#so there is a possibility that fics already exist out there that falls under one of these AUs
Note
that scream blurb that you posting about Ghostface being unconscious and the reader testing to see if he’s hard…. you have to make the full fic now pleaseee omg it was so good
Every inch
1.4k / m!ghostface x f!reader / from blurb.
SEQUEL: EVERY INCH 2 🔪 THREEQUEL: 3
Slasher master list
Warnings/notes: I8+ noncon (ghostface unconscious) somnophilia. Based on the car scene from Scream II, but it's modern day (cell phones exist). You can HC this as anyone but he's night walks coded if you read my other stuff.
Your skirt grazes his robe as you carefully stretch your right leg over the driver’s seat, trying not to touch him, trying not to wake him up. It’s tricky crawling over Ghostface to get out of the car. He smells faintly of weed and sweat. You’ve never been close enough to smell him before. You’ve never been close to him at all for more than a few seconds, always with his knife in hand. You hear him breathing behind the mask and assume he’s knocked out from the impact of the crash, but can't know for sure.
He could be pretending for his own amusement, planning to taunt you then stab you at any moment. You’re going to have to open that car door sooner or later - it’s the only one left you haven’t tried. It'll definitely make a noise. You hover there straddling him, delaying the inevitable. Straddling Ghostface, you think to yourself. Is this a nightmare?
You slowly lower yourself into his lap, throbbing at the possibilities of what might await you. Your heart pounds in your chest. You put your hands on the edge of the seat to pull your body closer and your heart nearly stops as your inner thigh softly nudges his hand. But he doesn’t wake up – or if he does, he doesn’t show it. Emboldened, you lower yourself a little more until your damp panties arrive at a warm bulge in his robe and your breath hitches. He’s only somewhat hard, but obviously packing. He still doesn’t move. His chest is rising and falling with his breaths. You know he’s alive. Unable to resist, you lower yourself a little more. You tilt your hips and gently grind yourself against his package.
What if the nightmare became a wet dream? It’s always turned you on, at least a little, but especially lately. It’s been harder and harder to separate arousal from fear. You’ve wondered if it was a sexual thing for him, the way he pursues you. Stabbing is penetrative after all. Does the thought of killing you turn him on? Would it turn him on to wake up to you straddling him? After all, he’s only a man. Why not, you think. This could be your best chance to find out. This might be the most power you’ll ever have in the situation. You’re turned on thinking about it. If you’re mere seconds from potential death, you have nothing to lose. Plus you're curious what's under all this, and it's too risky to lift up his mask.
Fuck it feels good, and the fact that it’s Ghostface, the one who’s been stalking you, killing your friends, trying to kill you - that gives you such a rush. The tables have turned. You’re on top of him now. You look around for his knife and it’s landed on the floorboard along with his voice changer. You reach down to grab it then quickly stab it into the back of the driver’s seat at an angle so you can grab it if you need to but he won’t know where it is. Then you return your crotch to his and a bolt of arousal slices through you when his hard package swells against you. Holy shit he's hung. You slowly roll your hips against him, grinding into him, trying not to be too aggressive, but it’s hard to control yourself.
-
His breathing changes and your heart jumps to your throat. You wonder, Is Ghostface seduceable? It might be your best shot if you're already getting his dick wet when he wakes up. But there's always the chance he reacts violently, and now that you're up against him, it's clear you'd be no match for his strength.
Then you have a thought. You carefully lift his gloved hand, and he doesn’t react. You lift the dead weight of his heavy arm all the way above his mask, and he still just sits there, breathing. You pin both his hands above his head, between the metal pegs of the headrest. His hands are large and the two of them together barely fit through the gap. Then you slam down the headrest, pinning him there by his wrists.
His mask moves. He seems to look at you. Then a soft, low sigh. You lower your crotch again and he’s harder. You rub yourself against him slowly with your hands braced on the seat and have to stifle a moan in the shoulder of your dress as you grind against him and his cock swells even harder. A soft groan muffled by his mask makes you wetter.
You’re going to have to have him. This is your chance and you can’t resist it. Your inner thigh muscles begin to fatigue as you push yourself off his lap to hover again. You lift up his robe, exposing PJ pants. Strange and not at all imposing, but convenient. You arrange the robe behind his raging erection, then take a deep breath and pull down his waistband. His stiff member stands at attention. You cover it with your warmth before the cool air wakes him up. A stab of desire shoots through your core as your wet panties meet his hard cock. You rub yourself against him and your clit throbs. Your core aches to be filled.
You pull your panties to the side and nestle the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. Then you sink down and fail to suppress your gasp at the stretch. He moans but doesn’t move. Your body makes way for him as you slide down and sheathe him entirely with your cunt. His cock is nice and thick, it makes you feel so full. It’s crazy this cock has been under the robe the entire time. You wonder if you could just fuck from now on. If he’d agree not to kill you - that is, if the threat of it doesn't turn him on.
You rise up, then sink down on him again, his size making you grateful for your ample wetness. You lift and lower yourself and roll your hips into him. You try not to breathe too heavily as you feel it building in your lower belly. You start to ride him less restrained, unable to resist fucking yourself on his nice, hard cock.
-
His mask begins to move as though confused, and he grunts as he tugs at his arms, unable to free them from the headrest. He’s groggy and weak. You’re not going to stop. You're too close to coming. You greedily keep filling yourself to the brim with him.
His mask looks right at you. “Always wanted this cock,” ghostface says weakly, making your heart race. “Knew it.” Then it echoes from the voice changer on the floorboard. Always wanted this cock. Knew it. He tugs at his hands more violently, then gives up.
“Nasty girl,” he says, voice getting stronger. Nasty Girl.
He thrusts his hips up powerfully and you moan uninhibited. He thrashes his arms and stabs upward with his cock, bouncing you on his lap with the power of his hips. Your whole body tingles and tenses, then you bite your own arm as your walls clamp down around him. You come on his dick, then pull yourself off and he groans in frustration but has no way of getting you back.
You open the car door and you’re torn about whether to make him come or leave him with blue balls. You decide to jerk him off as a power move. You kneel into the open door frame of the car. You wrap your hand around his girth and fuck his fist. “All ya had to do was ask,” he says. All you had to do was ask. You grab the voice changer and throw it down the street. Now he's nothing but a man with his dick in your hand.
“Woulda given you every inch," he says. Maybe every inch of his blade. He nods down to his crotch. "Now you know." His voice is coming back to full strength, smooth and low. It's a voice you can't quite place.
You know you should stab him while you have him tied down, but you're thinking with the wrong head now, unable to bear the thought of this cock going to waste. You slow your hand way down and edge him mercilessly. His big, stiff cock twitches in your hand and you can tell he's dying for more.
You take your phone out of your bra and take a short video of him trying not to whimper, dick sprouting out of his unimposing pajama pants. Then you finish him off and take a dick pic selfie with cum all over his robe. You take the knife out of the back of the seat and leave him stuck in the car.
-
Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Even if you're reading this way later I would love to know your thoughts in a comment! Knowing what you liked helps me write more. 🖤🖤
Thanks @darkscape for helping me brainstorm his tagline.
#ghostface x reader#ghostface smut#ghostface x you#slasher smut#slasher fanfiction#cw noncon#tw noncon#cw somnophilia#night walks#ghostface#slasher fucker#billy loomis x reader#ethan landry x reader#toxicanonymity ☠️#mickey altieri#dark fic#ghostface ☠️
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Flash Bang
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Summary: How to win an argument with Bucky Barnes? Flash your tits, of course.
Words: 1.2k
A/N: Just an idea that amused me enough to end up on my fic inspiration list. I wrote it as part of my Suncatcher set (a series on AO3 but here on Tumblr the fics are not grouped together). Reader is empowered and part of the Avengers. All fics in this set are set after CA:CW and I completely ignore the existence of Infinity War and End Game.
Warnings: Smut, some angst, arguing, moody Bucky
***18+ content - minors do not read or interact***
Bucky is raging. You can tell by his deep scowl, irritated nasal sighs, and the repeated twitch of the muscles in his cheeks as he grits his teeth repeatedly, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He won’t even look at you when you try to talk to him – he listens but doesn’t respond. Even dazzling him with your beautiful light refractions hasn’t worked.
It’s stupid, you think, the argument you had yesterday that saw him sleeping (or not, possibly) on the sofa, and followed you both into today. You haven’t even gone on the mission yet and he’s already acting like a petulant child. It’s funny, in a way. You’re usually the one who flips your shit, and Bucky is the one who calms you down. He’s the big chill to your little chaos, except where your safety is concerned.
“Can we talk about this? Please?” You stand next to him while he impatiently waits for the coffee to finish pouring from the machine. You can tell he feels trapped, torn between the coffee he wants and avoiding a discussion with you. “Bucky?”
He huffs out another nasal sigh. He heard you but is still not prepared to interact.
“Ok, I’ll just talk.” You say, jumping up to sit on the counter next to the coffee machine.
Bucky drums his fingers on the counter in yet another display of frustration.
“I’m an Avenger, same as you.” You have said this to him about twenty times since yesterday but you say it again because it’s the truth. “I get drafted for missions, same as you. I go on missions with you, I go on missions without you. This mission is just another mission without you.” You reach for him, attempting to lay your hand on his shoulder but he flexes away, making it clear that he doesn’t want to be touched.
“Not the same.” He grunts and you feel like this is a victory. They’re the first words he’s said to you since last night when he actually told you that he forbade you to go on this mission. Like he fucking owned you or something. Of course you had seen red and it had turned into an all-out argument.
“How is it not?”
Another nasal huff. “You’ll be alone.”
“And? You do it all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How? Because you’re a man?”
“No!” He turns to you and fixes you with a withering gaze. “Romanov goes on solo missions. It’s not about your sex, it’s about your experience.”
“How am I supposed to get solo mission experience if I don’t go on solo missions?” All the while you spoke, you tried to keep your tone even. Now that he was communicating, you didn’t want to piss him off again.
“I offered to go with you, and to hang back. As backup. It was a compromise. You said no.”
“Do you not trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
“What I don’t trust is my luck.”
“What’s your luck go to do with it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The machine had finished pouring. Bucky scooped up his cup and took a sip as he stared you down.
“So you’re going to keep acting like this until I’m back from the mission safe and sound?”
“Not even then.”
“You want me to give in say that I won’t do it?”
“That’s about the size of it, yeah.” He started to leave the kitchen, announcing the end to the discussion. But you weren’t done, and you had an idea.
“I love you.” You grinned, fumbling with your top as he walked away from you
“I love you too, which is why I won’t budge on this.” In the doorway, he pauses and turns. “What are you doing? Oh-”
Bucky’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls open as he takes you in. Your top and bra are pulled under your breasts so you could flash him, nipples peaked and firm.
“Really? You’re gonna do me like that, huh?” He can’t hide his smirk.
“Do you like what?” You cup your breasts and jiggle them for him, biting your lip as he moves towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
When Bucky lunges for you, you shriek with laughter as you try to tuck your breasts away and jump down from the counter, but he catches you by the wrists and spreads your arms, baring your breasts to him fully.
“Don’t try to hide them now.” He looks hungry, eyes darkening in the best way possible. “I see what you’re doing.”
“But you’re falling for it.” You grin.
“You’re evil, you know that, right?” He lifts your wrists and releases them onto his shoulders as he slots himself between your parted knees and fondles your exposed breasts.
“I do.” You look at him from under your fluttering lashes as he leans in for a kiss.
It starts slow but within seconds he is moaning into your mouth as he tries to devour you. All of the hurt and frustration pours out of him as passion as he paws at your hips to bring you flush against his arousal. He doesn’t even try to pull your leggings down, he just tears a hole in them right at the crotch, making your gasp.
He fumbles his fly but frees himself successfully and sinks into you without warning, bottoming out with a groan. He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your face to keep you with him as he starts thrusting, repeatedly burying himself in you to the hilt.
You both have tears in your eyes as you climb the dizzy heights of pleasure and it’s him who closes his eyes first if only for a moment, blinking the tears away before he grits his teeth and pounds you harder. When you come he lets himself go, his last few thrusts sloppy and punctuated with soft grunts.
You cling to each other in the aftermath and when he meets your gaze again it’s full of love and sorrow.
“I can’t lose you,” he says.
“You won’t.”
“You can’t guarantee that,” he brushes some stray hairs from your forehead, “it would be just my luck that the best thing to ever happen to me would be taken away because I didn’t fight hard enough to protect it.”
“Bucky…”
He rolls his eyes and steps back, his softening cock slipping from you, leaving you empty. “Go on the mission,” he sniffs, “but if it goes wrong that’s the last solo mission you do, so help me god, I’ll be going with you even if it’s in a fucking convent.”
You don’t say thank you because you don’t need his permission, but it makes things a hell of a lot easier that he’s not going to keep giving you the cold shoulder. “Will you go over the mission brief with me, just to make sure?” You wanted to reassure him in any way you could that you were prepared.
“Sure.”
You grin and go to tuck your breasts away.
“Leave them,” he says with a cheeky glint in his eye, “I’m not done with you yet.”
You squeal with laughter as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carries you to the bedroom. You’ve got a day’s worth of tension and arguing to fuck out of each other, and Bucky is eager to get down to business.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky barnes#cloudy's writing
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Band of Silver, Remember my Vow [Teaser]
Based on and inspired by the Sanskrit play, Sakuntala; or The Ring of Recollection, by Kālidāsa, which dramatizes the story of Sakuntala as told in the epic, the Mahābhārata
genres: romance, angst, past civilization au (set in a made up land inspired by joseon and influenced by other asian (and hints of european :/) cultures), subtle magic, not e2l just people who annoy each other at the start to people hopelessly in love w each other
pairing: healer reader x lord scoups. platonic reader & soldier dino
teaser word count: 2.2k
estimated fic word count: ~15k
teaser warnings: injury by weapon to an animal (hunting). animal attack.
estimated fic warnings: descriptions of blood, injury, and illness. (possibly) sex but not smut. animal gore.
notes: this was meant to be for caratlibrary's fall collaboration, but I flubbed it on the deadline (no surprise there!). I'm still not done, but I wanted to post this to see if people are as interested in the story as I am! I will not be making a requestable taglist, however I will be tagging people who comment/show interest in the tags of reblogs
In the story of Sakuntala, the king Dusyanta ends a hunting trip before he comes across the beautiful Sakuntala in a nearby hermitage. He is immediately captivated by her, courts her, and marries her soon after. However, he must return to his royal duties in the capital. He leaves his signet ring with her, promising to return.
While distracted with her love for Dusyanta, Sakuntala forgets to greet a visiting and easily irritated sage. Angered by her disrespect, he curses her by making Dusyanta forget her existence. He is later convinced to lighten her punishment, and revises the curse so that the king will remember everything upon seeing the ring he left behind.
teaser under the cut!
The bowstring pulls taut as Seungcheol draws his arm back. His aim is unwavering— it better be, with all the years of training his breath to even at will, all those days spent shooting arrows at dyed targets and skittering rabbits. He kneels in the grass, still as a corpse, and waits for the stag to lift its head from where it’s dipped at the base of a tree.
Wait. Patience. That’s what he was taught.
Patience. Wait. Wait. Breathe.
But — air huffs through Seungcheol’s nose — why isn’t it lifting its damn head? The entire forest surrounding him is quiet. Nothing is here to disturb this perfect moment. This almost perfect moment.
Seungcheol fills his chest with air again, even and silent.
Wait. Patience. Breathe. Lift your damn—
“What are you doing?”
Startling at the sudden whisper in his ear, Seungcheol swerves to the side, his fingers slipping and releasing his arrow into the air. It slams into a tree, right where the stag’s neck would have been had it lifted its head. The sound echoes through the forest, and it spooks the stag. It dashes off out of sight, and Seungcheol curses under his breath.
“Why would you—” He whips his head around and finds you crouching next to him, a woven basket resting on your hip, held there by one hand. For only a moment, he is distracted by your face, and the way the sunlight, broken through the leaves of the forest, dances on your cheeks. He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”
You blink and tilt your head. “What have I done?”
Abruptly, Seungcheol stands, gesturing his bow towards where the stag disappeared. “My— you…” He huffs, then looks away, returning the bow to its spot on his back and tearing off his gloves in muted frustration.
He came here for a distraction, but you are closer to an annoyance, albeit a not unattractive one. He prefers to lose himself in the concentration of the hunt.
As he moves to follow the deer, your voice stops him.
“Where are you from?”
When he turns, you’ve already stood up, and you regard him with slightly furrowed brows.
“You must be from rather far,” you say without giving him much chance to respond. “Were you planning on shooting him?”
“Him?” Seungcheol echoes. “You’re referring to that animal?”
You hum, nodding to yourself. “Rather far indeed. He may very well have been the patron spirit of these woods.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a terrible dishonour to harm an antlered one in this forest. A dishonour to what this place provides, and the vast life within it,” you explain, though the words mean nothing to Seungcheol. You step closer to him, tilting your body to peer at the quiver of arrows on his back. “You’d be a fool to attempt to kill one, and invite grand misfortune by doing so.”
His jaw clenches, and air comes out of his nose hot. “Who are you to call me a fool? Do you know who I am?”
You straighten. “Am I supposed to? You’re quite far from home.”
“I am Lord Choi Seungcheol,” he announces with pride, though it tastes of the arrogance his mother always tutted at on his tongue. “General of the Four Peak Soldiers, and— and future ruler of the Eastern District.”
You make a face, and it only makes the anger in Seungcheol burn hotter.
“A lord, huh?” you taunt. “Or a general. Which one is it? Or does it not matter?” Leaning back slightly, you study his face. “Certainly, it doesn’t matter to me. I am neither a Four Peak soldier, nor a citizen of the Eastern District, so I will say as I please. A fool is a fool.”
Seungcheol raises his hand, and you flinch, but only slightly. Your eyes remain firm on his.
He lowers his hand, tired of your presence and of having to listen. If he and you were in his district, you’d have serious punishment awaiting your next sunrise. However, he was out on his own, alone on a rogue, spontaneous hunting trip far away from home because he wanted some space to get his thoughts together. It’s something he’s done before, two or three or nine times. His mother shows contempt for this habit of his, but she does not try to stop him. All she asks is that he not bring home trouble.
You seem like trouble.
How was he supposed to know that the woods he ventured into had such trivial myths to abide by?
He is Choi Seungcheol, damn it. Your silly fairy tales won’t deter him.
Deciding to spare you this time, Seungcheol breathes out and turns away, walking now in the direction of where he tied his horse. Perhaps this trip was a failure. To expect to clear his head the same way he has done before was foolish — though he would never admit that. What is on his mind now is much heavier, much more inevitable than the other things he would run away from in his youth.
A marriage to the country’s princess.
