’ selfish of you to give in.

Your heart pangs as you think of Ellie. She’ll never forgive you.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t care anymore and you look at Joel, really look, trying to etch every detail of this man’s face into your memory. God, he was beautiful. Every gentle line and every hair, the tug of his soft mouth and the glint of his eyes.

Your left hand grips his over the cold metal and you steel your resolve. This time you have to be the strong one. For him. For her.

“Give me the fucking gun, Joel.”

There’s a moment of silence where you think he might fight, might try to convince you there’s another way, try to make you run with him even though you can’t even stand up properly. But his grip relaxes and a huge wave of relief washes over you. Adjusting your position, you struggle unceremoniously with his help to a spot underneath the window that’ll give you the cover you need while you do this last thing. Your muscles relax against the floor, eager to rest. He reluctantly lets you slide down.

At the kickback of a truck that’s too close, he moves over to Johanna and crouches, motioning for her to climb onto his broad back. “Come on now, sweetheart”

“What about her?” The girl’s voice is quiet, resigned.

“Don’t you worry honey, I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is smooth and sweet in your mouth. Too easy, too sure. Parental. Joel’s been rubbing off on you. You reassure her even as you begin to tremble.

Joel’s expression is unreadable and he takes a shaky step toward you, holding his cargo carefully. She clings to him and you try to steel yourself.

Doors shut and slam in the near distance, and you realize they must be equipping and briefing down at the turnoff because they don’t know you know they’re coming. You give Joel a pointed look at the open back door, a silent directive. Go. They’ve parked up. You need the time. Instead, he advances til he’s right in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You croak, not wanting to prolong this, for his sake as well as your own. Aren’t you suffering enough? “You gotta go, Joel. You got like, five minutes to put as much ground as you can between us.”

“Let me look at you, for christ’s sake.” one last time. Committing to his own memory your sure grip of the shotgun he taught you how to use, searing into his brain the way your hair is curling in the humidity and the pretty silhouette of your nose. The inky brush of your eyelashes. When he’d picked you up two years ago in Arizona, you couldn’t even set a trap. Now here you are, willing to do the unthinkable for a child you don’t even know.

Would he still have stopped to throw you in the back of his truck, all that time ago, knowing now that going with him would end this way? That you’d never even make it to 30? That being with him was a death sentence?

He’s not strong enough to say that he wouldn’t have done everything exactly the same, and he thinks that’s fucking selfish. But what was his life without you? Knowing your warmth and your life and your joy, could he have ever consciously chosen to live without it? He’d never meant for this to happen. He had promised to protect you, not to leave you behind to die in some dirty shack. After all you’d been through and all the cards you’d been dealt, he’d sworn to make sure he’d take care of you for the rest of your life. That pain and death would be kept at bay. That you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

Anger and despair and frustration all battled for dominance inside him, leaving him raw and broken in front of you. He’d coped with so much death, lost Sarah’s mom, then Sarah. Nearly lost Ellie. How could he give you up like this? Even when there was no other choice, no other way?.

In that moment he feels completely pathetic in the light of your bravery. Guilt crawls up his spine, twisting and pulling. He’s failed you.

“I’m sorry.”

You, frustrated, sniff back the sob that’s trying to break out of you. “No, Joel, it’s-”

“I’ll come back. Tonight.” He interrupts, tormented. His own sorrow crashing over you both. You shake your head. He can’t. Plus, you don’t want him to see whatever sorry state you’re sure your body will be in by that time.

“You gotta stay with Ellie, Joel.”

Reminded suddenly of the book in your bag and not wanting to forget your promise, you use your good leg to boot it over towards Joel. “Here,” Worn canvas slides along the floor and he retrieves it with his free arm, pulling the strap over and looking inside, realizing he’s looking at the book you’d been yarning your mouth off about.

“Promised her i’d pick something up. She was so mad at me for leaving her behind.” You offer, laughter mute and subdued.

He pulls it out.

“Give it to her yourself.” He returns, pleading.

Your gaze softens. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

He curses and runs a hand over his face and his pain in tandem with your own is unbearable. So you close your eyes. The smell of him is still so intoxicating and you breathe deeply, willing it to linger, to comfort you.

The truth is, you’re only being brave for his sake. You know that if you let him see how afraid you really are, he’ll never be able to leave. You lean back against the wall, hoping it will ground you.

All of a sudden, his warm mouth is on your forehead pressing a kiss into you, and the intensity behind it blinds you despite the fact you can’t see anything anyway. The kind of kiss that’s supposed to stay with you. The only way he can. You’re dizzy, suddenly. You defy the urge to reach up and keep him held tight against you forever.

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.” The hope in his voice almost breaks you. If you do your job right, there won’t be enough of you left for that.

“I’ll be here.” You let the sobs tear through your body, gripping the shotgun as if it’s the only thing grounding you. Your heart squeezes painfully. Sounds become louder. Boots on gravel, metal clicking. You were out of time five minutes ago.

“Go.” You cry, unable to hold it back. You are fatigued now, everything hurts, every cell in your body is aching for rest and comfort and he has to leave now.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

He has to force his legs to move, every bone in his body, every instinct denying the act. The weight of the little girl in his arms barely registering. She’s passed out from the shock, breathing steadily against him. He can’t tear his eyes away from your shaking hands as he backs towards the door.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. Please forgive me. Please be alive. I’ll come for you.

The thud of his boots grows quieter, and you wait several minutes (trying not to fall into the clutches of a greedy sleep) until there’s nothing but the encroaching sound of your killers and the hum of their vehicles. Blinking away your tears, you realize with mid-sob that a warm weight is over your lap, stifling the chill that ripples away from you like waves in a pond. Eyes adjusting back to the light, you discover the culprit is his tattered, worn leather jacket. Of course. It’s been placed over you so carefully, so quietly, that you didn’t even notice.

Clutching it against you, you allow yourself to let go now. You cry and cry and cry until you’re empty, choking, throat hoarse. You don’t care if the FEDRA boys hear you, you don’t care if anyone hears you. Joel’s gone now, he won’t have to listen to this pathetic demonstration of your fear.

Please, God, let her live. Let her live, let her live. I’ll do anything you want. Keep her alive for me.

Joel’s not a believer in higher power, but you are, so he prays to your god anyway, as the scent of fir smothers the air, and the cacophony of the forest sounds too much like you. Reminds him of your sweet smile and the honey in your brown eyes as the sun dipped into them. How many afternoons passed by, lazily drenched in summer heat, like two cats gorged on life? How many moments has he spent, mapping and memorizing you? He’s walked away, but everything inside him is still there, in the shack with you. He hopes that you won’t be cold now. That his jacket will keep you warm enough and that maybe, maybe, you can slip away before FEDRA even gets to you. Maybe you can hide.

It’s logically close to impossible.

He feels like a hypocrite, muttering promises under his breath as he stumbles through the night, and wonders how could he pray now? Offer words up to a God who had condemned you both here? And who was God to choose? To turn the wheel, throw the dice on who’s life to give and who’s to take away? How was that fair at all? To take away your future like that? His future, too?

He also makes different kinds of promises. Ones he’ll keep to himself that involve his baser self. An eye for an eye. They took you from him? He’d take everything. Destroy the whole organisation from the inside out.

FEDRA and the whole damn world could go blind for all he fucking cared. He wasn’t fighting for justice. You deserved more than that. You deserved to have somebody avenge you. You deserved to know that you meant enough to somebody, were loved enough, that they’d tear apart the world for you.

He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

You hiccup, wiping your blurry eyes on the back of your hand with your shirt. His shirt. Sniffing and hoping Joel won’t find your face covered in tear stains and snot after you die, (despite the absurdity of it, you’d be so embarassed) you cock his shotgun and take a preliminary aim out of the corner of the hole in the glass window pane. By your own calculations, It’ll take the six men at the bottom of the winding driveway about a minute to get up the lawn, and you need to give Joel as big of a head start as you possibly can, although he’s likely already far enough away. You spot three more younger boys bringing up the rear. They walk slowly and using your other hand, you pull the leather jacket over you, settling against the window frame further because you’re tired and you’re done moving.

“Come out with your hands up, Miller!”

You bite your lip and stay silent. You wanted to wait as long as possible before engaging them and having them realize Joel isn’t with you, but one of the older officers with a “commander” badge fastened to his lapel slipped your eyeline and has come far too close to your position near the door. You decide quickly that you’ll pick him off before he can spot you. With a twitch of your index and a bang that’s absorbed into the hungry night sky, the man’s dead in the dirt with a splatter the size of Texas covering his front.

Unexpected chaos erupts. The younger officers are not as well trained as you had assumed they would be. To your dismay, they immediately panic, breaking formation and begin firing. Your own shots only take down two more.

The planks of the door blister and break and shrapnel and dust fills the air. You instinctively turn away from the window. “Shit!”

You have seconds left to reload and you’re too slow. But you’d known it was coming to this. Every moment of your life, every choice you made, leading you to this moment. You know you must look pathetic like this, crouched under the frame, bleeding out, cowering. In pain. But you’d do it all again for him. Joel was safe now, he’d make sure Johanna got back. That was all that mattered.

Your life in exchange for theirs. You, for two futures. More than fair. Jackson wouldn’t suffer through the winter. Ellie would still get her book. Joel still had time, he could find someone else, maybe even love again.

Boots thud and voices yell and a piercing pain suddenly blooms from your chest. Vermillion unraveling over your chest like an unfurling flower in spring. The door collapses into the frame and soldiers spill into the shack. Everything is hazy and distorted, shapes dissolving this way and that, voices shrill and every noise and sensation amplified. Faceless men. Toy soldiers. The overstimulation is painful, and you feel someone shaking you - hard. Another is clicking his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to keep you conscious.

“Hey, look at me! Miller. Where’s Miller?!”

“Don’t worry boys.” You cough out, laughing. It’s strange in your ears. Everything is ringing. When Joel finds your shot-up corpse, he’ll lose his mind, and as much as you hate that he’ll have to see it, you get a kind of sick satisfaction knowing they’ll have to suffer at his hands for what they’ve done. That your pain won’t go unpunished.

“He’ll…he’ll be back for-” You can’t manage to finish because blood has backed up in your throat, but you’re sure they get the picture. The iron taste is final in your mouth, filling up your lungs. You stop trying to hold yourself up, there’s no point. The soldiers are yelling, still trying to communicate with you. You’re done now.

As you hit the floor with an exhausted thud, you close your eyes against the sensory overload and it’s as if your subconscious knows you must be on the way out, because as FEDRA hands pull and grab at your shivering body and slick liquid pools on your stomach and waist, you’re enveloped by the arrest of your own memories, soaked in endorphins, dripping in affection. Your favourites flash before your eyes. The afternoon in the wheat field, your poems, the first time you’d met Ellie. His hands on your body for the first time, delicious currents rippling through your skin at his touch. His kisses, soft and luxurious, every touch for you so contradictive to everything else he had to handle in his life. The fire in your veins a result of his devotion to your pleasure - a way for him to reconcile the other things he’d had to do before you came along.

You know it isn’t real, know it’s that thing that happens to your brain when you die, but in your delirium you can swear that you hear Ellie’s tinkling laugh, feel the tender relief of Joel’s hands hot over your skin, melting away the bitter pain of the cold. You know you feel his breath on your neck and his kiss on your temple. You take it all, and you reach out - knowing he’s there. Whatever happens now, wherever you go, he’ll hold you. He’ll keep you safe.

“It’s cold here. It hurts, Joel.”

“‘S okay baby. I’m here now….no more pain. No more cryin’.”

He’s mouth-wateringly warm.

“I’m so afraid…so…so tired” You try to remember how you got here and what you were doing, but everything is so heavy around you, suppressing you.

“I know y’are. I know. You did well, sweetheart, we’re so proud of you. You’re so brave. My brave girl. But I need y’to let go and rest now, can you do that for me? ”

Of course. You’ll do anything he asks. You acquiesce easily, curling into him. So, so sleepy…

“Okay. Will you stay with me?”

“ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You let go and dip gently into the black, waiting abyss.

#tlou #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedrostories #pedrohub #angst lol #rushkawrites #fanfiction #wtf even is this #fanfics #fics #reader insert #non gendered reader

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foxgloveprincess · 21 days

Text

My Heart is a Hollow Plain

Pairing: Pagan God Loki Laufeyson x Female Reader [First Person Narrator]

Summary: No one told you the price of living the life of which you’ve always dreamed.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark (Soft Dark), Medieval(ish) AU, Polytheistic/Pagan Beliefs, Gender Fluid Loki, Mythology, Dubious Consent (Non-Graphic Smut), Death, Yandere Vibes, Deals/Contract (oral), mentions of Servitude, Magic, Jealousy, Yearning, Possessiveness. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Welcome back to the Avenger’s Pantheon. Here’s Loki’s story. If you’d like to check them out, there are stories for Tony (Drabble), Steve and Bucky, Dr. Strange, and the Maximoffs in this AU. Enjoy!

Title from “Breath of Life” by Florence + the Machine

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Candles flicker and drip. A cool breeze winds its way through the stones of the temple to circle my body. Knees aching, I complete my daily prayers and stand. I bow once more before the statue of the Widow and leave.

The sun shines down on hills of gently dancing grasses. They brush along my fingers as I walk along the path leading to town. A cart passes with jugs of milk and wheels of cheese. I wave to the farmer and fall behind them.

The market bustles, the cacophony drifting through the open air. I pause at the outskirts, bracing my mettle. Skirts clutched in my fists, I walk on. The crowd swallows me. Passersby jostle my shoulders and tread on my feet. Another body ignored. Quite invisible to those around me.

My mother’s head sticks up above the rest, her hair piled atop her head and adding height to her figure. She laughs and chats with her customers, wrapping loaves of bread and sweets in a cloth for them. She always sneaks in something extra—a clever ploy to draw them back week after week to her stall. My father works behind her, hefting baskets of bread from our bakery to place for sale around her before disappearing inside again. Market days always bring us the most business.

My name breaks through the noise. My mother’s hand in the air to beckon me closer. I raise mine in return and squeeze my way behind our table. She thrusts an apron to me and I tie it quickly about my waist.

“You took too long with your prayers,” she chides. “Your sister’s had to go off to buy our cheese. Left me all alone.”

“Sorry, mother,” I reply, hands already working to count out coins for a customer. I look up to the handsome man and press a tentative smile.

He bids my mother thanks and turns, figure disappearing into the crowd. No regard sent my way. The smile falls from my lips.

“Come along, then,” my mother says through the side of her mouth. “The morning’s just begun.”

We sell out of bread and sweets just after the sun reaches its pinnacle in the sky. Temperance returns from her errands, picking up not only mother’s cheese but other necessities she knew we needed. Some candles, a few new jars, onions, carrots, and herbs.

Father leaves to check his traps in the woods, hoping for a rabbit or even a squirrel. Mother begins to cook with what we have already. Her first seat taken after putting a pot over the fire to simmer.

My sister leads me up to our rooms, above our bakery. Two straw mattresses laid on the floor, a thin wall separating us from our parents. My sister’s hand squeezes mine, a nervous tick.

“I have news,” she says in a whisper. Our mother’s ears like those of a hound. Nothing escapes her.

“What is it?” I ask in an equally quiet tone.

“The gods have finally answered my prayers,” she whispers, almost forgetting herself with her excitement.

I nod and prod her along with an inquisitive word or two. She leaves me waiting in suspense not one moment.

“Matthew has proclaimed his love.” Her face beams so happy, I think it might crack like a delicate pot. “He wishes to marry me.”

I blink, stunned by such incredible news. My thoughts flit to my own prayers, left unheard by the gods. Loneliness my constant companion despite my yearning, my pleas, my offerings.

Temperance clears her throat. I startle and blurt, “Congratulations, sister. I’m so happy for you.”

Her smile dulls and she picks a piece of straw from within her mattress. “It does not seem it.”

“Of course I am,” I enthuse. “Mother and father will be, too.” I grasp her hand still in mine.

“He says he will ask father for my hand any day now,” she says with a slight less fervor.

“How wonderful,” I reply with the sunniest smile on my lips despite the torrent of jealousy swirling within my belly. “Your life has surely been blessed.”

She looks into my eyes. My younger sister always able to read my heart despite all my efforts to conceal it. Her hand squeezes mine.

“The gods will bless you, too.”

My mother and father bake a grand cake for my sister and Matthew. Stacked at the top of the others, Temperance and her new husband barely manage to kiss over top it without all the cakes toppling.

Our town fills the field behind our home with tables of food. As grand a feast as can be made. Roasted ducks and rabbits and boars, a dozen loaves of bread, jams and preserves, cooked vegetables galore—more food than I’ve ever seen in my life. I try each and every dish, despite the tuts from my mother’s tongue. My father drinks merrily, congratulations raining down upon him.

The afternoon passes into the evening and mother bids me retire. I prepare for bed alone and sleep alone. The first time I have done so since my sister’s birth. My eyes meet the ceiling of our roof and I blink away tears. I don’t know why I’m crying, not exactly. Missing my sister, loneliness, jealousy. All three swirl through my head.

I close my eyes and try to force myself to sleep—to little avail. Thoughts too loud in my head. Even as I hush them and focus. The creaks of my parents returning and the soothing night sounds just outside our window a boon, lulling me into rest.

The day after Temperance’s wedding I awaken as early as I normally do. There are trenchers and loaves and buns to bake. But first, to pray and lay offerings.

I take one of our lanterns and strike a flame outside our shop. Early morning light still slumbering behind the horizon. The familiar dirt of the road plods beneath my feet. The temple just outside of town upon our tallest hill.

The steep climb challenges me in the low light. The trek back home always just a little easier. A cold breeze brushes past my shoulder. The flame flickers but does not falter. And neither do I.

