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littlexdeaths · 16 days

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sympathy for the devil - e.m.

demon kas x human eddie x fem hunter (supernatural au)

i found god, i found him in a lover.

when his hair falls in his face, and his hands so cold they shake…

i found the devil, i found him in a lover.

and his lips like tangerines, and his color coded speak…

warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! established relationship, hate fucking, oral (fem receiving), unprotected piv sex, cream pie, mentions of blood, anything italicized is eddie’s inner dialogue to kas

word count: 3k

a/n: it’s me back again with another repost of an old fic. i also want to give a big shout out to my darling @undead-supernova for helping me edit multiple parts this fic. ily august 💕

You knew he was here.

From the smell of sulfur lingering in the air, to the heavy presence in the room. Your skills as a hunter were too great, you knew he couldn’t have led you astray.

But maybe he wanted you to find him.

This cat and mouse game you’ve been playing for months was just a little too exciting for him to give up. You should’ve been scared, your instincts told you to be. But hearing his husky voice cut through the darkness of the abandoned warehouse made your heart skip a beat.

“Nice to see you again, sweetheart…”

You couldn’t tell where he was yet, still using the cover of the night to shield himself from you. You clutch your bottle of holy water closer to your side as his chuckle bounced off the walls. “You’ve tried that before, it didn't work out so well last time. Did it, pet?”

He was getting closer, you could tell by the way your hair stood up on end. Squaring your shoulders as he finally steps out into the moonlight. The sight makes you freeze, your eyes widening in disbelief. Kas looked different from the last time you had seen him.

He had taken on a new vessel, one that had become quite familiar to you.

Eddie Munson, a bartender you had met at a place called the Hideout. After you’d stumbled inside the rundown bar for a drink after finishing a grueling hunt somewhere in Indiana.

He was sweet, and you both needed to let off some steam. So you took him back to your motel room for the night… and the night after that. The male had made you feel things no one else ever could. So you kept finding yourself going back to that shitty town to see him. Where he was always waiting with that charming smile and a rum and coke.

But now guilt riddled your chest as his once chocolate hues were a stark onyx, Eddie was long gone.

The demon in front of you smirks, eyes watching you in amusement as the recognition crossed over your features.

This was your fault, you put him in harm's way. You had been told time and again not to let yourself be involved with non-hunters. Regular folk. It would put them at risk, not knowing about the things that go bump in the night.

But demons were especially dangerous, they didn’t need consent to take over someone’s body. The only reason you were protected was due to the dark ink that swirled over your hip bone.

Kas takes a step toward you, causing you to take one step back in return. This only made that smirk widen as another chuckle slipped past his lips.

Lips that had been on you too many times to count.

“He thinks about you a lot, you know… wanted you to stay with him so many times.” The demon hums condescendingly, the implication behind his words makes your heart stutter in your chest.

Coming to the realization that you could never have that happy ending now, not with him, or anyone.

After crossing paths so many times, you knew how malicious the demon standing before you could be. Even if you were able to banish him back to hell, Eddie wouldn't be able to return to a normal life.

Once that veil between those worlds is lifted, there’s no way to undo the damage it causes. You’ve seen it more times than you can count.

“A little pathetic, really…” Kas continues as he advances on you slowly, backing you further into a corner.

Your emotions are clouding your reasoning, allowing the demon to continue to close in on you. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this, but as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise… you knew one thing was true. You had fallen for the metalhead.

And now you’d never get him back.

“But don’t worry, sweetness— he’s still in here with me,” as he speaks you feel your back connect with the cool concrete, the male now caging you against it.

His body felt warm against yours, a juxtaposition to the cold seeping into your back. His familiar scent of citrus and tobacco engulfs your senses completely, bringing you back to the last time you saw each other. Your limbs were tangled together as you lay in a post sex haze. His lazy smile made your skin tingle, finding yourself tracing over the faded tattoos on his chest.

From the flash in his dark eyes you knew he was reliving a memory of Eddie’s, if not the same one.

His calloused fingers begin to trail across your neck, unintentionally allowing yourself to lean into the graze of his fingertips. Despite how your mind screams at you to push him away, your body continues to betray you. Kas can’t help but notice how your skin heats under his touch, how your thighs squeeze together. It amuses him more than you’ll ever know.

“Don’t touch me,” you mutter, wishing your words held much more malice than they do. The slight shake in your voice causes another dark chuckle to spill past his plump lips. Mocking you.

The demon leans further into your space, those damned lips grazing over your collarbone. The feeling causes you to shiver as goosebumps break out across your skin. Kas continues to leave hot, open mouthed kisses along your throat. The feelings of fear, anger and arousal mixing together— making your head spin.

“You can deny that you want this with your words all you want sweetheart, but I see the way your body reacts to this vessel.” He taunts, letting his teeth nip at your tender flesh.

“I feel those goosebumps on your skin, the way you shiver under his touch, and… I can smell you.” Kas growls, his teeth sinking roughly into your skin.

A slight whimper leaves your lips as you attempt to push him away. But it’s too late— he has the upper hand now.

His fingers lace themselves into your hair and tug, exposing more of your neck to him. He licks a stripe up your throat to your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth.

“I can feel how bad he wants you too, you know. The way he reacts to your body… you have no idea how much he wants to feel you again.”

Your eyes widen in shock as the demon presses his hips into yours, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his jeans.

Get the fuck off her asshole, she’s mine!

Kas chuckles again, pulling back slightly as his hands continue to wander down your body. There’s a flash of something in those onyx hues, leaving you to wonder what hidden joke you’re missing out on.

“Your little boy toy isn’t very happy with me, sweetheart… he doesn’t want to share. How selfish of him,” he feigns a pout, leaning forward as his nose glides along your jaw.

I’m warning you, dickhead.

His deep chuckle fills the silence once more as his large hands grip onto your hips, “Isn’t he selfish, pet?”

“Fuck you,” you spit back, shoving him away but only momentarily. His hands quickly return to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

That spark of defiance returns, which only makes the demon grin wider. His hold on your hips becomes harsher, the metal of his rings biting into the skin there.

“Hmm… with pleasure, darling.” His lips hover over yours as his sweet breath fans across your face. There’s a moment when those black hues slowly start to fade, the brown of Eddie’s returning.

Seeing that flicker of him, the man you had desperately fallen for— is what finally breaks your resolve.

Closing that short distance between you and angrily smashing your lips against his. He moans into your mouth, his hands hooking under your thighs to lift you. Trapping you further against the wall as he grinds his pelvis into yours.

You don’t know where Kas starts and Eddie ends, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

The kiss is angry, all tongue and teeth viciously clashing together. There’s still a small part of you that’s begging you to get away, that this was wrong. But your body has taken over control, that little voice fading with each press of his lips against yours.

His tongue glides along your lower lip, begging for entry you weren’t yet willing to give. The male doesn’t give up that easily though, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass and squeezing.

The action takes you by surprise, the small gasp you let out allowing him to slip inside. Kas groans as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, before setting you back on your feet. He pins your hips against the rough concrete as he kneels before you.

The demon eagerly buries his face in between your thighs as he inhales deeply, “I need to know if this pussy tastes as sweet as it smells.”

You’re stunned into silence as he reaches to quickly unbutton your jeans. Finding yourself all too eager to aid him in sliding the denim and lace down your legs. Stepping out of the fabric as Kas tosses them somewhere in the dark of the warehouse.

The brunette doesn’t waste another moment before his tongue is licking a fat stripe up your slit, forcing your thighs apart in his strong hands. Your fingers lace themselves in his wild curls, tugging harshly as you feel his tongue dip inside your entrance. His growl vibrates against your core, nose nudging your bundle of nerves in a way that has your legs trembling in his grasp.

“Hmm, even better than his memories…” you nearly miss his admission over your soft whines, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Kas eagerly replaces his tongue with his fingers as the muscle swirls up and around your swollen bud. Your head is swimming, his actions bringing you that much closer to the edge. The male enjoys the way you grind yourself harder onto his tongue as your grip on his hair tightens. Feeling the way your walls flutter around his fingers only encourages him to pick up the pace.

While your eyes have slipped shut, his are wide open. The stormy irises commit each pleasurable expression that flits across your face to memory— to both of their memories.

The almost inhuman speed of his fingers and the firm pressure of his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. As your loud cries echo throughout the empty warehouse. You attempt to push his head away, but his lips don’t leave your body. Instead he trails them down your thighs, smearing your slick across your skin.

You curse softly before dropping to your knees, pushing him backwards. He is surprised by your sudden dominance, but allows you to lay him back on the dirty ground. Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the zipper down with an urgency you had never seen from yourself before. It makes him chuckle, as you greedily shove his pants down to his knees.

“If you were that needy for our cock you could’ve just said so, sweetness.” He grins devilishly as your hands reach for the elastic of his boxers.

Mine, not yours…

Your eyes flick up to meet his, the smirk plastered on his lips fuels your irritation further.

“Shut the fuck up, Kas.” You say between gritted teeth, pulling his hard cock out from the confines of his boxers as he stifled a moan.

Fuck, that’s my girl…

You don’t give him much warning before you’re straddling his hips, sinking down onto his full length with a whimper. It didn’t matter how many times you had taken him to bed, you were still in awe of just how well he filled you up. You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock, caressing your inner walls in a way no other man could.

It was addictive, a slice of heaven you never wanted to lose.

The male grips your hips tightly, guiding them as he rocks his own up against yours. He’s groaning beneath you, dark eyes watching the space where your bodies are connecting with almost… fascination. A creamy ring has formed around the base of his cock as you continue to ride him. You let your nails dig into his clothed chest with a satisfied whine, your head falling back as you take him deeper.

She really is an angel…

The demon doesn’t seem pleased with your languid pace any longer as he abruptly flips you both over. The movement knocks the wind from your lungs. Kas grins down at you, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight that has filtered in through a broken window. His large hands hold you firmly in place as he begins slamming into your cervix. Causing your back to arch off the grimy floor, your shirt riding up in the process.

The sounds of your bodies connecting fill the once eerie silence of the night. His eyes rake over your newly exposed skin, pushing the material further up your torso. His calloused fingers trace over the ink splayed across your hip with a dark look.

“This little mark might protect your soul, but it’s not going to protect your body.” He grunts as he continues to slam his hips harder into yours, “Not from me. Or him.”

You don’t answer, instead grabbing a fist full of his hair and smashing your mouths together. He kisses you back just as roughly, teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The familiar taste of his saliva mixes with a harsh metallic flavor. The taste of you on his tongue only fuels the fire raging inside you. The male sucks your bleeding lip in between his.

Kas grabs your shaky legs, wrapping them around his waist to join you closer together. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits that sweet spot inside you, causing your eyes to roll back. The demon groans as he feels you pulse around his cock, trailing his lips over your jaw. The mixture of his spit and your own blood smearing across your skin.

“No wonder he can’t stop thinking about you,” his words are spoken so softly you almost don’t catch them.

Pride blooms in your chest as a small smirk graces your features, but it’s wiped away just as quickly. His hips pound into yours even faster, leaving any snarky comment to die on your lips. Instead a pleasurable cry pierces the air as your nails drag across his back.

You can feel your orgasm building with each deep stroke of his cock, filling you to the brim. His lips suck onto the base of your throat, his breath coming out in short pants as you tighten around him more.

“That’s it, angel. It's okay, I’m here.”

Your eyes that had previously fluttered shut, now snap back open. Coaxing his face up from the crook of your neck. No one ever called you that but Eddie, not even Kas.

Your eyes meet his brown ones, letting his hips slow their pace. That signature dimple indents his cheek when he smiles down at you, tears blurring your vision. You quickly blink them away to see him more clearly. Eddie leans down, gently kissing away the moisture that has stained your cheeks.

He wraps you in his arms, pulling you up and into his lap. The new position only buries him deeper inside you, allowing the pleasure to wash over you completely. Your body trembles in his embrace as you rest your forehead against his.

“Eddie,” you moan, grinding yourself harder onto his cock as he holds you close.

His touch is much softer as his hands reach out to caress every inch of you. While he still has control over his own body. Allowing himself to soak in every moment before he’s ripped away from you again. But between your pretty cries and his husky groans, neither of you will be lasting much longer.

“I’ve got you, angel… come for me.” The promise of safety in his voice makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Feeling his fingers encircle over your sensitive nub, he gives you one more hard thrust before you finally fall apart. A breathy cry of his name tumbles from your lips as you feel him twitch inside you. Your body melts further against him, an attempt to keep him here with you. Despite knowing the reality that was soon to come.

“Fuck… I love you. I love you.” He sounds desperate as he mutters the words against your temple.

In your blissful state you don’t notice the black haze beginning to overtake his irises. His words ring in your ears as you feel him spill inside you. Not stopping the movement of his hips as he fucks his essence deeper inside you. Letting your head fall into the crook of his neck as you mumble those three words back into his flushed skin. His comforting scent washes over you as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Well wasn’t that just so sweet,” your body stiffens in his embrace, his deep chuckle snapping you out of the sweet cocoon you were just in.

You quickly scramble out of his lap in an effort to detach yourself from him. His previously comforting touch now sets your skin ablaze, as if he had burned you. You can feel the mixture of your arousal dripping down your thighs as you hurry to find your discarded clothes in the dark.

In your frenzied state, you don’t hear him approaching until he’s right behind you. His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your waist as you bend over to retrieve your jeans. His hips flush against your ass, the metal on his belt pressing into your bare skin. His hand reaches around to dip in between your thighs, collecting some of the mess you both made.

Kas eagerly sucks the digits into his mouth with a moan, before you feel the warmth of his body disappear.

“We’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart… you can count on that.”

Is the the last thing you hear as he slips into the still of the night.

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #kas eddie munson #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #supernatural x stranger things au

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 24 days

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Hi!! I have a one shot request (I hope I’m in the right place lmao)

What about a autistic (fem)reader who is super smart and seems to notice things about the case that the others haven’t and every time she tries to state her thoughts a rude sherif cuts her off/infantilising her and Emily defends her

Honestly my brain stopped at the thought of Emily, I need more of her 😔🫶

-anon ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

fem!plus size reader, wc: 517.

cw! asshole elders :/

a/n: i have had this finished but sitting in my drafts because i was too lazy to post it, but here it is! i hope that i was able to capture what you were looking for right! :] this can either be read as platonic or romantic!

You have been spoken over and shut down for the past hour, twenty minutes, and thirty seconds.

You hated being silenced, but one thing that trumps that was being infantilized. You worked hard to get where you were now, and you hated being treated like a child just because your way of thinking was different from your peers.

You have saved thousands of people and you’ll be damned if you continue to be treated like this.

“If you look closely, you can see that the area that these women were killed in must hold some kind of sentimental meaning to our unsub.” You grab the black marker and go to draw the inevitable triangle on the printed out map before you’re stopped by the sheriff.

“I’m sure the area these women were killed in was just pure coincidence, so we don’t wanna risk coloring in the paper just ‘cause you think you know somethin’.” He spoke as if he knew more than you did like he was the one with the degree, his tone absolutely rolling in condescension.

“Hold it now, sweetheart. Don’t just go markin’ up stuff.”

“I beg your pardon?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“I’m sorry but –” You try to say but the old fart cuts you off. “I’m sure you are –”

“Excuse me, sheriff, but I’m afraid Special Agent _______ made a great point.” Emily was quick to come to your aide, emphasizing the words ‘Special Agent’ just to reinforce her point.

You could see it in her narrowed eyes, and everyone else’s really, that she was about done with the Sheriff’s embarrassingly large ego. You send her an appreciative – albeit shy – smile, and she gets up, her eyes trained on the map as well.

“She’s right, because if you look here,” She points to the first crime scene and motions for you to draw a mark. “And here,” Her finger trails down to the second location and you follow close behind. “And here.” Her path finally ends, and so does your black ink.

There it was, just like you had first thought, a perfect triangle connecting them all.

“The most important thing should be right –” You finish her words and color in a big circle in the middle. “Here.” Emily sends you a proud look and it threatens to weaken your knees.

“I mean… I suppose that makes sense.” The man grumbled before leaving with his tail between his legs.

“Thank you.” You say quietly. The conversation was meant to be kept between the two of you. Of course you loved and trusted everyone on your team, but Emily was your comfort person, and she made time to understand you.

“No problem,” She responds back. “Everyone was done with his shit anyway.”

“Still, thank you.” You pressed the conversation, because you don’t really think she realized the gravity of the situation, of your appreciation.

For most of your life you had never been given a voice, and having someone stick up for you and even paving the way for you to make your point known was something that no gratitude could give.