His marriage to her.
Seungcheol’s hands twitch, and he yearns to draw his bow again.
“Lord General,” you call out, the tone of your voice itself a warning. “Don’t be a fool.”
He ignores you.
=
Ricecake seems to have had a much better experience in this forest than Seungcheol. He finds her munching on the lush, untrodden grass, and he almost feels bad for interrupting her meal. However, that feeling lessens when he remembers that if he were successful in his hunt, she'd have to carry the spoils all the way home. At least she has that.
Seungcheol rides for not half an hour, following the river, before another stag dashes alongside his path. He spends no time thinking. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he notches an arrow and lets it fly. A second arrow leaves his fingers before he blinks.
The stag rears on its hind legs, one arrow in its thick neck and one pierced directly through its eye. It shrieks, haunted and low.
But it does not fall.
Seungcheol dismounts from his horse and draws another arrow, aiming again for its neck so it cannot escape far before it dies. He expects it to run in the opposite direction.
Its hooves dig into the dirt beneath it, and the stag charges towards Seungcheol.
He has no time to react, his arms moving instinctually to protect his head, before pain blooms fiery red from his torso. An icy cold engulfs him, and everything goes dark.
=
Pain is what wakes him up, dull and aching, but when he attempts to right himself, Seungcheol winces. A fierce pang rings in his body from his stomach to his right ear, which sparks a jolt of pain throughout his head. He falls back again, though his head doesn’t hit the hard earth. Instead, a steady hand catches his head, and another gently touches the front of his shoulder, as if to calm him.
“Easy there, Lord General.”
Your voice, and the way you patronise his titles again, make Seungcheol frown. It hurts to breathe, but he can’t help the annoyance that refills within him. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow him? Why are your hands so gentle?
Though his headache may worsen with sunlight, Seungcheol pries his eyes open. His eyelids are heavy, and for a moment, he thinks he must not have opened them fully. He can barely see you, even though it was midday when he’d been knocked unconscious. It then registers that he is no longer outside, in the woods, but in a room, lowly lit with sparsely strewn candles.
The realisation makes him want to jump up again, but the pain in his torso forces a groan from him, and he falls back onto the support of your hand. He strains his head to assess his surroundings. “Where am I?” he grits out. It hurts to speak.
“Be careful,” you say, concern sewn into your brows. “You may have broken your ribs.”
He demands, though perhaps sounding weaker than he likes, “Answer the question.”
Your lips settle into a straight line, and you breathe out through your nose. “You’re in my home.”
“Why?”
“I found you nearby,” you begin to explain, pulling your hand out from under him to cross your arms. He feels a thin layer of folded cloth under his head. “You were washed up on the riverbank, unconscious. Bloody…bruised…” You tilt your head. “Perhaps even more bruised now, since I practically had to drag you here, though the balm should help with the scrapes.”
“Balm?” Seungcheol echoes. Now that he thinks about it, there is a strange warmth seeping through the skin on his face. “You’re a healer,” he concludes.
You nod, and for the first time, Seungcheol sees a smile on your lips. In the candlelight, it only adds to the warmth.
“You’re lucky it was me who found you. Who knows how long you were lying in the cold water.” You sit back, eyes thoughtfully gazing over Seungcheol’s blanket-covered body. They pause around where Seungcheol’s left hand is. “I was able to save almost all your fingers.”
Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he jerks his hands out from under the blanket to hold above his face. The pain this causes is in the background compared to his panic, but that fades soon after he sees all ten fingers, wiggles them, then glares at you.
You’re smiling wider now. “That was a joke, Lord General.” At his glare sharpening, you let out a small laugh. “Your fingers are fine. They might be stiff for a few days, though.” Your expression shifts to a more serious one. “Your ribs, on the other hand… You’re severely bruised. I suspect they may be fractured.
Breathing in again, Seungcheol watches the way you eye his chest as it rises and falls. It hurts like a bonfire has sparked in his lungs.
“What happened?” you ask, no residual hint of playfulness in the simple question.
“I…” In the back of his mind, Seungcheol sees the stag again, sees the blood rivering from its eye and neck, sees its antlers as they bouldered into him. He sees you, and how you spoke to him in the forest. An enchantingly bright bad omen.
Don’t be a fool.
Yet here he is, under your care in your home, for doing the very thing you warned him not to.
"...I fell," he says after a moment of quiet. It’s only a half-lie. He did fall, even if that wasn’t how he sustained the injuries to his ribs.
One of your eyebrows rises up your forehead. “You fell.”
“...Yes.”
You hum, doubtful. “Off your horse, I assume. I’ve seen similar bruising and fractures when people are kicked. It happens to someone around here at least once a year; there’s no shame in getting unsaddled.”
He’s never fallen off Ricecake — she’s the perfect companion, but Seungcheol grits his teeth and says, “I suppose there’s not.”
A triumphant grin appears on your face, and you turn slightly to reach for a small notebook. “Well, Lord General—”
“That is not my title,” he interrupts on principle, though he instantly regrets it with the waking pain in his chest. Still, he cannot stop himself from correcting you. “You will address me as Lord Choi, or ‘my Lord’.”
Your eyes don’t leave your notes. “Alright Lord General, it—”
“You can’t—”
“—is my professional opinion that you should be on bed rest for three days, though your full recovery could take two to three moons. I’ll need to monitor your breathing until it regulates.” You speak as if Seungcheol is just anyone, not someone with power or higher standing. To you, he is just a patient.
Why does that thought not continue to anger him?
“I need to find my horse,” he tells you. “There are healers in the Four Peak fortress that can oversee my recovery.”
You shake your head. “Riding is out of the question. It will only worsen your condition.”
“I can’t stay here. I am needed as their leader.” And his mother is going to kill him for being gone more than a few days without a word.
“Do you have a palanquin?”
Seungcheol frowns. “Do I look like I have a palanquin with me?”
“Could you send for one?” you rephrase.
He ponders on that. It is rare for him to ride a palanquin, even back home. The cart is used more decoratively these days, reserved for events like longevity parades through the city, and no longer for extended trips over uneven ground like the forests he travelled through to find himself on your land.
Still, he can’t stay here. Certainly not for three moons. “I’ll write a missive.”
“Alright,” you say with a nod. “There’s a merchant group that travels every two weeks between here and a city in the Eastern District. You can send it with one of them.”
“When are they travelling next?”
“You’re lucky, Lord General. They leave for the east in five days.”
Not as soon as he’d like, but at least the merchants hadn’t just left. Then he would have to stay here for one full moon before he’d even be able to send for help.
“For now,” you continue, “you should rest. It’s late, and your body needs time to recover.”
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CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge 📚☕️
The following are prompts including a Meet Cute/Ugly scenario (any first-time-meeting)! Reader or OC, Gen/Platonic, AND Character/Character fics are allowed!
This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!
☕️ Generic Prompts 📚
Character gets locked out and their neighbor picks the lock for them.
Characters get the same coffee order. They both reach for it at the same time.
Characters get paired up at the work event icebreaker.
Characters both duck for cover under the same tiny storefront when it starts pouring.
Character is knocked into a stranger’s lap on the bus.
Characters are both stood up at the same date spot.
Character sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there’s a technical glitch.
On Character’s first day at the new job, they get stuck on the elevator with their new coworker.
Character breaks their heel/slips on the way into their new job. Their new coworker manages to catch them.
Character accidentally dumps their coffee on someone in a very dramatic fashion.
Character accidentally causes someone to slip and fall. They try to help them up, but they both fall down.
Characters are sat together on a long train ride.
Characters are on rival teams at a work event.
Characters reach for the same book at the library.
Character sits next to someone at an academic conference. They get way too excited about a topic that’s taboo/uncouth to normal people.
Character accidentally messages the wrong number. A stranger answers.
Character offers unsolicited fashion advice to a stranger in the dressing room.
Characters wear matching masks at a masquerade party.
It isn’t a meet cute at all. They know each other already but they don’t notice for an embarrassingly long time.
Character realized they left a piece of clothing in the laundromat but when they return, someone’s already started a load. The pair wait for it to finish together.
Character accidentally bumps into someone’s car in a parking lot. They are very upset… until they realize how cute the other one is.
Anything else you can think of!
🍄 Autumn Prompts 🍁
Character gets lost in a corn maze… meant for children. They begrudgingly ask a total stranger, for help.
Character fight over a perfect pumpkin at the patch and explain why each of them needs it.
Characters show up in an accidental couples’ costume.
Character tries to scare their friend, but ends up spooking a complete stranger.
Character steps on a stranger’s shoe… and realizes they are dressed like Cinderella.
Character accidentally gets hurt in a spooky attraction and a scare actor breaks character to help.
Character gets scared in a haunted tour and jumps in the arms of someone they think is their friend—but it’s not.
Character thinks someone is in a costume and tries to guess what it is. They’re not in a costume.
🫣 Dialogue Prompts 😅
“Hey, sorry, can I give you my number?” “What?” “Oh, not like that—I lost my phone.”
“My kid thinks you’re a real princess. Would you mind taking a photo with them?”
“I think we accidentally swapped orders. By the way, what the hell is in this?”
“Hey, would you mind talking to me so this creep will leave me alone?”
“Is it possible to actually die from embarrassment?”
“I definitely would have remembered meeting you.”
“Watch where you’re going!” “… You ran into me?!”
“That diamond is fake.” “So is the engagement.”
“You aren’t some crazy serial killer, right?”
“Do you believe in fate?”
“This is way too cliche.”
Rules 📚
The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs are more than welcome.
Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.
The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.
Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.
Have fun!
Happy Writing!
#spencer reid#aaron hotchner#tara lewis#emily prentiss#luke alvez#penelope garcia#david rossi#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#cm writing challenge#writing challenge
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fall from grace » ljn
genre | angel!jeno x human!reader; fluff, slight angst at the very end
word count | 2.3k
summary | your guardian angel has always blurred the line he’s never supposed to cross, and one night he unintentionally takes that leap into territory he’s not meant to be in
a.n | this will most likely have a part two! (pt2 will be much more angsty, and possibly smutty i haven’t decided yet) also if you see something extremely similar to this on ao3 no you don’t (i wrote this as a nomin fic a few years ago and posted it there but dreamscape angel propaganda made me want to revamp it and post it again)
he hadn’t expected to end up here. or, at least that’s what he tried to convince himself. he really wasn’t supposed to be here. none of this was ever supposed to happen.
but, how could he not fall in love with you?
the way that you snort when you laugh a little too hard at something you know isn’t really that funny. the pout that cutely displays on your lips when you give something your full focus. the little noises you make in your sleep when you’re dreaming. the way that you almost always trip on the crack in the sidewalk right outside your apartment building, despite living there long enough to be mindful of it.
jeno thinks about it more and more day by day; not that he even pays mind to the passage of time anymore. there was no way out, he was doomed from the start.
but, instead of the lighthearted feeling that would normally come hand in hand with love, jeno feels a weight. in any other circumstance he’d likely be considered a stalker by the way he knows every little thing about you, but that’s his obligation. jeno’s sole task is to watch over you, to keep you safe, to make you his number one priority above all else.
you aren’t supposed to know. you’re supposed to be blissfully unaware of jeno’s existence and his presence in your life, as well as any others like him.
and jeno was never supposed to fall in love.
lately- and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose- jeno had become admittedly sloppy with keeping a safe enough space between you and him. he knows it’s no excuse, and he knows the consequences of the risk he’s taking, but the pull is just too strong. his one responsibility is to protect you, but what was the point of that if he couldn’t make you comfortable and happy? if he couldn’t love you in the way only he knows you deserve to be? he’s just fulfilling his duties, right?
how unfair, he thinks. how unfair it is that he’s forced to be so close to you, yet just far enough away that you’ll never even know.
jeno stands on your balcony, three floors up, three hours past midnight.
there’s only a wall separating you from him, and though there is the perk that you can't exactly feel his presence like you might with another human, there stands the possibility of you finding him all the same. he’s more than aware of how dangerous this is for him, to have this little of a distance between you; a relationship between a human and their guardian is never allowed to be physical or emotional in any way. he asks himself how far he is from crossing that line, how close he is from falling off of that tight rope. realistically he already has, but he finds it difficult to care.
ironically, jeno wonders if he’s been cursed or blessed. maybe both, he thinks- blessed with the fact he’s always with the human he loves oh so deeply; cursed with the fact that though he knows just how to make you smile, that smile will never really be for him.
he’s willing, though- more than willing to take that chance, despite the better part of himself advising against it (or that had been the better part of him, long long ago). if he just gets to see your surprised, sleepy little smile early the next morning when you step out to check on your favorite flowers and notice they’ve bloomed way ahead of schedule, then to jeno, its worth it.
as jeno tends to the soft peach colored petals, you sit inside, your legs tucked under you on the kitchen counter, sipping peach flavored tea and watching old cartoons on your computer. you couldn’t sleep, and tossing and turning in bed was finally out of the question after a few too many hours of dreamless silence.
your bare feet make a soft thud on the kitchen tiles when you uncross your legs and leap from the counter, making your way to grab more honey for your tea. the sound makes jeno glance up from the petals sitting between his fingers. this signals to him that you’re now on the move and that he should go, but again, the voice in his head is muted when it comes to you.
jeno takes another bud in his hands and watches as it spreads open right before his eyes at his touch. he rearranges the flowers and stems and pats down the soil as if to make it look a bit more lively, and with this, he decides he should depart before you have the chance to notice he’s here. he turns, preparing to hop the banister, but he bumps the patio table, sending an unused pot of dry dirt falling to the ground. it shatters into large shards of clay that scatter across the wood, and jeno stills.
you almost drop the glass jar at the unexpected calamity, adrenaline shooting through your body like a shockwave. a heavy spoonful of honey is frozen in the air as you hold it above your mug; it drizzles down the side of the ceramic and makes a sticky puddle on your counter. a few moments of painfully eerie silence pass and you try your best to catch your breath.
jeno stoops down to clean the mess he’s made, making certain to be as silent and quick as possible before you arrive to investigate. after your mind has time to form a theory that doesn’t involve something you’d seen in a horror film, you come to the hopeful conclusion that it must have been the wind knocking around your gardening supplies. for your peace of mind, you round the counter to pull open the curtain draped glass doors.
what you see makes you think that maybe you had fallen asleep earlier after all.
jeno looks up, stunned, frigid, crouched down with his hands full of rocks and clay and dirt. he can only imagine how he appears to you in this moment; he must look like he’s just been caught committing a crime- and it likely would be in any other set of means.
millions of worries should be swarming his head, but the only thing on his mind right now is you. your tangled hair, your fluffy pajama pants, your eyes twinkling in the moonlight and looking at him with wonder- not toward him or past him, but directly at him. it was something he’d never had the pleasure of witnessing.
your urge to cry out is suppressed by the peculiar calm feeling that settles over you the moment your eyes lock with jeno’s. even in the shadows the strange boy’s eyes seem to shine, and any thought of ill intent is sent away as quickly as it came. your brain has no time to question the unusual level headedness you feel before you start to connect the dots.
weirdly, you recognize him, but your mind blanks when you try recalling from where. though, you really figured that you’d remember something like this if you’d seen it before. it takes jeno standing, letting the soft starlight paint his nervous face and his shimmering wings for you to be able to connect him to any sort of a tangible memory.
you’d never actually known his name, or from where he came, but you did know of him.
the boy you’d spotted leaving the cafe after the barista had told you that your coffee was already paid for on the morning you were running late for your psychology lecture. the boy you’d seen scanning shelves in the campus library when you saw your favorite novel sat next to your course work upon returning from the counter to ask if they had it in yet. the boy you’d seen walking down the pavement when you’d whipped your tipsy head around after being yanked back by your hoodie just before you stepped into the street, a blaring car horn and a rush of wind whisking your hair up as all you could do was stare at his figure as he strolled away from you.
other instances that you’d had no concrete explanations for began to surface in your mind the longer you studied him. the closed window and extra blanket the night you’d accidentally fallen asleep before a severe thunderstorm. the carton of fresh milk in your fridge you could’ve sworn you’d forgotten to pick up from the market. your favorite white sweater miraculously being completely unharmed after a pink sock snuck its way into the wash.
you knew all of these occurrences and the same boy being present could be purely coincidental, but something about that was just too hard to believe. you always meant to approach him when you saw him in your day to day life, but the courage to make the move and close the distance between you never arose.
‘what an angel,’ you’d always said to yourself when you’d see him. you never would’ve guessed you were right.
when jeno finally snaps out of his trance, remembering the predicament he’s gotten himself into, he turns to really leave before he lands himself in any more trouble. he spreads his huge white wings, the ones that had always been hidden when you were near, and flaps them once to lift himself into the air. a gust of chilled wind flutters your pajamas and pulls the breath from your lungs as you gawk at him.
you try to speak, to tell him not to go, but your voice won’t come out. before jeno can get too far, and before you can think of something less hazardous, you run forward and hoist yourself up on the railing to grab jeno’s ankle in an attempt to stop him from fleeing. at that same moment jeno flaps his wings again, not thinking that the sudden weight on his leg could be you, and as a result you’re pulled from the rail and out into the open, three stories above solid ground.
a strangled yelp jumps from your throat as you dangle in peril. jeno’s head snaps down, and his eyes widen as they meet your figure, clinging to him and flailing wildly. your grip rapidly begins to slip from jeno’s body. your mind races around the realization that this could very well be the end; in an instant you feel the cold night wind rushing up around you, whisking your hair towards the sky, blurring the buildings and skyline together and your breath is caught in your lungs as all you can do is fall.
just as soon as it happened, you collapse into jeno’s open arms with an ‘oomph’ when he catches you before you can meet any harm. you immediately wrap your entire body around him and squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a trembling and fearful cry into his neck. hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the height makes you lightheaded. you’re shivering as jeno lifts you both up to the balcony once again.
it’s bittersweet for jeno to see you this close. you’re so stunningly beautiful, more so than jeno could have ever imagined. your eyes finally open to meet jeno’s when you feel yourself safely sitting on your balcony, curled up under jeno’s kneeling figure. they glisten with tears and your soft face appears to glow in the moonlight. jeno’s heart grows wings of its own to soar through his chest; he may be the angel, but you are angelic.
a very nervous laugh bubbles out of you, your face blooming with a deep red at the sudden realization of your very close proximity to one another, and the embarrassment of the stunt you’d just pulled. one of your arms still drapes around the back of jeno’s neck, the other hand pressed to his chest, revealing jeno’s rapid heartbeat that matches that of yours. jeno’s arms are still wrapped around your waist. he never wants to let go.