Mother and father always come to say their prayers after a hard day’s work. Yet I can’t begin my day without it. The darkness and solitude of the temple at this hour, it fills my soul. With the gods watching over just me for a moment, I feel seen.

Under the oculus, the moon shines pale and dim. I keep my lantern lit by my side. Letting the faces of the gods remain shadowed.

My fingers draw a familiar circle about me and the offering of blue iris and violets I have brought before they clasp together and I begin my prayer. The health of my family, my sister’s happiness, and, more selfishly, mine.

“Why are you here at this hour?” a sonorous voice asks.

Standing by the feet of the Horned Trickster, god of chaos and mischief, they stand. I cannot see their face to discern the line of their eye, but the hairs upon my arms and the back of my neck prickle. I do not leave my place, but my body recoils all the same.

“Do you pray for the same things every day?” they ask, unbothered by my silence. “Health, happiness.” Their hand flicks through the air in a lazy swirl. “Tedium and droll.”

“I know not for what else I should pray,” I respond, spurred by their tempting tone. I gather my flowers in my lap, their stems breaking under my tight grip.

“There is so much more,” they reply with a scoff, “to this world, to your pathetic existence, you need only ask for it.”

My lips part in shock. The man steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, and finally I see his face. More handsome than any other man in the village. He leaves me speechless with the sharpness of his emerald eyes and the arch of his brow. Raven hair falls to his shoulders, resting upon the finest silks of his doublet.

“Tell me what you truly desire.” Standing mere inches from my knees resting on the stone floor, he tilts my chin with two of his lithe fingers.

Meeting his gaze proves too intense. My eyes lower to his throat while thoughts whirl in my head. All of the things I have ever wanted. A marriage to a man who will love me for all my days. The fortune of kings. Recognition. Beauty. Praise. Power.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his lip. “Oh yes,” he purrs. “I see it.” He crouches before me and rests his free hand on his knee. His fingers trace my chin to my cheeks, and back again. “What would you do to receive such bounty from the gods?”

“I—” The phrase poised on my tongue sticks in my mouth, like honey that seals my lips together.

He hums in question, impatient for an answer.

I swallow, a lump in my throat, and croak around it, “I would do anything?” Though it spills from my lips as a question, it rings with truth. Conviction stirring in my belly at the words. My eyes raise to meet his, scared of his judgement.

He smiles and traces his fingers over my lips. “That is exactly what I thought.” He releases my face, though not the thrall he has cast over me. Enchanted by his looks as I am, I follow the movement of his hand as it snakes along my arm and grasps mine.

He rises, bidding me to follow until we stand beneath the oculus. Hues of pinks and gold bathe over us, the sun rising without. I glance up, panicked by the passing time.

“I must go,” I gasp, tugging from his grip. Yet he does not unhand me.

He says not one word until I meet his eye. “I will provide all for you,” he says with a gentle squeeze of my hand. As though he were my lover making an eternal promise. My heart thunders in my ear. Light shines on his skin from above, a dazzling glow that washes him in divinity. “Commit only to me, and I will be your servant.”

My mouth dries. I stand, stunned, before him. “Are you a god?” I whisper, head bent toward him to share such an abounding confidence.

A smile curves his lips. “What is your answer?” he asks in turn, disregarding my own question.

I stare into his grass green eyes, luminous and intense. Heat fills my cheeks. The sun continues to rise. The temple sits quiet. He waits, his hand trapping mine.

“Where have you been?” my mother blusters, stacking loaves of bread behind our counter.

The door to our bakery closes behind me with a soft click. “I’m sorry, mother,” I say, rushing to grab my apron and tie it about my waist. “My prayers took longer than I expected.”

“What could you possibly pray for?”

The sting of mother’s words pierce my chest, but I do not say anything. “Every day, prayers and every day, late,” she mutters under her breath. “You awaken the gods too early.”

Her finger wags in my direction as she turns and places her hands on her hips. Ready as ever to drone about her displeasure. But once she looks at me—really looks—she falls silent. Her lips part and she blinks.

“What’s happened?” she asks, slowing into the motion of wiping her hands on her apron to rid them of flour. She steps closer and reaches to cup my cheek. “There’s something changed about you.” Though she whispers it like a secret, I hear her.

Passing by windows in the town on my walk home from the temple, I glimpsed my reflection. To my eye, I saw no difference. The same plain face, the same soft body, the same clothes. And yet, the way my mother looks at me anew—as if there were something noticeable, remarkable.

Blinking from her daze, she pats my cheek and turns away.

“There should be buns ready in the ovens,” she says with a loving lilt to her voice, “go and fetch them from your father.”

I nod, silent, and turn to the back where the oven burns hot and fills the room with its warmth and the smell of fresh bread. Memories of spending winters curled beside the fire and ovens with my sister tucked next to me fill my head. My hand rests on the stone of the surrounding wall and I glance around to find my father.

“Right there,” he grunts carrying a paddle of loaves over to cool. My father pays me little mind, but nods to the buns sitting off on a side table.

“Thank you,” I say, grabbing the tray and carrying it out to mother.

Mr. Fitz stands there with her, paying for a loaf of bread for his wife. He glances over at my entrance and smiles.

“Good morning,” he says with a nod in my direction.

I pause, stunned. So rare that customers take a moment to acknowledge me, let alone greet me. My mother whispers my name with a nudge to my side. It is enough to knock me from my frozen state and return the greeting. He doesn’t say more, collecting his loaf from my mother and his coins, before departing.

“You must be more friendly,” my mother says, “or all your good looks will be for naught.”

A smile threatens my lips. My mother’s favor of me extending only to the help I provide, never my countenance. That she reserved always for my sister—Temperance’s lovely smile and thoughtful spirit, true beauty shining out from within. A flutter of pride swells within me at her inadvertent praise. I agree with her quickly and return to work.

The morning passes in joyful company. Customers pleasant and plentiful. Each one sends a greeting and smile my way. They ask after my health and my temperament. They meet my eye and compliment my sunny disposition.

As the sun crests the top of the sky, Lord Grant Ward enters our bakery. A first for the local lord. His lordship usually more content to send out one of his many servants for such a menial errand.

His figure stands tall in our doorway. I catch a glimpse of him from just beside the door to the front, loading the few remaining loaves into a basket with my father’s help.

“I have heard such complimentary things about this bakery today,” he says, perusing our store with a skeptical eye. His toe scuffs across our floor.

“My lord,” my mother greets, “we are grateful for your visit to our humble bakery. How may we serve you?”

He looks down his nose at her and huffs a haughty breath. Not even a word of response. My eyes narrow, the heat of fury boiling through my veins. To dismiss my mother thus. I push the door open all the way and exit the back, sweat dotting my brow and basket under my arm. Ready to confront such discourtesy.

“My lord,” I bite with as much respect I can muster—which is not much. “May I serve you?”

A glance in my direction, and he pauses. The skeptical tilt of his brow evens to one of curiosity and understanding at once. He steps forward toward our counter.

“I believe you may,” he replies, tone honey sweet. “I wish to purchase all the goods you have remaining.”

“My lord,” my mother blusters, “you are too generous.”

He ignores her, eyes locked on my figure. His hand rustles at his belt, tugging away a pouch and handing it in our direction.

“Will this suffice?”

I bob in a curtsy and accept it. My mother hovers over my shoulder as I open the pursestrings and look inside. Coins glint up at me. My mother counts aloud but trails off.

“My lord,” she says with a voice full of awe and respect, “it is surely too much.”

“Then accept it as payment for the inconvenience of closing your shop early.” The lord waves his hand through the air. “Will that please you?” he asks in a lowered tone, directly to me.

“Yes, my lord,” I reply, ire cooled but not entirely appeased. “How shall we deliver your goods to you?”

He hums and steps closer, hand reaching to pluck at the fibers of my basket. “I shall send a cart with instructions. Will you meet them?”

“Yes, my lord,” I say and take a step back.

His brow quirks at my retreat, but he says nothing more. Merely nods in acceptance and bids us farewell.

“To see that look in his eye as soon as I drew his attention toward me,” I explain. My light flickers at my feet beside the godly figures. “How insufferable. To treat my mother with disrespect.”

Fingers trail along the nape of my neck. I know them to be there, yet they have not revealed themself from the shadows.

“Of course,” I continue in a more subdued tone, “he did send his cart. He collected every bit of our bread. Took what he wanted and gave the rest to the needy.” My own hand wipes the side of my face. “Perhaps I regard his character too quickly.”

“You were right to judge him as you did,” the voice soothes behind me. Different than before.

Turning over my shoulder, I seek the visage of the god with whom I struck my deal. A figure emerges, softer, curvier.

I bow my head in respect, sure I’ve been addressing a goddess in mistake. “Pardon my musings,” I rush, knees ready to collapse to the floor. “I misspoke.”

Lithe fingers lift my chin. My eyes meet the emerald green of my patron, set in feminine features still as striking as before.

“You make no mistake,” she says with a smile tilting her lips. “I am here, my sweeting.”

My mouth forms around words I cannot speak. Enthralled by her still, I contemplate the change in her countenance and find myself unable to avert my gaze.

“You should know the fleeting nature of my appearance,” she explains. “I take many forms. How like you this one?”

“You are breathtaking,” I reply in a whisper. Clearing my throat from such bold speech, I reach into my pocket and withdraw the buttery raston and small jar of my mother’s plum preserves wrapped in cloth I have brought in offering. “To thank you, and reaffirm my vow of devotion to you.”

She unwraps the parcel. Her smile widens. A wave of her hand and only the cloth remains. Its contents vanishing before my eyes. Cupping my cheeks in her hands, she presses a kiss to my forehead—a blessing. “Thank you, my darling. You will go to town and continue to enchant all who live there,” she instructs, thumb brushing the apple of my cheek, drinking in the soft breaths which pass my lips and the surety of my attention. Her gaze meets mine with a grim darkness. “But be wary of Lord Ward. He covets you for himself. And you…” she prompts.

“I serve you.”

My steps crunch through the underbrush of the forest. Unused to traversing such uneven ground, I walk slowly. Father’s back pains him. My mother stays in our bakery with the few loaves we made this morning. So I search through the woods for his traps, content for a moment away. Engaged with my own thoughts. My patron a shining beacon in the forethoughts of my mind.

“Who dares to trespass on my land?” a voice booms through the trees. “Reveal yourself.”

My heart jumps in my chest and takes up a thundering beat. My hand clutches at my chest, though I cannot soothe myself. Careful movements carry me toward the sound of the voice. Yet one false step and my ankle twists. I yelp. The cold earth greets me as I fall and sounds of a hurried strides reach my ears.

“Who’s there?” Closer now, Lord Ward’s voice carries clearer.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” I call back, knowing he approaches still. “I did not realize these were your lands.”

He stops before me, the leather of his shoes black as night. I dare not cast my gaze up to catch his ire. Instead, I keep my head bowed in deference and pray for help.

“You need not fall to the floor,” he says in an air of curiosity.

“Yes, my lord,” I say.

“Let me help you.” He offers a gloved hand. I eye it before meeting his gaze.

“Thank you,” I accept and lean on his strength to help me rise. My lips seal against a whimper of pain and I shift my weight to rest upon my uninjured foot.

“You are hurt,” he observes. Both of his hands offered to aid me.

“I will be well, my lord,” I assure with a pat to my hands on my skirt to dispel the dirt and leaves clinging to my palms. “It is nothing.”

He steps even closer still. My breath catches in my lungs. “Allow me to escort you home.” He speaks with such a gentle articulation, it sparks a flutter of my heart. If only he behaved thus upon our first meeting.

“I thank you, my lord,” I say, picking my words carefully. “Though I must continue to my father’s traps. I fear I only have turned myself around. Forgive me for trespassing.”

“You’re forgiven,” he says with a nod, “always.”

I swallow and find I can meet his eye no more. Heat fills my cheeks, as if I labored too long beside the oven. I pat them with trembling fingers and cannot understand my lack of ease.

“If you will not allow me to escort you, perhaps you might concede to one of my servants accompanying you?”

“I would not wish to inconvenience them by taking them away from their chores, or you, my lord, in turn.” I step back, glancing over my shoulder as not to stumble and inflame my ankle further.

“May I at least check to see if the bone is sound?” he asks, already lowering to one knee and offering his hands out for my foot.

My teeth sink into my lower lip and I raise my injured leg, placing it into his grip. He tests the joint. Turning it one way and another. I wince, but do not draw away. The sooner I may satisfy the lord, the sooner I may return to my task. Once satisfied, he places my foot back to the ground and stands.

“Be careful,” he commands, with a hint of a smile drawing his lip upward. “I will send a messenger this evening to ensure you make your way home safely.”

“Thank you, my lord,” I say one final time before turning and limping away to continue my hunt.

He calls my name one more time, but when I turn, he waits in silence before a last, “farewell.” As though he wishes to say more, yet something curbs his speech.

I take my leave, slow and reluctant as curiosity nips at my heels. Though I may well have stayed with the lord and heard him out for all my victory. My father’s traps sit without any bounty. Empty.

I sigh and sink to the ground. A moment of respite so my ankle may rest. My hands dig into the soft, decaying leaves of the forest floor. My head tilts to the sky. A breeze blows through the trees.

Something wraps about my wrist. I jolt and lift my hand, ready to shake loose any impediment to its movement. Yet find a snake wound about it. Like a cuff, it sits just at my wrist, head raised to meet my eye.

I freeze. The snakes of which I’ve heard bite their poor victims, leading to a painful death. I swallow hard and wait for the creature to slither on its way. It does not.

“Please go,” I plead.

Its head tilts. Its tongue flicks. It stays.

I stare at it, slow movements turning my arm one way and another to take a better look at it. The shine of its scales, the intelligence in its eyes.

“Please don’t bite me,” I whisper as I move, looking at its long body, content to perch upon my arm.

Its head moves back to look at me. In the hush of the forest, the breeze ripples through the leaves. Birds chirp. But there is silence around us. A moment, looking into the creature’s eyes where the world around me dulls.

“You are no ordinary snake,” I pronounce in soft tones.

Its tongue flicks. It tickles my skin and I flinch from the unexpected sensation. Thoughts entangled with what sign this creature might bring. It’s relation to the gods. Stories of them and their familiars, their sacred animals. Only one holding snakes in their regard—the Horned Trickster.

“Send my regards to your master and mine,” I say, lowering my hand.

Its muscles move, slithering toward the ground from my fingers. It disappears beneath leaves and between trunks. The sun shines down through the forest canopy, heading to its resting place beyond the horizon. The afternoon heat cooling on a breeze. I push myself to stand, gazing after the snake’s possible path. A sigh blows past my lips, hands brushing dirt away from my skirts. Shuffling carefully through the roots and foliage of the forest, I head home on much steadier feet.

“I do not know how it happened,” I lament many weeks later. Head in hands, my mind struggles toward some semblance of understanding.

My patron stands leaning against the statue of the Thunder Warrior, their gaze tilted toward the ceiling. I begin to pace before them, around in a circle, perplexed by the path of my life.

“Lord Ward has called after me thrice now within the week.” My hand smooths over my hair, trying to help my thoughts remain in my head, and not floating away in a whirl of imaginings.

“You think of him often, do you?” their bored tone comments.

My brow furrows. I pause. “I suppose,” I reply. “Can one not when a man supposes to be so enamored?”

“It is everything you wished?” they ask, though the way they say it—like they don’t need an answer. A harsh bite to their words upon which I do not dally.

Instead, I give them an answer, “It is what I prayed for. I cannot help the fondness that has grown within my heart.”

A deep hiss rumbles from the shadows, filling the temple and rattling my bones. My hands jolt to cover my ears, teeth clenched shut against the grating sound.

“Do not forget,” he says stepping from the shadows to reveal his form, his lip curled and brow set, “you’ve committed yourself to me in this life and the next. You will never marry. You are mine.” His eyes blaze with a barely suppressed rage, fiery and dark.

Stunned by his venom, I ask, “If I am not to marry, what use is the rest? I wish to be loved.” Tears prick at my eyes, distraught as his commandment settles within me. I am to be alone. Regarded by all—and loved by none.

His fury cools, eyes piercing daggers in the low light. “You made your choice,” he states in a crisp, clear cadence, dispassionate and cold.

“I gave you my trust blindly,” I shriek in response. My hand grasps at the cloth of my bodice, grip tight and heart aching. I swallow a panicked sob. “How could you deceive me so? I have only ever done as you bid.”

“Do you love him?” my patron asks, accusation sharp. Answering my distress with such little regard.

Stutters of sound fall from my lips, none forming an answer. The weight of my mistake presses down upon my chest until I cannot breathe. So often my patron had been obliging and kind, the stab of this betrayal far too deep. A chasm opens in my chest and out of it, I speak. “My sister is married and thinks herself already with child. I wish for the same, and I—”

With one last look at the indifferent expression on my patron’s face, my heart shatters. Feet rush from the temple. The candle flickers in the dark, left behind as I dart into the night. Rain spatters across my cheeks, the slick of mud beneath my shoes. Though I do not hesitate, used to the path up the hill and the slightest hint of light on the horizon. Rushing, slipping steps carrying me down the slope. Hoping perhaps my folly might remain far behind at the feet of the gods. That I might escape, even to find myself returned to my previous unremarkable life. Until I reach the cross of the roads and pause. Skirts drenched from rain and weighed down with mud. Chest heaving, coughing in the damp air from exertion. Lost in my own thoughts, the steady approaching clip of horses’ hooves escapes my notice.

Only the impact of their bodies and the tread of wheels over mine thrusts me back to the present. I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, pain ravaging every measure of me. My lips part to call upon my patron, a last plea, but find I cannot. The whisper of a final breath leaving my body and sending my soul along its path to the River.