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saltsicklover · 5 months

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Title: Fated to Run - Fated to Fly ꨄ︎ Part One of Two

Prompt from THIS ASK

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5000+

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Creepy Dude, Rhett and Jake rescue reader, one use of Y/N, airports and flying, argument, nothing too crazy, angst

---

To all the people that said finding their soulmate was just so easy, and that they didn't even have to look deserve a giant middle finger shoved right into their face. After all, sometimes people's soulmates just fall right into their fucking laps like the divine are throwing them a goddamn bone.

Most of us have to earn the privilege of finding our soulmates. You would think that the universe would have come up with a better system, some way to be sure that you've found exactly who you're supposed to. But it's truly fucking coincidence.

What a goddamn pain in the ass.

Those little words scripted onto skin give only a hint, a shred of an idea that comes with far too much hope and no direction.

In a perfect world, that script would glow when you find your person, or maybe your person would be the one to say them. Maybe there'd be a way to just know that you've found your other half. Maybe the universe could've bloomed with color upon first contact, the whole world coming to life around you. Hell, maybe the fucking ink would itch when you came close, or, maybe it could turn colors, burning like a cinder straight to the skin.

It could have been a name, or map quadrants, an number even...

But no.

All we get is the first thing someone else in our earshot says about our other half. It could be anyone, really, family and friends, lovers or enemies. The universe doesn't care, like it's all one big cosmic joke.

And if you get stuck with something common? You're pretty much royally fucked.

The amount of sorry souls who are stuck with "oh, he's a great guy," or "she's so pretty!" Have to live with hearing that damn phrase over and over again, just hoping that maybe it will lead them in the right direction.

It's sick, really, the whole goddamn thing. Especially because I want nothing else.

"Oh, it's just Bob," is etched deep into my skin, the little letters marking over my collar bone like it's laced with disappointment. There's something about the word "just" that make's me clench my jaw. I can feel the muscle tick as I grind my teeth against each other, feeling the ridges catch.

Whoever Bob is sure as hell isn't just anything. He is everything, and the unlucky bastard who dares say anything different has a swift right hook in their future, or maybe a hard shove, if the mood strikes. Anything that might take the edge off.

Though I haven't met Bob yet, I feel fiercely protective over him, over the way others see him. After all, his heart is worth more than words like "just".

The airport is just a little too dead for 3am, a few too few people ambling around half awake. Those who are here wear dark bags under their eyes, snuggled deep into their jackets to keep the too cold air conditioning from hitting their bare skin. Some pull luggage behind them, kicking it at they go, getting more and more pissed off every time their heel catches on their suitcase. Others talk too loudly on the phone, their cell's pressed to their cheeks by shoulders, by hands, others taking through their headsets.

A sharply dressed man, clad in a brown suit and loafers argues with a woman in a language I don't speak. She is pointing at the board with a well polished fingernail, one that matches her power suit, while the man is shoving his phone into her face. It's obvious they are arguing about their flight, but neither of them seem to budge on their side.

It's comical, really, how animated they are. I wonder if they are soulmates, if they found each other out if the sheer passion and dedication they are displaying. After all, if one has this much passion for a flight, it would only stand to reason that the business of finding their soulmate would be met with equal fever. They are a good match, too. The universe doesn't always deal out people who look like they should be together. Aesthetics clash, personalities not quite off set. But these two just have an air about them- like they belong; also like they are going to miss their flight.

I pass them as quickly as I can, as the anger rolls off of them. It's much too late, or maybe much too early to witness such an argument, and I have to make it all the way down to gate 93. With each step, my duffle bag seems to get heavier, no doubt taking after my eyelids.

Whoever designed the Dallas airport needs to be given some sort of medal for "longest hallways that seem to lead nowhere". With every turn I take I feel like I'm headed further away, but the signs keep pushing me forward.

Almost there, almost there.

Gate 88 and Gate 89.

Gate 90.

As I walk by Gate 91, I catch two men laying on the dirty carpet in front of the lines of chairs. Their forms stand out against the oddly patterned carpet, though they almost look like they belong there. They are waiting in front of a gate that reads no destination. I know I shouldn't stare, but I can't seem to stop the slowing of my feet. I slide one side off my headphones back off of my ear, doing my best to be inconspicuous. I hope to catch a word, a whisper of what they might be saying but their lips are sealed, it seems, neither one saying a thing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I take in their position on the ground. One has a cowboy hat pulled down over his face to try and keep the buzzing fluorescents out of his eyes. His head is balanced on a small duffle bag, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His hands sit on his stomach, fingers laced together. His skin is golden, one of those tans you get from being stuck outside day after day.

He doesn't move a muscle. It barely looks like he's breathing, really. There's something a bit eerie about it, the stillness of him.

The other man, blond with a cropped haircut and equally bronzed skin sits on the ground a few feet from the other. His back is leaned up against the side of a chair, his knees bent. He looks equally exhausted, eyes closed, head leaned back exposing the long line of his neck.

He shivers a bit, the wholeness of it rolling through his body. Though he keeps his eyes closed, his expression scrunches before relaxing again. He doesn't look even remotely comfortable, unlike his stony counterpart.

The pair have very different looks about them, the former all home grown cowboy with still muddy boots while the ladder is clean cut and chiseled. The blond has his hands shoved into the large pocket on the front of his hoodie, trying to starve off the chill that hangs in the terminal.

Not soulmates, that's for sure. Over the years, I have been able to pick out soulmates from just a few calculated but fleeting glances. There's always something about a pair that just reads right, a vibe that they give off when they are finally buzzing together. But one thing is for sure, these two aren't soulmates, the fact that they're even friends feels funny.

It's not an impossible fact, to be sure. The predestined soul mate, the way it's written into the universe, could be anyone. That's part of the difficulty of it, for sure, but there's always something that seems to click. Souls are like metronomes, clicking away, othering ticking, always out of time; until the right person comes along and you're right on time with each other. With this pair, they are just a little too jagged around the edges, too seasoned in their own rights to slot together. Friendship is different- nothing knit into the weave of the universe, there, though it may have been easier if it were.

The moment I make it to my gate, I throw my bag down, by body feeling a bit too much like jelly from all of the travel to hold it any longer. The men are just a gate down, living in their own little bubble. I can't fight the smile that blooms across my face. There's that word, about knowing everyone has their own lives, their own loves. Sonder, I think it is, and in this moment it washes over me.

"Hey," A voice rings out through the quiet of the terminal, over the loudness of my mind. I look up, my eyes meeting a man who must be in his later forties. He's balding on top, glasses shoved awkwardly onto the bridge of his nose. His clothes are a mismatch of dressy and unkempt. A suit jacket thrown over his hoodie, a pair of pajama pants adorning his bottom half. The whole ensemble is wrapped up with the cowboy hat sitting on the chair next to him, crocs on his feet.

"Hi," I nod more than speak, a strange feeling blooming in the pit of my stomach. This is not a man I care to be around. If I keep my eyes down, hands busy, maybe he will get the message.

"Why don't you sit down and we'll have a chat," There's a sort of greasy smile that spreads across his face. A shudder dances down my spine at the sight, gooseflesh breaking out over my already cold body. The feeling of them breathing to life makes my skin go almost clammy, an uncomfortable feeling under my warm layers.

"No, thank you," The answer is curt as I push my duffle just a little further away with my foot. It drags against the well walked carpet, the sound it makes echoing the one in my chest. It's a sort of stuck sensation, what it morphs into, one that I feel with my whole body.

"Oh, come on, what's a little chat going to hurt?" The man tries again, leaning closer to me, sliding to the seat next to him. We are no further apart now than when we started. My foot meets the side of my duffle again, ready to push it once more. Each little move he makes my eyes train on, from the way his hand curls around the armrest to the way he seems to be peering, leering, over the tops of his too thick glasses.

"Nope," I pop the 'P', waving my hand a bit, "I'm not entertaining this any longer."

I stoop down to grab my headphones from my bag, only to have the strange man's hand appear in front of me as he is reaching too. The step back I take is almost involuntary, more focused on getting away from his incoming touch than my things now sitting in between us. The glare I send the man is lacking due to the bubbling fear popping in my chest. I place my headphones around my neck in a shallow attempt to keep my hands from shaking.

"Oh come on sweet-"

"Tommy Grace! There ya'are! Ya'walked right past us, girl," An arm is thrown around my shoulder, warm and lean. I shift my eyes over quickly, mind and body shooting from high alert to a sort of easy when I see the cowboy from the gate over, now standing to my side, folding me protectively under his arm. The feeling of being protected shouldn't feel quite so strong coming from a stranger. However, the way he keeps his hand right atop the cap of my shoulder, his heartbeat thrumming against my other shoulder just bleeds that feeling.

"Oh! Seriously? You must've been hiding," I do my best to play along, instantly feeling a little more at ease as the man across from us looks less so. I can't help but revel in the uncomfortable look on the greasy man's face, as well as the warmth pouring from the cowboy.

"Is this guy a friend o'yers?" The cowboy asks, looking at the man from under the brim of his hat. I can feel the way the pads of his fingers dig into the muscle of my arm, each finger individually curling into the thickness there. It doesn't hurt. Instead it's a grounding point, from him to me and back again. Two strangers bound together if only for a moment.

"Oh, no, we've never met before," I tell him, gazing up at his face. The scruff of his cheek is fuller at this angle, the defined slope of his jaw easily tracible with my eyes. He's handsome from this angle, which I bet means he's even better looking from head on.

"I see, well," The cowboy narrows his eyes, "Your brother'sa waitin' and y'know how Jake gets,"

"Boy do I," I chuckle from the safety of his embrace, throwing a sideways glance to the man who seems to be in some sort of staring match with the cowboy. Their eyes are trained on each other, fighting for dominance over the situation. From the way the greasy man's eye twitches slightly, I know the cowboy must be winning.

"Go on an' see 'em, I'll grab your bag," He is pushing me towards the other gate, a warm palm between my shoulder blades. It's not a hard shove, but the way his hand is pressed firm to my back gives me a clue on just how quickly I need to get out of there. The cowboy shoots me a wink before turning back to the strange man, his eyes narrowing again.

I don't want to see the look in his eye when it's turned on the greasy stranger. I can imagine just how dark those blue green eyes could tint given the right amount of rage flowing behind them. So, I keep my eyes forward, keep focused on just where I'm headed.

Quickly, I make my way over to the now standing blond, Jake. The moment his eyes meet mine he is smiling, the kind of smile that instantly eases my nerves. I wave a bit, my hand not making it any higher than my midsection. I can't help but feel the same tiredness in my limbs that I see in his eyes. There is something weighing us both down, and something tells me it's more than just the travel. More than the overly saturated interactions with strangers and flight attendant served booze.

The moment I'm in earshot, he's already saying hello, opening his arms wide for me. I step into his space, wrapping my arms around his middle. Carefully, almost too lightly, the blond is wrapping his arms around me. It's one of those hugs- the kind you give that estranged relative at Thanksgiving. It's a tad bit awkward from my end, but Jake squeezed me just a little bit tighter as relax against his broad frame and I can't fight the urge to press my face into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Thank you," I mumble into his sweatshirt. As I pull back, the blond squeezes my shoulders quickly, a quiet "you're welcome" in return. I peer up at the tall blond, taking in the gentle curves of his smile lines, how they frame his headstone like teeth, polished white and perfectly straight. His tongue flicks over the corner of his mouth, eyes positioned somewhere behind me.

There is something in that look of his, something playing behind the sea glass tint of his irises. It's a sort of mirth, if mirth was more gentle than the definition explains. Maybe it's a fondness for the other man, one that's hidden behind layers of faux dislike and teasing. The pair bonded together as brothers are, all bemused, an oath, blood of the covenant, that they don't remember taking.

As I turn to follow his eyeline, Jake folds me carefully under his arm just as the cowboy had before. Maybe their friendship is stronger than I had originally thought. The way they seem to work in unison to the very clear way they've each folded me into the safety of their embrace. It's different with Jake though. He's more calm, his heartbeat isn't hammering out of his chest. I can scarlessly feel it where our bodies are pressed together.

"Does he do this kind of thing often?" There's a sideways glance shared between us before Jake's chest raddles with a light chuckle. It awakens him just a bit behind the eyes.

"Yes, but we usually know the girl," The humor in his voice makes the anxiety in my stomach settle a bit. His voice is too warm, too kind to elicit anything but safety in this moment.

I can feel the small smile ghosting over my lips, the image of the pair many years younger fluttering through my brain. The cowboy and Jake, rescuing girls in the school hallways, folding innocent girls, with glasses and hair pulled back into tidy braids, into their embrace. There's a sort of teamwork in the way it all went down today, through I missed the progression. From the moment the cowboy tucked my body into his, the intense hammering of his own heartbeat be damned, to the way Jake greeted me with literal open arms. There's so much warmth here.

"And he'd not your soulmate," It's a statement, plain and simple. That get's him laughing for real this time, his whole face coming to life from how his smile overtakes his expression.

"Not remotely," The words make it out a moment later as Jake still fights a bit to catch his breath. "We grew up near each other, down the same county road just outside a forgettable town here in Texas,"

"Escaping while you still can?" I chide, nudging him with my elbow.

"I escaped a long time ago," Jake corrects, a small shrug pulls away his body heat for just a moment before it returns.

"But you're back?"

"Rhett and I are headed to California," The explanation comes easy, and for a moment I wonder why he's even explaining it all to me, but I am thankful to know the real name of the cowboy, "He's helping get me settled in Miramar, new permanent station,"

"Station? Does that make you Army?"

There's that laugh again.

"Naval Aviator," There's no sharpness in the correction, as cocky as it is.

"Wouldn't it be a new port for you then, Sailor?" I nudge him again, playfully. There is something so easy about talking to Jake, his arm folding me into his warmth. Something truly sibling like about it, my place here under his sturdy frame. His protective nature and warm smile, a sort of family for just a few fleeting moments.

"I guess you're right," There's a tad bit of humor in that sentence, but it's hiding behind the tiredness layered in his voice.

"Wait, did you say Naval Aviator?" I look up at him so directly, eyebrows pulled tightly together as I fight to keep a smile off of my lips. "And you're going to Miramar?"

I watch as he pulls his own well groomed eyebrows together in a furrow, his lips curving into a ghost of a frown.

"Yes, Ma'am,"

I can't fight the laugh that bubbles past my lips, the whole thing sounding a bit too sharp, a bit too loud. Where most men are put off by the sound, Jake just looks at me with curious eyes. His tongue flicks over the corner of his slightly upturned mouth, that grin silently begging for me to continue.

"What're you lot laughin' bout?" Rhett calls out, his voice filling my ears.

"Well, turns out my brother," I wink at Rhett now, turning my attention his way, "works under my father,"

If the progression of thought could be clearly mapped through faces with flicks of tongues and furrowing of brows, the pair would have told a whole story in the matter of seconds, of squinted eyes and the pursing of lips.

"Your father?" The pair speak in unison, accents blending together. I can't help but laugh as I flick my eyes between them. Both wear a sort of confused expression, bemused with eyebrows scrunched together, head tilting just so.

"Yes, my father. Rear Admiral Simpson?" I offer the name as a sort of clarification, though it comes out as a question. Rhett's eyebrows knit together a little tighter, eyes darting to Jake for assurance, or maybe it's confirmation. Jake's eyebrows are raised, his mouth slightly agape by the time my gaze slips back over him.

"You're Cyclone's kid?" There's more to it, from the way his mouth opens and closes a couple of times before he catches the tip of his tongue between his perfect front teeth. "Are you Arrow?"

"Oh, hell no!" I can't hold back the laughter, my cheeks no doubt pinking up from the way my smile pushes them out, "That's my older brother, Anthony! He's an Aviator too, hoping to get selected for Top Gun any day now... Though I doubt that they'll send him anytime soon with Dad stationed there,"

Rhett's arms are crossed over his chest, his eyebrows no less furrowed than before. Jake's expression is still scrunched up a bit, but the lines are slowly relaxing with the more information he gets, so I continue.

"My name is Y/N Simpson, but everyone calls me Birdie," I hold my hand out first to Rhett, as I'm still tucked close to Jake, his arm slung over my shoulders.

"Birdie, is'a pleasure," Rhett removes his hat with one hand, shaking my outstretched one with the other. He gives it a quick squeeze before letting go, a kind smile on his face.

"Birdie?" Jake asks, tip of his tongue snug in the corner of his lips.

"Yeah, Birdie. You know, Cyclone, Arrow, Birdie, all things that have to do with wind and flying? My dad and brother both got call signs, but I had zero interest in doing anything with the military, but Uncle Solo dubbed me Birdie when I was tiny and it's stuck ever since."

"Solo? Is'e Navy too?" Rhett chimes in. He scratches at the back of his head, his hat tipping forward into his eyes a bit.

"Sure is. Admiral Solomon Bates, goes by Warlock," Jake stiffens a bit at the name, but relaxes a bit soon after. I bump his hip with my own, shooting a wink up his way.