“i-mh,” you stutter a bit, and gulp. “i’m sorry,” a sheepish smile pulls at your lips. your voice is much breathier than you’d wanted it to come out.
jeno’s features are sharp, but his expression is soft. tufts of his silvery white hair flit around in the crisp breeze and he looks at you, admires you, his gentle eyes flickering across your face like he’s committing you to memory. his fingers comb gingerly through your windswept hair, pushing it away from your flushed neck and tucking it behind your ear.
his eyes suddenly shift down when your hand meets his jaw, the tips of your fingers ghosting over his cheek. his skin tingles under your timid touch.
you’ve never seen anything like him.
“you’re.. so pretty.”
“thank you,” jeno breathes out through a dazed smile. as you relax a bit, jeno feels your fingers brush delicately against the indents you had made on his shoulders; your grip is softer now, but no less fervent.
“i’m jeno,” he tells you. your eyes meet his again. his heart skips a beat when you cup his face fully, your thumb smoothing over the expanse of his cheek; its warm under your touch.
“thank you, jeno.”
a short beat of time passes, and in a sudden surge of bravery, you lean forward to connect your lips in a kiss. jeno’s heart stops then, his feathers standing and his eyes wide, utterly overwhelmed with the cordial feeling of the one he loves so suddenly embracing him.
jeno decides to throw all caution to the wind. he wastes no time in sliding his hands up your neck to cradle both sides of your jaw, turning his head to let the kiss deepen. his eyes flutter closed and his wings relax, and the sigh he lets out sends hot air onto the peaks of your blushing face, making you melt into his hold. you can’t tell if the warmth that spreads through your body as your lips move in perfect sync is from jeno’s celestial form, but you’ve never felt such a rush from just a single kiss.
but it’s not otherworldly, because jeno feels it, too.
all of a sudden jeno feels the crushing sense of his time running short. he reluctantly pulls away from the kiss; you chase his lips as he leans back.
“i’m sorry, i’m not supposed to be here.”
your fingers grip his shoulders again. a wave of sadness crashes over him when he sees the somber look in your eyes.
“don’t go,” you whimper. jeno’s heart throbs. he would consider it a moment of weakness, only that's all he ever felt when it came to you. he kisses you once more, quick this time, and he feels himself ready to break.
“i’ll come back. i promise.”
with that, he’s gone.
you didn’t end up sleeping that night.
the tea in the mug that hangs loosely in your grip has gone cold by now. you sit in the same spot on your balcony, staring longingly up at the star speckled night sky.
#lee jeno#lee jeno fluff#lee jeno angst#lee jeno drabble#lee jeno x reader#jeno fluff#jeno angst#jeno drabble#jeno x reader#nct dream fluff#nct dream angst#nct dream drabble#nct dream x reader#judah.doc
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can i request a james potter fic where he’s really clingy cus james is my babyyy 😩
okay this was actually fun 2 write so thank u!! i live for clingy james!!
warnings/tags :: mentions of alcohol, no prns used though reader is wearing a skirt
James Potter thinks he knows how much he loves you. He thinks it’s not possible for it to ever change or waver because all he knows is you and how endearing it is to love you. He thinks he’s very good at showing it too. He does it every day and would probably say he’s gotten it down to a T.
But, then, sometimes it hits him so hard in the chest it almost knocks the air from his lungs. A feeling so white-hot it renders him speechless. Because, trust him, he loves to show you how much he loves you. He’d spend every last moment of his ever-fleeting existence on this Earth loving you if he could.
But, he loves it, even more, when you show him how much you love him as well.
Because how could he not? With you sat on one of Sirius’s couches, his head in your lap, the skin of his cheek sticking to your thigh. He suddenly realises that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Your fingers card through his hair, stopping to scratch his scalp every few moments when there’s a lull in your conversation with Mary. He thinks you’re not really paying attention to him, too engrossed in whatever it is you’re laughing about. But when your laugh fizzes down into a sigh, he can sense you staring at the side of his face.
The pretty heart locket he gifted you years ago when you were still only friends, is cold when it lands on his cheek as you lean over him to speak in his ear. “You okay, Jamie?” Your voice is considerably quieter when you speak and it has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
He pushes further into your lap, a ruffle of your cotton skirt bunches underneath his cheek and he can smell your detergent. And then he can smell your body lotion. It’s an overwhelming wave of frangipani, and then coconut and vanilla and it has his head reeling.
“Mhm.” He can’t really find it in him to say anything else. Eyes fluttering, a dark wave of his eyelashes kissing the freckles under his glasses.
You move your hand to then trace the lines of freckles, moving over to his nose, nudging over the bump of the hook you always find yourself smoothing over when he was so close. “You sure?”
He pushes further, between the crease of your torso and the top of your thigh, “Yeah.” He wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn't hear what he’d said, words mumbled through the material of your clothes. But you push the arm of his glasses back over his ear and hum a noise that sounds like you understand.
“You drunk?” You question and he turns back out to stare up at you. At this angle, he can see the beauty mark under your chin. He reaches up to touch it, pushing into the skin of your throat. Not cruelly, but he smiles when you swallow.
“Not sure.” He knows he’s not. But he’s curious about what you’d do if you thought he was. He selfishly thinks you might treat him with even more care. That later you might help him up and out into your car to take him home. Maybe even cuddle him in bed until he falls asleep. Not that you didn’t already do that, he thinks. You always treat him like that.
“How much did you drink?”
He lowers his hand and wrinkles his nose, “A few beers.”
“Yeah?”
He knows you can tell there’s more, “And whatever Sirius was shotting.”
“Was it sambuca?” You question, squeezing his bicep, fingers tickling the vein on the underside of his arm. You trace it mindlessly, the pattern one you’ve memorised despite not even being able to see it. James shivers under his touch and then almost lets out an audible whine when you stop. He reddens.
“How’d you know?”
“Sambuca makes you tired.” You giggle. “Plus, your tongue’s blue.”
“‘M not tired.” He frowns. He doesn’t know how to say that he’s not tired. He’s just really loving the attention you’re giving him.
“I can see the Z’s in your eyes.”
“You’re dramatic.” Then he yawns.
“Hey, Marls?” You avert your attention to the blonde in front of you, tapping her on the shoulder. James immediately misses the attention you’d been doting him with and it had only been five seconds. He thinks he’s going crazy. “I think you parked me in, you okay to move your car?”
She frowns. “You’re leaving?”
“It’s way past his bedtime.” You poke James in the cheek and he pouts.
“Is not!” He guffaws.
You ignore him and nudge him so he lifts his head. He does and you stand, James makes no effort to get up, letting his head fall back down into the stiff leather of the lounge.
“C’mon, honey.” You smile, hands outstretched in front of you, “Up.”
Honey, he thinks. How could he not get up when you’re using that name?
It’s later in the night now, after you’d driven back to his flat. The both of you now sat in the calm of his kitchen. You’re standing at the door of the refrigerator, the ivory of the light swallowing you whole. Socked feet twisting into the grey tiles, wondering what to eat.
“You hungry hungry?” You lean your weight against the door as it swings, “Or just got the munchies because you’ve been drinking?”
You turn over your shoulder to look at him where he’s standing, leaning against the counter. Arms bulging over the hem of his white shirt where they’re crossed over his chest.
“Because there’s that pasta I can do.” You hold the pasta sauce jar over your shoulder to show him but you quickly sit it back in the fridge where it clinks against the glass shelf. “Or there’s leftover pizza from Thursday? Did you have dinner? Because there’s other…” You stop speaking when you realise he hasn’t said anything since you actually opened the fridge.
"James?"
He straightens up against the counter and outstretches his arms in front of him, "C'mere." It's more of a light demand than it is a question. But he can't feel it in him to care to ask.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." He nods. And then, when you don't move, "Just c'mere, sweetheart. Please?" He sounds desperately whiny though he knows you don't mind. You don't, obviously.
You move to close the space between the two of you, and he holds his breath until you fall into his arms. He wraps them around you, deflating when he leans his elbows into the tops of your shoulders.
"Feeling okay?" You mumble into his chest, probably dampening his clothes. You grip his shirt where it sits around the sides of his hips when he presses further into you.
"What?" He questions, resting his chin atop your head, and you repeat yourself. "Oh, yeah, all good. Just really needed a hug."
He leans down to kiss the bare skin of your shoulder, a wet sound left in its wake when he lifts his mouth. He nudges it with his nose before he spins you around, you now pressed into the bench. You giggle, an airy and light sound that makes James look down at you with glassy eyes.
"You're very touchy today." You smile.
But James only pouts, "Is that okay?"
"What?" You huff a laugh from your nose, "Of course it is."
"I'm not being annoying?" His grip loosens though yours only tightens, the edges of his ribs pressing into the flesh of your arms.
"You'd never annoy me." You deter, "Hug me all you want."
Which he does, burying his face in the junction of your shoulder and his breath tickles your skin. He squeezes you harder and for a moment the air is stripped from you when he leans back and you're standing on your tip toes. Your shirt rides up where it's pinned between your bodies and he can feel the heat from your body seeping through him.
He sits you back down and turns to brush his nose against yours. You press your lips against his, a light push with no actual force. But when he huffs an airy whine out his nose, you lean in further. You don't lead for more than two seconds when he pushes a hand up to cup your cheek, fingers parting over your ear where he cranes your jaw to slot his lips further against yours. He slips his tongue past your lips, pressing into your own. Searching like it was the first time he's ever kissed you. Fingers pressing into the flesh of your hip cruelly where his arm is wrapped around your back.
You pull away, chests heaving through pants. His eyes are misty where they dance over your face, lips and cheeks red under the light of his breakfast bar. He kisses you once more above your lips, atop your cupid's bow and grins.
"I love you." He murmurs, a sound you can barely hear over the hum of the fridge.
"I love you too."
Then he's giggling, a boyish laugh when he unwraps his arms from you. "Your tongue is blue." He smiles.
"Bloody Sambuca."
#james potter imagine#james potter#marauders#marauders fic#harry potter#james potter x reader#james potter drabble#james potter fanfiction#james potter fan fic#james potter x gn!reader#james potterequest
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Feels Like Home [01]
Summary: When an unexpected three-week break between Monza and Singapore finds Daniel back on his farm in Perth he’s desperate to use this time to clear his mind, figure out his future in Formula One, and find his way back. He didn’t expect a new neighbour, a sassy two-year old, and three alpacas would make him realise that sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.
Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)
Warnings: Language
Word count: 2.7k
AN: Yes. Hi. Hello. Believe it or not but I started writing this fic because I desperately needed some good guy!Daniel being cute with kids in my life. The idea was just a short one shot. Ha. Who was I kidding? Because here we are, six months and nine chapters later... I really hope you like it, please come yell at me in the comments, on anon, or in my DMs about any and all things about this story you want to yell at me about. I probably deserve it. ♥
Masterlist
There’s something about being here, on his farm outside of Perth, that he doesn’t experience anywhere else in the world. Not in Monaco, not in Los Angeles, not even in Austin, or Montana.
Because here- Here, he doesn’t have to be Daniel Ricciardo, Danny Ric, DR, or the Honey Badger. He doesn’t have to be a Formula One driver, an eight-time race winner, the most beloved driver on the grid, and the fan favourite. He doesn’t have to be Red Bull’s wild card, Renault’s saviour, or, most recently, McLaren’s scapegoat. Here, he is Daniel. And it’s enough.
Or, at least, it used to be.
Lately, there's been a yearning in his heart that he's unfamiliar with. Or he pretends to be anyway because he’s not ready to put it into words yet, not ready to speak into existence what he really wants from life. Afraid he'll jinx it if he does.
And so he keeps it to himself and lets his heart ache for something more in silence while the life he does know slowly keeps on falling apart around him.
***
Daniel rests his wrists on the handlebar of his dirt bike and lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in ever since he retired on lap forty-five of the Monza Grand Prix four days ago. Looking out over the valley below, he feels more grounded than he has in a long time and he hopes that the next two weeks will give him the peace he so desperately needs after the shitshow that has been his season so far.
The sun’s already low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the somewhat still barren trees and shrubs even though he can tell winter is slowly coming to an end from the sprouts of green that have started to grace the landscape with their presence. There’s a kookaburra laughing somewhere in the distance and he takes it as his cue to fire up his engine again for one last run around his dirt track before it gets too dark.
He knows technically he isn’t supposed to ride his bike during the season, knows technically McLaren could issue him a hefty fine for breaching his contract, but if they ever were to find out he figures they can just take it out of the settlement they’re due to pay him at the end of the year. He’s promised Zak he’ll do whatever it takes to score as many points as possible in the last six races but he also decided early on that he’s no longer going to let the team dictate what he can or cannot do in his time away from the track.
There’s a meeting tomorrow, with Blake and Michael, where they’ll try to figure out his future in Formula One. There have been a few offers, both from teams who want him as their second driver and from teams who want him to become their reserve driver, but he’s still undecided, not sure if he wants to settle for another midfield team or stay in Formula One without really being in Formula One.
By the time he completes his lap his head is somewhat empty, too busy instead to focus on keeping his bike under control and not ending up in the dirt. It’s almost dark now and so he opens the throttle wide and guns it home, a race against an invisible clock that, unlike this past season in Formula One, he wins every single time.
Once his bike is safely back in the shed he makes his way over to the house, hosing his boots down before he takes them off at the back door and leaves them to dry on the shoe rack his Dad made for him when he bought the farm. He changes out of his gear in the mud room, making a face when he takes his socks off and catches a whiff of the smell but laughing then because he remembers them smelling so much worse after a race in, oh let’s say, Singapore. With nothing but his boxer shorts on he steps into the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge, taking out an ice cold bottle of water. The sigh of relief when he rolls it against the back of his neck almost obscene. It might be winter but temperatures in western Australia are still as high as a beautiful spring day in Monaco.
It’s then the intercom rings and for a moment he debates ignoring it, not sure if he’s up for telling yet another local journo looking to make it big by trying to get an interview with ‘shunned McLaren driver Daniel Ricciardo’ that now really isn’t a good time and that any requests for interviews should be made through Blake anyway.
Plus, he gave his family and friends the access code to the gate when it was first installed, so he doubts any of them are waiting for him to open it, not in the least because they know better than to just show up without a text or call in advance.
In the end, his curiosity gets the better of him and so he walks over to where the control panel of his alarm system hangs in the living room and pushes the button needed to connect to whoever’s at the gate, “Hello?”
“Hi,” the screen comes on then, the black and white image showing a woman wearing a Stetson hat. She’s staring somewhere into the distance, her face obscured by the shadows the brim of her hat casts under the streetlight, but her voice comes through loud and clear, “Sorry to bother you this late-”
“It’s seven thirty,” he shoots back almost effortlessly.
“-but I wondered if I could maybe ask you to keep it down with the dirt biking a little?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
She looks up and into the camera then, pushing her hat a little higher so he can finally see her eyes, “It’s just- We’ve got a flock of alpacas over in Eagle's Nest and they tend to get a little jittery from all the noise. Especially when they try to settle in for the night and-”
“I’m sorry,“ he can’t help but grin, running a hand through his hair, “but I’m going to need a little more context here.”
She laughs and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and so he’s a little distracted but then he sees her taking her hat off, revealing her face and- Fuck. She’s gorgeous. He watches her as she shakes her head, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips, “Shit, sorry. I probably should have given you a bit more to go on.” Putting her hat back on she straightens up and points to somewhere over her shoulder, “Your neighbour on that side, Oscar Linton? He’s my granddad. I think you know him, right?”
“Old man Linton!” He smiles and nods, “Of course I do.” When he first bought the farm he made sure to introduce himself to his neighbours and while he likes to think he has a good relationship with all three of them he’s always had a soft spot for the elderly man further up the road. So much so that he always makes sure to drop by for a chat whenever he finds himself back in Perth. It’s then he connects the dots and recognises her from some of the pictures Oscar has up in his living room. All of a sudden he feels guilty for not going to see his neighbour yet even though he has been home for two days already but maybe he can do that tomorrow or-
“He fell a few days ago-” her voice pulls him out of his thoughts unintentionally and his guilt triples in a matter of seconds. There’s a sad smile tugging on her lips which makes him prepare for the worst.
Surely they would have let him know if- He remembers the pile of unopened letters waiting for him on the kitchen counter then and curses quietly, “Shit.”
“He’s ok,” she’s quick to reassure him, as if she knows what he was thinking. “He spent a couple of nights in hospital and still has a long way to go but at least he’s home again.” She takes a deep breath, “They had to replace his hip and he’s got a broken wrist but,” she shrugs, “it could have been worse.”
It’s then the absurdity of the situation hits him, with him in his boxers in his living room and her on the other end of his kilometre-long driveway, talking into a metallic box. He shakes his head and pushes the button that opens the gate automatically, “I think maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation over an intercom. I could make you a cup of coffee if you want? Or something stronger? I make a mean-”
She bites her lip and seems to hesitate.
“Just a quick cuppa. It’s the neighbourly thing to do, right?”
He sees her nod, “Yeah, ok.”
He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “Happy days.”
***
The house is not at all how you expect it to be, much more modern and open-planned than any of the other farm houses in the area. The west-facing wall has been completely redone in glass panels, offering a stunning view of the valley and surrounding paddocks and you can’t help but admire the interior design of both the kitchen and the living room, which is masculine but still inviting. You wonder if he decorated the place himself or if he hired some interior designer to do it for him.
“Here you go,” Daniel, who told you ‘You can call me Dan’ when he greeted you at the door with a bright smile and an outstretched hand- offers you a cup of steaming hot coffee and motions for you to join him at the kitchen table. He’s wearing white sweatpants and a matching white sweater that look incredibly comfy and that make you want to wrap yourself around him and hang onto him like a koala bear. Wait. What?
You take your hat off to try and keep from ogling him, placing it on the chair next to you before you sit down and smile at him, “You know, all these years I thought you were called Danny Ric because that’s what Granddad keeps calling you. I’m not sure I can get used to Daniel.”
Daniel laughs, the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes even more prominent now, “Trust the old man to keep that gag going.” He shakes his head then, “I can’t believe he fell though.”
“Yeah,” you agree quietly, blowing into your coffee. “We’re lucky Mrs Mackenzie found him when she did or-” You let out a ragged breath and see him nod, his eyes kind, and it makes you continue, “His hip was completely shattered and his wrist is broken in three places so it’s going to take a while before he’s up and running again- I mean, if his new hip ever heals completely- He’s already seventy-eight so-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you fold your hands around your cup and try to calm down a little. You’re not even sure why you’re even telling him all of this, but he’s a friend of your granddad and so you figure he’s good people. “Mum and Dad wanted to come back from New Zealand to help out but-” you look up at Daniel and shrug, “I spent a lot of time on the farm as a kid, right until I left for uni, so it made much more sense for me to move in with him for the time being.”
“That’s a pretty big thing to do,” Daniel says with a kind smile, a warmth to his brown eyes that you can feel yourself get lost in. “You sure your family can miss you that long?”