The waters lap at the sides of the boat in the dark. The Goddess of Death, Hela, stands behind me, oar in hand to push us along with the current across the river.

“Do not touch the waves,” she cautions. The pole moves through the water. “They are full of forgotten memories from those who have crossed. A temptation, but one drop will turn you mad and bind you to its tide.”

I recoil from the edge of the boat to sit upright. Gaze falling to my hands, lighter than air they sit in my lap, grey. No thoughts fill my head. Just silence, peace.

Turning to the Goddess of Death, I ask, “do any memories remain to those who have died?”

“Only those that bring you comfort,” she says without a look toward me or any inflection of sympathy.

A murmur of understanding passes from me, finding consolation in the honesty. Though I cannot place a reason for it. Already, my memories drift along the stream of the Gods Blood. Lost to me.

The oar lifts from the river and rests against the side of her vessel. Her head tilts, gazing up at the eternal black sky above us. Her brow pinches in confusion. I follow the path of her eyes, but see nothing.

A resounding hiss builds around us. The waves of the river grow larger, the boat rocking. The Goddess of Death holds out a hand to steady us upon the water. A displeased glare prominent on her features. Whispers of words drift around the boat, a fog rolling in from behind. Hela turns to slash a hand through it. Unable to make it disperse.

I cling to the bench of my seat, the dullest fear tickling the edges of my consciousness. But nothing more. Perhaps I should fear capsizing and madness, yet such emotions remain indistinct—a consequence of death, to be sure.

In a moment, Hela turns to lash out at a perceived threat and a great appendage wraps about my waist. Warm and strong, it constricts, but I have no breath to halt nor bones to break. It lifts me into the air, shadowed by the darkness of night. I dangle limp and lifeless from its embrace, the prize of its hunt. Perhaps a monster of legend stealing away my soul for a meal. Another fate which engenders no true dread.

A cry chases our ascent into the dark sky. The echoing roar of the goddess’s outrage at losing one of her souls and failing her duty to take me across the Gods Blood. But we ascend regardless.

My eyes close against the light that breaks through the dark clouds, blinded. We land upon solid earth. Flowers rising to greet my fingers, yet passing through like air. I cannot feel them.

The appendage around my waist releases me for a hand, instead, to clasp mine. My eyes turn to the person beside me. Familiar, yet I cannot put name to the lovely, angular face.

“My love,” they say, lithe finger tipping my chin toward them, “We are home.”

They guide me through the doorway of the quaint cottage before us. Another familiarity I cannot place in the haze of my incomplete memories.

The fire roars in its place. I step toward it, vague recollections of comfort tickling at the edges of my mind. I reach out to the licking flames, and feel no warmth.

A hand wraps about mine, guiding me away. They squeeze, and the reassurance of the gesture surges through me. The fingers of my other hand settle on their wrist, petting along their skin up to their sleeves. The fabric of their garments silky under my fingertips. I catch their eye, questions forming on the tip of my tongue. Who are they? Why did they steal my soul? Why am I here?

“Now, my beauty,” they praise. Their lips brush a soft kiss to my forehead. My eyes flutter shut to drink in the sensation. “You will truly be mine.”

Such familiarity, I do not ken. Their face so imprinted upon my thoughts without any recognition.

“I do not remember you,” I admit, staring into their emerald eyes and praying for some spark to ignite.

“That does not matter,” they soothe, thumb rubbing over the back of my palm. “We will have eternity to know one another.”

And we do. Years passing outside the windows of my cottage. Buildings fall, crumbling to dust. Only one of them, a bakery down the road, filling me with any notion of regret as its owners cross the River and time creeps across its walls.

Apart from it all, I watch. Drifting through the cottage, invisible to passersby. Though, even still, whispers reach me—haunted, they call my home. And they are not wrong. The world withers around me, and I remain, a shade bound to the cottage.

Only one bringing me any solace, any relief. They enter the front door and greet me with a smile, their hands offering sensation, feeling. I grasp onto them, reluctant to release them for a moment of their visit. To return to the dullness of my existence without them. The nothing which awaits me upon their withdrawal.

“Hello, my love,” they say. Their fingers tilt my chin and I meet them in a sweet kiss. My fingers pulse about their hand. We part and I let myself fall into the greedy hunger of their gaze.

Their head dips again, lips seeking more. Which I give—again and again. A kiss which might steal my breath if I had any. Their passion a spark igniting between us. Their moans filling the room around us. My fingers sink into the muscle of their shoulders. Clinging to each sensation. I cannot let them go.

“Sweeting,” they gasp. Hands wander across my form until they hitch me into their arms, my body of no substance. ”Come with me.” Though they give me no true choice in the matter—as if I would refuse them and their constant touch.

They carry me to our bed, and set me upon it without once letting me go. Following me to the plush cushions and sheets, their body pins mine to the bed and the weight of it brings a contented sigh to my lips. They drink it in and pull back to meet my gaze.

As always, as I lay beneath them with their eyes shining bright and affectionate, they prompt, “You are…”

“Yours.”

“Yes,” they purr and return their sweet lips to mine.

Unable to grasp at the bedding beneath us, I let my hands clutch at them. Our bodies joining together in amorous undulation, seeking the divine thrill of ecstasy. Chasing that peak of my existence. When the world around me explodes in bright color and brilliance. When I feel alive and whole before it fades and I return to the numbness of my eternity.

They murmur words of love into my ears. The sweat of their body cooling them. A dull shine radiates from their skin. Their holy light, they once told me. Their head rests upon my breasts, their breath tickling across me. I swallow and let my fingers weave into the silky tresses of their hair, the world dimming by the second.

“Welcome home, Loki.”

read more of The Avengers Pantheon at The Undone and the Divine

#loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #medieval au #mythology au #loki fanfic #loki fanfction #the avengers pantheon #dark #dark fic #polytheistic au #yandere vibes #dub con #tw dub con #heed the warning #18+#minors dni

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venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Radio Gaga (Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Reader is a late night radio DJ in Memphis, one of Elvis’ favorites. Your song choices are perfect, and he practically falls asleep listening to the sound of your voice. When you’re one of the first DJs to play ‘That’s All Right,’ he’s starstruck, especially when you request an interview.

Note: I don’t know how radio station abbreviations work so I didn’t bother with that, just the show’s name. Reader is gender neutral. Please let me know what y’all think! Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 3.2k words.

Warnings: Some sexual talk but nothing explicit.

As soon as 11 o’clock hit, Elvis rushed over to a radio in a side room in Club Handy, ignoring B.B.’s jokes about his devotion to Memphis After Hours. He’d come upon the show by chance one night, unable to fall asleep yet too tired to get up and put on one of his records. He had turned on the radio that sat on his nightstand, tuning in and out for something decent. A smile spread across his face as he caught the last half of a Howlin’ Wolf song. What had really gotten him, however, was the voice that came through the speaker when the song was over. Only known as Moonstruck, he felt his breath catch in his throat when they introduced the next song. Since then, he was hooked.

The station didn’t even play that type of music during the day, when he had tuned in again. He figured they needed someone to fill the night spot, and found that Moonstruck hosted the show on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. Sometimes they’d have guests on, doing interviews with up and coming artists. From the moment he started recording music, he’d imagine what his interview with Moonstruck would be like. He liked other radio DJs, but hardly missed Memphis After Hours if he could help it.

He turned the dial up after the last DJ signed off and the advertisements that played in the few minutes between shows were over.

"Welcome to Memphis After Hours. If you’re one of the night owls listening in, don’t expect to sleep any time soon, because I’ve got some music for ya that’ll keep ya wide awake," Moonstruck said. "I’m playing this song first because, well, I haven’t been able to stop listening to it. Now, this is by a new artist from Sun Records, Elvis Presley’s ‘That’s All Right.’ I promise you’ll be at the record shop tomorrow buying it."

He thought he was going to pass out. He’d only dreamed of this happening, but when the music started, there was no denying it—that was his voice. Unable to contain his excitement, he let out a a holler that sent B.B. into the room.

"What’s goin’ on EP?"

"Moonstruck’s playin’ my song! That’s what’s goin’ on!"

"You must think you’re some hot shit, then," B.B. joked.

"They said they couldn’t stop listening to it," Elvis said in disbelief, staring at the radio as his voice emitted from it, courtesy of Memphis After Hours.

Over at Memphis After Hours, you busied yourself with looking at your schedule for the following week’s shows, humming and nodding along to the song. You weren’t exaggerating when you announced to your listeners that you’d been playing it nearly non-stop since you bought it a few days earlier. It’d led to your coworkers telling you to close your door as your personal copy of the single spun almost endlessly on the company-provided record player in your small office.

You mostly did administrative work at the radio station, coming in for a few hours in the mornings to help with paperwork and getting schedules in order. When your boss had lamented that the previous host of Memphis After Hours had quit to take a coveted spot as a daytime host at another station, you jumped at the chance to take it.

Your boss agreed to give you the spot, as long as you kept up with the advertisers and programming yourself. No one wanted to work nights, but you didn’t care as long as you got to do what you loved. Your parents weren’t so pleased to hear you’d be out so late, and made you promise to call them before you left the station each night. Besides that, you were basically unsupervised, the only person in the building after 11pm, besides the nighttime security guard. The night of your first show, you’d been so nervous about potentially embarrassing yourself that you decided to go by Moonstruck rather than your given name, just in case things didn’t pan out. That had been nearly a year ago, and the name still stuck.

The biggest setback was not being able to take callers, since the guy who operated the phone switchboard left at six, but you found up and coming musicians eager to fill in the time with interviews on Friday nights, even though you didn’t have a huge audience. You’d picked up ‘That’s All Right’ from the record store earlier that week as a matter of course, always on the search for new music for yourself and Memphis After Hours. You loved what Sun Records’ artists were putting out, and tried to play their music and other smaller labels as much as you could.

‘That’s All Right’ by the extremely unknown Elvis Presley stirred something in you that you’d never felt listening to another song, and you had to resist the urge to play it through the whole show. You made a note to contact Sun Records on Monday to schedule an interview with Elvis. You’d interviewed some of their artists in the past.

The show went on without a hitch, and you almost considered playing ‘That’s All Right’ one more time to close it out. You spent the weekend with your friends, who teased you when you looked through a diner’s jukebox for the song when you all went out Saturday night.

When Monday rolled around, you walked into work, immediately assigned various tasks from the other radio DJs who definitely didn’t take you seriously for doing a weeknight show. Still, when you sat down in your office, the most important thing on your mind was calling Sun Records.

You spoke with Marion first, catching up a bit as you’d gotten to know her well enough from how often you called the label. She handed the phone over to Sam, who was thrilled when you expressed interest in interviewing Elvis and had promised to get back to you as soon as he heard from him. In their excitement, they had forgotten to let you know that Elvis was a fan of yours too.

As with most of his breaks from work, Elvis hung out on Beale Street, staring in shop windows at the clothes on display and talking with musicians busking on the street. He dropped in to the Sun Records office. Marion was busy at her typewriter, but when she saw him walk in, she gasped, running into Sam’s office. He stood in front of her desk, confused as to what was going on, until Marion practically pushed Sam into the room.

"I was just fixin’ to call you," Sam said.

"‘Bout what?"

"Guess who just asked to interview you?"

"The president," Elvis joked.

"Moonstruck!" Marion exclaimed.

He could feel his breath catch in his throat. "You better not be messin’ with me right now."

"Nope,” she said, checking the notepad she had written the information on, “they said they’ve got 11:15 open for this Thursday or Friday if you’re available. If not, next week they have—"

"Friday. I’ll be there Friday."

"Alright, make sure ya get there ‘round 10:30 so they can go over some things with you before the show," Sam said.

Elvis nodded, smiling as Marion hugged him in congratulations. He knew Memphis After Hours wasn’t a huge radio show, but to him it was everything. He couldn’t wait to tell, well, everyone.

As much as you hated it, you found yourself hanging by the telephone, hesitant to leave it in case you missed a call from Sam about Elvis. A little after one in the afternoon, your phone rang, and Sam let you know to expect to see Elvis on Friday. You thanked him as calmly as you could until you hung up and let out a laugh in relief.

The rest of the week seemed to drag on—for both of you. You’d tried to keep your mind on your work, but found yourself making simple mistakes as your thoughts wandered to what he’d be like, much to your coworkers’ chagrin. Meanwhile B.B. teased Elvis for looking like a lovesick puppy every time he saw him that week. He couldn’t help it, just when it seemed like Friday wouldn’t roll around, the time seemed to inch forward that night. So, at a quarter after ten he had grown restless, and if anything, he figured being early would make a good impression.

He walked into the radio station, finding an older man sitting at the front desk. The security guard didn’t acknowledge his presence, focused on the crossword puzzle on the back of the morning newspaper.

Elvis cleared his throat.

The security guard didn’t so much as look up when he uttered, "What?"

"I’m here for an interview with Moonstruck," he said.

He nodded, motioning to the door next to him. "Down the hall, third office on the left. If you’ve reached the washrooms you’ve gone too far."

"Thank ya."

Elvis repeated the security guard’s instructions to himself in his head as he walked. Not that it was difficult to find, there was only one office with the door open and lights on. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door frame.

You looked up from your desk, a smile on your face that made him feel like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. As soon as he saw you, he couldn’t remember how he used to picture you. It was always just you.

"You must be Elvis Presley, right on time," you said. "I’m—"

"Moonstruck," he whispered, almost as if in awe.

You couldn’t help but giggle. "You can call me Y/N. It’s great to meet you, Elvis. Please, make yourself comfortable."

"It’s great to finally meet you, Y/N," he said.

"You listen to the show?"

"’Course I do. I couldn’t believe it when you played my song the other night."

"I’m flattered. Most of the musicians I interview have never heard of my show until I reach out. I think I’ve only got a thousand or so regular listeners," you said. "Enough about me. We can go over the interview questions so you’re not on the spot, but is there anything specific you want me to mention or ask about?"

Shit. He’d been so preoccupied just thinking about meeting you he hadn’t even considered any promotional stuff he could be doing.

"Uh, I have some shows coming up."

"Perfect, where and when?"

He rattled off a few dates and locations, most of them not too far from Memphis. You made note of them on your typed up sheet of interview questions.

"If there’s any that you can make it to, I’ll make sure ya get the best view in the house," he promised, leaning in closer to you.

"Anywhere I can see your face is a great view," you responded, eyes widened when you realized what you had said.

A handsome smirk spread across his face. "I could say the same about you, darlin’."

You failed to bite back a smile at his words as you wrote. He was talented, drop-dead gorgeous, and a fan of your show. Check, check, and check.

Running through the questions with him before the show, you were glad to find the two of you had so much in common—except food, as you found yourself nearly gagging when he confessed his favorite meal was a fried peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich, courtesy of his mama. He insisted it was greatest thing you could ever eat. The two of you kept talking and flirting, getting way off track from the interview questions you had written down. In fact, you had lost track of time so much that when you glanced up at the clock on the wall, you noticed you were minutes away from missing your cue to go on air.

Grabbing your notes and his jacket sleeve, you led him back up the hallway, making your way over to the studio. Your coworker in the booth threw his arms up in exasperation, and you shrugged in response. As the pre-recorded ad reads played, your coworker left, uttering a half-hearted ‘good night.’

"There’s only about three minutes before we go on," you said, walking inside. "The interview isn’t until about fifteen minutes or so into the show, but you’re gonna have to introduce yourself at the beginning."

You noticed Elvis hesitating at the door, eyes all over the inside of the studio until they locked on you when you walked over to him.

"Everything okay?" you asked.

"I’m nervous," he admitted.

"Elvis, you’ll be fine. We went over everything already. Don’t think of it as an interview, just two friends talking about music," you said.

"Christ," he muttered to himself. "I’ll try."

"If that doesn’t work, you know what they say in show business," you said.

"What’s that?"

"Just imagine that everyone else in the room is naked," you joked, turning back around into the empty studio.

You sat down in front of the switchboard, putting on your headphones and getting yourself situated as the last few advertisements played between shows.

On cue, you began recording, greeting your listeners and letting them know you had a guest that night. Despite his nerves, Elvis sounded great when he introduced himself. You gave him an encouraging smile and went on to announce the next few songs you’d be playing. When you looked up from putting the records in place, Elvis’ gaze was set on you, appearing more focused than before. Whatever switched in him, you were glad for it.

The interview was one of the best ones you’d ever done. He answered confidently, and the conversation between you flowed naturally as he spoke about his music and influences. He even threw in some thanks to Sun Records and his mama, which you thought was sweet. You mentioned his upcoming shows, encouraging your listeners to attend.

Even after the interview ended, he stuck around, giving you song suggestions and trying to make you laugh whenever you had to read for an advertiser. The hour went by quickly, time seemed to race by when you were with him. You’d never felt a connection like that with anyone before.

You signed off the show, letting the last few advertisements play before shutting down the station’s broadcast for the night. He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath.

“That went great! I told you it’d be fine,” you said.

He smiled. “Like ya said, just two friends talkin’ about music.”

“Well, I better pack up,” you said, gathering your things to bring back to your office.

"Got any plans for the rest of the night?" he asked.

"Depends on you," you answered.

"Well, if you’re lookin’ to stay out, I know a place that’s always jumpin’ if you’d care to join me."

"That sounds perfect. Let me just call home," you said, before adding, "Parents, ya know."

"Trust me, I know," he agreed.

He waited as you called your family from your office phone, letting them know you’d be out late and to not expect you back for a few hours. The call was quick, and when you hung up, he put his hand on the small of your back as the two of you left the radio station, with no acknowledgement from the security guard.

Elvis led you to his truck, parked right near the entrance of the building. He was appalled when you informed him you’d usually take the late route bus or simply walk home, as your parents’ place was a few streets away. Still, he insisted it was dangerous, and went as far as to offer to drive you home every night. You laughed, taking the offer as a joke as you slid into the passenger seat of the truck.