"Well then, Birdie, it's nice to officially meet you," It's a bad recovery, but he clears his throat and keeps speaking, "I've gotta say, your dad didn't mention he had a daughter,"

"Oh yeah, that's not at all a surprise. You know how Sailors can be, and my Dad is a bit over protective of me. He's big on me keeping men at a distance. And if said man is Military? Ha! Not an ice cubes chance in hell that they'd make it within a hundred feet of me,"

Rhett smirks a bit, eyes flicking from my own glare down towards the floor. I know Jake's arm is still wrapped around my shoulder, just as I know that he is still sparing quick glances over to the greasy man a few yards away. I kick the toe of Rhett's boot with my own, wrinkling my nose at the way he snickers.

"So no soulmate yet?" Jake asks, tilting his chin down to look me in the eye. The question is so full of genuine curiosity and for once I don't feel terrible answering.

"Nope, not yet. Not even a damn lead, but that's okay. I'm a firm believer that it's going to happen when it's supposed to. I'm not in a rush," That last part may be a bit of a lie. I want nothing more than to finally meet the person that's supposed to be mine, mind, body, and soul. Their supposed to be this sort of connection, one that most people who have met their soulmate have only been able to hint at. It's one of those things where words just don't do it justice, even the great poets seem to have failed to find the words.

"Tha's too bad, 'cause I'd've jumped at the chance to take ya ta dinner," Rhett shoots me a wink, his blue eyes twinkling under the stark white lights.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I jest, sticking my tongue out at him. There's another nudge between boots.

"Oh, he does, but he sure does have a knack for finding the prettiest ones," Jake interjects, bumping my hip with his own. I push him back with my shoulder, causing him to finally drop his arm he's had draped around me for the better part of the last twenty minutes.

"Whatever you say," I roll my eyes, "What about you boys, either of you found your better half?"

The way Jake's face lights up at the question gives me the answer before his words can. Rhett is just shaking his head, mumbling a "here we go" under his breath.

"I sure have! Rooster, he's an Aviator too," Jake begins eagerly, "We met like eight years ago? Maybe nine? I'm not sure, but it was in the middle of the ocean on a carrier, and we butted heads better than the best of 'em. I had graduated Top Gun not too long before, and he hadn't been yet, though he went shortly after that deployment. I don't think we would've figured it out if we hadn't decided to-"

"Don't even say it, Seresin," Rhett threatens with a point of his finger, aim fixed right between the taller man's eyes.

"I wasn't gonna go into detail," Jake laughs, though there's a glint of trouble in his eyes, "All I'm saying is that if we hadn't hauled each other into that bathroom stall at the bar and-"

"Flight number 4582, Dallas to San Diego is now boarding Group 1, priority members and military members traveling on active orders," A woman voice crackles through the intercom.

"Saved by the fuckin' bell," Rhett comments loud enough for Jake and I to hear. The boys begin to grab their bags, each only traveling with a small duffle bag. Rhett heads for the gate first, his bag slung over his shoulder, hat in hand. Jake follows after him, his bag clutched tightly in his hand.

"Thanks again you two" I call after them with a little wave. Jake stops in his tracks, turning back around to face me.

"Aren't you coming, Birdie?" There's that cock of his head again.

"Us lowly civilians have to wait until the next group to board," I joke back.

"Not anymore, you're boarding with me, come on!" Then Jake is all but hauling me through the ticket line and onto the plane. Jake throws my carryon into the bin above the row of seats Rhett has claimed and Jake waved me into the same row with a tilt of his head. Without assigned seating, the pair having decided that I'm going to be sitting in the middle seat between them. Maybe I should be more nervous, sitting between two strange men, but sitting here now the only thing I feel is safe.

The whole flight my head switches between resting on either one of their shoulders, sleep evading me completely. I went from tracing the lines of Rhett's hat as it sat atop his knee to counting just how many times Jake bounced his knee.

Part of the way through, he admitted that he's a terrible passenger, had been since he graduated from flight school. Maybe it's a control issue, or maybe it's the surrounding people moving all around the large aircraft. Either way Jake bounces his knee the whole flight. Sometimes he'd wipe his palms down his jean clad thighs to ease the tension and give a slight reprieve to the constant movement.

Rhett snored gently next to me, though he murmured in his sleep just a little. No words ever slipped past his lips, just half cut off sounds and the ghosts of sentiments. He kept his hands folded across his belly, head lulled towards the small window. I hate to admit it, but I admired the long line of his neck as his head was laid against the wall.

Neither man listened to any sort of music during the flight, which struck me as odd. My headphones sat snug over my ears through most of the flight, a folk country playlist thrumming through them.

The flight was fast, in the grand scheme and everyone aboard seemed to be thrilled to get off the plane. This terminal is busier than the last. The early morning traffic of the airport filled with people in suits, both sweat and formal. The boys and I walk side by side by side, making our way through the crowd like a force. Maybe it's the sheer size of the men at my sides, but the crowd seems to part for us.

The trilling of a cellphone breaks up the sounds of the terminal, following us as we walk.

"Jake," Rhett flicks his gaze towards his friend, a silly look on his face.

"What?"

"That's your phone, dude," I nudge him with my shoulder, our bags bumping together. By the time Jake fishes the device from his front pocket, the factory set ringtone has gone silent.

"Eyes up, Cowboy," I warn as we approach the tram. Rhett's eyes flick up just long fast enough that he doesn't trip over the gap. The doors closing behind us quickly, and Rhett bumps into one of the stationary poles in attempt to get out of it's way.

"It truly amazes me that he's a bull rider, since his sense of personal space sucks so bad," Jake mutters, leaning a bit closer to my ear. I can't help but snicker too.

"Bull rider?" The question is met with a nod from Jake as he presses the phone up to his ear.

Jake stands near, phone pressed to his ear with knit brows. The look of concentration on his face is tight, like he's trying to make out a hard to hear piece of information on the other side of the line. He pulls the phone away from his ear as we step off the tram, heading for baggage claim.

They bracket me between them once again, a tall man on each side of me. We share smiles as we walk in time with one another. A little trio formed because one sleazey dude at the Dallas airport couldn't take a hint. Life is funny that way.

They say the universe only hand picks soulmates, decorating skin just to prove that point. I, however, think friends are found in the flick of the same pen. After all, there's magic left over in the spaces between the letters, in the flick of the wrist of the universe. There has to be.

"Long message," Rhett comments, "Who was it anyway?"

"Oh, it's just Bob," Jake informs us. Rhett hums in response, but my feet stop moving. They retreat into the tunnel of my vision, blending in with the other travelers moving around us. Their once recognizable frames, broad and welcoming, melt into the sea of movement. Nothing in my vision sticks out, my brain too busy playing those damn words on loop.

Oh, it's just Bob. Oh, it's just Bob. Oh, it's just Bob.

There's a fleeting feeling in my fingertips from where my bag as slipped from them. There's the far off sound of it hitting the tile. My vision buzzes with people but god, those words are in the forefront of it all.

Oh, it's just Bob.

This moment may be stillness surrounded by the bustle of the San Diego airport. It may be bodies bumping into my own, shoulders connecting as someone passes. It may be one day be a memory of the way my whole body seems to have gone slick with sweat, far too warm and mildly uncomfortable. It may be a realization, both now and in the future. This moment may be the beginning of the rest of my life.

I'm not ready. Not for the future. Not for Bob. Not for facing his friends who must have noticed that I'm no longer by their side by now. I'm not ready for any of it. Not even remotely. I guess it sure wasn't a lie when I told them that I wasn't "in a rush".

The chill of the air hits me as I all but break through the sliding doors, out to the taxi line up. There's shouting, it's far off, covered by those four little words and the beating of my heart. I slide into the back of a taxi, my bag discarded onto the seat next to me. With the slam of the door, the taxi is pulling away from the curb. I press my forehead to the glass of the window, my breath fogging up the sight of Rhett and Jake breaking through the crowd. They stand there, confusion written into their features as they watch the cab pull away.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I squeeze them together. A deep sigh escapes me, the realization hitting me. They know my dad, at least Jake does. And we are all going to Miramar. It's only a matter of time before our paths cross again.

Maybe it wasn't even my Bob, I try and rationalize with myself. After all, how many people in the world are named "Bob" anyway? It's shallow in theory, a sort of knowing feeling sitting heavy in my gut. That was my Bob on the other end of that message; the feeling deep in my chest aches in a way that it just has to be true.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It's only a matter of time before our paths cross again. On base, in the commissary as we grocery shop. Eye contact over fresh produce, hands busy but eyes filled with questions. Or in my father's office, Jake dropping by on business as my dad and I sit on either side of his large desk. Words caught in our throats, my father's gaze wandering between us. Maybe it will be at the bar, our eyes locking from across the room. Questions shouted over the music; over the smell of alcohol.

And maybe Bob would be there too, looking positively like a dream I haven't fully allowed myself to have. He'd be there like the sunshine, glowing and warm and something I just wouldn't be able to outrun. He'd be all smiles and kind hands, wrapping me into his embrace in the same way his friends had.

It's only a matter of time, but I'll run now.

#robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd soulmate au #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x you #jake seresin #rhett abbott #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd x you #friend jake seresin #friend rhett abbott #bob floyd angst #saltsickrequests

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charliedawn · 2 years

Note

slashers with a reader (male or gn pls) who has a lot of tattoos, body modifications, piercing's etc?

"WOUHOU ! Jackpot !"

Freddy would be thrilled.

He was always a scrawny guy and never got tattoos because he thought they would look ridiculous on him.

But seeing tattoos on someone else ? That’s hot.

"Hey, handsome. Could I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about those gorgeous things you’re covered with ?"

A man with tattoos screams eye candy for Freddy. Not only is it good to look at, it’s the perfect conversation starter and one of the only conversations that Freddy may never get bored of.

Freddy is from Ohio and he knew he was bisexual the moment a biker came into his favourite bar and had his whole body covered in tattoos. It took all of his will power not to drool.

He would be excited. Clearly.

The piercings would make him look up at the ceiling and thank whoever invented those.

"Please, tell me you’re gay."

He would say before putting his hands on your hips and pulling you towards him.

He wouldn’t turn around the bush and even if he was about to kill you, one look at your body and any idea of killing you would just poof. Disappear.

You’re far more valuable in one piece and kicking.

And wait until you tell him where your last piercing is..

Freddy *grins* : "...You and I are gonna get along great."

He would be surprised at first, especially the first time you would both be at the beach or about to go to bed and seeing all the details and lovely colors stretching everywhere on your back when you would get your clothes off.

He would motion you to come closer to get a better look at you and would start tracing the patterns with his hands.

He would try to make out the different shapes and colors.

He would then wonder how far they go and quickly shake his head at the thought.

He would then look up at you to ask for permission to investigate further.

Michael would then look at your piercings and find them amusing; odd, but amusing.

He would then resume his observations and try to understand what they are for ?

He would touch them and tug on them, immediately stopping if he thinks it makes you uncomfortable.

However..if the noises coming out of you are not from pain or discomfort ? He would smile knowingly..

Welp, he would definitely find the piercings...useful.

What's that ? Does it hurt ? Are you in pain ?

Brahms never got out of his house and was raised in a rather wealthy family.

He never heard of a tattoo before, even less of "piercings".

He would be curious and try to rub the tattoos off at first, thinking they were drawings made with crayons or some kind of erasable ink.

You would have to explain.

But, Brahms is a quick learner and would become more and more curious and would insist you explain their meaning.

He would still be a bit worried about the piercings though ? Since metal piercing your skin is usually not a good thing.

He would then ask to touch you skin and try to make a mental map of the different intricate patterns and smile at the intimate feeling.

You, letting him touch your skin, would make his day.

He would still feel confused afterwards, but would be less worried and graze your pierced lower lip and would find himself actually liking it.

His trail of thoughts would quickly go to dangerous places as he would start wondering how it would feel like to kiss you ? Would he feel the piercing or not ?

His breath would quicken at the prospect alone and his cheeks would burn at the idea of trying.

He wouldn't necessarily be excited at first...BUT. 😂

Jason is familiar with the concept of tattoos as some of his father's friends had them and even some of the campers he killed.

However, he would still be curious as to why you have them and what they represent.

Jason *points at a tattoo on your arm and tilts his head, waiting for an explanation*

He wouldn't touch the tattoos at first, only observe them from a respectable distance until he has enough confidence to actually step closer and have a better look.

He would touch them hesitantly, almost as if he is afraid to break you.

His brow would furrow in confusion when he would notice the piercings and wonder if he should pull them out ? Did you even know you had those ?

You immediately understood his worry and laughed before reassuring him.

"Don't worry, Jason. They don't hurt me.."

He would certainly be curious to see if the lower part of your body matches..

But, he would be caught dead before asking and you would have to either reassure him that it's okay or he would make it clear that he NEEDS to know.

That you allow him or not ? It's up to you.

He would be in awe and find them amusing.

He would try to get some on his skin as well and giggle at the weird shapes and the metal pieces piercing out of your skin.

He would be curious and try to see it all and would even ask you to add one on your skin with his name, so he may admire it and for you to always have something of him on your skin.

Penny would be excited and trace the patterns on your skin with his mouth until he finds the little piercings on your chest.

It would sparkle other ideas and Penny sure can get creative.

Penny *licks the piercings on your skin and his eyes glow orange* : "I like them a lot.."

"Well well..What do we have here ?"

Pennywise would find them amusing and stare.

He wouldn't ask to touch them because Pennywise would never touch anyone if he can help it.

Don't take it personally.

But, he would be happy if you show him and listen to all the little stories associated to each of the tattoos.

Pennywise was born in the Middle Ages and the only people back then with tattoos were either pirates or slaves.

He would be the most confused about the piercings though ?

"Why would you pierce your own skin with metal ?! You humans..I will never understand you."

Pennywise's weakness is silver, he would be worried any of them would actually burn him. One more reason not to touch you.

He would make sure the piercings are off before actually trying to get close to you physically.

But, that wouldn't stop him from admiring the "pretty pictures" as he calls them.

Pennywise *smiles* : "Well..I do love picture books..I wonder how yours ends ?"

I'm so sorry, but Norman is not a fan of tattoos. Mostly because he had a mother who always said they were for rude, bad and dangerous people.

But, he would be interested still and try to understand.

But have trouble understanding why you would do that to your own skin ?

He wouldn't really get it, but would respect your choice and love you either way.

Norman *holds your hands and smiles* : "I may not really understand you, but that's why I love you. You make life more interesting."

You would have to hide or take a bit more time before showing him the piercings, so he wouldn't be shocked twice in a day. 😂

"Well heeeeeeeeelllllloooooo, handsome. My my, aren't you absolutely beautiful ?"

He would adore them. Let's be honest, Barry is an artist. He would find your tattoos amazing.

If he was the only one in his body, he would have tattooed himself and even get an ear piercing.

Unfortunately, as he has to share it, he would have to marvel on your body instead.

Barry *touches your skin and lets his eyes wonder to all the lovely patterns on your arms and whispers* : "Absolutely beautiful.."

This was when you sticked out your tongue and showed him your tongue piercing.

Barry blushed and almost swooned, thinking of all the things that tongue could do to him...😜

Barry *babbles* : "I..I..You...Gorgeous. Amazing. Beautiful..I.."

Barry would be a fan and you would become his favorite piece of art.

Actually, his reaction to you would be totally different if you met him before or after he became the Joker.

Before, he would have admired you from afar and try not to make eye contact with you, in case his mother would be around and scold him for being rude.

But, he would have kept looking at you, trying to go unnoticed until you would either notice him or he would get caught.

Arthur *blushing after you linked eyes and runs away when you smiled at him*

However, after ?

Joker *looking you up and down unashamedly* : "Are you here for the Murray show ?"

He would be a lot more shameless and stare at your tattoos before asking to touch them.

Joker *smiles when you give him your permission and holds your wrist at eye level to examine it* : "Very impressive..Maybe, I should have one as well ?"

Before you could answer, his eyes met yours and the left corner of his mouth tilted upwards before he did something that made your jaw drop.

Before you could say anything, Murray came in and called for Joker who didn't give you a second glance before walking past you.

You followed him with your eyes until he was out of the room, one question on your mind :

Did he just lick you wrist or did you imagine it ?!

A few minutes later, you heard a couple of gun shots and you would realize that the man who had complimented your tattoos had just shot Murray in the head.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #michael myers x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #jason voorhees x reader #freddy krueger x reader #norman bates x reader #arthur fleck x reader #barry x reader #the horde x reader #slashers #slashers au

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lis-likes-fics · 2 years

Text

Stains

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: Language, nothing else really... A/N: Decided to rewrite one of my oldies because I liked the idea but didn’t have a really great execution. Hopefully this is much better and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you, enjoy!