You don’t really know what he’s getting at, whether he’s talking about your Mum and Dad or the husband and kids he thinks you might have left behind to come back to Mundaring, and you don’t really know you want to tell him your truth either, after all you’ve just met him, so in the end you shake your head and settle on an honest, “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
He eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t push it and instead he says, “If you’d have me I’d love to come over to see him some time. I’m still here for almost another two weeks and-”
“I’m sure he’d like that,” you offer with a smile. “He always tells me what a nice bloke you are.”
Daniel leans back in his chair and grins, spreading his arms, “Can’t say I blame him. I’m the best.”
“He says the same thing about the postie,” you tease with a casual shrug, “so don’t get too excited.”
“Ouch,” Daniel brings a hand to his chest, “that hurts.”
You pout, “So sad.”
“Very,” Daniel agrees quietly, trying his best to keep a straight face. He puts his arms on the table then and leans forward, “Before you stomp on my ego some more, why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here. What’s up with that eagle’s nest over in some paddock?”
“Oof,” you pull a face and shake your head, “you were so close.” You can’t help but laugh when you see him pretend to be hurt at your comment. You take a sip of coffee before you explain, pointing in the general direction of your paddock, “Your dirt track borders Eagle's Nest, the paddock Granddad uses for the alpacas in September and October, and I guess normally it isn’t a problem because you usually aren’t home during this time of year but I heard you yesterday and today and-”
“Yeah, we had an unexpected three-week break this year so I figured-” Daniel waves his hand around for you to continue then.
“It’s just, we have three pregnant females this year and- I don’t know if you’re at all familiar with alpacas?”
He shakes his head, “I didn’t even know you guys had alpacas. Your granddad and I just tend to talk shit about Mrs Mackenzie and them over a cuppa but I've never really asked him about the farm to be honest."
You throw him a look, knowing all too well your granddad doesn’t drink coffee.
He quickly backs down, “Fine, I drink coffee, he drinks tea.”
“There you go,” you mouth with a wink. “Anyway, alpacas are basically scared of everything, even their own shadow, so you know, someone riding a dirt bike close by doesn’t really help with keeping them nice and calm during these last few weeks of their pregnancy.”
“Gotcha.”
“They’re usually out on the other side of the paddock during the day, so anything until five in the afternoon is fine” you offer, not wanting to deprive him of his hobby completely, “but we have their feeders and the shed they can hide in during the night out over in your corner, so-”
“You’re giving me a five pm curfew, basically,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Just until the end of October.” You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”
“Nah, no worries,” Daniel puts his hand on your forearm and gives it a squeeze to let you know he means it. “I’d do anything for old Oscar.” Then, with a grin he adds, “And his girls.”
You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks and try to hide it with a smile, “Thank you.”
He squeezes your arm again, “He’s gonna be fine by the way. He’s tough, that one.”
“Speaking of Granddad,” you risk a quick glance at your watch, letting you know it’s almost eight fifteen, “I should probably head back.” You push your chair back and grab your hat, putting it on as you tell Daniel, “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Anytime,” he says with a grin as he stands up as well, following you to the front door. “Tell him I’ll come by soon, ok?”
“Will do.” You turn around then and smile again, something about not getting your hopes up but doing so anyway when you ask, “I’ll see you around then?”
Daniel tips his imaginary hat, “Yes ma’am.”
#Daniel Ricciardo#F1 Fanfic#Daniel Ricciardo x reader#DR3#F1 Imagine#Harley Sunday x Daniel Ricciardo#Feels Like Home
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Rumination n. 7 - The Stain
I am about to say something outrageous, but this scene is haunting me and I need to take it out of my obsessive brain.
We all have been thinking about the (not so) slightly maniacal, sphinx-like smile that appears on Aziraphale's face at the very end of e6 end credits, and how it seems to suggest that something is brewing inside the angel's head.
But this is not the scene that is haunting me. It's this one:
Now, like many of us, I've been toying with possible scenarios involving the Metatron and the threat of the Book of Life, and I want to take a moment to say something up top: I have mixed feelings about the Book of Life as a thing. Not just because we don't know anything about how it actually works and, if we want to be punctilous, we don't even have undisputable confirmation that it exists and it's not in fact a myth that the Heaven-regime has spread in order to keep everyone in check (that Heaven has regime-like strategies for controlling its ranks, possibly even before the Fall, it's clear by the appalling callousness of the Metatron saying "For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story", meaning a story that works as an effective cautionary tale). But most of all because this all-encompassing Book of Life seems to me like the kind of overpowered magic-object-ex-machina plot device that can really break a narrative, and I am willing to accept it only because I trust Neil Gaiman entirely. Also, I have a feeling that, on a metaphorical level, the prospect of being "erased from the Book of Life" has already happened, in a way (but that's matter for a different rumination).
That said, I am wondering if it's Aziraphale the one we should be worrying about. Mr "I would always know the stain was there", aka fixing something is not enough, the preferable solution is to make sure that the bad thing never happened in the first place, so its memory will not haunt you, its remaining smudge will not darken the perfect picture that you want your existence to be.
I am wondering if that creepy smile means that he is planning to steal the Book of Life, like several metas and fics imagined, but not to keep himself and Crowley safe: he could be planning to steal it in order to undo the Fall.
And sure, that would mean erasing the 6000 years of his and Crowley's history together, and nobody in his right mind would do that - but is Aziraphale in his right mind? When he steps into the elevator, he is as broken as Crowley is, and possibly more, because in addition to their relationship crumbling into dust, he also has to deal with the pull of his desire to bring into reality the idealized version of Heaven that he has always hoped for.
He is shattered. He has lost Crowley, has lost his bookshop, has lost Earth. He is involved against his will in the Second Coming plans. He's hyperventilating as the elevator goes up, shoulders and chest struggling to find air - is on the verge of a panick attack. He is in the mindset of someone who is feeling his entire existence slipping away under his feet at lightspeed, not knowing how or why, not a split second to realise what is happening.
It's not impossible, when you are in such a state, to shut down and cling to one and only one thought: how do I undo this?
It's not impossible, if you are in the middle of a traumatic response, to fixate on finding the single, cursed, wrong turn that sent you down the path that lead you in this place of devastating pain and fear, obsessing over the idea that if you can correct that one error, everything will be fine again. Because you just cannot process the idea that what happened is destined to stay "happened": it's just too big and too wrong and too unthinkable to become a part of your biography like all events before that - as per the definition of trauma by Judith Herman.
You cannot reconcile it with the rest of your life, you enter in a state of mind that denies reality and treats it like a a gamer would treat a mission that he messed up between to saving points: yes, it sucks, but nothing to worry about, you just go back in time and this time do things the right way. You just need to identify where you went wrong.
This is, I think, the place where Aziraphale's mind is in the final scene.
"What have I done wrong? Where did I do the wrong thing? When did I say the wrong word? What incident brought us here? How could this happen if I love you so much? Why would you shout and be angry at me if I love you so much? What evil force could prevent you from seeing that I love you so much? This is all a mistake. How can we not be together right now if I love you so much? How can the fact of us being separated exist in the same world where I love you so much? This must be a mistake. What is it that I need to undo to save us, our dream? To make the error and all this pain go away? If only I could find the mistake, the single bad thing that threw a monkey wrench into our happiness..."
But he cannot find one single moment in their long history together that stands out as "the" mistake to blame for what just happened, and he keeps going back and back and back, looking for "the" thing that ruined their plans.
If only we were not on opposite sides.
I think that, right now, in Aziraphale's head, the one original error that lead him to lose the love of his life is the Fall. It's the initial irreparable fracture that ripped in half the angelic population of the beginning and made impossible for the two parts to be together ever again.
Of course Crowley did and could not want to be "restored" to his former angelic status, he can see why, he's not blind. And probably he's more than ready to recognize that Crowley is right in refusing that offer. The proposal was wrong in the first place. The solution to all their problems isn't making Crowley not a demon anymore, it's making sure that there were no demons to begin with.
"If I'm in charge, I can make a difference."
I can make a different ending for this scene that just went horribly wrong. I can make a different reality where this horrible moment could never happen.
And if this is what is going through his head, his next task - and Crowley's mission - will be to accept that sometimes there is no undoing. You can either find a way to patch things up and find the right path again, or stay broken and astray. But either way you will have to come to terms with the fact that some mistakes cannot be undone, and the bad things that happened cannot be erased. You can only learn to live with them, accomodate their painful memory in your existence, accept the presence of a stain that will always be there, underneath.
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Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 10
Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.
Warnings: This chapter contains mugging, memory loss, traumatic brain injury. This fic as a whole contains sex, language, violence, mental illness.
Word Count: 3164
Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Author’s Note: I’m back! Obviously, it took me sooo long to figure out how to write this next chapter, but I finally got it together. I really appreciate your patience in the meantime & hope you enjoy reading it. The plan is to post more regularly soon (Chapter 11 is almost done).
“Makeup is an art,” Chantelle and Tina had explained to you the night before. “Think of your face as a canvas.”
Despite all their well-intentioned beauty coaching, the cold, hard truth was you still had no idea what the hell you were doing - you couldn’t even keep the differences between moisturizer, foundation and concealer straight in your brain. And after twenty minutes of attempting to “paint” your face like the natural-born Rembrandt they were convinced you were, you’d stared back at your reflection in the mirror and decided you looked like a clown…and not in a sexy-Arthur-Fleck kinda way.
Exasperated, you’d washed everything off, opting instead for a tiny bit of mascara, lip gloss and powder.
But then there was the issue of your hair. You’d burned your fingers on Tina’s flat iron before managing to get things somewhat under control. But as soon as you stepped out onto the street the rain began to fall, causing your already-unruly mane to frizz up completely by the time you reached the subway.
Chantelle’s handpicked outfit, however, remained the only unblemished element of tonight's ensemble: her tight-fitting angora sweater did things for your non-existent cleavage you’d never imagined possible. You’d be sure to thank her profusely later…even though she thought you were going out with someone else tonight.
You’d never cared how you looked in front of a guy before…but Arthur Fleck wasn’t just a guy. To say he’d gotten under your skin was, perhaps, the understatement of your life: you were becoming crazy about the man.
You didn't know how you were going to survive this date. You could barely hold it together in Arthur’s presence without wanting to reach out and smother him with affection, and the kiss between you earlier today had only solidified your deepest desires. You wanted Arthur in so many ways…ways you didn’t even understand yet. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever rode the Giant Dipper at Amusement Mile: the sensation of your stomach flying up into your throat as you went over that first terrifying drop…a disconcerting mix of fear and exhilaration. Was this what being in love felt like?
***
The bouncer at Pogo’s frowned as you handed him your ID.
“Are you…um…are you alright, miss?” he asked, concern in his eyes.
You were thrown off by the question. “Of course. Why?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…have you looked in a mirror recently?”
You shook your head. The jerk was actually making fun of how bad your hair and makeup had turned out. People in this city really didn’t know how to act.
“Wow, you’re hilarious,” you rolled your eyes at him, snatching back your ID. “Can I please go inside now? My friend’s about to go on.”
You pushed past the rude bouncer and entered the club, scanning the room feverishly for an empty seat. Spotting one parallel to the center of the stage, your eyes lit up and you rushed over to claim it. As you sat down, a strange chill ran up your spine as you slowly began to realize: everyone was staring at you. Faces of concern and mockery swam around you, and you weren’t sure why.
Oh shit, you thought. Do I have something on my face?
Unfortunately, you hadn’t brought a compact mirror (Tina and Chantelle had given you a five minute lecture on the importance of always carrying on in your purse), so you couldn’t check. And you couldn’t get up to go to the bathroom because then you’d lose your seat. You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, then glanced at your watch and saw the glass was cracked.
Weird. You hadn’t remembered smashing it against anything on the way over.
Your concerns about your appearance, however, were quickly dissolved as the current act wrapped and the emcee took the mic.
“This next comic describes himself as a lifelong Gotham resident who from a young age was told that ‘his purpose in life was to bring laughter and joy into this cold, dark world.’ Umm. Okay? Please help me welcome Arthur Fleck!”
You applauded along with the rest of the half-faded crowd as relief washed over you. Thank God you hadn’t missed him. As Arthur took the stage, your heart began to throb again. There were simply simply no words to describe how incredible he looked tonight. His red vest. The crisp, white button-down shirt underneath it. The matching slacks.
And his hair. His hair.
You were certain his hair was going to be the death of you. How was it possible that you and that gorgeous hair inhabited the same planet without the entire world imploding?
Arthur squinted out at the crowd before speaking. You knew he was searching for you, needing to see you in the audience, needing to know you were there for him. And you were. When the two of you locked eyes, he smiled. You smiled back at him and everything else fell away. It was you and Arthur again. And nothing else in this cold, dark world mattered.
You didn’t care that Arthur had a laughing episode at the beginning of his act. You didn’t care that basically all his jokes fell flat, either. You didn’t care about any of that. All you cared about was how proud you were of him. So proud, you felt like you could burst into a million pieces.
When he finished his set, you leapt to your feet, clapping and screaming. Arthur blushed from the stage, embarrassed…and pleased. Everyone was staring at you, then back at Arthur, then back at you in dazed confusion. Two weirdo peas in a pod…and proud.
“We’re gonna take a short break,” the emcee announced.
A moment later, you and Arthur found each other at the back of the club.
“You were amazing, Arthur!” you exclaimed as you threw your arms around him.
“I'm so glad you came tonight…” he hummed into your ear. Of course, your depraved mind twisted the meaning of those two words in your head, and you found yourself having to stifle a blushing smile. You felt your body quaver with excitement at being next to him once again.
“Wait a minute…” Arthur pulled back to look at you, shock and concern flooding his face.
“Y/N, what…what happened to you?”
You blinked. “What? Nothing happened to me.”
“You’re…you’re hurt.” Arthur looked you up and down, then lifted your hands to eye-level. Bruises in the shape of what looked like fingers and fingertips lined the insides of your wrists. You frowned at the sight, utterly confused.
“Y/N, who…who did this to you?”
“I’m fine!” you insisted. “I mean…I have a slight headache, but, y’know, it’s probably just the rain.”
“Y/N, look at me. Tell me what happened. Can you remember?”
It took a minute for your brain to register Arthur’s question, which you realized was a little strange.
“Well,” you inhaled, trying hard to formulate your thoughts. “I got on the subway…I know that. And I took it all the way to…well, whatever this stop was near here, you know? And then I got off the train and went up the stairs…and then…” you looked up into Arthur’s beautiful eyes. “And then I was here. Watching you perform for the very first time. And I’m so proud of you, Arthur!” you squealed as if you’d seen him for the first time tonight all over again.
“You don’t remember anything else? You must have hit your head.”
“I'm fine!”
“Y/N,” Arthur’s worried eyes blinked at you. “I don’t think you are. I think I need to take you to the hospital.”
“But it’s our big date!” you wailed. “I got all dressed up and everything!”
At that moment, a few Wall Street bro types brushed past and snickered at Arthur.
“Nice set, freak. In case you didn’t get the memo: you’re supposed to tell the jokes and the audience is supposed to laugh…not the other way around.”
"He has a laughing condition, you assholes!" you snarled at them without hesitation.
To everyone’s surprise, the bros paused, thrown off by the fact you’d called them out.
“Sorry…” Arthur interjected, glancing at the dudes apologetically. “She’s…she’s not feeling well.”
Arthur shot you a desperate please-shut-your-mouth-before-you-get-us-both-killed look, but you could see there was a tiny, triumphant smile curling up his lips underneath it. Still, the words were flying out of your mouth and there wasn’t much you could do to stop them.
“Yeah, I’m not feeling well,” you continued loudly, glowering at them. “Maybe if assholes would shut their fat faces and stop acting ignorant, I’d feel better.”
“Okay, you’re coming with me now!” Arthur wrapped his arm around your shoulders and scooted you towards the door. You looked over your shoulder to see them staring after you, dumbfounded. The sight of it made you laugh.
“Y/N,” Arthur pulled you into him as soon as you were outside. “I’m taking you to Gotham Hospital. We’ve gotta get you checked out.”
“No, Arthur!” you protested. You didn’t exactly know why you were so opposed to the idea, but your first instinct was to protest.
“Y/N, please. Please? Just do it for me. Just so I know you’re okay.”
“I’m worried about you,” he emphasized.
“I’m fine!”
“Okay.”
You’d switched it up so quickly, Arthur blinked in disbelief. He cleared his throat, nodding.
“Uh…okay. Good. Let’s go.”
**
“This is not where I expected to end up tonight,” you lamented. Arthur sat next to you, a clipboard given to him by the nurse at the front desk in his lap. He was trying to fill out your paperwork for you.
“Um. Your last name is…L/N right?”
“Yeah” You smiled at him. “How’d you know?”
Arthur blushed. “I…might have looked at your timecard. I was…curious about you. This was before…you know…we became...closer.”
“That’s so sweet! I looked at your timecard, too!”
Arthur stifled a laugh. “What’s your date of birth?”
He patiently wrote in all the answers and brought the completed forms back up to the desk.
“I’m surprised there aren’t more people here,” you observed, looking around at the handful of other patients. “It is a Friday night, after all.”
“It’s only ten o’clock,” Arthur reasoned. “My guess is things get crazier out there in a couple hours or so.”
“I feel like things are flying out of my mouth tonight without any filter,” you blurted. “And I’m not even that angry.”
“I feel like they are, too,” Arthur agreed. “But, that’s okay. I’m glad you agreed to come here. I’m…I’m still worried about you.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, leaning in. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Arthur looked a little startled, but he nodded.
“How do you get your hair to look so good all the time?”
Arthur’s eyebrows arched and he laughed.
“I'm serious!”
“No…I'm sorry,” he demurred, looking down at the tile floor. “It's just that nobody’s ever said that to me before.”
“Nobody ever said your hair looks incredible?” you asked. “Like it's the most gorgeous hair in the world? Nobody ever approached you to do shampoo commercials?”
“Maybe that's my true calling,” he joked.
“What shampoo do you use?”
"That's a personal question," Arthur teased as the door to the back of the ER swung open.
“L/N? F/N L/N?” the nurse called out.
You leapt to your feet. “Oh! That’s me.”
“Do you want me to wait here?” Arthur asked.
“Are you kidding?” You extended your hand and pulled him up. “Of course I want you to come. You’re my emotional support clown.”
**
After weighing you, taking your blood pressure, asking if you had any allergies to any medications and all the other boring details that entailed a medical visit, the nurse set you up in an examination room and read through your paperwork, pursing her lips as she centered in on the handwritten scrawl (Arthur’s handwriting of course) that explained why you’d come to the ER in the first place.
“It says here you…think you hit your head?”