"Where to, Presley?" you asked, when he revved the engine.

"I know a place," he said with a smile that you swore would have had you weak in the knees if you were standing up.

You admired his side profile as he drove, and he teased you for staring. You couldn’t help it, he looked like a dream, from his half-buttoned black lace shirt to his plush pink lips to the eyeliner that accented his electric blue eyes. Your gaze wandered to his big hands that gripped the steering wheel, and you wondered how they’d feel on your—

"This is where you’ll hear some of the best music of your life," he said, pointing to Club Handy as he navigated the bustling crowds of Beale Street to find a place to park.

He rushed out to get the door for you and held your hand as the two of you crossed the street to the club. You smiled, squeezing his hand and giggling in excitement. You were thrilled at how well you and Elvis clicked, and so quickly, too. You had almost identical taste in music, so you trusted that Club Handy would be just as great as he’d said.

The bouncers standing outside of the club’s front doors greeted him when he walked up, letting the two of you in without a wait. He led you through a crowd of people, most of whom seemed to know him. He wasn’t lying, Club Handy was jumping, and you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been there before.

The music playing made your head spin and your toes curl. The smell of sweat, strong cologne, and booze clouded your senses. That’s how you knew it was good. Elvis seemed to notice you looking a bit flustered, so he led you over to the bar.

"Order whatever you want, baby. It’s on me," he said.

You gave the bartender your order, as did he. They were simple enough, but just when your glasses were placed in front of you, Elvis seemed to spot someone he knew.

"Hold on, I got a friend I want you to meet," Elvis said, leaving you at the bar with your drink.

"Is he always like this?" you asked the bartender.

"The boy’s wired to something," he responded with a shrug.

Elvis was back in a flash, a bright smile on his face with a man in tow who you swore was—

"Y/N, I’d like you to meet my friend B.B. King."

"No way!" you exclaimed, hopping up from your seat. You were a fan of B.B.’s, but knew he was way too big of a musician to be interviewed on your show. Meeting him in person was the next best thing.

"So you’re Moonstruck?"

"I sure am. It’s so great to meet you," you said. "I’m such a big fan."

"You know Elvis here’s your biggest fan. I mean the lengths he’ll go to just to hear Memphis After Hours is—"

"Alright, B.B., that’s enough," Elvis said, scratching his jaw in an attempt to distract from the blush that was spreading across his cheeks.

B.B. grinned. "I guess that’s my cue to leave. Nice meeting you."

"You too!"

As B.B. sauntered off, Elvis took the seat at the bar next to you, throwing back his whiskey. "Sometimes he talks too much," he muttered.

"Don’t be embarrassed," you said, rubbing his arm. "I like you a lot."

"How much is a lot?" he asked, leaning in.

"Enough to kiss you right now."

Without hesitation, he closed the gap between you. His lips were soft, but the kiss was rough as he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. You tried to resist the burning in your lungs to come up for air until you couldn’t ignore it any longer. You’d never been kissed like that before, and you never wanted to be kissed any other way again.

Breathlessly, you stared at his smug expression as he caught his breath next to you.

"By the way, thanks for the advice back in the radio station. It did made me feel better," he said.

"Advice?" you asked, your brain buzzing from the kiss and the alcohol.

He grinned like a tiger about to pounce. "Picture everyone else in the room naked."

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis

564 notes · View notes

supercriminalbean · 1 year

Text

Inclusion to love.

BAU x NB!Reader

Summary: You have been struggling lately with coming out to your family as Non binary (tried my best to keep it gender netural before they came out aswell). Deciding to stay in the closet, but while on a case your team finds out. How does it end, is everyone accepting? Do you gain or lose another family?

Warnings: Transphobia. Homophobia. Killing. Blood. Crying. Family abuse. Religion abuse. Using God in the name of hate. Swearing. Hate speech. Deadnames. Self hatred. (If I have forgotten anything please let me know)

Words: 6.7k

Walking inside the bullpen. You’re feeling mentally and physically drained from the night before. Having gotten into another argument with your parents on the phone last night, about you being Non binary. You just wanted to explain what it meant for you. Wanted them to try and use your pronouns, but they argued and called you so many names. Saying you would go to hell for being Trans. You had hung up the phone and cried yourself to sleep that night, they were the only ones you had come out to. You had hoped they would love you no matter what, like they always said they would. But you figured it's just another lie that they have told you. You don't know why you were still surprised, they never mean what they say. They don’t care for you, it's all just an act. You wish you could just leave them behind, but they are your only family.

~~~

Sighing as you walk over to the coffee maker for a cup. Accidentally bumping into Morgan, who's standing at the counter.

“Shit my bad, sorry Morgan” Looking up at him slowly. Not even trying to put a smile on this morning.

“It's alright, long night?” Smirking as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. Groaning weakly as you pour yourself a large cup of coffee.

“Yeah something like that” Bringing the coffee up to your mouth taking a long whiff of the strong smell. Closing your eyes as you take a giant mouth full.

“Yeah get it” His voice filled with light laughter. Normally you would tease him back, but today you didn't have the energy. Taking your cup you head back over to your desk, leaving him there alone. Feeling his eyes following you.

~~~

You drop your bag by your seat, kicking it under your desk as you sit down. Slumping backwards as you take another long sip of your coffee. Overhearing Garcia and Reid talking about something nerdy, you're guessing Dr Who. They are going to a Dr who Convention this coming weekend. Rossi comes over leaning against your desk, facing the two nerds. He teases them, only to end up chuckling at his own jokes. Soon JJ, Prentisse and Morgan join everyone, standing around them all talking and laughing. Not having the energy to pay attention to whatever they were saying, you open up one of your files you needed to get started on.

As you picked up your pen, you could feel people's eyes on you, ignoring it. Picking up your coffee, you end up skulking the rest of it.

“Someones thirsty” Hearing the teasing in Rossi's voice you glance up at him.

“Yeah, guess so” Your voice is full of annoyance, and tiredness. The bags under your eyes are now visible to the team. You move your chair backwards, standing back up to head over for more coffee. You could feel a few pairs of eyes watching you.

~~~

The morning moves by slowly, you are now on your fourth cup of coffee. You have only gotten through one file, and still have way too many to do. Secretly you're just hoping you don't get a case today. That way all you have to do is finish your paperwork and go home. Today you are doing everything in your power to avoid talking to anyone in your team. You know that your coworkers know something is up with you, they are all profilers after all and you're not even trying to hide that you're not doing okay. You reach your desk again after another cup of coffee sitting back down, sighing as you start on the file. Reid looks up at you, his desk being right beside yours.

“Hey (Y/L), that's your fourth cup of coffee, maybe you should slow down” Reid jokes lightly, that small caring smile on his face. You know he means well, but not wanting to deal with any of it today. You couldn’t help the snarky comment dancing on your tongue.

“Reid, you're one to talk, don't you have like 10 cups a day, get off my back” You scoff, the words coming off harsher than intended.

“Woah, (Y/L) someone seems fierce today” Emily says turning to face you in her seat.

You roll your eyes up at her, ready to give her an even snarky response.

“We got a case,” Hotch calls out to the teams. You look up to see him leaning on the rails, staring at you.

~~~

You follow the team into the conference room, taking the seat closest to the door. Garica already has the files and the presentation up. Once everyone is seated, Garcia starts the presentation of the case.

“Okay so this case is a strange one, 4 bodies have been discovered in the last 36 hours, in Los Vegas, the first two bodies where found together at a park tied to seesaws, the male victim, Mike Harrison, 23 was found wearing the purple flowy dress, and our female victim, Isabella Grey, 22, is found in a man suit, but was wearing heels. Our other two Victims, David Brown, 22 and Oliva Williams, 21. Were found at a bus stop, tied to the bench and found in similar clothing” While she's speaking, photos of the victims and the crime scene pop up.

“How were they killed?” Reid asks, staring at the photos.

“Well that's the gross part, The M.E still trying to find the cause of death but, after they took the clothing off they noticed the bodies had all been cut into at the torso and found a bible pushed inside each one” Garcia screwed her face up, in disgust as she speaks. “There are photos in your files, which you can look at, when I'm not around”

“Okay well that's something new” Emily says, looking through her files at the photos.

“The victims were missing for at least 16 hours before being found, we need to find the unsub, before more bodies drop” Hotch says.

~~~

“What I'm wondering is why would the unsub dresses the victims up in opposite gender clothing and leave a bible inside them” You speak quietly, almost trouble-like. Staring at the photos on the presentation.

“This could be due to the unsubs history with religion, most religious people are against Homosexualy and against cross dressing as they believe it can lead to people changing their sex.” Reid speaks quickly, picking up his coffee.

“So we should look for people who may have been kicked out of a church due to their sexuality and how they present themselves” Rossi sighs, closing his files.

“What about the victims, were they a part of any churches or religious and any connection to each other?” Your voice comes out quietly. You didn't want to have a case today, especially one that's going to hit so close to home.

“We don't have much information on the victims yet but I am still searching for it all” Garcia says as she closes her laptop. Hotch stands up picking up his files.

“We’ll have more information as we land, wheels up in thirty”

~~~

You’re seated on the jet, with your headphones, staring out the window. Facing away from the team, who are playing some card games. Hotch is the only other one not playing, he’s sitting on his own finishing off some paperwork. It's half way through the flight, still two hours left. When Rossi comes over and sits opposite you, smiles gently at you. Gesturing at your headphones, you slide them off slowly.

“Hey Rossi” You smile slightly. Staring at him, unfocused.

“What's up with you kiddo, you've been unnatural quite today” He jokes. Studying you with concern.

“It's nothing, I'm just extremely tired, and people out” You don't meet his eyes knowing he could see straight through your lies.

“Did you not sleep last night?”

“Not much, and somehow coffee isn't doing its job today” Laughing gently.

“It would probably work if you had food in your system to help” He raises his eyebrow pointedly. He knows when you're feeling down, you tend to forget to eat.

“Rossi, are you trying to parent me right now?” You smirk softly. Taking another sip of your coffee.

“Someone needs to look after you” He pulls out a small bag of crackers out of his bag, throwing it to you.

“My favourite, you really are a soft teddy bear aren't you Papa Rossi” You take the bag opening it slightly. You weren't hungry but you know if you don’t, you will get a lecture from him.

“How dare you, I am not a soft anything” His face goes to a dramatic offended face, his hand raises to rest on his chest. Laughing at him you take a cracker, eating it slowly.

“You should try to get some sleep before we land, kiddo you're going to need it” He stands back up, smiling at you gently.

“I'll try” you smile as he walks back over to where Reid, JJ and Emily are, getting ready to play another round. Morgan is sitting on the couch facing them, making some jokes with Emily.

You slide your headphones back on, watching out the window, starting to eat the crackers rossi left you. Turning the music up louder, hoping it will be loud enough to block anything else coming into your mind.

~~~

Rossi sits back down beside JJ, Reid is placing down some cards for the next game. They all turn to Rossi, Emily being the first to break the silence.

“So did (Y/N) say anything?” Her voice filled with concern. No one could blame her, everyone has noticed that you have been off the last week. But today, you weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. It's almost like you have just given up.

“Nothing, (Y/L) tried to say it's from barely sleeping, but it's clear (Y/N) is hiding something, could barely even look at me” Rossi sighs worriedly, glancing over at them.

“I'm sure (Y/N) will talk when it's time to” Reid speaks quietly, He was really worried about you, you had bailed the last two times he tried to invite you to anything sociable. You had bailed on team movie night, even when it was your turn to pick the movie. Reid onlys wants to be there for you, the way you are always there for him, or for anyone on the team. Emily glances over at you. Noticing your eyes are starting to close, looking like you are close to falling asleep.JJ follows Emily's eyes, smiling softly as she takes in your body langues. Your body is starting to relax enough for you to finally get some rest.

“(Y/L) knows we are here, when its time to open up”

~~~

When the Jet lands, it's 3:25pm due to the La time zone. Hotch was heading to the Police station to talk to the lieutenant in charge. Reid and Prentiss went to the morgue to find more information about the bodies. JJ and Morgan went to the latest crime scene at the bus stop. You and Rossi had arrived at the first crime scene, a park that was in the middle of a beautiful quiet looking neighbourhood. As you and Rossi look around the park, mainly where the bodies were found on the seesaws. You two keep throwing ideas at each other regarding the unsub, and why he would leave the bodies in such an open area. You crouch down to examine the SeeSaw more closely, an odd looking heart carved into the middle of it.

“Hey Rossi, look at this” You call out, as Rossi walks over and crouches down beside you, to examine what you have found.

“What did you find, kid?”

“Look at this heart, it looks like its been there for a while, but the pen marks in the index of the shape its fresh”

“What, you think of the unsub coloured in the initials?” He raises his eyebrows watching you. “Lots of people crave words into playground you know that (Y/L)”

“Yes you're right they do, but look at it again, the edge of where the heart indexes are, looks old, at least a few years, but the black pen looks fresh, and they found some fresh ink the same colour on one of the victims hard” You explain as you take a photo of it.

“Huh, good catch” Rossi stands up looking around the park.

~~~

You bring your phone to your ear as you ring Morgan, he answers quickly.

“Hey pretty, you two find anything yet?” Morgan's voice is filled with his usual teasing.

“I think so, this could be nothing but, did you or JJ find a heart with the initials, L+K in it, it probably looks old but there could be fresh black ink in the index of the words.” Your words come out fast, as they do when you get excited or when your brain is working extra fast. Your words just never seem to keep up with your brain.

“Wait actually I think I saw something like that” You can hear him moving, and hear JJ voice in the background, asking him what he's looking for. Morgan crouches down in front of the bus stop benches, where the bodies were found.

“Yeah (Y/L), I've got that here, right in the middle of the bench”

“Yeah I found mine in the middle of the seesaw” You sigh. “Alright Morgan we’ll see you back at the precinct” As you hang up you look back at Rossi.

“They found the exact same one, middle of the bench” Shaking your head slightly.

“Well we have a lead on the unsubs name” Rossi speaks slowly. Trying to wrap his head around what the unsub plan could be.

It was now after 10pm, the team had delivered the profile a few hours earlier. Garica has managed to connect all the victims together. The male victims worked at a nightclub as Drag Queens, the nightclub being only a couple blocks away from each crime scene. The female victims used to be a part of a church that was only a block away from the Nightclub. It was discovered that they were kicked out due to their relationship together. Prentiss and Rossi had talked to Isabella Grey family, and also Mike Harrison family as well, gathering as much information as they could. JJ, Morgan and Hotch had talked to Oliva William and David Brown's family. As you and Reid stayed back at the precinct, on the phone with Garcia. Finding out any other information you possibly could. Reid had also mapped out the Unsubs comfort zone.The Female victims also worked at the same night club as the male victims, as waitresses and bartenders. The profile of the unsub that they had is, a white male early to mid 20s. They had profiled that he may have been kicked out of church and home due to his sexuality, and that he is targeting those who are able to openly be themselves. Something that he is still unable to do.

~~~

The team is currently sitting around the table, eating their dinner as they discuss their plan for tomorrow.

“Dave, I want you and Emily to go to the church in the morning, see what else you can find from them, see if anyone fits our profile” Hotch says as the team starts eating their pizza together. He gets a nod back from Dave and Emilys, he turns to you and Reid.

“(Y/L) I want you and Reid to go to the club, see if anyone there could know someone who fits our profile.”

“You got it boss” Smiling as you take a slice of pizza.

“JJ, you and Morgan head back over to the Brown's family, his sister Melissa seem to know something, but her parents didn't want her to talk”

“Yeah we can try to get her away from her parents, hopefully she will open up with JJ” Morgan adds while taking a sip of his drink.

~~~

The conversation moves away from the case slowly. Everyone winding down and relaxing as they finish their dinner, before they head back to the hotel for the night. There weren't many rooms available so you had to share a room with JJ, the room having two single beds. You sit on the bed pulling out your clothes for the night, JJ sits across from you doing the same.

“You can have the first show if you like JJ” You speak quietly, your energy feeling completely drained. you did have a small nap on the jet, but that energy you got from that didn't seem to last too long. You just hope that you can get some more sleep tonight, not needing JJ to question you.

“Thank you, I'll just have a quick one” She smiles over at you. You were staring at the wall, no longer paying attention. “(Y/N), are you alright?” You never heard her call out to you. she decided to just let you be and have a shower. Try to talk to you afterwards, maybe for now you just need some space.

You are so far out of it, not even noticing JJ going to the bathroom. You're thinking deeply about the case, you will never understand how families can just disown their own kids. Watch them as they get kicked out of church. How can people just turn their back on family? Your mind goes from thinking of the victims family to your own. How could your parents say that they could never love you for being who you are, for loving yourself. Not everyone is born in the right body, and you are one of those people. You hated looking in the mirror and seeing the wrong body looking back at you. You hated when people would use the wrong pronouns for you, and when you are referred to with words that are to feminine or to masculine. You have never felt like a girl or a boy when growing up. You always thought there was something wrong with you, but when you found out what it meant to be Non Binary, it felt right, like something inside you just clicked. You did more research into it, and you finally felt so happy discovering who you really are. You stayed in the closet for close to two years before coming out to your parents, which went horrible.

~~~

Tears are streaming down your cheek but you don’t realise it, not until you feel a hand on your shoulder. Turning your head to see JJ looking at you worried, her hair damp from the shower.

“(Y/N) are you okay?” Her tone is soft and caring, softly wiping the tears from your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah JJ I’m fine, I'm just tired” Forcing a small smile, shrugging off her hand.