Pity was an emotion that many displayed to you each and every day of your life. You were not new to such a thing, and, yet, you still had not grown indifferent to the sharpness of it throughout your years.

But why would people pity you? What could you possibly be burdened with that would make every person who laid eyes on you give you apologetic eyes as they shook their heads to show how sorry they felt for you?

The same thing as everyone else on the planet, a giant black stain to mark the first contact of your dear and beloved soulmate.

A man you had grown to hate since the cruel fates marked you with such a terrible abnormality.

Most were born with stained palms, a foreshadowing of that one fateful day where that one special person would shake their hand and be graced with a life of love and beauty. Some were even born with handprints on knuckles or arms or shoulders, awaiting that remarkable moment when their lives were to truly begin as their black marks turned to a breathtakingly gorgeous painting of love and devotion.

But you were not most people. You wish you were most people. You spent every day of your life wishing and praying to wake up and find a black stain on your hand or on your arm.

You hated the pity, you hated the apologies of people who had no idea how deeply your soulmate—someone you had yet to even meet—had truly screwed up your life. You hated him, you would even settle for no mark at all.

But every day you woke up to be disappointed, you woke up to find your cheek stained black with fate-charged ink as that handprint taunted you with a lingering despair.

The mark was enormous, it was hideous. The large handprint entirely covered your cheek. The thumb rested under your eye and the meat of the palm brushed over the corner of your lips. The brush of fingertips extended beyond your hairline and parted to surround your ear. It was as much a darkness on your life as it was on your face. It brought you nothing but anger and sorrow as it foreshadowed a pitiful, hate-invoked meeting.

You couldn't stand the stares, the eyes that glued to your face and stuck like tree sap, so you ran. You hid. You turned yourself into a recluse in the reclusive town of Mystic Falls. You hid away in your home as much as you could and intended to live the rest of your days that way.

Then your friend decided to drag you out to a stupid party because, "You can't be a hermit all your life!"

You grumbled and fought against her attempts to stuff you in a dress with a strange amount of strength. "Watch me, Caroline!" you exclaimed, bounding away from her to keep yourself from being subjected to her annoying displays of friendship.

It took her a couple hours to finally get you ready. You fought her the entire time and made her have to resort to literally dragging you out of the car in order to make you walk obediently with her into the stupidly large mansion where the formal ball was to take place.

You assumed Caroline was trying to fit some sort of color scheme as your midnight gown clung to your body, decorated with glittering fabric that flowed from your waist and the rhinestones that lined the low neckline. As if you needed to stand out anymore than you already did.

Hers was more of a sapphire shade, a little more dramatic and glittery than yours as she rubbed her black-stained palm against her thigh through the layers of fabric wrapped around her.

"Go make friends." It was a clear order as she turned and looked at you with pleading eyes and a hopeful smile. She raised a hand to rest against your cheek, right over the much larger handprint already resting there and sighed. She tilted your head down and kissed your forehead before squeezing your hands once and leaving.

You watched her go, and then you ignored her request. Instead, you went to the first server you saw walking around with a tray of expensive champagne and retreated to a corner to hide for the rest of the night. You secluded yourself from everyone else, working hard to conceal the filth on your face as best you could with a drink in hand.

You kept your eyes on the floor or on your glass, away from the lingering gazes of those who only humiliated your self-esteem. You took a sip from your glass and scrunched up your nose a bit. It was expensive, you could tell, but it was not good. Or, at least, it was not exactly your taste. Either way, you took another sip and sighed as you waited pathetically for the party to end.

The more you took in the scenery of the mansion you were currently trapped inside by Caroline, the more you realized just how expensive this party was. How did you even get in? They must have been charging people.

A new family had moved into Mystic Falls just a week or two ago. They were all siblings, a family you had only heard rumors of as being undeniably gorgeous, as if they had been crafted by the gods themselves. With Mystic Falls being as small a town as it was, you knew that it was probably a little exaggerated. Without the rumors, what else would this weird, sleepy town have to do?

There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, shining with a thousand lights and granting the room a specific type of beauty you sometimes found yourself wishing to reciprocate. The room was decorated with wreaths and bouquets of flowers of all sorts, all following an elegant theme that definitely made you feel out of place. You just wanted to go home. There were too many people here to watch you. Not even the tiny, expensive finger sandwiches could distract them long enough to save you from your torment.

There was one who finally decided to stop staring, a man who began to approach you instead. You didn't know if you would rather him stare. You didn't see him until he was right in front of you. You looked up to see him clearer, drink in hand and a smile on his face.

He was beautiful, you could admit that. He wore a suit that was likely more expensive than the party itself, dark and especially formal for the ball. You had a feeling that the bowtie around his neck was a necessary evil in his mind, evidence of his constant toying clear in the way that his tie was just slightly crooked around his neck—a type of crooked you find only when you look too closely for too long, like when you hyper-fixate on hanging a frame and spend way too long adjusting it because it looks just slightly off every time.

His eyes were just as dark, like melted chocolate. They took you in, raked over your body and admired you—or admired the dress Caroline managed to shove you into. They glinted with something, a mysterious look that intrigued you more than you would otherwise find necessary. His hair, just like literally everything about him, was styled to perfection as the chestnut locks sat neatly atop his head. It wasn't overly gelled or greasy, nor was it tousled like he'd run his hands through it too many times. The scruff of his stubble was trimmed neatly, it added to the sophistication of the rest of his ensemble.

And the skin of his cheek was unmarred by hideous fate-induced stains.

He offered a kind smile as he moved to stand beside you, rather than tower over you so closely in front. It gave you the luxury of not having to look at him as he spoke. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

You glanced at him and shrugged, "Not really." Your answer was truthful and unguarded, and he expected nothing less. "It's a little too posh for my taste, and the champagne is shit."

He chuckled, his smile stretched into a bit of a smirk as he looked down at his own glass. He twirled his glass, allowing the liquid to lap against the sides as it glistened in the light. He nodded, his smooth voice sounded better through his smile, "It has room for improvement."

The man glanced at you again, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth thoughtfully before allowing the skin to return to its place as it flushed pink again. He watched you stare down at the flute in your hand before you took another nose-scrunched sip, looking around the room again with a look doused in disdain and disinterest.

Even as you glanced over your shoulder in his direction, he found no real desire for your presence here. He licked his lip once more, still speaking through a tiny grin. "Shall I be going then? You seem to be particularly unmoved by any attention."

You looked at him and began to smile, mostly out of embarrassment as you shook your head. You sighed, "No, I'm sorry. It's not you or this party—even if it does scream first-class supremacy. I'm just not used to having company...or being out of my own house, for that matter."

"Then how, if I may, did you end up here?" he wondered as you looked away again. He took that moment to take you in once more, finding an especially intriguing glimmer of admiration in his chest as he gazed a little too long.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was dragged here by someone who calls herself my friend." You put a lot of emphasis on drag, since it was the literal word for your travel experience to this mansion of a house. "I did not want to come to some fancy schmancy party for snobs." Another look around the place truly highlighted the amount of money this family must have had. Did you really need a chandelier and crystalline lights lining the wall?

Again, the man laughed as he set his glass on the table closest to the both of you. You turned to him and couldn't help but laugh as well. "What's so funny?"

His brow raised in utter amusement before he turned and motioned toward himself, "Forgive me, I have yet to properly introduce myself. I am Elijah Mikaelson, one of the party's hosts."

You paled. Quite literally, all of the blood in your body drained from your face as you stared at him with wide eyes and mouth. "Shit," you breathed, looking away as you stared at the ground. Your face was cold, and then it was burning with humiliation as you shook your head at yourself and squeezed your eyes shut. Of course you would tell the first person to talk to you all about how bad the party is, only for that person to reveal themselves as the host.

You cursed under your breath and looked up at him with burning cheeks that blushed deeper than your need to be out of that house. "I'm sorry," you croaked, unwilling to look at him as he smiled amusedly. "I– God, this is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to– I should've actually fought her..." You mutter the last part to yourself. It would have been much better to have actually fought Caroline to bring you here—even if part of you knows she still would have won.

"Do not fret," he chuckled. "Your critiques have been noted." You hid your face in your hands as you sat your glass down. Elijah continued to laugh innocently at your embarrassment.

When the heat in your cheeks finally calmed, you let out a breath and looked up again. "So," Elijah began again, "why do you resent this...soiree? Other than the superiority complex of my family, of course."

His teasing made your heart flutter—whether it was out of sheer embarrassment or something else, you didn't know—and you shook your head once more. "I'm just not a big people person," you confessed. "And I draw attention." At the mention of your problem, you frowned again as you looked out over the sea of people whose eyes darted toward and away from you.

You fought your urge to hide.

Elijah's smile faltered a little as he saw your issue a little clearer now. "I'm assuming it's due to the soulmark on your cheek."

You just hummed and looked away again, leaning on the table behind you. "Everyone's staring."

He looked around at those whose eyes clung to you like grappling hooks. The danger in his eyes tempted most to look away and he almost found himself smirking. "Not everything. Some simply glanced," he said.

You lifted your eyes again to see and found that he was right. There were a lot fewer looks now—suddenly. You breathed a humorless chuckle and nodded, still glancing down at the tiled floors. You turned your head in an attempt to hide your cheek from him.

Elijah sighed, "Is the mark really so dreadful?"

You nodded definitely. "Yes," you said. "It's horrible." You shook your head bitterly, huffing an annoyed breath as you picked up your vile champagne for another sip. He could tell you were quickly growing irritated by the mark on your cheek. "All it grants me is pity. No one can look at me without telling me they're sorry for what's going to happen when I do meet him." You looked down at the bubbling drink in your hand, swirling it around again as you muttered to yourself, "I hate this man."

Elijah's heart fluttered in his chest. He didn't know why your admittance of hatred toward your soulmate made him feel so...strange. He brushed it off, licking his lips thoughtfully. "Why do they apologize?"

You looked at Elijah like he was insane, and his brows furrowed curiously. You shrugged, "I've got a handprint stained onto my face. Everyone thinks he's going to slap me, I think he's going to slap me." You glanced at him with feigned amusement, a tight smile taking your lips, "Wouldn't that be such a fun way to begin a new life with someone you love?"

His lips twitched and he looked away. "I don't believe you will be struck," he admitted. "Anyone who dares to raise his hand against you would be sorely mistaken, I assure you." His chocolate gaze met you again, "Any man to hit a woman is no man, at all."

You blinked a few times at him and turned away once more. You merely hummed, tapping your finger against your glass before taking the last sip and setting it down.

After a moment, you close your eyes and smile with a chuckle. "Sorry, I never told you my name. I'm Y/N."

He smiled and repeated the name under his breath, a tiny whisper as he tasted the word in his mouth. He licked his lips, "You have a lovely name, Y/N."

You thanked him, offering a genuine smile. You stared for too long at him, tracing each little detail with your eyes—the dimple of his chin, the tiny mole on his left cheek, the other mole hiding just underneath his right ear—and spoke bashfully. "I wish I could meet more Elijahs." You chuckled as you added at the end, "Or are you one-of-a-kind?"

He laughed like you just made a hilarious joke. He shook his head, "I am certainly not a common breed." He looked at you with squinting eyes, his lips spreading in a genuine grin, one that spread to your own face as you fought the urge to hide away again. "And I, for one, personally find your 'stain', as you call it, quite lovely. I imagine the art will be well worth the wait."

You rolled your eyes, scoffing at his words. "I'm not looking forward to it."

He tilted his head and shifted so his body was better turned toward you. He leaned an elbow against the table, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in thought. You turned as well, and now your bodies were facing.

As you looked at him, your expression softened. You chewed on your bottom lip and sighed gently. "Where's your mark?"

He noted the way you asked about his mark instead of his stain. His heart ached for you, even as he smiled to offer his kindness. He lifted his hand to show his black palm. The mark covered it in a way that looked nothing like the handshake marks you'd often see. You thought briefly of Caroline's peculiar—albeit common—placing. Hers covered only the expanse of her fingers and a thumb over the top of her skin.

"In a common place," he breathed.

You sighed with a breath of envy and nodded, still smiling. "Well, it definitely looks normal to me."

Again, he laughed that same way that convinced you that you'd just made an amazing joke. You shook your head, confused and intrigued. He shook his head, "I don't think 'normal' is a word I would ever use to describe myself."

You laughed with him, "Right, you would probably use words like 'conventional' or 'exceptionally ordinary'." He laughed again, prompting another string of laughter to erupt from you at your own joke.

You were happy to be talking to someone so comfortably. You were so used to being lonely, and here he was, making you feel better with nothing but kind words and inquiries.

Elijah thought for a long time as his eyes trailed over your face with a depth that made your eyes glimmer back. You watched him lift his hand, black-stained and gentle, slowly. "I assure you, lovely Y/N," he smiled, bringing his hand to hover over the skin of your cheek. "Your stain is beautiful."

He had this softness in his eyes that made your cheeks warm. You could feel the heat of his palm as it neared your cheek before it stopped completely to sit so close, yet so far from your face. You were drawn to it, drawn to him. He just felt safe, different. A fleeting thought, gone as quickly as it came, had your mind racing, hoping for just a moment that this would be the day you had been dreading for years...

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned in. It only took a second, half a second, for his skin to brush yours.

You gasped as a strange pleasure shot through your skin. It seeped into your cheek and spread down your neck, your spine, to the tips of your fingers and the soles of your feet. You gently grasped him, pressing your hand to the back of his own as the other cupped his elbow.

And closer still, you brought him.

You shuddered as the gooseflesh that rose and prickled at your skin stood on end. You saw a flash behind your eyes that made you open them once more. As you locked your gaze with Elijah, you pulled away from the warmth of his hand. You felt different, really different, as you raised your hand to brush over your cheek.

Elijah was looking at his hand, painted in brilliant colors like chalk powders. Dark blues, purples, and bright yellows of all kinds. It was beautiful, a gorgeous display of his soul painted in his skin. You took his hand and smiled, admiring the beauty. No mark could ever compare. As Elijah looked up at you, he gasped.

Now that was the most beautiful sight Elijah had ever seen in all his thousand years.

He whispered your name and brushed his knuckles over your cheek. "What?" you muttered.

"You're..." he breathed, trailing off as he shook his head. "You're beautiful." You pulled out your phone and stared at your reflection. And he was right—you were. You almost didn't recognize yourself. The colors across your cheek were that of a work of art, your face was like a canvas for the fates' best paintings, as if you were their own personal muse.

A tear slipped from your eye, rolling down your love-painted cheek as you stared back up to the man whose soul was marked for yours. You let out a huff of a laugh, one full of awe and disbelief. You didn't know what came over you at that moment. You threw yourself into his arms, slinging your own around his neck and bringing him down.

Call it love, call it gratitude, call it fate. But the kiss that was shared between you and your newfound soulmate—a theoretical man you had hated for years—was a kiss you hoped you would never have to break. It was all-consuming. It provided your soul with a fulfillment that you had never realized you needed before.

His lips were soft, pillowy against yours. They beckoned you nearer still, and you gladly gave in. His strong hands held you still and pulled you closer as his lips moved against yours as if they were made to be there—and, in a way, they were made to be there, pressed against your own like the perfect two pieces of a puzzle.

After too long and too little a kiss, you finally pulled away and licked your lips. Your eyes watered still and your smile beamed up at him as an eternal gratitude welled in your soul. You looked up at this handsome man and laughed gently. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice wavered through your grin. How you were lucky enough to be able to spend the rest of your days with this man, you would never know.

The smile he gave you was so pretty, it made your heart flutter happily as you continued to gaze into his honeyed eyes. "You are quite welcome," he breathed, his lips just a whispered distance from your own. He leaned forward and pressed them against you again. He seemed more than happy to kiss the love of his life once more, granting you with gratitude for ending his eternity of loneliness, finally giving him the love he had always dreamed of but never believed he deserved.

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goldencherriess · 2 years

Text

Loving you is a losing game.

Pairing: Young! Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader, slightly Young! James Potter x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Request? Yes! And you can find it right here.

Summary: He loves her wholeheartedly, but she's in love with someone else.

Warnings: unrequited love, jealousy, mentions of blood and angst

Masterlist

Remus loved many things. He loved books and the sense of comfort they brought, he loved chocolate and the way it melted on his tongue. And he loved her. He couldn't say why though. If he were to find reasons why, he would get lost in them. Maybe he loved her for her smile, or her courageous nature (she did always stood up to Malfoy), or maybe it was the way she saw life. Colorful, always searching for light even on the darkest nights. He loved her wholly, with the good and the bad.

He loved her despite her not loving him back. Maybe that was also a reason why. We accept the love we think we deserve.

Remus sighed, turning his gaze away from Y/N and onto his book. Sense of comfort. Even if his longing tempted him to admire her, his broken heart couldn't take to see her and Prongs together. And out of respect for his best friend, he decided to step out of this one. There wasn't room for him there.