“He thinks I hit my head,” you clarified, jerking said head towards Arthur. “I’m still not sure. There’s a big gap in my memory from tonight and I don’t know why.”
“There are bruises on her arms,” Arthur added. “She came to meet me and she looked…disheveled. Like someone had…”
He paused. The nurse looked you up and down.
“You don’t remember what happened to cause the bruises?”
You shrugged. “I can be clumsy sometimes.”
“You’re not…that clumsy,” Arthur murmured under his breath. “I mean,” he looked up at the nurse. “She’s a dancer. She’s…one of the most graceful people I’ve ever seen.”
“Arthur, that is so sweet!” you exclaimed.
The nurse shot you both a skeptical look, then smiled. “Your husband obviously cares for you a great deal.”
“Oh,” Arthur blushed. “I’m…not her-”
“Yes, he’s a wonderful husband!” you interjected, flashing him a slightly maniacal smile. “So protective of me. I couldn’t ask for a better one.”
“It sounds like you might have taken a fall,” the nurse continued, jotting down a few notes on your chart. “But the bruises on your wrists do look like they were caused by someone else’s hands.”
“My watch is broken, too,” you blurted.
“I’m wondering if maybe you were mugged. It happens to women in Gotham all the time, unfortunately.”
“But I still have all my money,” you pointed out, opening up your purse to show off your untouched wallet.
“Maybe you fought them off,” Arthur suggested. It wasn’t a completely outlandish notion. You were known to bring out the feistiness if the wrong people pushed your buttons.
“In any case, we’ll run some tests to check for concussion and other injuries.”
The nurse opened a drawer and handed you a light blue paper robe. “You can put this on. I’ll inform the doctor and he’ll check you over.”
“Thank you,” Arthur said.
“Of course. He should be by in just a minute.”
“What a nice lady,” you said to Arthur after she left you alone. “Don’t always meet people like that around here.”
“Very nice,” Arthur agreed. He cleared his throat. “Um…do you want me to leave, or…turn around while you get changed?”
You blinked, the reality of everything that had happened tonight finally hitting you.
“I just can’t believe this is how tonight turned out.”
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked softly.
“I had a whole outfit planned, Arthur! And my hair and makeup. I wanted to impress you and look beautiful for you tonight.”
“Y/N…” Arthur stood up to face you. “You are beautiful. No matter what. All I care about is that you’re okay.”
You sighed, moved by his sweet words, but you still felt utterly crestfallen and defeated. “I ruined our first date. And your big stand-up debut. I wanted tonight to be perfect so bad…”
“You didn’t ruin it,” Arthur interrupted. “I…” he paused. “Of course I wish none of this had happened to you. This city is…awful. In so many ways.” He paused, taking your hand into his. “But…I just love being with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, as long as we’re together.”
You wanted to kiss him again, but suddenly the door flew open and a man in a white coat suddenly stood before you both.
“I hear somebody got banged up tonight.”
“My guess is you got mugged. Maybe the muggers chickened out before they could actually…you know…mug you. It does look like you’ve got a concussion.”
**
Dr. White’s bedside manner was on the complete other end of the spectrum of your nice nurse’s from a few minutes before, but you’d come to expect that from men with MDs. After performing the perfunctory tests of shining a light in your eyes, examining your body for additional trauma or bruising (none was found) and asking you a few routine questions, he announced his evaluation:
“What can you do for that?”Arthur asked, concerned.
The doctor snorted at what he obviously deemed a dumb question. “Not much. Just wait it out. Don’t go to sleep for a while.”
“What happens if I fall asleep?” you asked.
“You could die.”
“Oh.”
“Your brain’ll heal itself,” the doctor continued. “Might take a little time. Just try to take it easy and don’t be in places where this could happen to you again.”
“You mean the entire city?” you asked, raising an annoyed eyebrow at him. You knew what he meant, but the slight insinuation that getting mugged was somehow your fault didn’t sit great with you.
“What can I say?” Dr. White shook his head and shrugged. “Welcome to Gotham.”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” you informed him dryly. “Gotham’s a jungle.”
“Then welcome to the jungle.”
**
“Are you hungry?” Arthur asked in the lobby of the hospital. It was past midnight. “There’s a diner down the street people seem to like.” He paused. “That is…if it’s not too late for you.”
The way you saw it, you’d stay up all night with Arthur if he’d have you.
“Let’s go to the diner. I could really go for a cheeseburger."
Arthur laughed. “Okay.”
The rain had stopped and the air outside felt crisp and freshly-washed. For a brief moment, it made you forget that the garbage strike in Gotham had just entered its seventh week.
You and Arthur moved through the crowded sidewalk together, stumbling through the endless obstacles of people and garbage. A startling headline caught your eye as you walked past a newsstand, and you stopped in your tracks to read it:
KILLER CLOWN ON THE LOOSE. LATEST NEWS ON THE MURDERS, PAGE TWO.
Beneath was a drawing of a vampiric clown.
“Can you believe that?” you asked.
Arthur paused alongside you, his eyes wide as he soaked in the headline.
“I watched this on the news last night."
Arthur nodded, pulling out and lighting a cigarette. “They worked at Wayne Enterprises. All three of them.”
You rolled your eyes. “That figures.”
Arthur cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean?”
You continued, lowering your voice. “Between you and me, I actually knew one of them. Back when I was still at college. He was a complete asshole, and that’s putting it nicely.” You sighed. “And if I had to guess, those ‘friends’ of his were cut from the exact same cloth. But it looks like he finally picked the wrong person to fuck with. And I can’t say I’m shedding any tears.”
Arthur nodded slowly, taking in your words.
“I’m sorry,” you stopped yourself. “You must think I’m crazy for talking like this.”
“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”
“Three less pricks in Gotham City,” you quipped. “Only a million more to go!”
Arthur threw back his head and laughed. You took it as a good sign: despite the traumatic brain injury and the chaotic night you’d shared, his smile still made you go weak at the knees.
🤍🩷 Thanks for reading. Visit my Masterlist for all my Fleck writing, including future chapters of Heartthrob.
#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck imagine#joker arthur fleck#arthur fleck fanfic#joker#joker fanfiction#joker 2019#joaquin phoenix joker#joaquin phoenix#slow burn#friends to lovers#age gap relationship#gotham city is awful#phoenix!joker x reader
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Ok I'm just going to post it lol.
I’ve had this theory about Dead Patient (but I guess now Darkness Distortion too) for ages, but I always felt it was too insane and I was just coping. BUT I finally saw someone on Twitter make a similar connection so I feel comfortable enough to put it out there now.
All my thoughts under the cut! Will contain some spoilers for Blood Drive and Dead Patient if you are new to the series and want to avoid those.
First, regarding Dead Patient:
So I've basically always had this theory that Ayame Itou might somehow actually be Ayumi inside her own Nirvana experiencing amnesia, and that her Nirvana took the shape of a hospital because… idk. I guess because she’s been effectively disabled since the end of Blood Drive and probably has to be in the hospital more often? If I’m remembering correctly, Yoshiki mentions in the Dead Patient drama CD that he has to bring Ayumi to the hospital, so maybe it’s the same one?
Either way it was a very incomplete “theory” and more something I thought up because it would be a fun fic idea lmao. DP isn't finished so there isn't really enough material to build a theory off of; I was mostly going off of their names sounding familiar, the amnesia thing, and the fact that the very first thing we see in DP is a catatonic Ayumi, implying that she is relevant to the story somehow. But I looked a bit more into it and there are a few things here and there that I’ve had some fun theorizing about, even if it's a stretch.
#1: This limited edition alternative costume for Ayame. They could’ve picked any character, but they picked Ayumi (this is a massive stretch, I just thought it was neat and could potentially carry some hints under the guise of a meaningless costume).
#2: The way Ayame’s name is written in hiragana, not kanji. This is pretty uncommon in Corpse Party characters. The vast majority of them use kanji -- except Sachiko (サチコ), Yoshikazu (ヨシカズ), and Yoshie (ヨシヱ), whose names are written in katakana; and Sayaka (さやか) and Ayumi (あゆみ), whose names are in hiragana. Again also a stretch, but an interesting correlation given how their names already sound similar.
And #3: This aspect of Ayame’s background, which is left pretty vague. Since this is a fan wiki I double-checked their source and it does say this in official material. The vagueness of it is obviously meant to correlate to Ayame’s amnesia, but it also leaves it open to the interpretation that maybe an amnesiac Ayumi has trauma-informed responses to these things due to her experiences in HH (even if she doesn’t remember it concretely).
Either way I didn’t really expect this idea to hold any ground and mostly put it away in the back of my mind as a silly thing to build my own post-Blood Drive headcanons with. Certain inconsistencies also existed that made me believe it wasn't possible and I was just looking into it too much (e.g., Ayame's last name is Itou, which both looks and sounds nothing like Shinozaki, so the name similarity point kind of falls off track).
Now, with Darkness Distortion:
We have another character named "Ayame." The ritual/curse in Darkness Distortion is called Ayame's Mercy. In general, people are under the impression that the girl in a wheelchair seen in promotional material is Ayame. I mean, this part of the trailer probably all but confirms that:
Ayumi is also in a wheelchair as of the end of Blood Drive/beginning of Dead Patient:
This time around, the name comparison also holds a bit more value, I think. Darkness Distortion's Ayame's full name is Ayame Kirishima. Someone I follow on Twitter pointed something out about how this new name sounds:
Translation: “I’m saying this very quietly, but, if ‘Ayame-san’ is ‘Ayumi,’ then wouldn’t her surname(?), ‘Kirishima,’ become ‘Kishinuma’?”
We know that Yoshiki is basically Ayumi's caretaker post-Blood Drive (or at least becomes her caretaker sometime between the end of Blood Drive and the start of Dead Patient) and she presumably lives with him. So I suppose it wouldn't be entirely unbelievable that an only semi-conscious or amnesia-riddled Ayumi would latch onto his name as a form of self-identification or just genuinely mistake it for her own?
The question obviously remains whether Ayame Ito and Ayame Kirishima are the same character. I don't really think it's just a coincidence they have the same first name and the setting is a hospital again. The Ayumi connection is questionable, but after getting more thoroughly reacquainted with Blood Drive (I hadn't played it since it came out 10 years ago. Oops) I feel like it's not entirely crazy to think Ayumi could have manifested her own Nirvana like Sachiko did. Maybe Ayame Ito and Ayame Kirishima function similarly to the White Sachiko and Red Sachiko in Blood Covered? (i.e., two separate manifestations of the same soul representing different emotions).
Idk. I don't expect any of this to be true lol. But it's fun to theorize while we wait for real answers.
#emma talks about corpse party#me writing this instead of doing my college/internship work: don't care having fun playing#corpse party
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The Lost Library
The Library was, first and foremost, a sanctuary.
The Library was infinite, The Library was filled with things - all anyone could ever want. Those who lived under The Library’s roof were happy.
The Library was, to Virgil, nothing more than an extravagantly decorated prison.
----
| Ao3 |
Warnings: None
Pairings: none
Word Count: 2327
Notes:
This fic is WEIRD and not in my normal style, what's going on is so vague to me that it was difficult to tag, it might even fall into some kind of unreality catagory if you're super sensitive to that kind of thing.
I'd love it if you read it though!! I really like this fic.
Inspired by one of my university lectures about writing styles, perspectives and tenses.
----
The Library was, first and foremost, a sanctuary.
The Library was infinite, The Library was filled with things - all anyone could ever want. Those who lived under The Library’s roof were happy.
The Library was, to Virgil, nothing more than an extravagantly decorated prison.
—
They had all been running, that's how most of these stories start, after all, with a scene where someone runs from a vague and distant terror into somewhere unknown and infinitely more terrifying. Or, perhaps, infinitely better. It really depended on who you were to ask.
Logan, for example, may tell you that the place they ended up was the best place they possibly could have found. Logan had stepped through its gates and found they never wanted to leave. Logan had been here the longest, and thus they were The Keeper.
Patton could be incredibly optimistic. Patton thought it was beautiful, that the smell of books reminded her of something distant but safe, the kitchens that had built themselves just for her were perfect. Patton, really, mourned for the life she once had, for the people she once knew. She would never let you know that, though. Patton has been here a long time too, she is the Caretaker.
Janus prefers to stay neutral on the matter. Is it good? Is it bad? Well who’s to say? Janus - really - quite enjoys it, and its inhabitants though they can get on their nerves. She would never say such things out loud, though. Janus is very secretive about himself, her identity, their thoughts, no-one knows much about her - not even when he came to be here. Janus is the Gatekeeper.
Finally, the Twins, Roman and Remus are their names, both love where they’ve ended up. Roman likes the stage, and the way his voice echoes off the distant ceilings and the way his very existence has come to shift. Remus loves the dark dusty corners, where secrets go to hide and words uncared for collect dust. The Twins haven’t been here as long as the others - Logan may tell you there was another before them, but don’t listen to them, for it isn’t possible for someone to leave The Library. Roman and Remus are the Ideas.
—
The cold air slices at Virgil’s face as they run against the wind of the dark storm. The storm that tries to drag them back in with every step they take. Icy tendrils like hands that grab at them, pulling at their hair and jacket and skirts, pinching at their already ashen skin and blistering their fingertips blue and purple and black with cold.
Virgil knows, somehow, that if they can just keep pushing then they might escape. It could be safe. Succumbing to the storm that tries to catch them as they walk is not the ending to this story. It is not inevitable that they fall here, Virgil thinks that perhaps whatever higher powers live above don’t want this chapter to be the end of their story, Virgil can’t help but feel like there’s more for them after this.
They aren’t sure how they know this, but something that may not even be inside them is screaming over the little voice in their head crying ‘this is the end’ to tell them to keep going, get to the other side and they will be safe. Virgil finds that no matter the feeling of rocks in their stomach and lead bricks on their feet they want to listen to the voice telling them that it’ll be okay. And so they keep pushing through the storm.
Just when the moment approached that Virgil thought that their legs may give out, that they may be rendered unable to continue further, something changed.
They trip forward, or, more accurately, run and stumble at the sudden lack of resistance in their path. They crumple to the ground, finding - with a jarring thud - that there are wooden planks beneath them instead of the snow they had been practically wading through seconds before. Virgil feels warmth wash over them - almost as though they had just stepped into a summer sunbeam, the ice on their clothes already thawing into a puddle below them.
When they finally manage to peel open their frosted shut eyes, Virgil sees in front of them a large stone fireplace in which a bright woodfire was blazing. There is the source of the heat, Virgil muses, not quite aware enough yet to wonder how exactly they had gotten here from the storm outside.
The fire was separated from them by a large metal grate atop the stone slabs that separated the fireplace from the wooden floor. Atop the wooden mantle piece sat… photos, and above that a large mirror, surrounded by yet more pinned up photos.
Quickly, Virgil was able to discern that the photos all depicted various members of the same group of five people. As they look, though, they realise that in each photo these people seem to host various inhuman features, ranging from something subtle as sharply pointed ears to obvious as bird legs and massive wings. Virgil wonders, their mind finally catching up with their observations, where the hell they are.
—
“There's a new book! A new book!” Remus practically screams as xey search for Logan, or perhaps Janus, running through halls and halls of books as though xey can fly, each step lifting xem off the ground like xey are feather light, xey barely stop when xey run full force into a taller figure and go tumbling to the ground, “Logan! New book! On the Altar!”
Logan, admittedly, hadn’t been interested in Remus’ yelling at first. New books appeared in The Library all of the time. A new book appeared every time some human had a thought, an idea, or a story popped into their head. A new book wasn’t very interesting to Logan the Keeper, but a new book on the Altar? Now that catches their interest.
A new book on the altar meant that someone new had arrived at The Library. Logan hadn’t seen a book on the altar in a few hundred years. Not since the twins.
Remus bounces on the balls of xer feet, whilst Logan frowns, tapping into the stream of consciousness that they usually tuned out - the one that let them feel when every new book was added to the library. Sure enough, one such feeling burned brighter, felt more intense, then the others.
“Show me,” Logan says eventually, gesturing for Remus to lead the way. Xey do so gladly.
When they arrive at the altar, Logan and Remus find they have been beaten to it by Patton, who had felt the new arrival’s fear and confusion so greatly that she had had not much choice but to seek out the Altar.
“Janus has gone to find them,” Patton says immediately, answering the unspoken question that the three of them had all been thinking. Janus feels the new arrivals more strongly than any of the rest of them, after all, “The poor kiddo is so scared.”
Patton looks as though she might cry as she brushes her fingers gingerly over the sixth book that now sits on the altar - along with the other five. The book is pitch black, aside from the way it is streaked with silver thread that Logan thinks looks a little like shattered glass, though Remus thinks it resembles spiderwebs, Patton thinks it looks a little like feathered icing on a cake and Janus thinks it looks like icy tendrils in a storm.
None of them are incorrect, really. The patterns on the books don’t mean any one certain thing. If anyone was most correct, though, it would be Janus, which she would boast about abhorrently, so we shall continue saying that they are all correct, so that no-one has to deal with such annoyances.
“It’s cold to the touch,” Patton whispers, still brushing her fingers over the cover of the book, she doesn’t dare look inside - none of them look inside these particular books, “Soft, though, almost like a worn out jacket.”
Logan’s curiosity gets the better of them, and they step up onto the dais where the altar sits and brush their fingers experimentally across the book - it is soft, exactly how Patton described it to be - and icy to the touch in a way that bites at Logan’s fingers. They wonder how Patton can keep touching it. Remus, of course, unable to control xer impulses the vast majority of the time anyway, jumps up after Logan. Remus recoils when xey touch the book, but xey go back to touch it a second time anyway.
“My goodness!” A loud, boisterous voice blast through the quiet atmosphere the three at the altar had settled into as Roman soars into the scene on the large white-feathered wings that they had chosen to sport today, “What in the stars has gotten everyone so energetic?”
“New book!” Patton answers with a laugh that sounds almost like a bell’s chime, “Didn’t you feel it?”
“I don’t pay attention to such things,” Roman tells her with a dismissive wave of their hand, “New folk aren’t exactly my domain - is this the book? It looks rather… dull… don’t you think?”
Patton sighs and immediately Roman knows that they’re about to be chastised.
“Now Roman,” Patton says in a tone that’s gentle but still implies that they’ve done something wrong, Patton doesn’t like upsetting the other Library residents, but it is her job to keep relationships running smoothly, “We shouldn’t judge our new friend by their book - especially not when we haven’t even met them yet.”
After reproachfully agreeing - because Roman knows better now than to argue with Patton - Roman looks around as though the new resident is going to appear out of nowhere, “Have we even found them yet?”
“Janus is looking,” Logan replies simply, turning to look out across the expanse of The Library with a sombre-adjacent expression. None of the others - not even Patton - can quite discern what they’re feeling.