“(Y/N) you don't cry when you're tired, please I'm worried about you, maybe I can help” Staring into her eyes, you know everything she is saying is genuine. But you can't tell her, you can't tell anyone. You already lost your family, you can't lose anyone else.

“JJ please, just forget it” Your tone comes out a little rough. Standing up grabbing your gear for the shower.

“Okay, but you know we are here for you, all of us” She calls out softly. Watching you walk into the bathroom, without another word as the door slams shut.

~~~

In the morning you walk downstairs with JJ, meeting up with the team in the lobby. Everyone but Hotch are all standing there holding coffee. Reid passes you and JJ some coffee, a small smile on his face.

“Hotch is on the phone, they found two more bodies, outside the church this time” Reid informs you both.

“Oh, how great!” You huff out taking a sip of coffee. Letting it warm you up inside, as Hotch walks over.

“Two new victims, Kyle Hopkins and Melissa Brown” Hotch starts saying before he's interrupted by Morgan.

“Wait, Melissa Brown, as in David Brown's sister?”

“Yes indeed, he's holding them for less time now” Hotch rubs his forehead. Something he does when he's stressing.

“He's moving towards his end game” Reid adds in.

“Alright, Dave I want you and Prentiss to head over to the crime scene” Hotch nods at them as they walk out. “JJ, you and Reid go over to the Browns family, see what else we can learn from them, the unsub seems to be targeting their family, Melissa alot younger than our other victims, find out how she could be connected” Hotch turns his attention to Morgan as the other two walk out.

“Morgan I need you to go talk Kyle Hopkins family, talk to Garcia see what she can find out about Kyle and Melissa”

“You got it Hotch” Morgan pulls out his phone as he walks out.

“I'm guessing we are going to the nightclub then?” You ask, smiling slightly. You're still feeling tired and not entirely yourself yet. Having not gotten much rest again last night, but you knew you had to try to act fine. Especially in front of your boss, Hotch is the best at reading you.

“Yes, let's go” He nods. Walking out, you follow him closely.

~~~

As You both enter the club. It's empty as they aren't open yet but there are a few workers there waiting for you both. Hotch talks to the manager in her office, while you talk to two of the bartenders. They inform you of the last time they had seen each of the victims and how they had all come to work there. You had given them the profile and explained to them how the guy could have been acting like the last few days.

“Wait, that sounds like Liam, doesn't it?” Taylor asks, turning to look at Holly, who nods.

“Yeah it does, Liam has been off the last few days, his girlfriend died a year ago, kelly. They had been together for years, they started dating secretly at the end of high school, it was before kelly transition, Kelly was trangender” Holly explains.

“Oh, that adds more to our profile thank you, um do you guys know how Kelly died?”

“Yeah she was murder, she was beaten up by some people from the church just round the corner, died a couple days later” Taylor adds, looking down upset, trying her best to hold it together.

“Everything seems to be connected to that church” Sighing as you run your hand though your hair. “Can I get a last name for Liam and Kelly legal name?”

“Yeah Liam Johnson and Kevin Jones” Holly speaks quietly. You thank them as Hotch walks out of the office and you follow him outside.

~~~

“I got a name Liam Johnson” You tell Hotch, as you reach him. “His girlfriend Kelly was killed a year ago. She was a subject of hate crimes due to be Transgender, you want to guess who organised it?” You scoff the last part of the sentence out. Shaking your head as the anger raises inside you again.

“The church” He sighs. Grabbing his phone to ring Garcia, putting her on speaker.

“He who seeks the Queen of all knowledge speaks and be recognized” Garica's cheeky voice comes out.

“Garica I got a name for you Liam Johnson, need you to send me everything you got on him”

“Yes sir, I’m searching his name as we speak, and woah hello” Her voice gets lower at the end.

“Garica what you got?” Asking her quickly, making eye contact with Hotch. Knowing what she found is going to give us exactly what we need to determine if he's our unsub or not.

“He has a long list of priors, mostly for vandalism at the church and getting into loads of fights with his family and it says here, he got kicked out of home when he was 17 when they discover he was gay, and it says after his partner died last year, he was sent to conversion therapy for help and got out 2 months ago” She takes a breath before continuing. “I have a home address, sent it to your phones''

“Thanks Garcia” Hotch adds in just before hanging up.

You're both getting into the car when your phone rings, answering it you put it on speaker.

“Yeah Morgan, Garica has just sent you guys an address of Liam Johnson” You start to speak as Hotch starts driving.

“yeah we found him, some police officers found him at a park, he's cornered himself by a tree and he's got himself a hostage, we are driving there now”

“Where?” Hotch asks, doing a U-turn after Morgan gives us the location.

“Alright we are only a block away we will meet everyone there” You hang up as Hotch drives faster.

~~~

You were out of the car before Hotch could even put it into park. You know you should stop and put your bulletproof vest on first. But you can’t think about that currently, knowing you only have a limited amount of time. With these situations, most of the time it will always end in suicide by cop, and there is no way you are going to let that happen to him. Not when you can understand how he feels, knowing what he has been put through. You can hear Hotch yell out to you as you run past the police checkpoint, heading closer towards Liam. Stopping when you get past the police officers, who are pointing their guns at him.

Liam is holding a young boy around the age of 12. Keeping him close to him, a gun jammed to his head.

“Your Liam right?” You ask, keeping eye contact with him. Liam's eyes are filled with guilt and hopelessness, looking afraid.

“Get back, get back I'll shoot him I will” He yells out, his voice shaking.

“You won't shoot him, do you want to know why?” Your voice comes out gently, keeping calm. Knowing your only way to keep you three alive, is to relate to this unsub.

“You're not going to shoot him because he's innocent, just like those victims you killed” You can hear the rest of your team arriving. Getting the two police officers to move back, giving you more room to work.

“No the people I killed were not innocent, they were gay, and gay people deserve hell” Liam shouts back, his arm shaking.

“No sweety they don't, no one can control who they love or who they really are” You speak softly. He shakes his head roughly, his eyes filling with tears. Looking young, lost and so afraid.

~~~

“No no, they told me, they told me I'm going to hell if I don't repent for being gay” Tears slid down his face. His grip is loosening on the boy.

“Liam, nothing that they told you was true, why don't you let the boy go and we can talk okay?” you offer.

“No, he's my protection, they will shoot me when I move” Liam stutters through his words, pulling the boy closer.

“No they won't, okay I won't let them, use me as a shield alright, I'll take the boy's place” You take a step forward, giving him a smile filled with reassurance.

“No stop, you have a gun on you” His hold on the boy tightens again.

“You're right, I'll drop my gun, okay?” You move slowly, taking it out of the holster. Placing it slowly on the ground, keeping eye contact with him as you kick it away. “Now let the boy go” You smile encouragingly.

Liams removes his hands off the boy, pushing him away, towards the crowd now starting to appear. The boy quickly rushes towards JJ who's walking toward him quickly, grabbing him to bring him back to safety. You make brief eye contact with Hotch, who looks extremely pissed off. Turning your attention back to Liam, stepping closer, covering him. Making sure no one could get a clear shot.

~~~

“Liam, you have two choices here okay, you need to put the gun down and come in with me”

“No, if I do, I'll go to prison for life, death would be better” His voice sounded desperate. He moves the gun under his chin, pointing it upwards.

“Liam, think about Kelly, she wouldn't want this for you”

“Kevin was confused” His voice filled with pain.

“No she wasn't and neither are you, your family disowned you for liking guys didn’t they, made you change yourself so they could love you?” You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself. trying to stay focus on him and his family.

“Kevin…Kelly was the only one to love me, we only had each other when we both first came out” His voice breaking as he speaks, his arm shaking. His finger shaking staying on the trigger pushing on it slightly

“I Understand how you feel Liam, my family disowned me as well” Your words are out of your mouth before you could stop them. Eyes widen as you realise what you are about to admit to.

“Y you understand, you're gay?” His finger slides off the trigger, gulping thickly.

~~~

“No I'm not gay Liam, I'm like Kelly” Taking another deep breath. Doing everything you can to not look at your team, as you speak.

“Your trangender?” Liam asks, his voice starting to even out seeming like he's calming down.

“I fall under the trangenders umbrella. Yes, My family told me I would go to hell as well, but people like us Liam, we won't go to hell for being who we are” Your voice is loud but soft. You want him to lower the gun, you just want this to be over and done with.

“I belong in hell, I killed people” His finger goes back to the trigger. Tears well in your eyes thinking this could be it.

“Liam no please, we can work this out, you just need help, we can get you help, I want to help you, people like us, we need to stick together okay?” Your words come out rushed, but you step closer to him. “Liam, will you let me help you?” You're right in front of him, he nods lightly. You place your hand on the gun, his hand slips off the gun. You take it and place it out of the ground, kicking it away from you. Taking Liam's hands, pulling them behind his back, as you handcuff him gently. “This is for your protection okay” You speak softly. Reid walks over picking up the guns, as one of the police officers comes over and takes Liam away. Reid walks back over to the team after helping escort Liam back to the police cars.

~~~

Running your hand though your hair, you look over where your team is, none of them coming over to approach you. You already knew you would be in trouble running into danger like that but then you came out. Fear is running through your body as you look at your team. Hotch and Morgan are talking to some police officers, placing Liam in the police car. The rest of the team were talking by the car, Reid still holding your gun. Taking some deep breaths to calm yourself. You walked over to them quietly. Reaching Reid first, who offered your gun to you.

“Thanks Reid” Your words come out quietly. Placing your gun back in the holster, not looking at anyone. Emily opens her mouth to say something but thankfully, she is interrupted by Hotch and Morgan approaching.

“(Y/L) with me” His voice filled with a cold empty tone that could easily be interpreted as anger and disappointment. You follow him over to the SUV you both arrived in. Getting into the passenger side quietly as he gets in. He drives in silence for a while.

~~~

Hotch drivers for a few minutes before he speaks. “What you did was highly dangerous, what the hell were you thinking?” He snaps at you. His voice full of pure anger, you have never seen him this angry before.

“Hotch I.. too many people have died, I wasn't going to let someone else die, because of some religious views forced into his brain, it's not right” The words coming out of your mouth, barely louder than a whisper.

“You could've gotten yourself killed, or that boy killed, you can never run into a situation the way you did, I should fire you for what you did” Hearing his words, realisation hits you as to how bad the consequences are about to be.

“I understand Hotch, I'm really sorry” Your voice breaks lightly. Trying hard to pull yourself together, you rest your head on the window looking outside.

“I'm not going to fire you (Y/n)” His voice softens slightly as he glances over at you. Noticing some tears sliding down your cheek, he quickly pulls over, turning the car off.

~~~

Looking over at him, “Your not but I screwed up, I did everything we are not supposed to do when talking down an unsub”

“Maybe you did, but it worked. You talked him down, that's something no one else could have done, that's why I'm not firing you” His tone is soft, watching you closely.

“Thank you Hotch”

“But I do need to know something” He looks at you softly, that concerned look on his face.

You sit up straight, looking at him seriously.

“You want to know if I was telling him the truth, don't you?” You don't know how he can hear you. The words coming out just above whisper. Talking feels so heavy, but you know you have to. He nods at you, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah it's true, I came out to my parents a few weeks ago, it's why I haven't been myself lately, they rung me two nights ago and we had another argument, ending with them telling me I'm going to hell, I knew what Liam was going though, I had to try help” Your body starts shaking vaguely. Hotch places his hand gently on your arm in support.

“(Y/N), I'm sorry they treated you like that, you know that no one in this team would ever judge you, we care for you” You can feel the love and care coming though in his words, you nod your head gingerly.

~~~

“Do you want to talk more about you being trangender, I'm here to listen”

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth, finding it easy to breathe and for words to flow out. “Im Non binary, Which means I don't identify as a Man or a Women, I never liked any of those labels, Last year when we did a case with a Trangender victim I did more research when I got home and when I read about Non binary” Smiling faintly as you speak, starting to relax. “It felt right, like I had finally found a missing part of myself” You look over at Hotch, who is smiling softly at you, his eyes full of fatherly love.

“That's great, I'm really happy for you, is there anything I need to change, I know some people change their pronouns”

“Yeah I want to start using they, them, their, pronounce, but mainly while Im only with those people I trust”

“So just the team for now?” He smiles watching as your face brightens up.

“Yes please, I'm going to tell the team on the way back” You smile feeling more relaxed than you have in weeks.

“Lets head back to the precinct then” He smiles more as he turns the car back on, driving towards the police precinct.

~~~

An hour had passed, you had somehow managed to avoid talking to anyone until it was time to board the jet. Hotch was already on the Jet, his laptop set up. Everyone sat around Hotch, ready to start the debriefing. You stay silent as you take the seat beside Hotch, he gives you a small warm reassuring smile. You knew the team would be accepting of you, but you were still nervous of their reaction. The debriefing started, it goes by quickly, but you could feel everyone keep glancing at you, once it had ended no one moved.

“Okay, I think we need to address the elephant in the room” Rossi starts speaking, looking at you carefully.

“I guess I owe you all an explanation on what I said to Liam” Sighing softly as you look up, everyone apart from Hotch is looking at you encouragingly. Everything starts feeling overwhelming having them all stare at you.

“Wait, I think Garica will want to be a part of this conversation” Hotch smiles softly. Turning his laptop over, just as Garica pops up on screen.

“Well hello all you sparkly people” She smiles cheekily at everyone, earning a few laughs from the team. Somehow she managed to break the tension and bring back joy to the moment.

~~~

“Alright now that our team is complete, can you please keep talking (Y/N)” JJ smiles at you encouragingly.

“Wait, what did I miss?” Garcia asks, a little confused.

“You haven't missed anything yet Pen, I’m just about to tell you all some news” Taking a small breath, your hands fidgeting under the table. Hotch's hand slides over, taking one of yours in his gently.

“I guess it's time to say it, I’m Transgender, well Im Non binary, which for me, means that I don't feel like a guy or like a girl, I don't relate to any gender, so I would prefer if you all could use They/them pronouns for me instead and more gender neutral terms for me” Your voice coming out feels a lot stronger and more confident than how you really feel inside.

Garcia is the first to speak, “yesss” She squeaks out. “Does that mean I can go to pride marches with you?” You look at her, seeing her smiling huge. Laughing at her along with the team.

“Of course it does Pen” Laughing as she spins around on her chair, in victory. Morgan who is sitting on the couch close to you leans over clapping you on shoulder smiling.

“Well that is some great news” He smiles at you.

“I think that calls for a celebrity drink at my place this weekend then” Rossi cheers.

“I think you just look for any opportunity to drink,” Emily teases him.

“Oh he does” Hotch laughs

“Well I am in for a drink” JJ says, as the rest of the team agrees.

During the trip back everyone plays a round of cards for a little bit. Hotch is the first to bail, needing to get some paperwork, he moves himself to the back of the plane. The next too bail is Reid, when he leaves he pats your shoulder, and whisper quietly a, “I'm proud of you”

Morgan soon joins Reid and falls asleep on the other end of the couch.

~~~

Rossi, JJ, Emily and you, play cards for a bit longer, until JJ asks you a question.

“(Y/n) can I ask you something?” She looks at you a little concerned and curiously in her eyes.

“Sure JJ, anything”

“Why were you crying last night, was it the case?” She speaks quietly so as to not disturb the two sleeping boys near them.

“You have been off a lot lately” Emily adds in.

“It was a little bit due to the case, it hit close to home, I came out to my parents a few weeks ago, and, it went terribly, they pretty much disowned me. Have barely been sleeping since” Shrugging your shoulders. “They said horrible things when I told them I wouldn't change.” you sigh, forcing yourself to smile weakly.

“Well it's a good thing, you already have a better family” Emily smiles across at you. “And we would never want you to change”

“You never need them again,” JJ adds softly.

“Plus if you ever want to get revenge I believe Penelope would happily place a virus on their computers for you” Rossi smirks, bumping his shoulder with you. Earning a laugh from you three.

“Oh she definitely would,” While laughing, you take a look around at the jet, at your team. Who is the only family you are ever going to need.

#criminal minds #BAU x reader #BAU x NB!Reader #criminal minds is a family #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jj #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #criminal minds lgbtq #criminal minds transgender reader #criminal minds one shot

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blogurlnotfound · 4 days

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Drumming - Doctor Who x Reader

hiii this is my first fic in about 4 years probably :) this is obviously a new account, so yeah that's why there's nothing else here. um anyways, i definitely got incredibly carried away with this, did not have an idea going into it (still think it ended up great), 12 is probably out of character, and i somehow wrote it in under 3 hours??

anyway, I hope it's enjoyable! and please let me know your thoughts :)

12th Doctor x Reader

(really student/professor but can be romantic or platonic, whatever vibes you catch.)

Word Count: 2,600+

Summary: You have been hearing a drumming in your head. One, two, three, four. It's been affecting your mental state, and you haven't been to class in a while. Maybe your professor, The Doctor, is able to help figure this out?

Warnings: mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts. any gender reader, but makeup mentioned.

A drumming had been haunting you for months as you slept.

One, two, three, four.

It would sound non-stop until you couldn't bear it any longer, and woke up. Every time you would wake up the same: in a cold sweat, panting, with tear streaks running down your face.

Each day the drumming's effect on you grew. It was affecting your mental state immensely. You felt a deep pain and sadness hanging over you like a cloud most days. You wouldn't be able to get out of bed, much less go to classes. You weren't hungry often, and couldn't eat when you were. You avoided your friends and your schoolwork, occasionally texting your parents to keep them from worrying.

You weren't sure if your professors noticed your absences. They hadn't reached out to you in any way. It's not like they'd notice you in the sea of students. They must see hundreds a day anyways.

It's not like anybody would notice you anyway. At least that's what the drumming would whisper to you.

One, two, three, four.