Her giggle filled the Gryffindor Common Room and suddenly Remus couldn't focus on the words. They wringled and twisted in front of him until they were a pile of unread and incorrigible sentences.

A plop on the couch was heard next to him along with a dramatic sigh. "McGonagall is going to kill me if I don't finish that essay." Sirius said.

Remus shot him a quick look, before going back to trying to concentrate on reading. "Get on with it, then."

"Yes, agreed, but you see, I really need help. Can't write essays for the life of me. So, because you're the best friend anyone could have, won't you give me a hand, Moony?"

Remus turned to look at him. Sirius' eyes harboured a look of a lost puppy, his lips pulled into a pout. "How many times do I have to do your homework?"

From across the room he heard James laughing and whispering something to Y/N and Remus suddenly felt sick.

"Uh, everytime I ask for your help? That's what best friends do, Moony. They help each other."

Help. They help each other. Remus threw a risky look across the Common Room, wondering if maybe James was even aware of his suffering. "Right, they help each other." he muttered.

He faced Sirius once again, who this time was squinting his eyes at him. "So, you're gonna help me, mate?"

Remus got up from the couch, book in hand and shaking his head. "Not this time, no. Ask Evans. Or Y/N. Maybe they'll help you."

And he was gone through the portrait hole.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Breakfast at Hogwarts was a time of calmness and delight. The smell of pumpkin juice and fresh baked pastries carressed Remus' nostrils. He bit into a toast while his eyes skimmed over the ink etched on the paper. Always reading. Always escaping reality.

Someone sat next to him, sighing happily. He didn't look up from the pages, a feeling of giddiness settling in his stomach. He could recognize that perfume anywhere. "What're you reading, Remus?"

Her voice sounded like those wind chimes. It made him nervous and calmed him in the same time. He took his eyes off of the book and met her electrifying gaze. She was already looking at him, sipping on a tea cup, eyebrows raised.

He gulped down his nerves but didn't waver his gaze from her. "Ah, it's just an old book." He handed it to her, her fingertips brushing his.

"Jane Eyre. Is it a Muggle book?" she tilted her head. "And is it good?"

He lightly chuckled. He seemed to be doing that a lot around her. "Uh, yeah, it's a Muggle book. A popular one. And yes, it's great. It's about this girl who-"

His words died on his lips. James Potter appeared out of nowhere, leaning down to kiss Y/N on the cheek and hugging her. And she smiled. "Morning, love."

Remus couldn't actually hate his best friend, it just wasn't in his blood. He loved his best friend. And he loved Y/N. And maybe that was the problem.

"You were saying, Remus?" asked Y/N after she smiled up at her boyfriend.

Remus got up, leaving his toast to get cold and his pumpkin juice to rot. He picked up the book, refusing to meet her eyes. "Uh, nothing, nothing at all. See you later."

And he was gone, once again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Remus really wasn't a sports guy. He didn't play Quidditch. He did, though, hype his best friend up on practice and on game days.

The problem was that Y/N did that too, which made it harder to avoid her. She was on the bleachers, cheering for James, she was in the Common Room congratulating him. She was everywhere. And it drove Remus insane. He thought that maybe if he isolated himself in the library, he wouldn't see more of those scenes that drove spikes in his heart. He thought that maybe, that way, he could erase himself from every place she ever breathed in and walked on.

It would had been easier to move on, he said. But of course that was just a white lie he told himself. He could never actually move on from her. Not when he saw her everyday of every week.

So when Slughorn paired them up in class to brew a potion, Remus thought he was a goner. Y/N was right there, besides him, pinning up her hair in a ponytail and reading over the textbook. "You think we'll pull this off? I mean, it's quite the risky potion, Remus."

He blinked, clearing his throat and taking his eyes off of her porcelain neck. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't we? We're both prefects."

Her face lit up and Remus' insides melted. "You're right! I'll just go and get the ingredients." And she was off, skipping towards the class cupboard, her uniform skirt swishing lightly.

He sighed, ruffling his hair and then dragging a hand down his face. He really was in deep.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Steam was rising in circles above their head, frying their hair and sweating their necks. Y/N puffed out and wiped her arm against her forehead, skin sticking. She continued to stir in the cauldron though. "I hate this. What do we have to do next? Sprinkle some unicorn blood?" she said sarcastically.

Remus almost laughed, but looked briefly over the potion recipe. "No, we just need to cut some Gillyweed."

"Oh, thank Merlin! I'll do that, just get me far away from this steam before my hair is damaged beyond repair."

She went besides him, grabbing a knife and the Gillyweed. Her eyebrows furrowed and the knife cut smoothly through the plant. For a moment, Remus was stuck to the spot, staring at the way her nose scrunched up in concentration. But then he heard the cauldron whine and he was back in the present, stirring the potion. He swallowed.

"Ouch!" shrieked Y/N.

His eyes snapped to her, a fear cursing through his veins. "You're alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I just cut myself, it's alright."

"Let me see." And Remus was back to her like always, lightly taking her hand in his. A string of blood was trickling down her finger. He gently caressed it, as if afraid to break it, and then he raised her hand to his lips. A light kiss touched the cut like a bandage wrapped around an injury. His eyes fluttered shut and he heard Y/N take in a breath. "To make it better" he said after he opened his eyes.

She just nodded, turning away from him, the mood changed.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

In the evenings the Common Room was busy, the fire warming everyone up and setting a cozy feeling to it. Remus thought that's what he loved most about the Common Room, it was cozy. And it reminded him of home.

He took his usual seat on the couch, in front of the fire, a book in his hands. He was just beginning to read it when the portrait hole opened up and in came James and Y/N holding hands. A pang in his heart. What actually hurt Remus the most was the fact that Y/N refused to meet his eyes. It was a hurt that twisted his stomach into a bundle of nerves and dread.

"I see the way you look at her." said Sirius who was now seating next to him.

Remus' gaze snapped to the brunet. "What?"

"Come on, mate, it's obvious."

Remus looked down at his hands, gulping. "Is it obvious for Prongs, too?"

Sirius scoffed. "No, he's too busy making the sweet eyes at her."

Silence fell between them, the crackling of the fire filling the air. "He's also too busy to observe Evans longing for him." Sirius eventually added.

Remus looked towards him. Sirius was staring into the fire. "Evans likes Prongs?"

Sirius slowly nodded. "Yeah... Look, mate, I really don't what to say. Normally I'd say you should go after Y/N, but I think you should sit this one out."

Remus interrupted him, nodding his head rapidly. "Yes, I know, Prongs' our friend."

He did wish things were different though.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Being a prefect meant taking rounds around Hogwarts after curfew. It also meant doing it besides Y/N.

And it would have been somewhat fine, if there wasn't an awkward atmosphere between them. She didn't mutter a word, retracting into herself and he was trying to think of something to say, anything.

They rounded a hallway corner, the torches casting shadows on the wall. Remus gripped his wand in his hand untill his knuckles turned white. He risked a glance at Y/N who was hugging her figure. "Can we talk?" he asked.

She briefly looked at him before averting her gaze. "About what?"

"About what happened today. Look, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"You didn't" she interjected.

He stopped walking. "Then why aren't you looking at me?"

Y/N sighed, stopping in her tracks, turning to face him. Remus' eyebrows were scrunched, lips strained and eyes almost glossy. "I- I don't know what you want from me."

He took a step closer. "Nothing you can give." Remus took a breath in and then looked her in eyes. "Y/N, I like you." Her eyes widened and she took a step back, holding a hand out. "No, no, I don't like you, I love you. I'm in love with you, Y/N."

"Stop that." she shakily whispered.

His eyes got misty. "And I know you can't love me back. And I'm okay with that. James is my best friend, he was always there for me. I can't ask you to give me a chance when I have none. I just- I just wanted you to know because I couldn't hold it in anymore. Please, forgive me."

Silent tears were rolling over his cheeks by now. He let them fall. Y/N was shaking her head, looking everywhere but at him. "I'm really sorry. I know it's not fair of me to give you that burden-"

"Stop apologizing, Remus." Her voice was strained, but she kept her back straight. "There's nothing to apologize for. It is what it is."

And then she was turning her back, leaving him in the shadows with an opened wound.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: thank you so much for reading! This request hurt to write, but it was also fun. It almost brought me to tears while writing it.

Any kind of feedback is appreciated! If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the Remus Lupin tag list, please let me know by sending me an ask or commenting under this post. Other than that, have a great day! :)

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86

#young remus lupin x reader #young remus lupin x fem reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #harry potter #james potter x reader #the marauders #writing #laura writes #masterlist #my writing #angst #unrequited love

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conazo · 2 months

Text

Writing Samples.

Interested in RPing as Vox with my Valentino? Read my RP ad here!

1 - In the Beginning

Vox was interesting. The little man seemed to live inside a world of his own design, meticulously manufactured right down to the last excruciating detail. He controlled his public image with about as tight a fist as he controlled the public broadcasting schedule. It was an impressive way to go about one's afterlife.

With that much practice manipulating the way he was depicted, it was no wonder TV-head knew what he was doing in business. The money was good-- no, the money was great. Working with VoxTek over the last few weeks had facilitated more quality recordings and sales than Valentino had managed to secure in years. Their relationship-- strictly financial, defined in ink on paper-- had proven a boon for them both.

Fucking with profits of that magnitude was a fool's game. But shit if Val didn't still feel that itch under his skin, the kind of hot prickle that made him frustratingly restless. He squirmed as the energy thrummed through his veins, clawing at his rational thought. Vox was too perfectly composed. Val wanted, needed, to peel back the layers of his public persona to see the circuitry underneath, to see what made him tick. There had to be more to Vox than a surface image, and Valentino was compelled to expose it out of selfish, morbid curiosity. Maybe he didn't need to see Vox break, but a bend would suffice. Preferably under the tall heel of his boot.

So, the pimp had invited him to the grand opening of their newest joint venture: Club S3NS3. This is a great chance for you to see your marketing dollars at work, he'd purred into his message, pouring honey into every syllable. And you're so smaaart! You can give me honest feedback about the place, make it better. Creatures like Vox loved to be asked for help, loved the opportunity to flaunt their superiority like a badge. I want this to be good for both of us, Val had whispered, sultry-sweet. He'd left the address, a date, and a time. And now, he waited.

He was slouched low in his throne, tucked neatly into the second-floor VIP balcony with thighs spread about as far as they physically could. Tonight, his oral fixation had not one but two vices to satisfy it: a whiskey sour in one hand, the long stem of his cigarette in another. He alternated sampling them with crumbling patience. The club was alive around him, even well after Angel's first performance had concluded. The lights spun, a mass of bodies continued to writhe on the dance floor, and the pair of succubi that flanked him squirmed and fussed for his attention. Valentino ignored it all. From his perch up high, his eyes were fixed on the door, eager for his guest's arrival.

2 - Valentino's Day

It wasn’t that he disliked Valentine’s Day. It just seemed… slightly pointless. Valentino didn’t need an excuse to stick his tongue down anyone’s throat. He didn’t need an excuse to surround himself with overpriced gifts on someone else’s card. But, hey, the holiday did give him an excuse to charge more for he and Velvette’s love potions. It did give him an excuse to decorate the tower’s lobby in his own colors, draping tacky garlands of red and white hearts from every corner to cheekily obscure the egotistical cardboard cutouts set up in Vox’s image.

Maybe most importantly, it gave him an excuse to demand attention. Well. More attention than usual.

“Ah, I think he’s— he’s in the middle of reviewing the broadcasting lineup for the week,” Vox’s assistant chirped, holding his hands up in a desperate plea. Panic made his mismatched eyes huge and round, shoulders hiked up too high to be comfortable.

Val spared him a sidelong glance as he pushed past, lip curled with a hint of disdain. “That’s nice,” he said flatly, ducking to fold himself into the elevator. The assistant opened his mouth to protest again; Valentino wiggled his fingers in a parting gesture as the doors snapped shut. Vox been busy the entire day, today of all days. As long as he wasn’t broadcasting live, a little break wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

When the platform in Vox’s office-studio-security-room eventually descended, it contained exactly one grinning moth demon, two hands folded neatly beneath the curtain of his wings. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be in here all daaay.” Val sang the last syllable, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout as he approached. That pout soured the closer he moved, his thin veneer of restraint dissolving quickly. He’d been left to his own devices for too long, clearly. “Nothing on those screens can possibly be that interesting. Come out with me before you rot into that fucking chair. We should be at that new club’s opening.”

#staticmoth #voxval #rp #roleplay #vox #valentino #hazbin hotel #writing #samples

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wtfuckevenknows · 9 months

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found this what element writer are you? quiz and thought it would be fun so i took it and i’m making this a tag game bc i wanna know what y’all get

Thanks for tagging me @rmd-writes

Earth Writer

You have the patience it takes for flowers to grow, and break through the hard mountain floor. You writing is able to show an imagery not really anyone else can give. You gift your readers canvas painted with the most thought out shades anyone could imagine. You are the writer of those long stories that change the reader's life forever. You create whole universes with your words. Paint colorful worlds with words in black and white. Pains whole lives with ink. Your stories can hold the deepest meanings, but the majority of the time, your goal is not to teach anyone anything in particular, rather it's just to tell the story of someone, of how they grew, and faced their problems. Your favorite genres are fantasy, or mystery. You can also really love high school and college au. Your stories show universes never seen before, and building them can take a lot of time, but you don't easily give up. You have a great work ethic and, even if your sturdy foundations fall, you'll build new ones. Tropes that can be found in your fics include established relationships and canon.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

definitely not!!!!!

No pressure tagging: @goodways @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @lire-casander @noxsoulmate @thebumblecee and anyone else who wants to play!!!!

#wouldn't even call myself a writer so whatever #hahahahaha #thanks for the tag #and the good laugh

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monsterrae1 · 9 months

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Element writer

Tagged by @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks and @jesuisici33

Quizz here

🌲🌲🌲Earth writer 🌲🌲🌲

This might be too generous to me but I’ll take it 😂😂😂

Tagging if they wanna do this @brokenribsdiaz @loveyourownsmiilee @heartbeatdiaz @cowboy-buddie @alyxmastershipper @heartshapedvows @prettyboybuckley @buddierights @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bigfootsmom @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy and whoever wants to do this

#tag game #sorry if I forgot anyone brain empty atm

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abhainnwhump · 4 months

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IMYM Chapter 12: Make Me Your Masterpiece: Ink

(Content warnings: Self harm, creepy/intimate bathing, doll whump, starvation, humiliation, forced crossdressing, Nightmare continuing to be a creepy shit biscuit. Also, happy 1 day late birthday to him and Dream.) <- Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ->

Ink stared at the wall as still as a rock, not even blinking. That way, he could daydream about colors and scenery, keeping him out of the white space. Also because he couldn’t move. Yep, he ran out of emotions for too long and lay as a paralyzed husk.

At first, after he screamed and cried, he killed time by pacing and drawing invisible designs on the floor. He punched the wall once in a while, which might have not even been the one he came in. They all looked the same and all it did was hurt his knuckles. Even though he never saw them, he knew someone was checking in on him. Someone was feeding him water and unseasoned white rice. On a white plate of course. It cost too much in the budget to give him color. It gave him energy, but the amount was always too small to satisfy his hunger.

Ink was so sickof white. He was sick of the silence and the loneliness. He wanted someone to hug him or hold his hand. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, or at least give his bored mind something to do. You could only talk to yourself in so many different voices before you run out of conversation ideas. Then he remembered the mud from the fall, still stuck to his bones. Brown!

Unfortunately, the dirt and grime from his fall were so caked on that he couldn’t scrape it off. The artist’s desperation for any other color drove him to scratch his arms until they bled. It hurt but also felt good in a weird way. The black blood was a relieving change. Ink used it as paint to make pictures. He drew a messy version of the Doodlesphere’s islands. Damn, he missed it. It was so colorful, unlike his stupid cell. Once he ran out of pigment and didn’t want to destroy his arms anymore, he started daydreaming. Since getting paralyzed, he was stuck right next to a puddle of his sticky black blood. He couldn’t even teleport through the liquid. His escape was so close, but he couldn't move a nonexistent muscle.

How long has it been? Hours? Days? Months? It wasn’t like he had a calendar or a clock. Nope, don’t think too hard about that. He used up his panic and only felt numb.

Ugh. None of this would be happening if he just did as he was told! It would have been so easy too. It was his fault he was in here. At least, that’s what Nightmare said. His words kept replaying in his head.

You don’t think anyone cares if you’re missing, do you?

Even if I did love you, that doesn’t mean you can do whatever your selfish empty heart desires.

You’re an easy puppet.

They were all he could think about. He might never see the sun again because of his stupidity. Worthlessness. Pride. Immaturity.

He deserved this, didn’t he?