—
Virgil sat in front of the fireplace for a length of time that somehow felt both like eternity and no time at all. They didn’t quite know how that could possibly work, those two sensations were so different, but for the moment they decided to put that aside, because at present there were many worse things to be worried about.
Like the person they can hear sneaking around somewhere behind them, and the prickling sensation on the back of their neck that they knew meant they were being watched. They were used enough to that particular sensation to recognise it, at least.
“Show yourself, I know you’re there,” Virgil attempts to demand, though their voice comes out hoarse and croaky and quiet. They think briefly that they would really like a glass of water and one appears directly in front of them, startling Virgil enough that they lash out and knock it over. The water disappears before it even hits the floor, leaving behind an empty glass.
Virgil glances around - hoping whoever is watching him hadn’t seen that blunder - before sighing.
They then do a double take, because in the darkness where they could just about see what looked to be the edges of bookshelves they could see one glowing yellow eye with a slitted pupil.
Snake. Virgil thought immediately. Their eyes go back to the photos on the mantle - a few of them contain a person wearing a capulet and hat that covers their face. In only one photo is their face visible, and it looks as though they’re adorned with snake scales on one side.
“Hello?” Virgil calls out again, voice still just as raspy - talking feels not dissimilar to how they imagine rubbing sandpaper across their vocal chords might feel, “I… I’m sorry if I’m intruding - I really don’t know how I got here - I’ll leave if you show me an exit?”
The snake person laughs, it’s not mocking, like many of the laughs Virgil has heard in the past, more… melancholy, a little sombre, in tone.
“There is no leaving this place now that you’ve entered,” They said from the shadows, “The library has chosen you, you do not get to decide whether you go or stay.”
Virgil’s blood seemed to freeze in their veins as they stared at the snake person. They wondered aloud; “Does that mean I’m trapped?”
The stranger hummed, “You could say that, I suppose, but there are many, many worse places to be, let me assure you.”
“Who are you?” Virgil asks, instead of responding to the answer they were given. They try to shake away the loop of ‘trapped trapped stuck bad trapped’ ringing in their ears, but it doesn’t seem to work.
They don’t answer for a long moment, before the snake eye disappears and Virgil can’t shake the image of the person from the photos tipping their oversized hat. Somehow the action left Virgil feeling like he’d won something. Maybe he’d just succeeded in that interaction.
“I am the Gatekeeper of The Library,” the stranger tells him, “But that’s a mouthful, you can call me Deceit, for now.”
“Is that your real name?” Virgil asks, only because the ‘for now’ tacked onto the end makes it feel like it wasn’t. Deceit chuckles.
“No, it is not,” Deceit tells him, but doesn’t elaborate, instead asking: “and who might you be?”
“Should I give a fake name, too?” Virgil asks, because for some reason their anxieties in the moment are all focused on messing up the etiquette of this place, rather than focusing on the things that really matter.
“If you would like,” Deceit answers vaguely once again, “It may give you an edge - but it is by no means a necessity.”
Virgil thinks he’ll take that as a yes, for now, they’re pretty sure they don’t have room in their brain to work out what Deceit is really trying to say.
“You can call me Anxiety, then.”
----
Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)
#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfiction#virgil sanders#logan sanders#remus sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders#janus sanders#fanfic#fanfiction#rowans writings
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noctuary · henry x reader
noctuary (n.)
the record of a single night's events, thoughts, or dreams
summary: you're a young vampire, turned against your will and abandoned by your sire. henry has taken you in, and while you're thankful for his mentorship, there's a certain kind of tension building between the two of you
pairing: henry x reader
word count: 3.2k
warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. swearing. mentions of blood (duh), one dead fox (sorry), horny vampires, smut, lots of biting (not sorry), kisses, sucking, marking, oral (f rec), filthy kiss, p in v, outdoor sex, you name it sugar
a/n: so I love different vampire myths/lore and obviously, I had to make up a few things for this fic to work. most of my inspiration came from the vampire: the masquerade ttrpg/video games series which I ADORE and uh, this was a lot of fun to write! so there's quite a bit of plot to this. ...oops? Also, some spoilers for the horribly dumb but still somehow entertaining movie that is eat locals.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics.
The world felt inky black under the thick canopy of the trees, broken occasionally by the moonlight shining through a few patches, but you found your way easily, your eyes adjusting to the dark. The air was warm, heavy and damp with summer and the scent of flowers and grass hanging all around.
You’ve been walking for an hour or two now, heading deeper into the woods to clear your thoughts. You weren’t sure if it was working.
But you needed a little space.
The past few months have been hard, to say the least. You remembered walking home late one night, lost in your thoughts - and then, your next memory was waking up on the side of an abandoned road, curled up in pain as your whole body was wrecked by cramps, shivers and the deepest, most ferocious hunger that you have ever felt in your life.
It was sheer luck that Henry and Sebastian found you, dragging you with them, fleeing the impending dawn as you fell in and out of consciousness, too weak to struggle.
You could still recall that hunger, fighting to take over you until you felt the metallic taste of blood pooling on your tongue - that sinister-sweet, dark pleasure filling you, a single drop falling from the corner of your mouth and the crimson shadow that Henry covered over his wrist.
Even though he wasn’t your sire, a bond formed between you two.
A strong one.
One that was hard to ignore, even now as you tried to get as far away from him as possible, making your way through the undergrowth.
It’s not that you weren’t thankful. Without their help, you surely wouldn’t have made it through that first night. But it was hard to take it all in. The fact that vampires exist felt like the plot to a terrible movie, and whether you liked it or not, it was your reality now.
It was demanding getting used to your new life, both physically and mentally. To control your hunger, no matter how strong ancient instincts were gnawing at your bones. To keep to the darkness.
To play by the rules.
The Council graciously spared your life under the sole condition that Henry was now responsible for you.
Teaching you. Guiding you. Guarding and providing for you until you’re fit to receive your own territory. And your own place among the new Eight.
And you were grateful for his mentorship, truly. But he was - how could you put it?
Overbearing.
Of course, there was much to learn - from the history of what you’ve become, to your new-found abilities, and Henry took his time explaining it all. But he was always with you, shadowing your every move. On some nights, he allowed you outside, teaching you how to feed, how to blend in with the shadows. But most of the time he saw it best if you stayed inside, where you could be kept safe despite you frequently voicing your disagreement.
It was patronizing, and it was driving you insane. The fact that he saved your life was already enough to make you feel indebted to him for eternity - even if you’ve thanked him numerous times, and he never mentioned or taunted you with it. But it was there, hanging thickly in the air between you.
Just a few days back, you were out hunting, crouching together in the shadows on the outskirts of the forest. Motionless, you waited for something, anything, to cross your path.
You swallowed thickly at the memory of Henry’s body pressed tightly to yours, his breath fanning your face. Vaguely, you were aware of him talking, the low whisper in your ear sending shivers through your very core.
Then, a low chuckle, a smirk on his face when he realized you didn’t hear a single word of what he was saying. Even as he scolded you, all you could think about was how fucking close his lips were to your skin; and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to get closer or farther away from it.
Nevertheless, all that close proximity wasn’t doing you any favors. You felt tense, all your frustration pent-up and ready to burst. More and more often you caught yourself looking at Henry, your gaze lingering over him: his face, his lips, his beard, down his neck before you caught yourself and turned abruptly away.
You’d sit there, frozen in silent horror, begging all higher powers that this be no more than a passing infatuation.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, when you couldn’t bear it anymore and let your eyes wander to him again, you’d catch him staring right back at you. His expression unreadable, umber eyes darkening as he focused intently on you. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you’d gape back at him, fleeing the room with the lamest excuse tumbling out of your mouth.
Then, you’d close the door on yourself, laying in bed in the dark, thoughts racing as you wondered about the taste of his lips, or how that beard would feel against the soft skin of your thighs.
At sunset, Henry woke you from an uneasy sleep, to let you know he was going out for the night. Except this time, he wasn’t taking you along.
“Seba will keep you company.” he said, already halfway out the door when you snorted indignantly, muttering under your breath. He stopped, turning back slowly.
“What was that?” he asked, voice low and eyes flashing dangerously in the dusklight.
“Nothing.” you replied, and made sure it sounded as venomous as possible.
Henry took a step back into the room, towering over you.
“Good.” he said, and while he sounded calm, there was an underlying threat in his tone that made it crystal clear he was not up for your bullshit tonight. “I have something to take care of. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You could take me with you.”
God, you sounded so pathetic.
“This doesn’t concern you.” he said, leaving no room for argument. In a second, he turned his back on you, a whisper of a pain making room in your chest at how easy it was for him to be so dismissive of you. A sharp contrast to the yearning that seemed to burn every inch of your being, and you had to bite your tongue to not beg him to stay.
He looked back from the doorway, giving you one last warning.
“I’d better find you here when I’m back.”
Fuck him.
He was barely out of the house and you managed to convince Sebastian that you felt tired and wanted to be alone. You hoped Henry wouldn’t bite his head off for being naive enough to believe that lie.
Just to be sure, you waited a little before climbing out the window and made your way towards the woods. The cool night air, and the hike through the forest helped take your mind off of things at least. Not completely, of course, but it was nice.
It felt of freedom, even if there was a life to the forest; one the daylight would never let you see. Several hedgehogs crossed your path, hurrying on their way and you scared off an owl when a twig snapped under your boots.
Eventually, you reached your destination - a small creek cutting the forest in two, opening up the night sky. There was much more light here - the full moon rising high, illuminating the trees and breaking into a myriad pieces on the surface of the water.
You sat down on the riverbank, taking it all in. The clouds were clearing in the gentle wind, revealing the stars to you. Absent-mindedly, you pick up a small stone and throw it in the water. The splash scares up some critter hiding at the other bank and the leaves rustle under its paws as it scurries away.
For a few minutes, you just sit there, listening to the trickle of the stream and the occasional cricket chirping in the distance.
And then, you sense him, his presence looming behind you.
You’re not sure how far he was following behind because god damn it, you didn’t notice a thing. In fact, you’re pretty certain you only noticed him now because the bastard let you and that realization stirs up some old anger in you.
“What do you want?” you spat, refusing to spare him even a glance as you threw another stone.
“‘S nice to see you, too.”
“Go away.”
Another splash. He doesn’t move a muscle, of course - you’re in no position to order him around. It reminds you that you have no say in this game, no power. Instead of bickering, he simply sits down next to you, much to your surprise.
“I found a dead fox in the bushes. Was that you?”
You turn to him with a cold glare. “I’m not proud of it, y’know.”
Henry just chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it.”
You couldn’t help it. You were hungry, and taking what you needed from humans was not something you were ready to do. Pretty sure it wasn’t something you’d ever be ready for. At least there was no judgment from Henry for that. He was a firm believer that even as a vampire, one could still have standards - something he encouraged while mentoring you, too.
His voice dropped lower.
“I just want you to understand-”
“It’s fine.” you interrupted, throwing yet another stone. The words were venom on your tongue, except this time, you didn’t mean it. It just hurt.
Henry scoffed. “Can you stop being a brat for five minutes?”
“You don’t have to explain. I don’t care.”
Splash.
“But I do.”
“Don’t.” You raised your hand, ready to hurl another rock when he caught your wrist.
He wasn’t causing you any pain, just held on firmly when you struggled. You expected him to get angry. To yell. But when you looked over, ready to stare him down, to bicker until fucking dawn; there was something else in his eyes instead. Something soft, and caring - and it scared you.
With a huff, you tore your hand from his grasp. But you shut up.
Henry took a deep, uneasy breath.
“It happened only a few months before we found you, when there were still Eight of us. We met one night, to discuss some official matters. It was supposed to go all smoothly, far enough from town at a rural farmhouse.”
He snorted at the memory. “You’d think a handful of ancient vampires would know better, but we weren’t careful enough. I guess the past centuries made us a little too comfortable. A group of soldiers overwhelmed us.”
An awkward silence settled slowly, causing you to swallow against a sudden dryness in your throat. Never in your wildest dreams could you guess that something like this was behind his caution and sheltering. There were precautions to being a vampire, sure and the rules and quotas were in place to protect you, but still.
“A lot of my friends were killed that night.” He continued. “Only three of us survived - and Seba.”
“That was the night you met Sebastian?” you asked, incredulous.
“Yeah.” Henry looked over to you with concern. “Did he tell you about all this?”
“Just mentioned something in passing, once. Then panicked and refused to say anything else when I tried asking about it.”
“That sounds like him alright, yeah.”
“But what happened exactly?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it just as quickly, shaking his head. “One night, I will tell you. But I can’t, not now.”
He shifted closer, leaning in; you could almost feel his skin touching yours. If you tilted your head, just slightly-
“I- I can’t let that happen again. I couldn’t bear it. I can’t.”
You could practically hear your heart breaking over the pleading in his voice. “Henry…”
And there it was again. That gaze that seemed to see right through all the walls you’ve built, baring all your deepest desires. He was so close, impossibly close, his breath on the air, a whisper like a breeze.
“I can’t lose you.”
You moved before you could think. Just an inch forward, pressing your lips over his. His breath hitched and you braced yourself for inevitable disappointment; for refusal. You weren’t ready for the soft moan in the back of his throat, giving himself to you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, îngeraș*.” he muttered before slipping his tongue into your mouth, and you didn’t even try to resist him, almost high on his taste.
Where you were desperate, needy and giving in, he was now intense; almost controlling as he took over, one hand slipping to the back of your neck, lowering, pushing you down until the scent of wildflowers erupted around you as you hit the ground, the starry skies embracing you from above.
Panting heavily, Henry pulled away briefly only to look at you, eyes glowing in the dark before he practically attacked your clothes, stripping you of your shirt, your own hands busy with his belt, tearing off his coat, getting rid of anything that could come in your way.
He looked absolutely gorgeous; better than anything you could have ever imagined: his body bathed in the moonlight, muscles glistening with sweat. Your eyes dropped to his neck, then lower, down his chest, following that sweet happy trail and you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself anymore, reaching out - only for him to catch your wrists again.
“Not yet,” he taunted, kissing the inside of your wrists half-apologetically. “I know you’ve been waiting for this, angel, but I’m gonna make you earn it.”
You choked on a sound, opening your mouth to protest but he interrupted you.
“That’s right,” he added, amusement evident in his voice at your shocked expression. “You think I couldn’t hear you? Panting and writhing and whispering my name in the other room as you touched yourself?”
You could feel heat creeping across your face, half in embarrassment, half in defiance as you tried to wrestle your hand free.
“Fuck, Henry, just let me touch you-”
“No.” He said firmly, grabbing your other wrist, pinning your hands above your head with ease as he laid above you, his face a mere inches from yours. “If I’m to claim you, right here, you’re gonna lay there and take what I’m giving you and you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and obey, you hear me. Can you do that, huh? Just once?”
You smirked. “Make me.”
The growl he let out was carnal, fangs flashing before he bit down on your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your flesh, just shy from breaking skin but enough to leave a deep mark, a final claim to make you his.
He grinded his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your thighs and you practically whimpered, wanting to feel him inside you.
“You’re mine.” he whispered, pressing kisses over his mark, “mine.”
Then, a trail of open mouthed kisses leading to your collarbone, your breasts, and he brought your hands down with his, fingers intertwined with yours to keep you in your place. You were a squirming, whimpering mess as he toyed with your nipples, fangs barely scraping your skin before he took them in his mouth, suckling on them, coaxing the most delicious sounds from you.
You clenched around nothing, needy and craving more as you tried to get some friction, grinding against him. One last lick, his eyes closed as he hummed in appreciation, his tongue slowly sliding over the soft skin of your breasts.
He was hunger itself, feral on the scent of your arousal as he slid lower, leaving small bites all over your stomach and sides, and you moaned louder and louder each time his fangs sinked into your flesh, practically crying with need.
And fuck, if it didn’t feel good to know you had this affect on him, the power to make him drop to his knees and worship every inch of your body with his mouth, his breath damp against your skin.
“Henry, please.”
One last bite, harder than the others, a low growl warning you to let him take what he needs, craves, wants. He squeezed your hands before finally letting go, laying flat on his stomach between your legs, eyes glowing with a fire like the stars above.
“Beautiful angel.” he said, arms wrapping around your thighs, holding you close, keeping you in place as he finally devoured you, dragging his tongue up between your folds, and you almost sobbed, lost in the pleasure.
Your hands scrambled until you found purchase in his hair, shamelessly guiding his movements as you rocked against him, your clit throbbing as he nipped and sucked on it. It felt like you could come any second, your whole body trembling with the force of it when he pulled away.
He wanted to give you more.
His beard was glistening with your arousal, and he made a half hearted attempt to wipe it away, only to reconsider, sucking his fingers greedily for every last drop. When he climbed over you, you couldn’t contain it anymore and reached out to cradle his face, pulling him in for a filthy kiss. He obliged happily, letting you get a taste of yourself.
He didn’t bother to warn you before he thrusted inside you, and fuck, it knocked the air right out of you, a choked sound in the back of your throat he swallowed readily. He filled you up completely, fitting so perfectly that there was no question he was made for you; born for you eons ago for this moment to make you lose yourself in him, his body, his yearning, his love.
He started rocking his hips, his eyes drawn to where your bodies met, watching his cock disappear in you, filling you with pleasure. He was drunk on your moans and the way his name hung on your lips, the way your hands looked for purchase so frantically, grabbing for his shoulders.
Panting, he picked up his pace, pounding into you harder, faster, deeper with each stroke, hissing, cursing softly under his breath when you dragged your nails down his back but fuck if he didn’t love it. It didn’t take long to get you close; the way you clenched around him, your eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of your whole body overcome with pleasure drove him over the edge too, the two of you cumming together, the clearing next to the creek loud with your grunts and moans.
Henry barely kept himself from collapsing over you, too greedy to pull out just yet, and you didn’t mind. You were high on euphoria, dizzy with pleasure, your hands lazily caressing his skin.
“We have to go.” he eventually said, softly, in-between featherlight kisses that he peppered along your neck.
He was right, you had to get back before sunrise.
“I want to stay like this forever.” you replied, the words tumbling out of you before you even realized.
“Don’t worry,” Henry said, smirking. “The dawn will find you in my arms, draga mea*; but not here.”