You keep to yourself. Don't have any close friends in your classes, and not many close friends at school in general. Nobody really knew who you were. Your favorite color. Childhood pets. How long it takes you to sleep. How often you're awoken by the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

Nobody would notice if you're gone.

One, two, three, four.

They don't even notice when you're there.

One, two, three, four.

-+-

You wake up. In a cold sweat. Panting. You reach both your hands to your face and rub your palms on your cheeks. Tears were cleared from your face and now sat on your hands. You sit up and release a heavy sigh. It's like the sigh has been waiting to escape all night. Like your body was relieved to be released from the nightmare drumming.

You decide to get out of bed, an easier decision than previous day's had been. You stretch your limbs and yawn. You walk to the bathroom and face your reflection. Today was going to be okay.

Or will it be.

One, two, three, four.

"It will be. Today will be okay." You affirmed to yourself in the mirror. You let out another sigh, smiled at yourself softly, and began your morning routine.

You do your make-up while watching a video. You found that taking the time to do your make-up gave you time to relax, breathe, and be yourself. You felt better about your days when you take this extra time to yourself in the morning. So, whenever you manage to get out of bed, you try to manage doing make-up too.

The video you watched was just of some guy unnecessarily analyzing a TV show you liked. He went into extreme detail about small details from the show and created theories about why certain things happened and what might happen next. You enjoyed his content. He reminded you of one of your professors.

He was a very kind old man who you can tell cares deeply about everything he talks about. He has a Scottish accent that somehow grows stronger with excitement. He's enthusiastic and rambles, and never really has a set course of taking points. He just lets his mind and his heart lead him. Saying whatever he finds most awestrucking and veering off topic drastically. In fact, you weren't really sure what the class was meant to be about.

The course description when signing up simply said, "Discussion-based class, humanities topics." The syllabus was no extra help, practically said the same thing with all the extra school required information listed. But it fulfilled your humanities credit, and the first day was interesting enough, so you stayed in the class.

Thinking about the professor, The Doctor, just The Doctor, made you want to go to his class. You checked the time on your phone. It did start in a little over two hours. You finished getting ready and then waited.

You waited maybe fifteen minutes before getting bored. You quickly put your bag together and walked out your door, then your building, into the outside would. It had been at least thirty-two hours since you were last outside. The air felt cool against your skin, reviving your senses and making you softly smile to yourself. You could hear the wind rustle the branches of nearby trees that swayed. Somehow, these trees looked the same as ever, and more beautiful than ever.

You turn around in a full circle and take in the Earth around you. She really is beautiful. You don't sit with her enough.

With new energy in your body, the dark cloud caused by the drumming smaller than ever, you walk around your campus mindlessly. Every step you take grounds you to the Earth, reminding you that the drumming can't be real.

One, two, three, four.

It isn't real.

-+-

You take a seat in the auditorium where The Doctor's class is held. You gently place your bag on the floor next to you and wait as the seats pile up. Five minutes later the room is almost full, and the tall man with short grey hair walks in, greeting the class with a Scottish, "Hello!" as he places his bag down and immediately starts writing on the chalkboard.

"Music." is written on the board. He swiftly turns around on his heel. He stops and makes direct eye contact with you. He stares for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. He diverts his attention from you and begins speaking,

"So," he clasps his hands, "who wants to tell me the importance of music to humanity?"

Hands shoot up all around you. You had been missing a fun class.

-+-

The class ends and you have a beaming smile on your face. You hadn't realized truly how fun and entrancing The Doctor was. Every student was hooked on his every word, waiting for what insane piece of information would come flying out of his mouth next. Every student including you.

The class was packing their bags and leaving around you. You heard groups starting to chat. Friends laughing loudly.

You don't have friends like that here. Your smile falls.

One, two, three, four.

A tap on the wooden desk in front of you wakes you from your thoughts, a Scottish voice accompanying it, "Are you okay, y/n? I noticed you haven't been to class in a while."

You looked up at The Doctor, no doubt admiration for him and sadness from your thoughts filling your eyes. He could read your eyes. He could read the pain and the sadness. He's felt it before.

"You noticed?" You stifled out.

"Of course I noticed." His face softened, "All of my students are important to me."

"But there's so many of us?"

"So?"

You didn't have a response to that. You suppose he was right. You just looked down at your bag, grabbed it, and started to stand up.

"Would you like to come into my office?"

You looked at him, confused and shocked.

"Just for lunch and to discuss whatever is going on. If you'd like." You look at him, still confused. Your head cocks slightly to one side, and your mouth begins to open, but The Doctor beats you to it, "I lost a student not too long ago. Her name was Bill. Bill Potts. I miss her a lot, you see, she was more than just my student. She was also my friend. She made me better. I can see her in you, and I would hate to... " He pauses, "I'm just worried about how many classes you've missed. You may not be able to pass my course."

You're really confused now. The gears are turning in your head, processing his confession of loss turned into you not passing the class. The Doctor can see the gears turning on your face, in the way your eyebrows scrunch intensely and your pupils move back and forth. You close your eyes, relax your face, and look at him with a smile.

"I would like to go to your office, yeah. Thank you." Your eyes are sincere, and when you meet his, so are they.

You follow him a short ways through campus to his office. His steps and your steps opposite. Like the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

You try to ignore it. You try really hard but can't. You stop walking, and the drumming stops. You sigh in relief, The Doctor looks back at you with concern.

"Sorry," you say, catching up to him with a smile, "I thought I saw something."

"Like what?" He asks, curiosity filling his face.

"Oh, nothing." You weren't expecting him to ask. You didn't know what to say.

He hums in response, picking up pace until you're at his office. It's a huge room with a desk in the middle, you take a seat on one side of it while The Doctor sits opposite. He has many picture frames on his desk, and a mysterious blue police box in the corner you can't take your eyes off.

One, two, three, four.

"What's that?" you ask, pointing at the box before you can help yourself.

"A police box. It's from London in the 60's. I'm a bit of a collector of sorts."

He had this lie down pat. But you could tell he wasn't being truthful, you didn't know how, but you knew. You didn't press on about the box. You just nodded and smiled, "That's cool."

He nodded too. "Let's talk about why you've been missing class. Is everything okay back home? Anything I can do to help?"

One, two, three, four.

Something compelled you to be honest with him. Again, you didn't know what. He felt familiar. Of course you've known him the whole semester, but it felt more than that. You feel safe. You feel seen. You feel known. You knew when he lied to you just a second ago, but why?

One, two, three, four.

"Can I be honest?" you make eye contact with him, "Like, you won't lock me up in the looney bin for being crazy?" He's about to say something but you interrupt him, "And won't get me kicked out of the school or, or, I don't know, send me off to get government testing?"

He's confused now. But curious too. You can tell he's interested in what you're saying, he wants to know more. It doesn't feel like he's going to judge you. "Yes, you can be honest. You can trust me."

"Promise?" You hold out your pinky. Sure it's silly, but silly makes it more meaningful, more powerful, somehow.

He chuckles and interlocks your pinkies, "Promise."

"Okay." You stop to think.

One, two, three, four.

"So I have this noise in my head."

One, two, three, four.

"It's like drumming. One, two, three, four."

One, two, three, four.

The Doctor stiffens. "And it won't stop, Doctor." you continue. "And it's like it's affecting my thoughts. They're all negative and I'm depressed and it hurts. It really hurts, Doctor." Tears are streaming down your face. You weren't even aware talking about this would make you cry. And you didn't know why you told The Doctor about it.

After a moment of thinking, The Doctor moves from his chair and towards you. His movements are stiff. As if he's nervous. He knows something you don't. He leans down and wraps his arms around you, your head at his chest. You cry harder, and he pulls you closer in comfort.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming was louder than ever. In your head and in your ears. It's not scary anymore though. You move your head away from The Doctor to release you from the hug. The drumming stops. You reach out to his chest without asking, without thinking.

On your hand you feel two heartbeats.

One, two, three, four.

You put your other hand to your own heart. Only one heartbeat. One, two.

Why did he have two heartbeats. One, two, three, four. Why was his the drumming.

"Why-" you start, but need to close your eyes and breathe, "Why does your heart sound like the drumming. Why do you have two heartbeats?"

"Follow me." He walked to the blue police box, opened the door and went inside. You sat there for a moment stunned. Then you cleared your face from your tears and got up. You made your way towards the box, looking at the door before walking inside.

You looked around in amazement. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your face broke out into a huge grin. You ran outside and back inside. "This defies all laws of physics! How is it-? It's?" You looked at him expectantly.

"C'mon, I know you want to say it." He had an equally bright, shit-eating grin.

"It's bigger on the inside!"

He laughed with his whole chest and body. His laugh was contagious.

"This," he gestures around the room, "is my T.A.R.D.I.S. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. And I'm a Time-Lord from the planet Gallifrey. We have two hearts, hence the two heartbeats."

You look at him; confusion, amazement, admiration and more displayed on your face.

"Now I don't know why you're hearing my species' heartbeats in your head, but I'm going to figure it out." He looks at you and smiles, you can't help but smile back, "If you want to come with me?"

"With you where?" you ask.

"Anywhere! In the whole wide universe. Not really sure where to start to help you though. Or when for that matter?"

You've never been so confused so many times in the span of one day. "But I have other classes? And don't you too?" Something clicks in your brain, "And what about my parents? And I barely know you! No offense, Doctor. I can't go traveling with someone I don't know."

"If anyone can help you, y/n, it's me. There might not be anyone else in the whole universe." You look at him, desperate now after hearing his words. "And as for your other classes and your family- TARDIS, t," he said, dragging out the sound, "stands for time. She's a time machine. Can take you right back to this moment." He smiled confidently, and made his way towards the center of the room where some sort of console was. He puts his hands on a lever, and looks at you again.

"What?" You asked, awestruck.

"Let me show you." Mischief flashes across his face, but you can tell it's more childlike than malicious. Which is odd for a man who is likely in his sixties.

A whirring sound comes from the center. The door slams shut and the lights start fluctuating. You find it hard to steady yourself as the floor becomes unstable.

"Grab onto something!" The Doctor yells. You do, a railing a few feet away. You grab on tight and try to stand up right. The Doctor is laughing with joy.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming in your head is drowned out by the TARDIS whirring. The whirring sound would soon become a new comfort. And the TARDIS a new home. And The Doctor, he would soon become the most special and fantastic person in your life.

You knew today was going to be a good day. And there are thousands more to come. Thousands more with The Doctor.

He was going to stop the drumming in your head, no matter what he had to do.

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feral-fae-writes · 2 years

Text

As the World Caves In || Putting the Priest Inside the Jam Jar

A/N: This is my first, multi-chaptered piece. It will be a slow burn. The way I wrote it is fragmented because the reader is traumatised, lol. Y'all also probably have a lot (and I mean a lot) of questions, and there are probably a lot of plot holes, but things will unfold in time, I promise. Hopefully, this will be the start of a masterlist for this work, and a bunch of others. Each chapter will have a song associated with it (the title is a link) and, by the end of this, I should have a Sierra Six playlist! I hope y'all like this first chapter; I loved writing it. Please let me know what you think. 🥺 I am down bad in the rabbit hole for this gum-chewing Ken Doll.

Fandom: The Gray Man

Pairing: Courtland Gentry x Gender Neutral!Reader, Sierra Six x Gender Neutral!Reader

Wordcount: 4,498

Type: Multi-Chaptered

Chapter Summary: Our reader is saved by Sierra Six, who is determined to stay an enigma, no matter what. There are more questions than answers, but no one said catching bugs was going to be easy.

Chapter 1: Putting the Priest Inside the Jam Jar

You had no idea how long you'd been tied up -- just that it’d been enough time for you to begin to feel restless, confused, and severely dehydrated. A few days, at the very least. You’d been kidnapped from your apartment in London, just having gotten home. The last thing you remembered was taking off your shoes, in the dark, too exhausted and half-drunk to change into your pyjamas. But you never got the chance. The next thing you knew, you were bound and gagged in someone’s basement. You found out later, through muffled conversation, that you were ransom for your parents. Problem was, your parents didn’t give a shit about you.

In fact, they actively made your life a living hell.

Ricki, your best friend, had told you to be careful, because you’d just moved entire countries, but no one told her about being wary of people inside your apartment. You were going to die here, completely alone. And that was terrifying as shit.

The slam of a door made you jerk up in fear. You let out a few muffled, frustrated screams for help. You hoped whoever it was would and could help you. If it was your captor, or someone equally horrible, you wouldn’t be in a worse position than you were in now, as far as you figured. Yelling and grunting echoed from above, and you soon realised whoever it was, was fighting. Someone had found you. Holy shit, someone was going to save you. You felt tears run down her face, unbidden, and you couldn’t wipe them away. Fuck. A whimper slipped out, hit the wall of your gag, and you slumped back against the basement wall. You didn’t want anyoneto see you like this; you also had no choice.

A heavy thump, silence, then the sound of two quick gunshots: a double-tap, to make sure whoever it was stayed dead.

You threw yourself against the opposite wall, again and again. You needed to make enough noise to be heard, regardless of who it was up there, regardless of the absolute pain you felt doing it. You heard movement, from the stairs leading upwards across the room, and fell still, eyes warily on the locked door. A grunt, the padlock fell to the floor with a clang, and then the door opened. A stranger walked downstairs, dressed in black -- black boots, black pants, black tee… Black eye. You stared at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down your face, back against the wall. His brown hair stuck to his face, and his lip was split and bleeding. You made eye contact, and then he crouched down to your level, still holding your gaze. You couldn’t move, and you weren't sure if you wanted to.

“You okay?” He asked, voice soft. “All things considered.”

You nodded. It’s not like you could do much else.

“I’m going to untie you now.”

You nodded again. He set about untying you, making a conscious effort not to touch you or hurt you, from what you could tell. You sat there in thought, cold and tired, but warmed by his non-hostile presence. His eyes were kind, and somehow like a kicked puppy’s. He was also really, really damn attractive. Maybe it was delirium, or the black outfit, but either way, you couldn’t deny it. You imagined no one could; the man was objectively sexy. And he had just saved your life.

As he untied the ropes, his fingers brushed your skin, and you shivered. He immediately drew back, appraising with those kicked-puppy eyes, and then removed the duct-tape. You didn’t trust yourself to speak just yet, glancing back to your bindings, and he took the hint. He began to work on the ropes again, and you were free. He offered out a hand, kneeling. You took it, staring up at him. You were shell-shocked.

It was probably some sort of fucked up survivor’s syndrome, but you wanted to make him cum right then and there. Instead of getting down on her knees, you felt yourself begin to cry more, thin reactive tears escaping down your cheeks. You opened your mouth to speak, but could only manage a croak of a word as you got to your feet. You were going to faint. Your own voice sounded weird to your ears, after such a long time in silence, but it was surprisingly steady. All things considered.

“Thanks.”

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Your saviour was a hard man to read. You’re also pretty sure you don’t even know his name. Claire -- his niece, though you could tell they weren’t related -- called him Six. And he never corrected her, so you called him the same.

He had asked you if you had anywhere to go. You shook your head no, voice still hoarse from disuse. After saying that one word, you erupted into violent coughs. He held you steady as you shook like a leaf.

“What about your parents?” He had asked, once you were back upstairs, a glass of water in hand (pilfered from the cupboard) and a small dish of fruit that remained untouched (scrounged from the fridge, what little food that was there). A dead body laid not ten feet away from you, two gunshot wounds securely between its eyes.

Like shooting a zombie, you thought distantly. You couldn’t see Six’s gun on his person.

Your captor’s home was very nice, barring the blood on the rug, and the strong scent of smoking gunfire. You had no idea why you were taken for ransom, and, frankly, you didn’t care. The fact that your parents allowed you to stay in that basement for more than an hour told you everything you needed to know. As far as you were concerned, you were an orphan, alone in Italy. You shrugged your shoulders, to tell him that it didn’t matter. You were an adult, after all -- freshly 23 (no one likes you when you’re 23), and wanting to live your own life, separate from their money.

He leaned back in thought at your answer that was a non-answer, then leaned forward again, closer than you expected, looking you in the eyes. God, he wasa kicked puppy. You fought the desire to flinch -- for a moment, having a flashback to your captor, despite the fact that the man in front of you wasn’t threatening you in demeanour or tone -- as he let out a breath. When he spoke, his voice was ever-so-soft, as if he knew what you were feeling. Not a millisecond later, you realised that he did.

“I get it. You’re feeling betrayed. I don’t blame you. You need rest, and somewhere safe to stay.”

You couldn’t escape the corpse in the corner of your eyes. His gaze followed your own.

“I’ll clean up. Promise. I’m guessing you’re alone in Italy?”

Your focus snapped back to him and his inescapably puppy-like eyes. His eyes were a blue-grey, like a stormy sea. You nodded. He let out a sigh, breaking eye contact. Then, out of what seemed like nowhere (but you logically knew it came out of his pants pocket), appeared a silvery stick of gum, which he unwrapped. He paused, noticing your eyes, then offered out the stick, half in its packaging.

“Want one?” He asked.

You shook your head. He shrugged, just slightly, then popped it in his mouth, rising up from the table, as he crumpled up the used wrapper and slipped it into his pocket. “Suit yourself.”

You sat there, following him with bleary eyes as he cleaned his mess. The corpse disappeared, too, and it was as if nothing had ever happened at all. Later, you’d come to understand that for him, it was “just another Thursday,” as he and Claire liked to put it. And, gradually, you began to accept that, even not mind it, because it was the truth.

After he had finished his work, he took you to a hotel. It was clear he didn’t quite trust you yet, but it was also clear you didn’t have anywhere to go. Your parents would soon realise that you’d been saved and scorn you for getting kidnapped in the first place, or they’d think you died. Regardless, they’d freeze everything. You effectively had no apartment, no money, and no place to call home. They were very hands-off “parents” -- that was the whole reason you were in London. They hoped you’d eventually make your own life there, and then they’d cut you off. It made you wonder why they didn’t just put you up for adoption. In any case, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t go back to that apartment, but you would use whatever money you could. That is, you’d withdraw everything possible.