The artist knew people didn’t like him. Error, Cross, Fell, and the countless other souls he’s pissed off over the years. Even the original Sans didn’t like him. He always brushed them aside as being jealous. Usually, he would rant to one of his friends and get their opinion, but they weren’t around. Not like they cared, he doubted it.

He should’ve been angry. Nightmare was the guy who threw him in here after all, but he wasn’t. Ink was mad at himself, or he would be if he could feel anything.He was lucky to be with Nightmare and he screwed it up.

Like you screw up everything else?

Shut up!

Ink groaned. Great. He was hollow, hungry, bored, and hating himself. No one has checked on him since he lost his emotions. Maybe he wasn’t useful anymore and was left to starve to death. Was it even possible for him to starve to death? Who cares. He just wanted to get out of and stay out of this room. He’d trade anything for it. Even if he had to sell his nonexistent soul to be a servant or something. Unknown to him, he did.

“Do you understand my reason for doing this?”

Ink cringed at the voice. It was soft-spoken but sounded like a megaphone when he was used to never-ending silence. Nightmare leaned on the left wall, arms crossed and tendrils swaying. He looked sympathetic and regretful, but Ink doubted it was sincere. Something was off about him, but he couldn't put his finger on it . . .

Ink stared straight ahead, but would’ve rolled his emotionless white eye lights if he could. Because you’re a dick?

The dark king propped him up into a sitting position like a toy doll. His tendrils prodded at and caressed his cheekbone. “It’s because when I took you in, I didn’t take wet clay. I bought a pot. Finished, but so cracked and chipped that it didn’t even resemble proper pottery, more like a child’s art project. However, you were salvageable. I just needed to break you first, then the dust could be rebuilt into something beautiful.” He raised a browbone at Ink’s dazed eyes. “And it seems I’ve started the first step quite well. Better than expected.”

Nightmare reached into his pocket and pulled out a colorful vial, swishing it around. If Ink wasn’t paralyzed, he would’ve squealed in joy. Nightmare pried open his mouth. Ink gagged at the feeling of his fingers as he poured the bottle down his throat. His left arm shuddered, then he regained control of his body with a gasp. Licking the last specks of pink and green paint from his face, he looked up at Nightmare with a new mix of emotions. Fear, guilt, regret, anger, relief, but stronger than any of those, love. Ink shot into his arms, clinging to his suit jacket and forcing his head into his chest. Bitter apples never smelt so good after smelling nothing for who knows how long.

Nightmare stiffened in shock. Cautiously, he caressed the back of Ink’s skull, which he melted into. Affection. Sweet, sweet affection. He’d never take gentle touch for granted ever again. The dark king chuckled. “Well, who knew all it took was some alone time to make you so sweet.”

Ink kept hugging him. He was so relieved to finally have someone next to him that he worried this was a dream. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Quiet down, I forgive you.” Nightmare cuddled Ink close, rubbed circles on his back, and kissed his foreskull. Something in Ink felt wrong, but he dismissed it as touch starvation. The kiss and cuddle satisfied it. “I was thinking a lot while you were in here and I realized . . . you were right. I was a little too harsh on you. I didn’t mean what I said about you being worthless. I’ve been neglecting you and your needs for too long, that’s my fault. I’ll take part in some more one-on-one time so I can . . .” He removed Ink’s arms from his sides and held them up, eyeing the mess of frantic claw marks. It wasn’t until now that he noticed the dried puddle of blood on the ground and Ink. “. . . you’re bloody. Again.”

Ink hung his head. “Look, I couldn’t take it anymore. The whiteness was driving me crazy; I needed some color.”

Nightmare nodded in thought. His eye twitched a bit. “Understandable, but nothing of mine is going to be kept in such poor condition. If you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll start you a warm bath and I'll give you a second chance, okay?”

Oh, that sounded great right now. Ink didn’t take baths that often (he didn’t see the point), but he was so worn out and messy that he would welcome it. “I learned my lesson. I’ll never leave your side again, I got it! Don't ever lock me in here ever again!”

“As long as you play nice, I won’t need to. And believe me, I don’t wish to use this room again.” He took Ink’s hand and brought them standing. “I hope you understand why I did this. You learn best from punishment. And you needed to learn not to disobey. Do you forgive me?”

Ink paused. Did he? He was starved,abandoned, and he triggered his worst trauma. Ink looked back up at Nightmare's face and his soft smile, and he knew immediately what to say.

“I . . . yeah. I forgive you!”

Nightmare beamed. “Excellent.” He led him out of the room.

Ink’s senses exploded at the change of scenery. He was aware of every loud plunk of water or blood, whatever it was. The smell of rot and death made him gag. The dungeon was a dark aquaish-green, but the color change was still too hard on his eye sockets. Not that he wasn’t happy being free, he just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

Nightmare noticed his problem. “Here, close your eyes. I’ll guide you. You can trust me."

The artist hesitated before a fuzzy surge of love filled his chest. He squeezed Nightmare’s hand, putting all his trust in him. He made a hum of contentment and led him out of the dungeon. His tendrils nudged him in the right direction whenever he was about to hit something.

Weird, it was like their fight didn’t happen. Nightmare was almost the same way he was in that first month. It didn’t even feel real. Like all that was a bad dream. And Ink would have believed it to be if he wasn’t so shaken up. But they were starting over, everything would be okay now.

Ink almost crashed into him when Nightmare stopped. “You can open your eyes now. We're at your room . . . my dear."

Ink peeked out one first and soon opened the other. His room was dark and quiet enough to not overstimulate him. He stepped inside and buried himself in his blankets. He missed his bed.

“Wait here and I’ll arrange that bath for you.” Nightmare pecked him on the cheek. The artist smiled, but then he looked around. Something was missing . . .

“Where’s my scarf?”

Nightmare’s expression changed to that sympathetic guilt again. “Ah, your scarf . . . it was disposed of. You won’t need it anymore. It was hideous anyways.”

“Oh.” The corners of his mouth turned down. Ink loved his scarf. He didn’t say it out loud, but it hurt losing it. And worse, Nightmare didn’t give him a heads-up. He wished he did.

“I’ll be back.” Nightmare left the room. Ink lay back on his bed. His eye lights wandered to nothing in particular, but something caught his attention. The parasol wasn’t in his room before. Huh?

He walked over to it and ran his hand down the black pole. Ignoring the superstition about never opening an umbrella indoors, Ink opened it. It was all white with a pink border. The middle had stitched roses, hearts, and bows. It was soft too.

Ink picked it up. It was lighter than he expected, even though it was as tall as he was. He practiced swinging it around. Despite the cutesy look, the top was freakishly sharp, and Ink had to be careful so he didn’t knock anything over. Or hurt himself. It was in a diamond shape and all the sides were sharp as a knife.

“I see you found your new weapon.”

Ink jumped and nearly hit Nightmare in the face. He laughed in the entryway, tracing his finger on the soft part under the point. “I couldn’t have you go weaponless now, could I? I was considering giving you a knife, but that was too cliche. This was much cuter and it will fit your new role, you'll enjoy this."

“Thanks!" Ink grinned. "Quick question, why is it pink? I'm not complaining, but I don't get why you gave me a pink parasol of all weapons?”

Nightmare kept touching the designs, looking Ink over. “Because that’s your favorite color. You love pastel colors. White, blue, and purple, but pink is your favorite. Don’t you remember?”

Ink’s fight or flight senses tingled. Something about his tone sounded unnerving, predatory almost. But despite that, he couldn’t stop himself from talking. “I don’t have a favorite color because I like them all. But if I had to choose, I’d pick brown because it’s all the colors mixed toge-”

Nightmare shook his head. “No. Are you going to argue with me further or are we going to clean you up?”

The artist held his mouth slightly open for a minute before laying the parasol down. He sighed. “Alright, you clean me up.”

Nightmare wrapped a tendril around Ink’s hand and pulled him over to him, tripping him. Ink looked up at him. Why did he look so excited? Why was he cute when he looked excited?

He took him down the hall without a single word. Ink tried to remember where this was. The hallways all blended together in his head. Eventually, he stopped at a large brown door, close to his bedroom. “I hope you like bubbles.”

Nightmare opened the door to the master bath. The room was a decent size with a cream-tiled floor and peanut-brown brick walls. The left side of the room held a fancy dark wood sink with a white counter. Something wrapped in brown paper and beige string sat at the edge of it. A circular bathtub was built on the floor and surrounded by brown curtains with yellow cords. A silver showerhead was on the wall, the kind where you can remove the handle. Bottles of soap and scrub brushes lined the corner of the barrier. Lavender bubbles and steam covered the top of the water.

Ink was immediately wracked with guilt. “Nightmare, it’s amazing, but . . . you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Pampering you is my choice. So what if you don’t deserve it? We’ll discuss how you will." Nightmare gestured to the bathtub. "Now, take those filthy clothes off and get in.”

Ink was a little uncomfortable, but he did as he asked and stripped down. Once he removed hisshirt, he noticed the weird look on Nightmare’s face. He was staring, fascinated by his swirling black tattoos. “Uhm, what?”

“You’ve never told me you hid so much beauty. I believed you only had those markings on your arms and legs. Where did you get them?”

Ink blushed with rainbow freckles, flustered. “Funny story. I was born with them, so I guessed it was a normal skeleton thing. I asked Blue if I could see his and he was so confused. Dream didn't know either. Error said it was code from when I was stuck in the void."

Nightmare nodded along and hummed, but he wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the box on the sink. "Interesting . . ."

Once Ink was undressed, he lowered himself into the bathtub. The burning water shocked his system; he squeaked. Nightmare laughed and pushed him the rest of the way in. He took the brush and showerhead and used the latter to rinse water over his skull. Hot! Hot! Hot!

“Relax, I’ll take care of you,” Nightmare said as Ink shifted around. His cold hands were the opposite of the water. He probably didn’t mean to make the water so hot. It was an accident. “You only need to move when I tell you to. Like now, raise your right arm.”

Ink did as he asked and Nightmare cleaned his cuts. He made the disinfecting slow and gentle, pouring water over them to flush out the wounds. It didn’t take long before black blood stained the tub. The artist winced whenever he would rest his fingers on one of them, or worse, they got soap in them. Thankfully, Nightmare would notice and move. He did the same thing washing out the other arm.

“So,” Nightmare started as he pumped soap into his hand. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about your . . . poor decision-making and how I could help you improve. Then it hit me. Your problem is arrogance and too much freedom. You believe your actions are consequence-free and you don’t care about anyone who isn’t yourself. And if something does go wrong, all you have to do is hop into another AU and forget about it. It would be unfortunate if you couldn’t rely on your protector, wouldn’t it?”

Tilting his skull so he could wash the dirt and blood off his neck, Ink’s face burned in shame. He already knew he was an asshole now and then, but hearing it in Nightmare’s smooth voice hurt. "Yeah, I guess that would suck. And I kinda let everyone down . . . what is this leading to?"

Chuckling, Nightmare rubbed the lavender-scented soap into his collarbones. “As I said two weeks ago, I'm going to lay down stricter rules. I have a plan set up for you to take etiquette lessons. You also have some paperwork to sign. You have a brand new role you need to fulfill for me, and I'll teach you how. Don’t worry, once you catch on, they’ll be easy. Your lessons will be alongside your battle training. Also, I will choose what you wear from now on. It’s quite the change, but you’ll get used to it.”

Ink swallowed. He wasn’t a fan of the idea, but he’d do it if it made Nightmare happy. He didn’t want to face his anger again. “What happens if I mess up and break the rules?”

“Simple. Depending on the severity, we would either talk about your mistake or I would punish you. I’d prefer not to physically harm you, I’d like to keep your appearance nice, but it could happen. So instead, you would either spend some time in the white room-”

“NO!” Ink twitched so hard that water splashed up on Nightmare. He smirked in amusement as he flicked the bubbles off his face. “Not again. Don’t leave me alone in there again. Please.”

��Shh.” Nightmare stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, leaving a trail of light purple suds. “Aw, you poor thing. If you don’t want punishment, then I assume you want to be compliant, don’t you?”

To be honest, Ink wasn’t sure what he wanted. He didn’t want to be on his own, that was for sure. But he didn’t like thinking about losing that much freedom either. He could’ve tried running away . . . but he wanted to stay with Nightmare. Even if he tried to run, Nightmare would track him down and throw him back into the white room. Ink wanted things to go back to the way they were. He tried to keep everything on his mind, but it came out as stammering nonsense.

Nightmare massaged soap into his ribs. Ink stopped worrying and relaxed; it felt so good. “I understand if you’re confused, it’s how anyone would feel. That’s how you. will earn and deserve rewards like this. You won’t even need to think, I will do all that for you. You just need to act cute and obedient.” He booped his nasal bone. Ink sneezed. “And it seems you almost have the first part mastered. All this won’t start for at least another week. I figured you need some time to prepare. and understand what you're getting into."

“Prepare? I . . . nevermind. I don’t want to know.” Ink had a sick feeling in his nonexistent stomach. The last time he felt this uncomfortable was when he got back from Flufftale. Even though he was nervous about the answer, he asked, “Hey, Night?”

“Hm?”

“How long was I in that room?”

Nightmare didn’t answer for a long time. “A while.”

They didn’t say anything for the rest of the bath. Nightmare was gentle and his scrubbing never hurt, even when he had to go rougher on some of the stickier muck. Ink started to doze off. Nightmare kissed his foreskull. What did he say before about second chances? Was this it? If so, maybe this new role would be alright, whatever it was.

Nightmare finished cleaning him. He helped him out and Ink took a towel to dry himself off with, tying it around his lower bones when he was done.

“Sit there with your arms held out.” Nightmare said, pointing to the bathtub rim with a tendril. Ink followed the order. “There we go. Now stay still so I can fix your arms."

His tendril reached on top of a cabinet and a roll of beige bandages. He traced his magic glowing fingers down his arms before binding them up. “I would use my malice again, but the bandages will look much cleaner with your outfit. Don’t scratch your bandages no matter how itchy they may become. It could loosen them or cause a worse infection. That includes when they’re off. No more harming yourself, promise Ink? I expect your body to be in the best possible condition.” He paused. “How come you’re staring at me like that?”

Nodding and half-listening, Ink’s mind argued with itself. He should’ve hated him. He was supposed to hate him. He was always told Nightmare was evil and sadistic and violent twenty-four-seven. And he was a victim of that violence. But he’s been so gentle, concerned, and caring. Even after he messed up, he was giving him another chance. He couldn’t- no, he wasn’t all bad. That fight had to be a one-time thing. Maybe Nightmare was confused about how to show love. They were both brand new at this. Or was he the confused one? Oh! He could help Nightmare learn to love!

“Ink?” Nightmare snapped his fingers and the artist jumped, snapping out of his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

“What?”

Nightmare sighed in exasperation. “I was saying I have your clothes in that box.” He nodded at the package on the counter. “You may get dressed behind that screen. And for future reference, I hate repeating myself, so don’t make me do it again. Listen to me next time.”

“Got it!” Ink said quickly. He didn't understand why Nightmare wouldn't let him undress behind there earlier. Oh well. Ink stood up and took the package off the sink. It was both heavier and lighter than he expected. He shook it up to his skull. Something rang in there. A bell? A jingle bell?

The artist slipped behind the changing screen with the box. The back wall was a giant mirror. He set the package on a small stool, untied the perfect bow, and ripped the paper off in a swift motion. Inside was a plain black box. Ink took off the lid and peered into it.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Ink pulled out the biggest thing first. It was a cutesy dress meant for a little girl. Pastel pink with white lace trim and sleeves that puffed at the top before tightening at the wrist. The skirt had a lot of ruffles, lace, and layers, switching between pink and white. A pink bow wrapped around the waist and held it all together. Ink held it against his body and guessed it was about knee length. Under that was a painful and confusing-looking corset and shiny black Mary Janes. The last things he pulled out were a pink and white beret and white knee-high stockings with- did Nightmare have a thing for lace?

Ink wasn’t sure what to think of the outfit. It seemed too cutesy and pastel to be something Nightmare would be into. Like . . . that was the opposite of what he was into. But Ink put it on because he didn’t want to look ungrateful. He didn't hate it either, he was extremely confused.

The corset took the longest to put on because he had no idea how to wear it.The dress was easier and more comfortable than he was expecting, it had a soft lining inside. Ink put the beret on as he fumbled with the shoes. He preferred going barefoot as he felt freer but supposed these were alright. A little tight at the toes at most. Besides that, the clothes were his exact size. He guessed Nightmare looked at the labels of his clothes because he didn't want to know otherwise. As Ink stood up, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His face went hot.