*îngeraș [romanian]: little angel
*draga mea [romanian]: my darling
@itwasthereaminuteago @munsonownsmyass 😘
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Out Chapter 3
Hello! Here is chapter 3 of this fic! Beta'd by @fish-bowl-2! Read it here or on ao3! (the format of this chapter looks better on ao3)
The stage is set... next chapter... EVENTS can occur... >:)
Like Ed Soldiers
My story takes place in the ancient Kingdom of Penumbra, a land teetering between the blessing of the sun’s light and the dark abyss of earth’s many evils. It was thought of as only a myth until I was discovered by scientists of the modern age. My discovery proved once and for all the existence of this kingdom powered by the elements of magicks. My body, broken down and long left without the mana that once fueled me, could offer little in the way of information about the history of the once great kingdom. What my shell did provide was an answer to the question scientists had been hoping to discover for centuries: is the manatech of old a possibility, or just a far flung fairy tale? Now armed with a crucial key to the puzzle, they begin to repair my antiquated body with plans to delve through my memory banks and see just what happened in the distant past. Did monsters truly roam the land? Were there still living Gods among us? Did sorceresses and black devils actually doom our land to permanent darkness? Finally, these questions could be answered.
“Ed.”
My memories start the first time I am activated.
“State your name and purpose.” Mumbles the skeptical royal technician, distrusting the effectiveness of an android not made by his own hands.
I take my first step forward and hear my own voice for the first time.
“Ed.”
“I am unit G V V 3 N. My purpose is the protection of Princess Penelope.”
I turn to face the princess and take my first glance at my reason for living.
“If it pleases the Princess, she may call me Gwen.” I close my fist over the center of my chest and click my heels together, the salute of The Penumbra Kingdom already programmed into me.
“I will protect you with my life.”
“Edward.”
The princess crosses her arms at me, the distrust in her eyes even more apparent than the technician’s.
“Great. A new babysitter.”
“Edward Horace Sempill!”
Ed’s head jerks up away from his notebook, pencil stilling at the end of the incomplete line of his doodle. He had been stuck on this one for a while, eyes straining as he erased, redrew, and erased the features of the princess’s face again and again, trying to get everything just right. After a moment of staring blankly in the direction of the front of the classroom, he rises to his feet, jostling his desk in the process and causing his pens and pencils to drop and scatter along the tiled classroom floor.
“Yes Sergeant Captain Major Colonel Lieutenant Ma'am Sir!” He shouts as he flings his palm up to his forehead, smacking himself audibly. He’s been yelled at for forgetting someone’s title far too many times, so now he just just says all of them to cover his bases.
The teacher up by the chalkboard sighs while surrounding students snicker behind their hands. “Sit down, Ed. And Ma’am is fine.”
‘Oh good, I’m in Miss Bouvette’s class. She’s a nice lady,’ he thinks in relief while sitting back down with a wide grin on his face.
The entire class falls silent, everyone turning to look at Ed’s tall frame. He glances between the different sets of eyes aimed at him, his smile falling as confusion fogs up his brain.
“... Ed?”
“Huh?” He looks back at Miss Bouvette.
“It’s your turn, Ed. Read the next passage.”
“Oh. Right.” He moves his notebook under his book, looking down at the page to find where the previous classmate left off. Wait, what page are they even on? Dread lays heavy in his sinking gut, forehead breaking out with sweat at the looming threat of his teacher realizing he hasn’t been following along. He tries to look at his neighbor’s page, but he covers the page number with his hand while giving Ed a not so friendly smile. With a sullen pout, he looks back to his own book, chewing dead skin off of his lips as he tries and fails to come up with a solution.
“Chapter three, Ed. Paragraph ten.” Comes Miss Bouvette’s patient voice.
“Oh. Right.” Ed repeats, slowly flipping to the correct page before carefully counting the paragraphs. “Cuhm ill oovrate la bowhch…”
“Next paragraph.”
“Oh. Uh… Voikee. Jeh mapple Jeen Valjeen. Jeh, ah, soos uhn galereen. Jay pace… dicks… uh, knee oof ans awoo bagnee.”
Laughter breaks out again, a little louder than before, distracting Ed and making him lose his spot. He worries at the inside of his cheek, scanning the page in an attempt to figure out where he was.
“That’s enough, Ed. Thank you. It’s your turn, Jack.” Miss Bouvette dismisses him from finishing and Ed sighs in relief. The shorter boy in front of him clears his throat and sits up straight, picking up from where Ed left off.
“Je suis libéré depuis quatre jours et en route pour Pontarlier qui est ma destination. Quatre…”
Ed sulks in his seat, sinking down until his eyeline meets the middle of Jack’s back. He tries to follow along with him, honest he does, but it’s not long before his thoughts start to drift. When he snaps back to, a new classmate is reading, and he’s completely lost where they are in the book. Defeated, he goes to pick up his pencil and continue drawing; except it’s not where he left it. His monobrow scrunches together as he searches for it, but no amount of patting his desk or glancing under his chair shows any sign of it. Defeated once more. There’s no finding something he's lost. He turns to biting his hang nails instead, his usual backup when he’s run out of ways to entertain himself. Fresh blood wells up from his sore and scab covered nail beds, the taste of iron familiar and soothing. He frees his finger of one particularly large flap of skin, chewing it between his teeth before swallowing it down. When he feels the burn of eyes on him, he turns to look at the guy sitting next to him. His face is twisted up as if he’s making a concentrated effort not to barf, meeting Ed’s eyes with a disapproving glare before mumbling to himself and looking away.
“Fucking gross, dude.”
Red hot shame burns straight to Ed’s core, and he stares down at his lap to avoid looking at anyone else. He pulls at his sleeves until his mangled fingers are hidden in his uniform, rubbing the rough fabric between his fingertips as the radiating embarrassment causes him to sweat more. He’s gonna end up with pit stains. He always does.
When the bell rings he waits for everyone else to be finished packing up and almost out the door before he starts putting his own things away into his ratty backpack. The clicking of heels approaches, and Ed packs up faster in response, hoping to avoid a lecture.
“Ed.”
Oh. Right. He’s in Miss Bouvette’s class. She doesn’t yell at him. Maybe ‘cuz she’s not military. He flashes her a cheerful smile as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Afternoon, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am.”
She smiles back at him, leaving Ed mesmerized by how her red lipstick glistens under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Good afternoon, Ed. How is your day going?”
“Goin’ alright. This is my last class of the day so now I get to go back to my room.” He smiles wider at the very thought of it. Thank golly gee it’s summer and today’s only a half day.
She smiles back, but not big and happy like Ed is. Her eyes actually look kinda sad. “Most of the students are going out to the field with their friends or doing homework in the library together. You won’t join them?”
“Can't join ‘em.” Ed answers honestly. He’s tried and failed too many times to get any of the guys to want to be pals with him.
“I see. I also see that our extra tutoring sessions don’t seem to be helping much.”
Ed winces and looks down at the floor, shoulders slouching in an attempt to make himself smaller. “Aw… I’m real sorry ‘bout that, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am. Learning a whole new language is hard.”
The feeling of her small hand and well manicured nails against his shoulder signals him to look back up, and he is rewarded for doing so with a sweet smile. “It is hard, Ed. And that’s not your fault.”
Her smile is an infectious disease, and Ed’s happy to have caught it. “Thanks for saying so.”
“I say it because it’s true. I just wish our school had more resources for students like you.”
“Ya mean the stupid ones?” Ed asks, then gives his teacher a worried look when red spreads across her face. Maybe she has a disease for real.
“I- no. I didn’t mean that. And anyone who told you you’re stupid is wrong, Ed.”
Ed has to take a moment to think on that, finger tapping his chin as he stares up at his brain.
“Hm… no, I think they’re right about that.” Ed finally answers with a proud grin, satisfied that he got the answer right.
Miss Bouvette just looks sad again. Must be diseased and not feeling well. Because of her disease.
“You have challenges, Ed. Challenges that other people don’t have to overcome. But I have full faith that you could with the right support.”
That’s gotta be his favorite thing about Miss Bouvette, even more than the not yelling; sometimes, she sounds just like Double D. He has to restrain himself from reaching out to hug her.
“Can we still do tutoring together?” He asks hopefully, hugging himself instead of her.
“Of course, Ed. My door’s always open.”
“Oh boy!” His self-restraint fails, arms flinging open and out towards his teacher. She knows him well, though, and is able to step back just in time to dodge the incoming hug, holding her hand out for a handshake instead. Ed takes her hand in both of his, gleefully and wildly wiggling her arm up and down as if he’s attempting to dislocate her shoulder.
“Okay, see ya later Miss Bouvette, Ma’am,” he calls out as he exits the classroom into the squeaky clean halls of the school. Lockers line the walls just as they would in any other high school, but the lack of decorated doors makes Ed feel like they all must be empty inside. Same old fluorescent lights, at least, the buzzing of which reminds him of the insidious insectoid ladies from that one comic where the mad scientist releases fly pheromones into the vents and causes slimy, translucent wings to sprout from the prom queen’s back while bone crunching noises herold the growth of four new arms, segmented black toothpicks coated in fine, oily hairs. Her eyes are the next to change, splitting and multiplying like the cells of new life, spreading across her face as she screams in terror, jaw stretching into fanged manables before she closes them around the prom king’s head, swallowing it crown and all. The rest of the female student body soon follows suit, morphing and screaming before biting off the heads of their own dates as they try to get away, slipping and falling on the blood-slicked dance floor, cries and shouts mingling with the blaring rockabilly music they had all been joyfully dancing to moments before. This is one mess old janitor Rusty will remember cleaning for the rest of his life, and the first time the chess club is glad to be without dates.
Ed is halted in his tracks as he trips over something and slams his face into the door to his dorm room, letting out a weak “ow,” as he slides down to the floor.
“What just happened?” he asks aloud, sitting up from the floor and rubbing the red mark on his forehead. He’s already at his dorm room somehow, so that’s good; if nothing else, at least his brain has a great autopilot mode. But he fell for some reason. Reason, reason, reason… raison. Season for raison reasons. For what reason did he fall? Finally, his newly bruised brain catches up with his eyes, processing the strewn mail under his legs that he slipped on.
“Mail!” He shouts excitedly, rocketing up to his feet and scooping it all into his arms before rushing inside his room. After dumping the mail on his neatly made, almost too small for him, bed, he sorts through it, grabbing everything addressed to his roommate and dumping it on the bed against the opposite wall. His boots get kicked off and shoved under the mattress as he hurriedly scrambles up onto it, grinning maniacally as he clutches his pink envelope, his overstuffed manilla envelope, and a thin cardboard box in his hands. Chuckling to himself in giddy anticipation, he tears into his first letter.
🝮
Lughead,
Jimmy says hi and he wants me to tell you the big news. We saw Aaron Carter LIVE on STAGE. It was so cool! It was hard to keep Jimmy hydrated and on his feet. I thought he’d definitely pass out, especially with how woozy he got once AC came onstage. Don’t worry, I kept him on his feet. He can't afford another concussion.
Dad didn’t feel like driving to Michigan, so he bought me and Jimmy airplane tickets! We flew over Canada. It was my first time on an airplane. Have you ever been on an airplane? Before I was born? Jimmy was really scared, but I wasn’t. He threw up like three times. Mom never would’ve let me on a plane without an adult if she was home. We’re all keeping this a secret, k? She’d go double crazy and have to stay at the hospital even longer. Speaking of mom, the doctors said she’s making good progress. They think she should be ready to come home by the end of summer.
I wish you were coming home too. Things have been too quiet around here without you. There’s stuff I wanna talk to you about that I don’t want to do through a letter. Stuff I don’t know how Dad would feel about. I know how mom would feel about it so no way I’m telling her. So stay outta trouble and keep your nose clean mister! That’s the only way you’re gonna get back home.
Miss you dummy,
Sarah
Dearest Ed,
Greetings and salutations! My, how the time flies. A whole year already since you departed from our carefree cul-de-sac. You’re halfway home, my durable friend. Every day passed is another grain of sand through the hourglass, bringing our reunion ever closer. The sooner the better; our quaint little neighborhood just isn’t the same without you and your incredulous imagination.
My lamentations aside, I hope you are doing well. I was delighted to hear in our last correspondence that you are receiving tutoring from your French teacher. Language has always been your strong suit when it comes to academics, what with your voracious reading habits. Speaking of which, did you enjoy the last Stephen King book I sent you? I know you’re particularly fond of short stories, and Nightmares and Dreamscapes is overflowing with your most beloved genre; horror. A harrowing assemblage to be sure! Please let me know, as I’d love to send you his most recently released collection, Everything’s Eventual. It’s similarly startling.
As per your letter, I am pleased to answer that I am doing well myself. Senior year is just around the corner, and I anticipate it being the most illuminating year thus far in my academic career. I dearly wish you were here too so we could experience it together. I’m sure Eddy feels similarly; classroom settings have become even more deliriously deranging for his psyche without you here to entertain him. We’re both counting the days until you’re able to return home. Stay safe, stay out of trouble, and focus on your school work, mister!
Sincerely,
Eddward
Hey Lumpy
Here are the comics you asked for. You better be enjoying these cuz they aint cheap. Theres some magazine clippings about those movies you wanted to see the reviews of too. Everythings boring and sucks as usual. All the shit thats fun to do with you is lame as hell without you and god knows mr stick up his ass cant manage any proper entertainment. Kevin and Rolf are ok to hang with but all they ever wanna do is drink beers in the lane or fish in the creek. I dunno how they can stand all the sitting around doing nothing. Speaking of sitting around doing nothing I still have the candy store job. Made enough money to finish paying dad back for the car and I have plenty saved up. When you get outta that shithole you and me are gonna live it up. First thing Im gonna do is take you wherever you wanna go in MY car. Then Im gonna buy us the best time money can buy. I’ll getcha drunk on gravy somehow. Theres gotta be some way to make boozy gravy that doesnt taste gross. Who knows though youd probably like the taste of vodka and gravy together. Or anything with gravy. Your sick like that. Anyway were both gonna be done with school forever and thats worth celebrating. I hope they aint changing you too much monobrow. Tell me youre still a wild animal. I need that energy back in my life. Miss you like a hernia big guy. Enough to almost make me wanna hug you and get a whiff of those stinky pits of yours. I might even shed a manly tear.
Come home already!
From Eddy
🝮
Sarah’s handwriting is neat and easy to get through, whereas Double D’s cursive and Eddy’s chicken scratch take a bit more time. It’s all worth it, though, and Ed lovingly hugs the letters to his chest when he’s done reading them. His best pals and baby sister love him and miss him! Who cares if he can’t make friends here? His heart is already so full with love and kittens and rainbows and bunnies just thinking about his fellas and baby sister back home. There’s no room left for new people in there anyway.
He spends the next couple of hours devouring the comic books Eddy sent as well as the first few short stories in his new book at his desk, a goofy grin plastered to his face long enough to make his cheeks hurt. As absorbed in his reading as he is, he doesn’t even notice the sky starting to darken outside the window between his and his roomie’s bed until his eyes start to hurt. Once he realizes why, he turns on the light that’s attached to the underhead of the top shelf of his school-issued wooden desk. That, and the school-issued bed and school-issued dresser are the only furniture items on his side of the room, not having come here originally with anything other than his backpack full of toiletries and school supplies. The only things he’s received since are gifts from Eddy and Double D, all small enough to fit in a mailbox: there’s Jim Jr., the tiny plastic cactus Double D sent that he keeps atop the top shelf of his desk, a row of novellas and short stories also sent from Double D packed tightly together next to Jim Jr., various comic books from Eddy stacked on the bottom shelf, newspaper and magazine clippings of things Ed likes tacked to the small cork board leaning against the wall behind his desk, and drawers stuffed full with a range of art supplies that Eddy and Double D sent together. His cluttered desk is the only splash of personality on his side of the room, school code demanding the walls be kept barren and the floors be kept clean.
Ed tries to go back to reading, but alas, he already looked away from his book, and now he has no idea where on the page he was. With a shrug, he puts the book away with the others and grabs Nightmares and Dreamscapes before pulling his reason for not yet writing to Double D about the book out of his top drawer; an unfinished comic book adaptation of ‘The Moving Finger’ starring Double D as the quiz show obsessed protagonist. Ed spreads the page he was last working on out in front of him, wanting to finish the comic and send it with his review of the book as a surprise. He smiles just thinking about Double D’s reaction. He’ll be so grossed out by the multi-jointed finger wiggling out of the sink drain in Ed’s perfect recreation of his bathroom. Happy to be back in the zone, he puts all his attention into inking the last lines of the page before moving on to sketch out the next one.
The thwap to the back of his buzzed head is sudden and unexpected.
“Ow.” He states neutrally before turning around to identify his assaulter. When he sees his roommate Ron, he forces a smile. He didn’t see or hear him come into the room.
“Oh, hiya roomie!”
“Why is there a boot print on my mail?” He asks without greeting, holding up a large envelope in front of Ed’s face. Ed squints at the dirty boot treads pattern, puzzled himself before smiling wide in delight that he actually remembers why and has an answer.
“‘Cuz I stepped on it.” He states proudly.
Ron sneers at him. “Why?”
Ed’s smile falters, but not completely. “Aw, it was just an accident, Ronnie.”
“Told ya not to call me that.” He huffs, taking his mail with him as he stomps out of the room. “And watch where you’re going, retard.”
That’s when his smile fully falls.
He remembers a time he wouldn’t have cared about that; a time when Eddy would threaten to wallop whoever threw that word at him while Double D would scold and scold and scold while wagging his finger until his whole face looked like a ripe tomato. Ed would just chuckle and shake his head. He already knows he’s stupid, so it’s not news to him. But that was back when he had his pals who knew him and accepted him as is. Back when some of the most popular kids in school were cul-de-sac buddies who expected his oddities and took them in stride. Back when people liked him. Back when he was home. Back when he wasn’t alone.
His face feels hot as he struggles to remember what he was doing, tummy twisting inside of him like a maggot ready to pupate. He was reading… no, he put that away. Drawing? Yeah. But this is a new page. What was he sketching? What part of the story was he at again? And what story was it?
His lower lip juts out in a pout when he gives up, putting everything away back in its place. The last thing he wants is to get scolded tomorrow morning during room inspections. Once his desk is tidy, he grabs his new book and trudges off to bed and cracks it open to flip to a story he hasn’t read yet. He can’t actually read it though, not really, eyes scanning and taking in the words without processing them as his mind races with thoughts about home and his friends.
‘Just one more year.’
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CHERRY BLOSSOMS AND AMBER WOOD
genre. fluff.
warnings. kissing. reader and dawon are married.
pairing. husband!dawon x wife!reader.
wc. 1.1k.
a/n. surprise i also write for sf9 (no one is surprised atp i start writing for new groups every day skdjks) also i think i discovered that shampoo is like the best smelling thing in the world so... yeah 👍 that was the whole idea of this fic ksjdks
“Come back, you smell good!” Your husband whined, already wrapped up in the sheets. You laughed, shaking your head at his clinginess. He really was like a child at times.
“I’m just going to brush my teeth, babe. It’ll only take two minutes.” You called back to him, already in the bathroom. He pouted at your response and fell back onto the pillows. 2 minutes felt like a long time, especially when he had just gotten back from a long business trip. It was late now, and all Sanghyuk wanted to do was cuddle under the covers with you as soon as possible.