You came away with a few hundred and five thousand dollars off the card, and another two hundred thousand from the joint bank accounts, skimmed off the top. They wouldn’t miss either sum. You’d wanted to use some of it to return the favour to your knight in black armour. When you tried, however, he refused it for himself, but did take a small (to you) amount for Claire. And that was how you found out she existed, how you met her, and how you put a name to his face.

Now, a week later, you were curled up, hands around your knees on the bed, in the hotel room he had arranged with your money. They hadn’t been staying there until you came along with a handy alibi -- with you, they could pretend the three of you were a family: husband, wife, and daughter. It helped that you resembled Claire. It didn’t seem weird to Six, though he didn’t indulge in it at all (much to your disappointment): not in public, not behind closed doors. Six was in the shower, and Claire was asleep on the small couch across the room. She looked so peaceful, whereas your thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

She woke up. Goddamnit, based on her reaction, she could tell you had been and were staring at her.

“What?” She asked bluntly, still half-asleep.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“Where’s Six?”

“In the shower.”

Both of you fell silent. Truth be told, you hadn’t spoken to Claire often yet. It had only been a week. Claire spoke up again.

“Six gave me vinyls. Was that you?”

So that was what he had spent his saviour-stipend on. But you didn’t mind. You wanted to get to know Claire better. And if that took Six spending money that you didn’t really need or exactly want, that was fine with you.

“Do you like them?” You asked.

Claire nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Thanks. Six told me how he found you. Were you really down there for an entire month?”

“I don’t know how long I was in that basement for.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I feel weird about-- sticking around with you two, when you clearly already have things figured out.” You replied. “I’m assuming you know about--”

“It’s-- it’s just another Thursday.” Claire cut you off, bristling in discomfort. She knew what Six did for a living -- what he had to do for a living. She remembered the note he wrote her, to play Silver Bird, and play it loud over the gunshots as he headed her way. How she had covered her ears and focused on the music. She didn’t like thinking about the events that led to that bittersweet, terrifying moment. Didn’t like thinking about her uncle Don, or the fact that he was dead.

“Right.” You replied, falling silent. The two of you had come to a mutual agreement.

“I’m glad-- that he saved you. And not just because of the vinyls.” Claire murmured after a moment, voice quiet. And with that, she, presumably, went back to sleep.

You heard the sound of the shower shutting off. A few minutes later, Six stepped out, hair wet, wearing black pants and a wrinkled white shirt. His attention was immediately on Claire. It was as if you didn’t exist. Watching him watch her warmed your heart. He was her protector, and yours, too, but it was obvious he’d do anything for her. All of his snark and dry demeanour melted away, all because of her... Part of you wished it would be because of you, too. Instead, you spoke up, this time to Six.

“She likes the vinyls.”

“She told me.” He replied. “Gave me a hug. Which I guess belongs to you.” He turned around to face you, eyes lighting up in a muted realisation. “I never thanked you for the room.” He said.

“I hardly think it’s worth thanking me for when you saved my life,” you quipped.

“That’s fair enough.”

Just before Six turned away, you caught the smallest of smiles on his face.

------------------------------------------------------

“Why Bubblicious Watermelon Wave?” You asked, amused, seeing the bulk package of gum hidden away in a new hotel’s room closet, this time in France. It peeked out behind shirts and pants, jackets, white tees, hung suits, and a red blazer paired with red pants. His side of the closet. You wondered what he would look like in a tux.

“There is no other kind.”

You rolled your eyes at Six’s quip, muffled behind chewing gum. He, for his part, sounded slightly as if you had ruffled his feathers. Apparently, the quip made him remember… something. You decided not to press. Your gaze drifted over to your side of the closet. It was sparse and minimalist in comparison: a few dresses, two sweaters, a pair of pants, a graphic tee to go with it, and pyjamas -- all brand-new, because, again, you couldn’t go back to London. All three of you had duffel bags; it came with the territory of having to keep moving. You didn’t mind. Not like you slept much. Or like Six slept much, for that matter -- too many painful thoughts and unanswered questions. You shut the closet door, but not before sneaking a few sticks of gum into your pocket for later. Not for yourself, no. For Six.

Okay, maybe one for yourself. One for yourself, the rest for him. You had read somewhere that gum stimulates the brain towards focus. No wonder Six is always chewing gum, you thought. You knew he was an intelligent man; he had to be, given what you knew about him already. You also knew he knew a lot more (and thought a lot more, and felt a lot more) than he let on. One of those things was that you were kept awake by paranoia and nightmares. Your leverage was that you knew he was kept awake by his own vigilance and desire to protect. It became a running joke between you two, keeping each other company through your mutual silence.

That night, the silence wasn’t broken. But you came to an understanding.

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You sat out on the balcony, unable to sleep. Again. You knew it was dangerous, being out in the open, alone, but you didn’t care. You were wondering why Six and Claire kept you around -- you knew you were a liability, so there had to be a reason. You were wondering about Ricki, and how Six found you in the first place, though, in hindsight, finding you would be easy for someone like him. Finding anyone would be easy for someone like him. Finding someone like him, though? He was terrifyingly proficient at what he did, but had a moral compass; there was gentleness under his glib demeanour, you could feel it.

The gentle opening of the balcony door stirred you from your thoughts. You jumped out of your skin.

You heard Six chuckle in amusement: a ghost of a laugh, just like he was a ghost of man. He sat beside you, but kept his eyes on the night sky -- you took no offence, it was par for the course for you both -- and you did the same. It wasn’t awkward. Neither of you were much for words.

Because of that, it was doubly surprising when he reached over a hand, just to place it over your own. You froze, but he didn’t remove his, only gently intertwined your fingers together, as if to reassure you. And it worked. You gradually, steadily relaxed. These were the hands of a trained killer, but you relaxed.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but it didn’t feel right. You were sure he knew your thoughts, anyway. So, you merely held on, as if for dear life. You didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. When you stole a glance his way, he wasn’t looking at the sky; he was looking down at your hands, puppy eyes glistening.

------------------------------------------------------

It was inevitable: you had to go out for supplies. You didn’t mind it much, except for the fact that the three of you were constantly on the run. Six had explained the situation to you in bits and pieces over breakfast, and only what you absolutely needed to know. He and Claire were on the run from the CIA, after Lloyd Hansen took the fall for everything he and Claire had been through; he spared you the grisly details. His explanation made you feel even more like a liability, but he explained, through thin lips and a grim demeanour, that they’d be looking for a pair, not three people. You had asked him if you could contact Ricki, but he said it was too much of a risk. It pained you that you couldn’t let Ricki know you were alive, but it was best to let her think you were missing for now, Six said. He explained that if you called, even from a burner phone, they could track you through her and your parents, given she’d made her number known through your ‘Missing Person’ posters. Ricki had written a small description about how she’d dropped you home, and that you hadn’t responded to anything, which was unlike you. That was how he knew you were in trouble.

You realised that you were simply a detour: Six and Claire were just saving people while on the run across the world.

You’d like to say you didn’t care, but it did sting your ego a little bit that the reason he kept you with them was the fact that you were an asset. You were a person. Sure, you may have been a trust fund bitch, but you were a person. Six, thankfully, was polite enough to offer to contact Ricki on your behalf, on a secure line. But he wouldn’t let you speak to her yourself. Word of mouth travelled fast, after all. That much was clear by the bustling café you sat in, across from Claire. You understood, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Claire was scanning the people in the café, a small toy-looking camera in her hands. It made you wary, because if Claire was watching others, it probably meant others were watching you. But Six seemed to take it in stride and as a given. As Claire began taking polaroid pictures of the people around you, laying the pictures on the café table, you felt yourself grow uneasy. Six casually began inspecting them, noticing your apprehension.

“We should go. Now.” He commanded, already getting to his feet, taking up the photos, and positioning himself in front of you and Claire, you noticed.

So your intuition was right. When he took you by the hand, you felt yourself begin to panic. You felt claustrophobic, and the world was caving in. You swallowed nothing, and tore your hand away, pushing yourself past Six and leaving him behind with Claire. You had to get away. You couldn’t be the reason either of them got hurt. His eyes went wide, and he yelled your name, but his voice fell into the rush and accented noise of the crowd around you as you ran. You knew he’d be running after you, Claire in tow, but you couldn’t turn around. You had to find somewhere you could calm down, which happened to be a concrete bench in a courtyard a few yards away. You held onto it, keeping your eyes on the ground, trying to come back to yourself, trying to focus on a distant sound of burbling water.

Of course, Six caught up to you. You saw Claire out of the corner of your eye, hovering close like a ghost, blatant worry in her eyes. A sudden, paralysing thought struck -- someone is going to steal her, too -- and Six took the opportunity to pull you in along with him, fingers gripped around your wrists as he guided you away from the bench. A panicking deer in headlights, you looked up to see where you were going, Claire in wait. But he stopped, halfway between bench and fountain, turning to face you. Following his lead, you stopped, too. His stormy blue-grey eyes were on yours, and he spoke softly -- a cool, calming tone that you’d never heard from him before. He was almost whispering.

“Hey, hey, hey, love. You’re safe, promise.”

“I-- I panicked, I’m sorry. I thought--” You stammered in reply, in shame, taking in a slow breath. “Too many people,” you lied, knowing whoever may have been following you would hear, knowing he would know the truth. On some level, you were aware you were still spiralling. But you felt calmer with Six there. He was a walking secret, and so, of course, it followed that he was intimately acquainted with everything true. He had to be; he had called you love.

“I know. Look at me,” he said. And you did. And you couldn’t look away. His fingers fell from your wrists, and then one hand appeared around your waist, holding you securely. The other cupped your jaw in his palm; his skin was calloused and scarred from old wounds. From fighting. You promised yourself at that moment that you’d never let him get hurt ever again, even though you knew you had no control over keeping it. He seemed to lean in then, tilting his head, perhaps seeing the thanks and promise in your eyes -- and he kissed you.

His breath was warm, and his lips were soft, and his beard tickled against your skin. It was a strange sensation, but you didn’t mind it. He tasted like watermelon. Like sugar. He tasted so sweet. Your widened eyes fluttered closed, and you melted, arms tangling themselves around his neck as you kissed him back, but whether it was for the alibi or because you wanted to, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that you were falling in love, and, now, your heart was buried with him.

------------------------------------------------------

You did get the supplies, in the end. Food, water, ammunition, snacks, more vinyls. But three months later, that kiss lived rent-free in your head. That, and Claire didn’t let either of you live it down. Six, however, acted like the kiss didn’t happen. To top it off, your card and bank accounts had since been frozen -- took them long enough. Lately, anything and everything was making you feel frustrated. Maybe it was being stuck in hotel rooms most of the time, despite Claire’s company, or the fact that you, essentially, no longer existed. No, it wasn’t either of those things.

It was the fact that there was something entirely wrong with what had happened, your panicking aside. Six hadn’t explained why he had rushed the three of you out of the café. He hadn’t told you that nothing was wrong, after all. He had said, “you’re safe.” Which meant, in fact, that you were not safe. It meant that whoever had been following you was a threat -- a threat that Six believed he could take care of.

You didn’t say anything when he came back that night bruised. He was bleeding, too. You saw a gash on his forehead, (one of many, hidden ones, you later found out) and you weren’t sure if he even knew it was there. If he did, it was clear he didn’t much mind it. You merely appraised it, and the dark blood trailing down his left temple. When he finally acknowledged your eye, you raised a brow in question. A ghost of an amused smile appeared on his face.

“Nah, I’m good. You’re not getting an answer.” He replied, letting out a pained sound as he knelt to remove his boots.

You got a very good look of his ass before he straightened back up, but that was information you’d address later. Six was hurt, and hurt like a bitch. Maybe now was time to ask other questions, if he wouldn’t answer unspoken ones.

“Who was it that was following us?” You asked.

“Someone who wanted to use you to get to me.” Six replied. “If they even confirmed your identity. Dead now.”

Your mind started racing, through explanations and reasoning and emotions all at once. Stopped.

“Wait, so, you kissed me--”

“So that if they did, they would focus on you, instead of Claire. If they didn’t, they’d just think you were my panicking partner.”

“I’m bait?!” In spite of yourself, your voice rose in pitch and volume. You hated falling into the trope of emotional bitch, even if it was justified. Claire was asleep.

“Claire has a heart condition.” Six replied, tone deadpan, if not for the slight, buried reproach.

“I know that, thanks,” you replied sarcastically, turning away. “I’ll let you lick your wounds alone, then.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Six chirped. “Glad to see you care.”

Unconsciously, you let out a small, catty growl. You saw a gentle upturn of the lips; he’d heard it. Hadn’t you been through enough, already having been a target for once?

Six strode (stumbled) past you, only to let himself literally fall onto the couch with a groan, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

You said nothing, just disappeared into the bathroom, mind’s eye already searching for the hydrogen peroxide. When you reappeared in front of him, hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs in hand, he raised a thin, blood-caked brow. It didn’t escape your sight that he hadn’t followed your instructions and removed his shirt, and, to be fair, you could reason why.

“You sure you know how to use those?”

You stood your ground in silence; you didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just wanted him to know you cared. He must’ve seen something in your eyes, because he shifted slightly.

“Alright.” He let out a sigh, and then removed his shirt. As the black fabric peeled off, revealing tanned, honeyed skin, you bit your lip. He had abs. And scars. And tattoos. You took note of the Sisyphus one -- you knew he liked mythology; he and Claire had in-depth discussions about various myths every road trip you’d taken, which you listened to with muted, but vested interest. Again, you wondered why Six kept you around, as you knelt down to dab at his wounds.

“Because I, surprisingly, like your company.”

You’d said that out loud? Shit. He let out a hiss of pain, glancing down as you swiped at his wounds. “‘Lotta blood. Looks like more than it is, really.”

“Shut up and let me focus.”

“What happened to letting me lick my wounds on my own?”

“You’ve basically collapsed onto the couch, I can’t just…” You trailed off, gesturing at his present state to finish your sentence. Leave you here, like this.

Six rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. All you have to do is give me some puppy mouthwash and a rag; I can take care of myself.”

You blinked at that. “Oddly specific.”

“Because it happened. Stabbed with a pair of surgical scissors. Good thing is, he missed the liver and the kidney.”

“Ah.” You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept disinfecting his wounds. Eventually, his torso glistened with peroxide, shining with the wonders of modern medicine. The gashes had relatively stopped bleeding, and all that was left to be done was bandage him back to health, which you finished soon enough. As you got to your feet, looking over your handiwork, he opened one stormy, blue-grey eye.

“Mind getting me a blanket?”

“No,” you replied, turning away to find something he could cover up with, hopefully hiding the blush you felt creeping into your skin. “You’re going to sleep on the couch?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Right…” You tossed the blanket his way, and he nimbly caught it with one hand. You noticed he winced, just slightly. “Sorry, I should’ve just given it to you.” Six didn’t respond, already adjusting the cover and his eyes closed again. You watched the rise and fall of his wounded torso, and let out a small sigh. You continued, feeling awkward. “Hey. I know I’ve been acting like a bitch, and I-- I’m sorry. I’m just… in over my head. Try to get some sleep.”

You let out an exhale, feeling a huge weight slide off your shoulders, turning to leave towards the bedroom. You weren’t sure he heard you. He probably did; he was a light sleeper, as far as you knew. You weren’t sure if you wanted an answer, but he spoke up -- voice gravelly, edging sleep and unconsciousness -- killing your indecision.

“I meant what I said: You’re safe. Promise.”

#sierra six #fae writes #sierra six x reader #courtland gentry #i love this man #the gray man 2022 #the gray man #court x reader #my fic #my writing #down bad for this man #working on chapter 2 now #if the formatting gets botched i will cry #chapter 1

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coralinnii · 1 year

Text

I love the villain scorned by the world feat: Azul genre: drama note: continuation of reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy AU Azul ver, not gender specific reader, no pronouns used, use of non-canon characters (Neveah), 1.4k word count

I know people wanted to see more of the female and male lead’s downfall but Azul’s story has so much potential for drama that I just can’t skip it. This is more of an interaction between villain/ess!reader and the female lead and things are getting interesting. There’s more to the story

Is it funny that the more I write Azul’s villain/ess!reader, the more they’re starting to be like how I think Jade would act…just sassier

You became the talk of the kingdom for quite some time and you weren’t surprised. You had your engagement annulled and disowned from your family but you managed to disgrace your former fiancé the prince and his lover with their affair. Instead of a fallen noble, you became a surviving noble who became a victim of unfaithful love. All according to your plan.

Free from your downfall, you find yourself living in comfort in your own house close to Azul. The royal family and your own parents have requested your attendance but you declined their letters, playing your victim card to the fullest.

“Oh no, how could I possibly return back to the palace where I had my heart broken?” “My family disowned me. The least I could do is respect their wishes” Good riddance to that stifling environment.

You did notice that you never once received a letter from the young prince, the male lead though you would scoff and burn it if he did anyway. You figured that he was too prideful to address the affair with you. He wasn’t regretful for his actions nor was he regretful he got caught. The original series seriously had a bad cast.

Though it could also be that since the disgraceful act the male lead was sentenced to house arrest to “reflect on his actions”. From your sources, he’s just been angry all this time, especially when he hasn’t been able to meet with his beloved.

Speaking of which, the female lead has been busy through all this fiasco. Crying and spinning the tale of how she was a helpless victim in this mess as well, saying how she was clueless throughout everything since being so new to the noble society.

Please, Jade has better acting skills than she does. You supposed you could commend her for her guts.