Sure, he looked adorable and charming, but he also didn't look or feel anything like a fighter. The corset hurt and constricted his ribs. Even though they weren’t too revealing, they were some of the most embarrassing clothes he ever wore. The black tattoos on his legs stood out, looking like a sore thumb against the pinks and whites. Would Nightmare be okay with it? Would he like it? Well if he picked it out, he has to. Ink stared deeper into the mirror, studying himself. He had so many quest-

“Oh, Inky?” Nightmare asked in a sing-song tone. “Is everything okay in there?”

The artist’s eye lights turned into a purple exclamation point and circle. “Yeah, I’m done!”

“Show me.”

Taking a deep breath, Ink’s shoes clacked across the tiled floor as he stepped from behind the screen. His self-consciousness eased as soon as Nightmare smiled at him. It was worth everything. Ink messed with his sleeves and bounced on his heels. "So, what do you think?"

Nightmare walked around the artist, taking in every part of him. One of his tendrils felt around his eye socket, then it traced down his cheek to his mouth. He cocked his head with a satisfied smile. “Beautiful, bow and skirts suit you much better than that old uniform. But there’s still one more thing you need.”

“One more thing? What's that?” Ink couldn’t think of what he meant. Then he felt stupid.

Gesturing toward the stool, Nightmare grabbed a container Ink hadn’t noticed before. It was the same pastel pink as the dress he wore. Ink couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. It was about the size of a clutch and looked like one too. It had glittering silver accents and a handle at the top, along with two latches. He cupped his chin with one hand and held a makeup brush in the other.

Nightmare clicked it open. “This is going to be yours soon, but for now, I need you to hold still.”

Ink glimpsed inside the container. Many cosmetics, makeup brushes, and other beauty supplies. Before he could ask for details, Nightmare tied his hands and legs together with his tendrils. He took a small book and opened it, looking between him and Ink. It was a how-to guide. Nightmare dipped the brush in a container of powder and covered his face. Ink scrunched his nasal bone. Nightmare tapped the side of his skull as a silent warning to stop. He switched the powder out and painted eyeshadow on his eye sockets. Ink couldn’t stop himself from sneezing and snickering. The latter because the brushes tickled.

“Nightmare, I- pew! I think I’m allergic to the makeup.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Nightmare said, looking back at the book. He traced something that felt like a pen on the edges of his eye sockets. Ink tried readjusting himself again and Nightmare slapped his hands. “Stop moving around, you're making this much harder than it has to be. I know you have it in you to be good. You're just not putting in enough effort. Yes, you may have not signed any contracts yet, but you don’t need one for basic politeness.”

Ink held back another sneeze. “I can’t sit still- wait, what was that about a contract?”

Nightmare didn’t answer. After a few more touch-ups, he finished. Ink’s face felt weird. The makeup wasn’t heavy, but it still tingled. He’s done face paint and eyeliner before, but nothing like this. He looked in the mirror. Whatever the powder was, it made his features look softer. His cheekbones were done up with rosy pink circles like a cartoon. The eyeshadow was light and glittery. The corners of his eye sockets were a very faint red.

Nightmare ran his hand down his skull before tilting his chin to look at him. He hummed. “Not perfect, but it will do. This is how you’re expected to do your makeup unless I say otherwise.”

Ink was double confused. "Alright . . ."

"I'm glad you understand." Nightmare offered his hand for Ink to take it. He did, pulling himself up. Nightmare looked him over again. "Does everything fit okay? Is anything too tight?"

Ink shook his head. “Good," Nightmare said, "because this dress will become your new uniform. The same way I wear my suit vest and the team wear their navy jackets.”

Ink glanced down and couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He laughed so hard his eye sockets teared up and he had to brace himself with the wall. “You’re joking, right? Me? Going out in battle and spreading negativity dressed like this? That’s ridiculous! Oh, this whole thing makes sense now! You want to pull a prank to confuse me because you’re still bitter over our fight! I could give you some tips on pran . . .” He finally noticed Nightmare’s flat expression. He didn’t have any humor in his eye light. Ink’s laughter died down. “You’re not kidding, are you.”

“I don’t kid, Ink. You know this.” Nightmare waved his fingers and Ink’s entire body tingled. It was a less extreme feeling than when he took control of his emotions in Birdtale. Wow, that felt like a year ago, even if it couldn’t have been more than two months. Nightmare hummed at his aura. “Does the change make you uncomfortable? Be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Ink rubbed his arm. He was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Well yeah. I’ve never worn any like this. Come on, it’s so embarrassing! You had your fun, now can I have my normal clothes back?”

Nightmare set his hands on his shoulders and massaged them. “I see you don't understand. I got rid of your old clothes. This is who you are now, Ink. I know it's going to be . . . difficult, but that's why I'm here. Now, smile for me."

Reluctantly, Ink did as he asked.

“See? It’s easy to listen and obey, and you’re doing such a good job.” Even though Ink didn’t want to admit it, the praise felt good. So did the shoulder rub. He rested his head on Nightmare’s chest, making one of the king's hands move up to pet his head instead. He was still touch-starved from the white room. It was almost worse than the years he spent in that void. He didn't know what touch was, now he did. He had something to crave and miss. “You’re going to love your new life, my little doll.” He pressed his nonexistent lips together to keep from snickering.

“Little doll? Weird name, but I kinda like it . . .” Ink mumbled to himself. Nightmare didn’t answer, but he could tell he heard it from his smile. Then the moment was ruined when a wave of dizziness took over Ink. "Night, can I have something to eat? I've had anything in like, a week."

Nightmare stopped petting him. "Hm, sure. I don't see why not. How does some pasta sound?"

Ink beamed again. Finally. He would get something that wasn't plain rice. He could never eat that stuff ever again. Or he would have to use food coloring.

Nightmare offered his hand to him and Ink took it. They walked into the hallway. Ink spun around as he walked so he could watch the skirt spin. But despite as fun as that was, he kept wincing and stopping in pain. Right, the corset. It was like he had a massive rubber band tightening around his ribs. What if he put the corset on incorrectly?

Nightmare heard his groans. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, this corset is killing me. Do I need to wear it all the time?” Ink tugged on it again.

His tendril absentmindedly stroked his waist. “No, not during battles or at night. Don’t even think about taking it off, you need it. If it hurts, that means you laced it tight enough. The pain won’t last forever; I doubt you will even notice it after a week. In time, it will improve your posture and make you look better.”

“Could I at least loosen it?”

“No.”

Ink didn’t bother arguing. Maybe when Nightmare wasn’t looking, he could take it off. How was he supposed to wear this thing every day without ruining his ribs?"

Nightmare walked into the kitchen and Ink still couldn't believe how massive it was. Sure, it was a castle, but still. The tiny white room made everything look giant in comparison. It was pitch black like the rest of the castle and the appliances were light gray. And the dining table was huge, almost as long as the room.

Nightmare told Ink to sit down while he made the pasta. Ink did. The chairs were the same dark wood as the table and engraved with swirled patterns and trees on the back.

Ink fiddled with his beret some more and made himself comfortable. It kept sliding over to cover his eye sockets. He took it off to see if it was adjustable. It wouldn't make sense if Nightmare got his clothes right but the beret was too big. Speaking of Nightmare, he kept stealing glances at him while he was cooking.

Ink smiled and cleared his throat. After a long time of thinking, he was going to ask the question that was itching the back of his mind. "Nightmare, why won’t-”

Nightmare shushed him without turning around. “I should've mentioned this before, my apologies. One of your new rules is you are to only speak when spoken to or with verbal consent. If you want to talk, say, ‘Permission to speak’. I will either grant or deny it.”

Ink sighed. “Fine. Permission to speak?”

“Permission granted.”

“Why won’t you let me leave the castle?”

Nightmare heaved a dramatic huff, stirring the sauce. “It’s for your protection. The Doodlesphere believes you to be a traitor. If they find out about our relationship, if they find you’re alive, it won’t end well. Few are brave enough to challenge me, but they would harm you. Think about it. You could protest and they wouldn’t care. After all, the evidence is obvious. You are in a relationship with me, you haven't shown your face in months, and you are part of my cause. I chose the white room punishment as a warning. That’s where they will leave you, in the same white void you were trapped in. I wouldn’t be able to rescue you.”

Everyone thought he was a traitor? Ink didn’t know that. “But . . . I’m the Protector of the Doodlesphere and a member of the Star Sanses! Everyone loves me! Well, most people love me. Why would you think anyone would change their mind?”

“One, you were. And two, it’s because it already happened once, to Dust. He went on a solo mission to a Fellswap timeline. He’s capable of protecting himself, so I wasn’t worried after he was gone for two days. But those days turned into four with no sign of him. Then it turned into a week. I started a search mission with Horror, Killer, and at the time, Cross. After hours of tracking, I found his scarf hanging on a branch. His footsteps were half-buried in snow and I felt a strong force of negativity. Pain, fear, distress, I knew he was close. It led me to a rundown shack in the mountains. There was a gang of monsters . . . torturing him. Dust was crying. His hoodie was missing. I killed all of them on the spot. Slowly.”

His voice turned sadder. “He was a mess. Broken ribs, bruises all over, fever, damaged legs, but the worst damage was to his mind. I haven’t seen him so trapped in his hallucinations since I first hired him. He couldn’t hear me, but he was calling for his late brother and his team. Horror, Killer, Cross, and I were up all night and into the morning working to return him to reality. Once his injuries healed and he could function again, he refused to talk about it. To this day, no one knows the extent of what they did, but I know the motivation. They were tormenting him because he was one of mine.”

“Dust is a henchman, but he’s also like a son to me. They all are. Don’t tell them I said that. Meanwhile, you are my light, my little doll. You would be worth so much more if you were captured. The outside world is too dangerous for you to be on your own. I would never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” He took Ink’s hand and held it against his chest. “Ink, promise you’ll allow me to protect you, no more running away, no more misbehavior. Promise you’ll allow me to make you your strongest self so I’ll never need to worry about your safety.”

If he didn’t feel bad enough, the story made Ink regret every choice he made in Flufftale. It probably wasn’t easy for him to open up like that. Nightmare knew what was best for him. He was smarter and more experienced than Ink. He should stop trying to argue and let him take over-

What? No! What the hell was he thinking? He was a guardian and fighter, not a helpless maiden! Even if he was dressed like one! He watched Nightmare set the plate of finished pasta in front of him. His nonexistent soul ached and his paints swarmed, but Ink reached out and took his hand. “I promise, Nightmare. I’ll let you protect me.”

Nightmare stopped and turned to Ink with a smug smile. He hugged the artist from behind, kissing him where his ear would be. He chuckled. “We’re going to fix you, Ink. I'm going to make you perfect. I swear it.”

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odysseywritings · 1 year

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What element writer are you

Tagged by @druidx thank you!

I got Earth Writer

I had Smoke before but I think both help describe me. I like things that feel lasting, hit a chord, make you think, even if it's light.

Tagging: @avrablake @ayzrules @blind-the-winds @emelkae @howdywrites @perringwrites @pluttskutt

#quiz

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wrathfulmercy · 2 months

Text

Drabble for @mettleborn

“You like him.”

“What?” In the moment of his response the needle scratched along her skin, luckily only hitting the spot that was already darkened out. But damn, did he really just missed a line because of such a ridiculous assumption? “Excuse me?” No that wasn’t an apology for the nearly fucked up tattoo he was working on, it should express his absolute outrage about her conclusion which was far away from the truth, wasn’t it? Of course it was, this was simply ridiculous and made Rick laugh to himself while wiping off the ink on her skin before filling his needles again. “You’re a bullshit talker. No surprise you have no fucking friends Jess.”

Now the girl was fucking pissed and pulled her arm away so he couldn’t continue with his work. “What?” Rick asked and met the worst kind of look he had ever seen from her. Rick knew Jessie since years now. She came into his tattoo shop regularly and it was a fact that she went through horrible stuff during her life to get here, numbing the mental pain with physical one right under the hands of the man she sometimes even liked to fuck when they both were horny and - surprise surprise - lonely. But that she was already able to interpret his smile, that was new. And maybe it scared him.

“No you stop right there Rick. I’m not the bullshit talker here. I just hit your little weak spot mister “I have so many secrets and never talk about myself” but surprise one time you do and did right now, it’s more than clear that it actually has to mean something to you. And the friends comment? Not cool. So fucking not cool cause look at yourself mister lonely, who else are you talking to if you reveal your secrets to a client? Exactly. No one.” Yeah he knew why he got into her pants before. She had a certain fire and didn’t hold back to speak the truth. And she also respected his silence. His secrets. They only ever met each other here in this room and then didn’t talk for months. How could he even answer her stupid question about having someone? Why did he say “I met someone.” How stupid must he be?

“Okay okay, sorry Jess. I apologize. It’s just… you’re wrong. I could fuck you right here after our session like we used to and it wouldn’t change a single thing.” It would cause it would at least feel wrong and he would only miss Sam’s skin again, but what else should he say if he wanted to protect him?

“Oh would it not?” No he couldn’t bullshit her. Yes, after becoming an assassin Rick did become more sexually open to cure his loneliness and guilt, but once in love he would easily fall back to being the most loyal boy the world had ever seen. In defeat he sighed and filled his needles again just to have it spray the ink everywhere since it was too much color now by filling it twice.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Rick cursed to himself and took a nearby paper towel to get his face cleaned from it.

“So tell me about her. You never messed up your ink before. Or… other things.” Yeah great humor Jessie. Great humor.

It made Rick only roll his eyes while focusing on cleaning his needles to start over with this. “It’s a him.”

“Oh.” Suddenly silence as if she was disappointed, but then it changed into an excited “oh” with raised brows and widened eyes. “So you do really like him.” And again she hit the right spot. Rick used to sleep around with women when missions and thoughts became too dark. Nights too cold. Food to boring. But what he never did was bringing a man home, no. Jessie knew she was just one of many flings to distract him but now with a man in the picture, that was probably over wasn’t it? “Is he the reason your last performance wasn’t… exactly great there?” Oh god he hated her sometimes and yes, maybe he just changed his mind about liking her straightforwardness. “Will we ever see him?”

Rick immediately said no as if his life depended on it as the door to his little office was suddenly knocked on. “Rick? Listen there’s a client that has an appointment with you next. Do you want me to let him wait here or can he come in?”

“I’m done here any minute Steve, you can send him in if you like.” He just had to finish that damn line on Jessie’s arm finally.

“So I guess I’m not the last client for today.” She said in her playful teasing tone he knew by now how to take.

“No. Not today, Jess thank you.”

“Okay, call me when you’re in town again.” She said with a wink and jumped from the bench to approach the door that was already opening. Jessie excused herself to ran into the man and sent Rick another look he didn’t realize since he was cleaning his needles but as he murmured “come in, sit there on the couch till I cleaned up here. I’m right with you.” he lifted his chin just for a moment to send his client a smile and couldn’t believe how big the lump in his throat suddenly became. “Fuck me. What are you doing here?”

#Rick x Sam #v: assassin #listen I know this might be a little trashy but I had it in mind and wanted to write it before I forget 👀#if you don’t like it forget about it haha

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bluewren · 6 months

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What element writer are you?

Thanks for the tag @theluckywizard

This was definitely a fun quiz. 🥰Super fluffy, but I love self celebratory it is. And I love the answer it gave me.

Earth Writer

tagging:

@ladyofc | @ficbrish | @cleverblackcat | @musetta3 | @perlen-gold

#about wren

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charliedawn · 2 years

Note

I saw someone request an albino head nurse with purple eyes but what about an Melanism head nurse with red eyes?

You met Arthur on Murray's show. You were both guests and you were the first one introduced.

"Well..Someone forgot their contacts this morning !"

It was the first thing Murray said to you and your smile faltered as the crowd irrupted in laughter.

"I..It's a condition."

You tried to explain, but Murray didn't seem interested.

"I'm sure it is. What ? God ran out of any other color, so he just gave you whatever was left ?"

Another fit of laughter from the crowd as you felt a lump in your throat.

This wasn't right. It wasn't funny..

"Wait..I thought this was supposed to help me."

Murray ignored you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I'm no doctor, sweetheart. I can't fix your eye pigmentation problem. If I could ? I would be the one sitting in your chair !"

You couldn't handle their staring in the street..but, the crowd's merciless laughter was far worse.

You were on the verge of crying..You just wanted people to stop staring at you, even less laughing while doing it.

You didn't think Murray would be so mean.

You tried to cover your eyes by hiding them behind your hair, but the laughing didn't stop and you felt an even bigger freak than before..

However, Arthur then emerged from behind the red curtains and all eyes were now on him as he sat down next to you and very calmly asked.

"Did you ever learn to shut up, Murray ?"

The crowd suddenly fell silence and you dared take a curious look at the stranger who had just insulted Murray.

However, you were surprised when you found the stranger staring right at you, his unwavering gaze making you flush at the attention.

"I find her/his eyes beautiful..They are like shinning rubies and if this is what it looks like when your god runs out of ink ? Then he must be blind.."