There were many little things that had made him fall in love with you. It wasn’t entirely your looks (though, you were the most gorgeous woman to ever exist to him), or your personality, but the little things that made you, you. The habits and tendencies and constants— those were what Sanghyuk adored about you. The never changing mannerisms that he had grown all too fond of over the years.
It was how you liked to organise things on the shelf by size, not colour; or how you put your hair up and dressed in sweats when it was cleaning day (he would always think you looked the most attractive on cleaning days). It was the fruit smoothies that you would make for him without a recipe, yet they always ended up tasting better than what you could get in the store, and the way you were so attentive to him at all times, not just caring for his health, but remembering all the things he had said in the past. He commented on your necklace once, saying it was pretty? You’d be wearing it for the next date. He offhandedly said he wanted to try pottery? You had already scheduled a class to go to together.
And, especially, it was the way you smiled at him when you were tired. Your eyes looked so sleepy, but so content. Whenever you were wrapped up in his arms, he felt like he could die perfectly happy just like that. As long as you were right beside him, cuddling into his chest, mumbling about your day in a soft voice amongst smiles, he was the happiest man on Earth.
There was one more thing— possibly Sanghyuk’s favourite thing. Your hair. Not just how pretty it was, but how good it smelled. He always thought that the hair products you used must have some magical scents infused into them, because once you were out of the shower, Sanghyuk could never bring himself to separate from you.
Your hair was so soft and smelled so sweet and clean and feminine— a scent that he could soak up every second of the day and never get tired of it. It was intoxicating, almost dizzying, and it made Sanghyuk feel euphoric that he could call you his. Like the prettiest cherry blossoms on a Spring day, or the sweetest fruit in the Summer sun, you were perfect in every sense.
You came back from the bathroom, teeth brushed and pyjamas on— ready to tuck yourself under the covers with him until the morning came. Sanghyuk opened his arms immediately, eager for you to be back where you belonged. You hugged yourself to his chest, relaxing at the feeling of his arms squeezing you with the perfect pressure, placing gentle kisses to your head.
“I’m serious, you smell so good.” He said again, this time in a whisper, nose happily buried between strands of your hair.
“You do, too.” You commented. While you smelled like flowers, Sanghyuk’s cologne lingered on his clothes from the morning, hitting your nose with hints of leather and amber wood.
“Never gonna get tired of you.” He mumbled, pulling you closer to his body. His hand snuck down to reach yours and he slowly laced his fingers with yours.
“I hope not, cause you already gave me a ring.” You smiled, and Sanghyuk laughed— the sound resonated in the room, making your heart do somersaults in your chest.
“It was the best thing I ever did.” He admitted, fingers fiddling with your engagement ring. It had already been 2 years since he had given it to you, yet he still thought about the moment daily.
You turned around in his arms, smiling as his eyes met yours. You raked up one of your hands to his cheek and he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. You both let out simultaneous sighs— of tiredness and contentment and love.
“I love you so much.” You smiled at him, murmuring out the words as you adored his sleepy face squished against the pillow.
“I do too, lovely.” He responded drowsily, but no less sincere in his words than if he had been more awake.
“How much?” You asked, half joking and half curious to actually know how he’d respond. He let out a breath and then opened his eyes, wanting to be able to look at you as he responded. His eyes gazed over your face as he searched for the right words.
“...I love you more than I ever knew was possible for someone to love someone else. It feels like my heart is going to explode whenever I look at you because I still can’t believe that you’re mine.” He started explaining seriously, but he broke halfway through, his lips curving up into a smile as he admired you. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
You giggled, “You’re so cute.”
He pouted, “I was being serious.”
“I know.” You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just wanted to tease.”
“You missed a spot.” He whispered, pointing to his other cheek. You smiled and leaned in to press another kiss to his skin, feeling his cheek lift up under your lips as he smiled.
“There. All good?”
He shook his head, “Missed one more spot.”
You laughed and leaned in once again, this time joining your lips with his. He sighed as he kissed you, pulling you closer into his arms and cupping the back of your head with his hand. You kissed him until you exhausted yourself and fell back onto the pillow, breathing unevenly to try to catch your breath. Kissing him was still as exhilarating 4 years later as when you shared your first ever kiss with him.
Sanghyuk pulled you back into his arms, breathing as roughly as you. You rested your head on his chest, hearing his racing heart in sync with yours. You got comfortable under the covers. He stroked your hair, lulling you into a sleepier state, as he mumbled sweet nothings to you. You didn’t have much energy to respond verbally, already too drowsy to think of anything more than your husband and sleep. But you tapped his chest 3 times before you finally fell asleep, sending a silent message to him that he wouldn’t be able to mistake.
I love you.
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#﹒fics 𓈃 ⵌ#k-labels#illuminated ocean.net#dawon#lee sanghyuk#sanghyuk#sf9#sf9 dawon#dawon sf9#sf9 fic#sf9 fluff#sf9 fanfic#dawon fluff#dawon fic#dawon fanfic#lee sanghyuk fic#lee sanghyuk fluff#lee sanghyuk fanfic#dawon x reader#sf9 x reader#sf9 dawon x reader#lee sanghyuk x reader#sanghyuk x reader
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With Darkness comes Night II
Feysand x reader fic
Chapter 0
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Vermax, Xoalloit, Ragos and Lyssi, four of your most loyal darlings were now gone. Taken away by a sickness even the oldest of Fae in the Dark Forest couldn’t identify. Even the Allknowing couldn’t see what or who was making your children sick. No one knew and most were too scared to find out. They feared to fall into the same abbyss of darkness and oblivion the other Dark Creatures had fallen into. You also feared others would get infected with this cycle of death. Fortunately, the High Lord and the High Lady thought the same. Because, this plague didn’t only kill those infected, but also many around them. The sickness infected the mind until its bearer only had one thing left in its mind.
Death
You had already lost four of your most loyal children, yet you feared it would not take long before more lives would be taken by the fast-spreading sickness. Your dear twins had already left. They could not bear the heartbreak of their visions about their sibling‘s deaths and your own grief. So, you could not depend on their knowledge for the next step. Even when they left, no words of wisdom were shared. It was too much for them to speak of the monstrosities, yet you really wished they were here. Not only for their powers, but also just to hold them close.
Your days blended together. Either you spend them in your bed, unmoving and grieving. Or you spend them searching through the forest, desperate to find the source of the sickness. You tried to follow the path your children took in the last days before they died, but it held no pattern. The source was ever-moving, and it made you think that it wasn’t caused by something but rather someone. Someone who had knowledge of the Dark Forest and knew how to survive it. Someone who knew the ancient paths and the location of the creatures you held dear.
It had been roughly a week since the High Lord and the Inner Circle visited you, yet you had gained no further insight. You knew that the infection started in the brain and affected the very core of the soul. It made the infected forget everything. They forgot about themselves, all their memories, and their surroundings. They forgot about you, their mother. All they knew was to kill. To destroy. The infection fed on their emotions and memories, so that only their base instinct of protecting themselves and attacking others was left.
The infection wasn’t spread by sickness or blood; it was spread by magic. A dark sort of magic that had nothing to do with yours, so a magic that shouldn’t even be able to exist. It must be an otherworldly type of magic.
You also knew that someone else got infected. The strange magic had intensified in the air; it was like a force pressing down on you. Yet, you did not know who would be next. The magic had a foul stench. Your senses ached as you tried to follow it, and everything screamed at you to stop following the trail of dark magic, but you couldn’t possibly abandon whoever was infected.
It took five days before you felt someone trying to breach the border, separating the Dark Forest from a northern war camp. You recognized the magic trying to break your walls, and the recognition broke your heart. Under the stench of the creator of this plague, you weren't able to identify him before.
It was Ember, one of your young ones. Well, young for Faes... Unfortunately, his raw and furious magic made a hole in the border before you could reach him. The smell of the plague overpowered the locations Ember had visited. Everything smelled fresh, as if you had just missed him. That couldn’t be true, as Ember was days ahead of you on foot. Another thing you learned about this infection, this plague, is that it broke whatever bond you had with them. Not only as their mother, of course, but also as their Master. The laws of this forest, magical laws, bonds, and deals simply vanished. Whatever tied them to this forest and to you disappeared. Not only that, the plague made them powerful and almost too hard to kill.
That’s why you were so worried that Ember had reached the war camp. His only instinct was to kill, and he wasn’t going to be stopped by them anytime soon because they were simply not capable. You were, but how could you possibly kill your own child?
Luckily, one of your many powers was that you could winnow yourself between the folds of the shadows. When you reached the scene, many lives had already been taken. This plague spared no one. Ember was tearing his way through the camp, and had you not been born during Chaos, you would not be able to make sense of his goal. But you were born during chaos; it was second nature to you, beside darkness, and between the deaths and violence, you could see exactly where Ember was heading.
The son of the High Lord, Nyx.
He was still untrained, young, and apparently alone. You did not spot anyone of his family nearby. You wanted to reach the prince before it was too late, but the Illyrian soldiers saw you as the enemy too. Winnowing with that many around could go wrong, especially nearby Ember, as he could react terribly at your sudden presence.
You couldn’t, however, kill the soldiers in your way; that would only aggravate the situation. You eventually neared the prince, not as fast as you wished, but luckily you weren’t the only one besides Ember getting close. The Inner Circle was finally present and helping wherever they could. Evacuating, mostly, and getting ready to kill the so-called monster
They forgot one thing. Ember was special. Poisonous, as many of your children are, but also nearly unkillable. The only thing that could kill him was the spear made out of the same power as the one he was created from. There’s only one person who could wield that spear. The Keeper of the Forest, you.
You had to remind yourself that the creature attacking the camp and the prince, wasn’t your Ember anymore. His mind, soul, and body had already succumbed to the plague. However, that was easier said than done.
"And where do you think you’re going, Keeper?" Not her again, you thought. Amren must be the most aggravating Second in Command any of the Keepers ever had the displeasure of meeting.
"I’m the only one capable of stopping this. So if I were you, I’d get out of my way." The woman in front of you scoffed.
"You mean, the one who started this? The one commanding these creatures to attack our camps?" So not only was Amren annoying and a hypocrite, she was also daft. It was not so long ago that you made it clear you weren’t behind the attacks. Both their people and yours are the victims of this plague. You didn't have time to explain this again, so you did what anyone would do: give the tiny one some sleepy time.
Amren was charging at you with all her might, yet with your powers, all you had to do was point your spear towards her and blast, and down she went. Stepping over her unconscious body, you had to navigate yourself again amidst the chaos. It wasn’t difficult to find the prince, as he was directly under Ember. His blood was already spreading in the snow underneath him, contrasting with his entirely black suit. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, you would have called it a pretty sight.
Ember was special—special in a dangerous way. He was created after the first war with the Hybern King, designed to be hard to kill and impossible to survive. His venom was fatal to anyone but the Keeper and their children. And the Keeper was the only one fatal to Ember. You, his master and mother, were the only one who could kill him. The only one who could stop him from completely ripping the High Lord’s son apart.
You could already hear the screams of agony from him and his mate, crying out for their son. Their pain strung a cord deep inside of you, one you had never felt before. The unknown feeling was unfamiliar, but it only cemented your decision.
You twisted the ancient spear in your hand and let muscle memory do the rest. Your weapon went directly into Ember’s heart and evaporated him from the inside out. As you fell to your knees in the blood-covered snow, you realized you couldn’t even hold Ember in his last moments. You could only watch as whatever was left of him was blown away by the wind.
It hurt, not only mentally but physically. Not only because you lost a child, but because of the magic that tied him to you. You crumbled more into yourself, covering your ears against the screams you heard, unaware that they were your own.
You distinctively felt arms coming around your body, urging you up. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the scars covering them, but you had already felt his presence. Your lovely Shadowsinger.
"You have to leave. The people here want to kill you." He urged you more as the mourning and angry Illyrian soldiers came closer to you. It didn’t matter to them that you had just killed Ember; they wanted your blood.
Another scream, not your own, was heard, and both of your heads snapped up to the commotion. It was Nyx.
The High Lord was looking at you desperately for answers. Why weren’t the wounds healing? Why, every time Feyre healed them, they opened back up? You shook your head mournfully. There was nothing to be done. Ember’s venom had already spread throughout his body. Even if they found a way to heal his wounds, the venom would kill him. Rhysand collapsed even more to the ground, cradling his son closer to him.
Unable to see the deaths of two sons, you winnowed back to your Forest.
Taglist: (I’ve never had one of these before!! :)) )
@starryhiraeth @winterrainworld
#I changed the gif bc it scared someone :)#rhysand#acowar#feyre#acofas#acotar#feysand#feysand x reader#azriel#acotar x reader#x reader
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HELLO!! I really like your work! I found you recently, and read almost everything at a time! You perfectly follow the canon of character characters, and how you portray the reader is amazing. Your dialogues and syllable are wonderful, thank you for your work! And thank you for letting me read it all, I really appreciate it!! ♡♡
I would like to request a small angst one shot fic with Imperial!Crosshair, where the fem!reader is a Jedi General. Both had feelings for each other, affection, but they were not officially together. At the time of Order 66, they were on different missions, and met only a few months later. Circumstances of your choice!
ALOHA!!
Thank you so much! Really means a lot! So happy you found me and my stuff :)) And thank you for this request, I really dig this idea! I think I will do more than one part, a Short Fic, with something between 4 or 6 Chapters maybe. There is to much potential in this idea to just write a oneshot.
Imperial Crosshair x Fem!Reader Short Fic Part 1/? - My Sweet Traitor - You Never Should've Kissed Me
Warnings: Angst / Hurt
Following Parts:
Imperial Crosshair x Fem!Reader Short Fic Part 2/? - My Sweet Traitor
Imperial Crosshair x Jedi Fem!Reader Part 3/? - My Sweet Traitor - Fate
______________________________
"Fan out. She's got to be here somewhere."
The voice under the Imperial Sniper's helmet sounded familiar. Also the way he moved, his stature. You had already felt him in the Force but hoped you were wrong. Crosshair.
Your heart was beating up to your neck. It was fear of being caught but also fear of what the chip in his head had done to him. He had always been special, silent but intense. You could still feel it in his aura and it crept under your skin.
There was a time when you had become close without permission. You had not formed an official relationship, but you were magnetically attracted to each other. Secretly you had exchanged a kiss or two, unobserved, stealthily touching each other in dark corners, longing and hungry for each other. But you never went to the limit and you never talked about feelings.
For in spite of everything, you had both been dutiful. Breaking rules was actually not something you did lightly or even regularly, neither of you.
From your hiding place, lying flat on one of the surrounding rooftops, you saw him send his men out to search for you in the narrow urban canyons of Mos Eisley. Did he know it was you? He knew you were female, he recognized that, but he couldn't possibly have seen your face.
When his troopers had swarmed out and only Crosshair was standing on the small crossroads below in front of the house where you were lying, he suddenly looked up, lifted his helmeted head. Startled, you sank to the ground, hastily, your heart racing.
Had he seen you? You were not sure. Why had he even looked up so purposefully, right where you were? Did he already know you were here? Hastily you crawled to the back edge of the roof and jumped into the alley behind it, grasping the Force. With the Force you cushioned your jump so you wouldn't break your bones.
"Don't move."
It was Crosshair's voice speaking to you. He spoke calmly, drawling, not loud or bossy, but his tone still didn't tolerate any resistance.
You held perfectly still, as if his words had frozen you. You could hear his footsteps crunching on the sandy ground as he approached you. You didn't know why you just did nothing and waited. He grabbed your hood, jerked it off your head and growled, "Turn around. But slowly."
Again you complied with his request. When you turned around and you were finally face to face, your heart wanted to burst out of your chest, it was beating so violently. You were usually calm and collected, but things had changed since Order 66. Most of your friends were dead, your subordinate clones were trying to kill you, and the galaxy was different. No Republic, no Jedi Order. It was hard to stay calm and collected when everything you knew was different or no longer existed, and just overnight.
Crosshair still wore his helmet, but you could see his chest rising and falling heavily. This reunion caused turmoil for him as well.
"I had a feeling it was you," he said quietly from under his helmet, "I hoped it wasn't you."
You blinked. He had not arrested or killed you yet. The way he spoke also didn't seem to you to indicate control by a chip. Confusion spread through you. Was he really working for the empire, voluntarily? After his brothers had been murdered or manipulated, the Jedi virtually wiped out, you couldn't understand.
"Crosshair," you said softly.
You heard him sigh under his helmet. It sounded melancholy, tired and worried, but also annoyed.
"You sent your men out because you knew where I was, didn't you?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Jedi. You are a traitor to the Empire and will be treated as such"
You blinked. The way he said those words cut deep into your soul.
"Then why am I still alive?" you asked bitterly.
You knew you should fight back, attack him, use the Force, but you just stood there.
Crosshair seemed to be struggling with himself. He hesitated, silent for quite a while. After a while of silence that seemed like an eternity to you, he said, "You never should've kissed me".
Unmoved, you said, "You kissed me first."
"And you were my general. You should have stopped me. And you should have punished me"
He sounded calm and yet his words dripped with pain and regret.
"But why? I felt the same way as you did."
Crosshair blurted out angrily, "It would have been your duty! Instead you gave in to me and filled my head with these thoughts! Love, hope for more. It almost destroyed me!"
You swallowed hard, it felt like there was a thick stone in your throat. Hearing those words not only hurt, they evoked a strange sense of guilt.
"So what now?" you asked very quietly.
He drew his blaster and pointed it at you. You made no effort to resist or flee. You just looked at him piercingly, trying to see the face behind the helmet, and in the Force you felt the few tears he shed under the helmet.
"Good soldiers, follow orders."
So many times you had heard this phrase by now, from different clones. A sentence that haunted you even in your nightmares. Hearing that phrase from him now felt like someone was pulling the rug out from under you.
"I still feel that way," you said softly.
Crosshair murmured, "No you don't."
You knew he was going to pull the trigger and yet you didn't move. The stun shot hit you right in the chest. You were unconscious before you hit the ground, so you didn't notice that he caught you before you hit the ground.
@rintheemolion
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#crosshair fic#star wars#the bad batch#clonelove#commander crosshair#crosshair#crosshair x reader#crosshair x you#tbb crosshair#tbb crosshair x reader#the bad batch crosshair#tbb#clone force 99#imperial crosshair#imperial crosshair x reader#order 66#jedi reader#jedi#crosshair tbb#bad batch crosshair#clone trooper crosshair#crosshair bad batch#crosshair the bad batch#stormtrooper#empire#fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#the bad batch fanfiction#crosshair fanfiction#imperial crosshair fanfiction
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