Like how she was gutsy enough to visit you in your own home.

“I’m so glad you’re willing to meet with me” Neveah smiled but you didn’t return the smile, choosing to sip your tea.

“You should be glad, considering I probably would have ignored you” you replied indifferently. “It just so happens that I wanted to ask you a few questions”

“Oh? What kind of questions?~” That exaggerated childlike tone of hers really rubbed you the wrong way.

Fighting through your irritation, you questioned her “I’ve heard that you’ve been attempting to meet with Azul for the past few days. Curious since you two aren’t even acquaintances”

“But, we are! Me and Azul are really close~”

“That’s not what Azul says, and you will address him as Count Ashengrotto” you rebuked her claim, a little snippier than you wished but your patience is not unlimited and the ditzy lady is truly testing you.

Azul mentioned his troubles to you when you asked about the visible stress on his face. Apparently he has unfortunately been bumping into the female lead at his businesses and she has been trying to interact with him, even offering to have tea with her…in his own restaurant.

“Tricking her would be akin to taking candy from a child, but even a child is more worthwhile than speaking with her” Azul sighed in aggravation with his brows furrowed. You kept a sympathetic expression but you felt a sense of joy over the silvernette’s words. There’s nothing wrong in secretly taking glee in your crush sharing your disdain over the same irritance, right?

“Perhaps you should take a short rest, Azul” you suggested, “This stress will do you no good and you can’t afford to make mistakes due to your clouded mind”

Azul sighed but nodded “you may have a point”

“Would you like to rest on my lap? I wouldn’t mind after all”

“You-!”

Refocusing your attention away from your memories, you sharpened your gaze at your uninvited guest. “Considering Azul is someone dear to me, I worry about your intentions in approaching him”

Then, the situation took an interesting turn.

The young lady in front of you, undeterred from your stare, smiled brightly which some could compare to something angelic…to some. But her words did not match her innocent appearance.

“Are you worried that I would approach Azul the way you did?”

You didn’t break your expression but you must admit you were close to. Is she insinuating…

“Isn’t it weird that the famously lovesick fiancé of the prince suddenly changed?” Neveah questioned, putting on a confused pout on her lips. “No explanations, like a whole new person. The story has changed”

Oh, how interesting.

“So you’re interested in me” you finally smiled back “What can I say, I realized one day this was not my love story so I decided to change my ways”

“Is that so?~”

“Yes. But back to the topic,” you took control back of the conversation “You haven’t explained your reason for approaching the count?”

Whatever calculating look you thought you saw in the female lead disappeared as she smiled even brighter than before, fully committing to her innocent appearance.

“I just felt so bad in interfering with your engagement that I’ve been avoiding the prince in respect for you, not even replying to his letters. Then maybe you can reinstate your engagement with your beloved”

My beloved? You truly had difficulty not outright laughing out loud over that idea. But it was an interesting tidbit the female lead gave, knowing that the prince has been sending her letters meant that those two are still in contact. Just because she said she doesn’t reply, she could still be reading them.

“I’ve been trying really hard to forget the prince so I’ve been visiting the Monstro Lounge to get away” she continued her story, managing a tear from her eyes. “And I’ve been seeing the count there so I thought we could be friends”

So this is how she’s been fooling the masses. You’re willing to admit that she’s definitely a better actress than you initially give her with her sweet words and unassuming “innocence”. But you knew the story she conveniently left out.

Breaking the engagement between the royal family and your (ex)family of duke status, the male lead has been in hot water ever since as his reputation has affected him to the point that his right to the throne is in jeopardy. Azul on the other hand has been making a name for himself and his value in the kingdom is very attractive to many pursuers.

“How shamelessly greedy of you, Ms. Protagonist” you smirked at the female lead who continues to put on a sweet facade, you commend her ambitions at least. She really wants her happy ending.

But you’re done with this conversation already. You got your answers and have no interest in keeping company with this eyesore for any longer.

“That’s all I need to hear, I believe it’s time for you to leave” With that, you waved to your guards who were standing by to escort the lady to the door.

“Wait, then will you take the prince back? And convince the families to restore the engagement” Neveah quickly asked you before she was ushered. Ah, so that’s why she came to see you. You never did bother to ask…or care.

“Firstly, I don’t have the habit of picking up trash I already tossed out” you calmly stood up from your seat, smoothing down your clothes of creases, and gave a smile towards the female lead before speaking again “Secondly, I’m simply respecting what you said to me. Do you remember? You couldn’t stop from loving who you want”

You watched Neveah stutter and stumble, trying to find the right words but you weren’t interested anymore so you proceeded to leave the room first with some parting words before your guards walk the female lead out of your home.

“I’m letting you love the prince like you said you wanted, and I’ll love who I want, and I intend to fight”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst scenarios #villainess au #twst imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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thesmallworldofsamizayn · 6 months

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Please do!!

Well If You Insist!

(copied right out of the drafts <3) (long)

okay beatle roys. they don’t map perfectly at all, but if you absolutely HAD to, im sorry roman but you are george. yeah sure romey we know you’re a good songwriter you can have 2 on this album how’s about that? as smart as or maybe smarter than his siblings/bandmates but doesnt have a genius complex unlike them so is forced to play their games. including their mind games with each other. didn’t want to go on the roof; ended up on the roof. kendall is paul, ‘big brothering’ the little angry guy on the bus who he’ll always see as a little kid even though there’s like 2 years between them for christ’s sake. in terms of age seniority john might be the kendall equivalent but unfortunately paul was ACTUALLY an older brother and he brought that energy to the band, and the john/george alliance against paul reeks much more strongly of roman and shiv teaming up to peck their golden boy older sibling than anything george and paul had together against john. and to those who would say roman’s too much of a dick to be sweet peaceable george, he’s actually nicer okay cause he refused to sign the letter decrying kendall as a bipolar drug addict but george played slide guitar on how do you sleep quite happily.

on the subject of kendall, his depressive lows may seem more john but his manic highs? his big creative visions? his costumes (he got one for roman too)? his general addiction to the spotlight? his droopy eyes? his inability to have swag despite his charm and talents? the way his siblings close ranks against him when he tries to make a stand? the way he's a cog built to fit one machine and paul mccartney's state after the beatles broke up Actually im getting sad let's change the subject? looking for pussy like a fuckin techno gatsby? non zero chance of having done a collab with kanye west/wanted to do one? paul. he’s paul.

but it’s tough because shiv is the least easy to pin down as her age and gender relations with the rest of the family put her the furthest from john, and she ends up being at best a combo of all three - the underestimated and undermined baby (george) the repressed thwarted leader failgirl (paul) and the hotheaded bastard who's smart but not as smart as she thinks she is (john). but that john role gets much more delectable when you have kendall as paul, or at least if you think of them as the core duo in some way - im thinking of that crushing final scene between them, like take 'I want a divorce' and multiply it by a hundred holy fuck. she respects him, but she needs to prove herself better than him constantly. she needs validation just the same as he does but she's determined to believe/put out that everything she does is entirely under her own steam and that other people are pawns to her. her relationships with logan and mattson remind me of john with authority figures he would latch onto in the hope that they'd fill the void left by his parents, before realising they were phonies trying to get something from him and angrily discarding them.

honestly actually while shiv is the hardest to map clearly john is also the hardest from the beatles end cause there's a lot going on there from childhood trauma that any one of the roys can relate to, and his brand of cruel wit fits them all to an extent as well - but this is the configuration i like the most. also her spouse broke up the band

of course connor maps onto ringo perfectly do i even need to explain it - actually i do cause people might just take that to mean i’m saying ringo was useless or ignored. no he was the older brother everyone loved and who loved everybody, who was an only child for most of his childhood and was so happy to get three brothers/siblings even though they happened to be the worst people alive.

there you have it. and logan. is allen klein (kendall dreams he is being hunted down by him as a dentist)

oh one more thing - kendall as paul is right because he's the only one who's a documented beatles FAN lol

#sure i'll tag this. the people deserve to know #roman roy #kendall roy #shiv roy

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wr0temyway0ut · 5 months

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I'm so curious about all of them but the Descendants Au???? I have to know more! Please!

Hi!! I'm sorry it took me so long to answer this but thank you for sending it!

So the descendants au is not a one to one au but it's set in the descendants world and kinda overwrites the descendants movies. The main set up is the same: Princess Julie, whose parents are still Ray and Rose but Ray and Rose are essentially Eric and Ariel, decrees that four VKs will be brought to Auradon. The four she chooses are Luke, son of Ursula (who's first name is Emily but she goes by her middle name Ursula bc it's more menacing), Bobby, son of Drizella, Reggie, the genderfluid youngest child of Gaston, and Flynn, the nonbinary child of Mother Gothel. But the main character is Willie, who is the pixie son of Caleb who is essentially the original evil version of Peter Pan. He forces Willie to sneak over to Auradon with the other VKs and convice them to let him stay bc his mother is supposedly Tinker Bell. (I know way too much about Pixie Hollow lore so this turns out to be false but anyway).

The VKs are supposed to get Willie to Pixie Hollow so he can learn to use his pixie magic to bring down the barrier. But of course they make friends and find romance and learn to be good.

The ships include: Reggie and Willie (Reggie helping Willie learn to make friends and also figure out gender stuff). A lil bit of enemies to lovers with Luke, Julie, and Nick, who is Julie's boyfriend and the son of Rapunzel. And a lot of enemies to lovers plus a healthy dose of love potion shenanigans for Bobby and Alex, who is the son of Sleeping Beauty. Plus some enemies to qpps for Flynn and Julie. Other characters include Carrie, daughter of Cinderella who takes Bobby in as her step cousin, and Kayla, daughter of Belle and the Beast. I have gorgeous moodboards for all of them that I will post eventually.

And here's a snippet below the cut!

Julie steps forward, ignoring the way the guards all draw closer around her.

“Are you okay?” she calls.

All the VKs immediately back away from her, their bodies tensing up defensively. Interestingly, Julie notes, the four she actually invited withdraw into each other, leaving Willie exposed in front of them.

“I–I don’t know,” Willie stutters. He spins around to try to look at his wings like a dog chasing his tail. Pixie dust sheds off of them as he moves.

“Dude, you must’ve got your magic back,” Lukas says with widened eyes. “Wait, does that mean…” He wraps his hand around his shell necklace and closes his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

A guard pulls Julie out of the way and throws himself in front of her. However, instead of an explosion or a curse or Julie’s voice magically disappearing from her throat, all that happens is that a bright blue electric guitar appears around Lukas’s shoulders.

“Wicked,” Lukas breathes, running his hands over the guitar in awe.

“Of course that’s what you do with your first ever spell,” the non-freckled boy huffs.

#wips #wip games #asks #ask games

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northwest-cryptid · 5 months

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Local amnesiac clockman in dystopian city gets hired/abducted by the 12 complete messes based on literature, the lamest badass in the setting and his funny amnesiac daughter. Gets told to give therapy to said messes by looking for branches in ruined scp facilities while occasionally incurring on the wrath of capitalism and the little prince for some reason.

Said total messes are:

Straight up the korean poet Yi Sang because his most known poem had a character named "I"

Autism filled woman who is technically the actual boss of everyone

Woman don quixote

Fucked up japanese artist except her art is violence

Autistic french man with gap moe

Sheltered chinese man with the most fucked up family ever

A brit with a bat named revenge

Fish bisexual obsessed with murdering a metaphorical whale

Mommy Russian with only food and no hindsight in her head

Closeted young man with a fuckload of trauma involving ableist cultists

Straight up fucking Odysseus but in woman

And our ptsd riddled cockroach: Greg

See on one hand I genuinely appreciate the attempt here.

On the other hand this is extremely fandomized and I can't really learn anything from it as a result, especially considering that this covered stuff I already sorta know from just having played through the first major part of the game before having issues with it but more specifically from the fact that it's on the website for the game.

I need to reiterate my first bit here, I genuinely appreciate the attempt and I do not seek to belittle or insult the sender or anyone in question for attempting to enlighten me on the game but hear me out if you will...

All the information provided can be obtained from the website for the game or the first 10 minutes of the game; however it is only partially factual.

I am interested in Limbus Company, the game; not "Limbus Company The Abridged Version As Seen by the Fandom." When people go on and on about character analysis and plot depth and why it's so cool and interesting and deep and fun I want to jump in and engage with them on the narrative and such, but I can't because I'm not: A. Financially well off to Gacha for shit. B. Good enough at the game to get very far. And as a website that talks a lot about accessibility in games I feel like if anyone is going to shoot me down with a "git gud" it'd be kinda dumb, like sir/ma'am/individual of non-specific gender identity; you are on the "games should let you experience the story even if you're bad" website, please sit down.

I was honestly kind of hopeful that I would get some serious answers; and while some people have given me more serious answers than others; a lot of what I get is either specifically the start of the game which ignores/overlooks/doesn't mention the folks Dante is having an encounter with at the start, the fact they can use their clock head powers to turn back time and revive the sinners; or even the fact that they have no idea why any of it can happen. Like no one has even mentioned the whole star thing? I think it was a star? Something like that, anyways that thing was pretty cool and no one talks about it.

What I do often hear is how cooky and ku-ray-zee the main cast of silly little guys is; which I feel massively takes away from who they actually are.

"And our ptsd riddled cockroach: Greg" Alright since I've actually played through the first bit of the game so I know just enough about Gregor's story, why do we summarize a man who literally was a child experiment; who was betrayed by the only parental figure he knew; who was made to kill and murder without understanding of it literally like drugged or some shit to think he was just cutting apples; and who's body literally mutates into a cockroach down to just "lol he's a silly little guy with ptsd" ptsd from what exactly? Oh you mean the fucking Smoke Wars? One of the if not the biggest event in the PM Universe?

Like okay I understand I said "hey maybe don't send me entire documentary style paragraphs of text because my ADHD brain will not let me read them" and that's true, but I also really don't vibe with this whole concept of "this person doesn't know the characters at all so I'm going to call one bisexual, I'm going to call one a mommy, I'm going to call one a ptsd riddled cockroach named greg lol" Like I don't know how much of this is fandom and how much of this is real anymore. I know that some characters in PM's universe ARE LGBT so the idea of one of the Sinners maybe being Bisexual isn't too far fetched, but is that completely fandom interpretation or is it real? I sure as hell don't know when characters like Gregor who have deeper meaningful stories that tie into the world as a whole are boiled down to a one line joke about, I guess his name being Greg?

Like again I have nothing against the person who sent this or anything, I'm sure you meant well and I'm glad you're excited enough about the game that you reached out to me; that's all great and such, but I can't help but need to point out that you're talking to someone who knows almost nothing, but not nothing; about this game

and you're choosing to represent it in such a way that might be factual or might be fandomized and I can't tell the difference when the things I know are fandomized are present or when it mostly consists of jokes.

"Local amnesiac clockman in dystopian city gets hired/abducted by the 12 complete messes based on literature, the lamest badass in the setting and his funny amnesiac daughter."

Kind of not really. Like I'm not even going to get into the fact that technically speaking Dante is a Clock Person not necessarily confirmed Clock Man. I AM however going to get into the fact that they come to Dante's rescue(?) during what is essentially an execution; Dante is going to die and these 12 sinners jump in to fight for them for seemingly some reason we don't get to know yet. Hired is a much better word than abducted in this sense. Don't even get me started on "the lamest badass" because like, that entirely ignores the fact you're talking about who I can only assume is Vergilius AKA The Red Gaze, which is sorta huge considering what we've seen of Color Fixers, and you know; the entirety of the Comic/Light Novel Leviathan released prior to the game. What would a color fixer be doing with the sinners? What is his connection with Dante? Even having read Leviathan these sorts of questions are interesting and they create interest as someone who wants to question and explore the setting and it's themes.

AND I'M SORRY BUT "HIS DAUGHTER"??? Has that been confirmed because I highly doubt that unless there's some dialogue somewhere in the game that shows he adopted her or something, I mean yea he clearly cares about the orphans, but like I don't recall him ever adopting her and if he did I can't tell if you're telling me a fact or a fandom here because of everything else you've stated.

Are you beginning to see the problem here?

I literally have to wave off everything you just told me as no more than "lol silly jokes man lol" and I don't mean to be some asshole about it either but this isn't really going to help anyone get into a game or a story or anything because I don't really KNOW anything about it.

Again I'm not mad, I'm not trying to be rude; I've got nothing against Alex or anything! I appreciate someone taking the time out of their day to send me this but it ultimately doesn't tell me anything I'm just as much in the dark as I was.

This is specifically why it's so hard for me to interact with a lot of larger communities, a lot of the information I want is factual, from the source material; but I'm perhaps not skilled enough at the games to obtain it myself, so I turn to the community for information since people tend to enjoy talking about the things they like, and instead of getting actual information I get in-jokes I don't yet have context for, and fandomization that isn't actually true to the source material.

I understand I may come off a little harsh here, so for that I do apologize if I've come across rude. That being said, please do try to refrain from sending people who know next to nothing about your interests, a ton of fandomized in-jokes they won't understand, it feeds into the misinformation loop. Can you imagine if I went around telling everyone that Charon was Vergil's daughter when in reality he treats her as "something of a daughter" according to the publicly editable and horrible "fandom wiki" which is the only place that I could find information about it.

This isn't the same thing as say a biological daughter, or even an adoptive one. Which could be an interesting plot dynamic. I mean do you guys remember what happened last time a Color Fixer had a kid? Or rather I should say, last time a Color Fixer WAS GOING to have a kid? That was kind of a big deal. It's not really a shocker to learn that the guy who really likes orphans would be nice to the child.

anyways sorry for the lengthy explanation of "this isn't really what I'm looking for" but I've literally spoke on this whole "fandomization of characters bothers me a lot" topic before several times for literally this exact reason.

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