Murray glared at Arthur, but Arthur only laughed before throwing a circular glance at the crowd who had fallen unusually quiet.

"What ? You don't like that ? It's funny !"

There was a wave of booing and then, Arthur started talking with Murray until he confessed of murdering the men in the sub.

"If it was that poor girl/man next to me or myself lying down on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over us !"

Your eyes widened as he raised his voice and you couldn't help but find inspiration in his words.

You had completely forgotten about the reason of your presence on the show and found yourself entranced by who Murray had introduced as The Joker.

He had vivid green hair, a very distinctive smile and didn't mind being different.

He was embracing it.

However, you were abruptly woken up from your thoughts when he shot Murray in the head.

You knew you should be screaming, horrified and panicking like all the other people in the room, but for some reason ?

You didn't care..

"And for my great finale !"

Arthur turned towards you and grabbed the sides of your head to pull you towards him and kiss you deeply on the mouth.

You were surprised, but didn't push him away.

He was the one who broke the kiss and gave you a sad smile before whispering.

"You're beautiful sweetie, don't let anyone else tell you any different."

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest and you didn't trust your own words, so you only nodded.

You then heard the door being forced open by the police and Arthur laughed again before running away, the police rushing past you and after him.

However, you couldn't stop smiling as one single fact was on your mind..

He called you beautiful.

The Penny Brothers :

They both met you when you were little and woke up 27 years later to find out that you were now a nurse at St Louis.

Penny is a shapeshifter and liked the color of your eyes, so he decided to copy them and use them to make you afraid.

However, he didn't plan on you, suddenly finding the color incredibly fascinating.

When he stared at you from the shadows, you stared right back at him.

You even took a couple of steps forward to get a closer look.

"I had never seen someone like me before.."

He was so stunned that he didn't think about retreating and quietly stared at you when you reached out to put your hand on his cheek and bring him to the light.

He could have taken a bite here and there, but for some reason, he didn't and let himself be lead by a 7/8 year-old.

When he was blinded by the light, he seemed to remember who he was and opened his mouth wide to gulp you down, but you opened your mouth wide in awe.

"WOW ! You've got amazing teeth !"

He frowned a little in confusion as you seemed extremely calm and polite for a kid about to be eaten.

"And hair..And forehead..And eyes..You look amazing !"

He didn't understand why you would compliment him so much, until he realized by searching in your memories that you had never received one..You were trying to befriend him in the hopes he would do the same.

But, it didn’t seem like you were fishing for compliments, you genuinely wished to befriend him.

You wanted him to not feel like an outsider by complimenting him, which was pretty funny considering that he really was.

But, he decided to play along and grinned widely at the compliments before retreating and sat down on his forelegs like a cat, tilting his head curiously at you.

"Thank you. You've got nice eyes too.."

You grinned widely back and he knew he should take the opportunity to shatter you, break your hopes and call you all the names you had been insulted with over the years..

But, he didn't.

He only giggled before digging into your head to search for a name..

It didn’t take him long as he whispered.

"Patrick ?"

Your eyes widened as you recognised the name of your most relentless bully that you had gone in the sewers for in order for him not to hurt you and couldn’t help but shake as you asked.

"W..What are you going to do ?"

He only chuckled before lightly pushing you towards the exit.

"Don’t worry, little Y/N..He won’t bother you again. Promise."

You were unsure of what he was going to do, but didn’t want your parents to worry, so you waved him goodbye and ran towards the exit.

"Goodbye, Mr Clown ! Thank you for the help !"

You didn’t see how claws started growing out of his hands and tearing the fabric of his gloves as he waved at you.

"…You’re very welcome, Y/N."

He then heard Patrick calling you in the sewers and blinked, his eyes now a bright yellow and followed the scent of his next meal..

A few years later :

"Y/N !"

He called you happily when he saw you fill out some paperwork and you froze, not having heard that voice in years.

You then slowly turned towards him and even let your pen fall to the floor in shock as your red eyes met his.

"P..Penny ?"

He nodded his head vividly before extanding a hand towards you through the bars of his cell.

"HEYA !"

You stared at his hand before finally taking it and he shook it up and down excitedly.

"I’ve missed you ! Why didn’t you come back to visit ?!"

You lowered your gaze before asking, already knowing the answer, but still wanting to hear it from him.

"You killed Patrick..Didn’t you ?"

He frowned and shrugged.

"He was being mean to you !"

"And the others ?! Were they mean too ?!"

He preferred when those red eyes were staring at him in awe more than when they were glaring at him like now.

"You want to know something, Y/N ?"

You stopped dead in your tracks to look back at him and he giggled before staring right at you.

"Your eyes are the only reason I didn’t kill you back then.."

Your eyes widened slightly at his confession before you shrugged and replied.

"Maybe..But, they are also the reason you are in this cell of yours."

He frowned in incomprehension until you gave him a small smirk.

"What ? How do you think they found you ? Poor Penny..You should have killed me when you had the chance."

He growled and tried to grab you, but you knew he couldn't get out of his cage and only walked away.

"See you later, Penny.."

Pennywise was called by your tears as you were crying next to the sewers and he heard you.

He immediately thought you would be a good meal and approached you, but when he called your name, he was left speechless when your red eyes gazed down at him.

It was the first time he had seen a human such as you..

But then, you only cried harder and covered your eyes.

"Don't look at me ! I'm ugly !"

He didn't say anything. He knew he should probably take it as an opportunity to use your fear against you, but he found himself doing the exact opposite.

He gut out of the sewers and sat down next to you before honking his nose to make you look up at him.

When you did, he gave you one of his rare genuine smiles and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't find you ugly..What make you think that ?"

You sniffled before confessing.

"Some of the kids at my school said it.."

He rolled his eyes before waving his hand dismissively.

"Bah ! It just means they have no taste.."

However, when he turned towards you again, you didn't seem convinced and he sighed before crouching down in front of you.

He then waited until your eyes were back on him before booping your nose.

"Listen to me well, little girl/boy. Let them fear you..Fear makes you grow. It makes you stronger. And, one day, they'll regret ever setting eyes on you.."

Your eyes widened at his words before you nodded in agreement and he smiled before looking in the direction of your house.

"But, you have to run back home now. You parents will be worried and I'm pretty sure they would miss your red eyes. Besides, something tells me you'll grow up to be so beautiful, you'll put all of those who mocked you to shame..So, don't worry, okay kiddo ?"

You wiped your tears before shooting his a big bright smile.

"Thank you, Mr Clown !"

He chuckled but was surprised when you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"When I grow up, I'll find you again !"

His smile faltered as he knew it was probably the last time you would see each other, but he still ruffled your hair affectionately and nodded.

"You do that, kiddo..You do that.."

You then ran back home and Pennywise's eyes stayed on you until you were back inside.

He then shook his head and huffed a laugh before getting back down in his sewers.

"Weird kid.."

A few years later :

When he saw you again, Pennywise immediately recognized you and smiled knowingly.

"Well well well..Who do we have here ?"

You eyes widened in surprise when you realized who he was and almost dropped your notebook in the process.

He then noticed that you still had your ruby-red eyes and took a couple of steps backwards so you may enter his cage.

"Look who managed to find me ? You actually pulled it off..Consider me impressed."

You gulped and even though you remembered who he was, you didn't think you would ever see him again.

He was exactly the same than 27 years ago and for some reason, he even still smelled like gingerbread and peanut butter..

He tilted his head when you entered the cage and then, he smelled it..

It was feeding time.

You had a living sheep behind you and his eyes immediately reddened as hunger took over his senses and when you let go of the leash, Pennywise couldn't restrain himself and didn't wait before lunging forward to rip off the sheep's head.

He could feel your disgust and rage as he ate..but, he was too preoccupied to care.

When he was finished, there was nothing left of the sheep and blood was dripping down his chin.

He then looked at you and your merciless red eyes staring at him with a grimace of disgust.

"I refused to believe it..I just didn't want to think it was true..that my only childhood friend, the only one who had ever believed my red eyes to be beautiful was in fact a monster.."

Pennywise winced as he could feel the disappointment in you and it tasted bitter..He couldn't be ashamed by his actions, but your disappointment was enough for him to lower his head and spoil his lunch..

"Now, I understand why you let me live all those years ago. You saw me as one of you. You saw me as a monster and this is the reason I am still breathing."

However, you didn't count on his reaction as he burst out laughing.

"Don't flatter yourself. You are nothing like me. And the reason I couldn't kill you that day was not because I saw my monster in you, but because I saw my old self..The one who still had mercy and felt like he didn't belong. But, don't worry. I don't anymore.."

You arched a quizzical eyebrow at him, but didn't insist before shrugging and leaving his cage.

But, on your way out, you stopped and turned towards him to admit.

"Just so you know, you were right.."

He tilted his head to the side quizzically before asking.

"About ?"

"I made all those kids regret ever setting eyes on me.."

You replied with a small devilish smirk and even though Pennywise couldn't see his human-self in you anymore, he could see that there was an evolution in you. An evolution he was more than familiar with as he replied with a small smirk of his own.

"I told you..Fear makes you grow..Welcome to the grown-up world, Y/N."

Norman raised you and from the moment he saw you, he knew you were meant for great things.

He never once thought your red eyes to be a problem or a curse, it was a blessing.

He liked the color of your eyes, as much as he liked the color of blood.

However, he knew others didn't and you noticed too after a while.

The staring was always there and no matter how much you tried to fit in, people always made it clear that you would never be enough..

It was starting to become even worse than before, since not only did you notice their stares, but heard their low whispers too..

You knew what they called you when you had your back turned.

Witch, Ghost, Baba Yaga, Freak, Monster, Abomination..It hurt.

It led you to finally ask Norman.

"Dad ?"

"Hmm ?"

He turned towards you and immediately noticed how you seemed so hesitant when you finally asked.

"Can I...have laser surgery ? For my eyes ?"

His own eyes widened at the question and he awkwardly laughed, searching your expression for anything that would betray you were joking.

"You are kidding, right ?"

However, when you didn't answer, he frowned and stepped forward to grip your chin and gently tilted your head up do he may gaze down at your red eyes with a smile.

"There is nothing wrong with them, my dear. You are perfect."

You held your breath at his compliment, but before you could reply, he suddenly pulled you against his chest and covered your head with his dressing gown.

"What are you doing ?!"

You asked, but your voice was muffled and Norman laughed while smothering you.

"Here ! Problem solved ! Now, nobody can see your gorgeous eyes. They're all mine to admire and love !"

"I can't breathe ! Let me go !"

You complained, but Norman only shook his head and rocked you side to side until you were laughing too.

"Nope. Too late ! I'm not letting anyone see your eyes until you promise me you will never take your eyes away from my life !"

He waited until you promised before letting you go.

He was then reassured and thought that would be the end of it.

But, it wasn't.

A few days later :

He was anxiously staring at the clock..You were supposed to be home at 9 sharp..It was 9:30..

He was about to stand up and go look for you when the doorbell rang.

He ran to the door and opened it, expecting you to be standing there with a bright smile..only to be greeted with a very horrifying sight.

"Y/N !"

When he saw you lying on the floor, barely breathing and covered in bruises, whimpering his name..Norman couldn't believe his eyes and immediately cradled your body in his arm to carry you inside.

He then made himself a promise.

He would protect you. Always. He wouldn't let anything like this happen to you ever again.

He found the people who did this to you the next day and slaughtered them all.

It was the last time he would ever let anyone hurt you..

Freddy was getting himself drunk in his garden, staring up at the sky and laid down among his flowers when he heard someone approach.

He wasn't going to make his presence known until he heard a woman crying and closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for having chosen that spot..

He didn't know how to handle people crying, especially women..

However, he had promised himself to be more helpful and mentally encouraged himself to get up and act like a good person for once.

He groaned loudly when he tried to sit up straight and found out that alcool didn't seem to make his headache go away..

It hit him full force when he tried to get up on shaky legs and he almost collapsed forward, but still took another gulp of his half-finished bottle of whiskey..

Yup. He really wasn't in the right state to give comfort to anyone, but he wasn't going to change his mind now.

He walked one step at a time, falling more than once before finally finding the source of the crying.

However, he was surprised when he found you sobbing there. You, the head nurse with the mind of steel who never seemed bothered by anything..

He looked at his bottle and wondered if it was making him see things ?

But then, a branch snapped under his shoe and it made you look up, your big red eyes staring at him and your wet cheeks reflecting the dim light of the street lamp next to you.

He then looked behind him, wondering if it would be better to just walk back and pretend he didn't see you.

He was drunk enough and was actually considering the idea when you sniffled and called his name.

"Freddy ?"

Shit.

He snapped his head back at you, you voice so hoarse and broken from your tears that it almost didn't sound like yours at all.

He then drunkenly answered.

"P...Present !"

That made you laugh as you patted the place next to you and Freddy indulged, partly because you were crying and he didn't want to seem like a complete asshole by leaving you, also because he was too drunk to even see the exit..

"So..What are the big fat tears for, huh ?"

It took a moment for you to answer, but finally confessed.

"One of the patients..called me a witch today. He said that my red eyes were a curse and that I'd better just gouge them out.."

Freddy's eyes widened and he then felt very sober as he seethed through gritted teeth.

"Who the fuck said that ?! I'll gouge their eyes out myself !"

He then attempted to sit up, but failed spectacularly as he fell face first to the ground.

He then tried to get up again on his own, but you helped him back into a sitting position beside you, his bottle now shattered on the floor and its precious content lost to the plants..

"Well..I'm sure your flowers will appreciate the gesture.."

He huffed a laugh at your joke before slowly closing his eyes, but in a minute of lucidity, he sat up straight to look at you in the eyes and gently stroked your cheek.

He then mumbled half-absent-mindedly.

"One day..They'll see what I see. You're funny, you're smart, you're tough and frankly ? You rock. Your red eyes just add some spice into the whole mix of rockiness in you. There is nothing wrong about you, sweetheart. Nothing at all.."

You were surprised by Freddy's many compliments and smiled at him.

"Thank you, Freddy.."

He smiled back, but then passed out and two minutes later, Freddy was snoring softly.

You sighed before covering the both of you with a blanket you had brought and taking off Freddy's hat to look at his burned face.

"...There's nothing wrong about you either, Freddy."

You whispered to his sleeping form and Freddy stirred in his sleep, but you knew he couldn't hear you..

You smiled and a few minutes later, you were asleep too..

Michael first met you when you were children.

You had both grown quite fond of each other, but there was a dark side to your relationship.

You had both been a part of the cult who had created Myers and which thought you were both two of the "chosen ones".

In some way, you experienced the same thing than him and even though you had no Myers in you, you had been worshipped and prepared to become a sort of god, the same as him..

They had both reunited you so you may become Myers' wife and help him cause destruction and death all around you.

Michael had no choice but to accept.

However, you ?

You had decided to fight against it..

Your red eyes being the main reason for your "choosing", you had attempted multiple times to gouge out your own eyes, but the members of the sect had stopped you every time.

However, the night Myers was born and the marriage had been made official, you had succeeded in stealing a knife from the kitchen to stab yourself with it.

However, Michael had been there to stop you at the time and tell you that he didn't want you to go.

Fortunately, you both escaped from the cult soon after and you discovered the existence of contact lenses.

You then decided to stay and help him to fight whoever or whatever was in your husband.

Myers was strong and his sole purpose being killing whoever Michael loves, you knew he would try to get rid of you.

However, you were surprised to find out one day that the night Myers had been created, a blood bond had been made in order for Myers to recognize you as his wife as much as Michael's.

So, the first few months spent together, he hadn't been so destructive or terrible as you had thought he would be.

He was even sweet...Sometimes.

Michael did warn you not to trust him, but even though, Myers was still a part of your husband.

One day, as you were about to wear your lenses, Myers appeared behind you and grabbed your hand to stop you.

He then spinned you around to look you straight in the eyes and even though a part of you was telling you to run, you couldn't help but freeze as his expression almost seemed sad.

He then gently rubbed the side of your face with his thumb and then explained.

"You..don't..have to..hide..from me."

Each syllable seemed so difficult to him, you knew it was important for him to see you.

So, you decided not to wear your contacts anymore around him.

Michael knew of your struggles about your appearance and the first time he saw you without them, he was surprised.

But, he finally smiled and kissed you eyelids affectionately.

Even though Myers had used his words to tell you he loved you the way you were, Michael didn't need them.

He was the first one to love you and would always..No matter the color of your eyes or of your skin.

From that moment onward, you never wore contact lenses again and embraced your red eyes as a part of you, as Michael would soon learn to do the same with Michael..

#arthur fleck x reader #fandoms #imagine #fanfic #pennywise 1990 #pennywise 2017 #pennywise x reader #pennywise 1990 x y/n x pennywise 2017 #michael myers x reader #slashers #freddy krueger x reader #norman bates x reader

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