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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Colors, ch.23: Gray

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

8. Whiteout | 9. Sable | 10. Blue on Black | 11. Midnight | 12. Ebony Falling

18. Verdigris | 19. Honey | 20. Scarlet | 21. Alstroemeria | 22. Onyx

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Read ‘Gray’ on AO3

Read More Here!

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Rus woke once again far too early in the morning to discover a pup sitting close by, this time peering curiously around their makeshift curtain. Rus groaned softly. There was a certain ache in his skull, surely a leftover of Britta’s pipe weed, and that coupled with the memory of his shameful antics of the day before made Rus regret his disregard of his brother’s advice about smoking.

Every sin brings its punishment with it was a fond proverb at prayer meetings and whatever doubts Rus possessed about the Elders and their preaching, that one at least certainly held the flavor of truth.

Aching head or no, guests were guests, and Rus started to rise, struggling to force his sleepy thoughts in the direction of preparing breakfast.

Only for Edge’s arms to tighten around him, holding him closely in a tangle of bony limbs as he mumbled out, “Don’t go.”

As though Rus had much choice with Edge clinging to him like a summer vine. Rus subsided and whispered, “Banquo is awake.”

Behind him, Edge stirred, rising up on one elbow and whatever look Edge gave Banquo, the boy shrank back and hastily fled. Of course it was frightfully rude but Rus was forced to stifle a giggle. He rolled onto his back, looking up into his husband’s scowling face. “good morning.”

“Good morning.” Edge’s scowl became tenderness of such sweetness it nearly cramped in Rus’s soul. He ducked his head, kissing Rus with matching care, and Rus sighed softly, tipped his head up into that gentleness, allowing it for far too long before he drew away.

“enough,” Rus scolded teasingly. “we have guests!” But his good hosting intentions trembled on the verge of disappearing as Edge’s mouth found the sensitive joint of jaw, his tongue laving over it with shivery skill.

His breath was tantalizingly warm against damp bone as Edge murmured, “Let them sleep in. They’ll be leaving after morning meal.”

Oh. That deflated some of Rus’s morning cheer, dampening his rising desire. Having the Dogs here was a joy, their kindness and gaiety more than welcome. But of course they couldn’t stay long, they had their own home to attend to, trap lines to walk, and already they’d stayed for a longer and much better visit than any of his neighbors in the village ever offered, even those that lived a mere stroll away.

Some of his dismay must have been obvious, for Edge’s pulled back, gazing down with softened eye lights. He leaned down to kiss Rus again, light, damp touches against his mouth and sprinkling his face. Rus allowed the scattering of affection to chase away his melancholy. Surely they’d return again this winter for another visit and perhaps when they did, Rus could have a gift for Britta from the lovely yarn she’d given him, a thank you for the present and her unending kindness both. A shawl, perhaps, or a headscarf. Something light that she could wear indoors to keep away any wisps of the winter chill and reminder of their friendship.

Yes, that was what he would do. Rus cast a wary glance at the door even as Edge’s warm mouth ventured lower, noting that no furry paws were showing beneath the curtain, nor was a nosy snout poking around the side. They were as alone as they could be and only then did Rus allow Edge to deepen the kiss, his own hands beginning to wander.

Married or not, it was a horrifically shameful indulgence with guests in their home; his brother would be mortified at Rus’s manners. Keeping beneath the covers was a feeble concession, at the very least they wouldn’t be giving Banquo an unintentional anatomy lesson if he proved bold enough to return. By the end, Rus was hiding his blushes and his cries both in his desperate hands, though skeletal hands proved a feeble guard for either.

By the time Rus was on his somewhat wobbly feet, hastily washed and satisfaction still glowing in the depths of his soul, Britta was already in the kitchen. From her sly look, she was guessing quite fairly at what kept him and the cup of slippery elm tea she offered was further proof.

His cheek bones burning with a blush, Rus took the cup and held it up in a sort of rueful toast before downing the cringingly bland contents. Britta only laughed and stirred the bubbling pot on the cooking stone.

Porridge, he saw, though not the same recipe Edge taught him. To his still-amateur gaze, there seemed to be dried fruit bobbling along with the grain in the boiling pot. He took a closer look, curiously, and Britta offered helpfully, “Edge says you prefer the sweet?”

“i do,” Rus admitted. “though your food is always very good.”

“This is good, too!” She ladled out steaming bowlful and poured healthy drizzle of honey overtop before handing it to Rus, urging him to sit on the cushioned mat against the wall.

The porridge was a deep brown color and smelled deliciously nutty and heavenly sweet. He scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it to cool it and tasted it gingerly, then with eager bites. Merely ‘good’ did not suffice as a descriptor, it was delicious, the thick porridge cutting the heavy sweetness of the golden honey perfectly. The taste was so reminiscent of his prayer day breakfasts with Blue that tears rose, refusing to be swallowed back. Rus could only brush them away impatiently with his sleeve while Britta looked on in alarm.

“Are you all right, Rus?” Her sweet, motherly concern only sped the falling tears.

“yes,” Rus said thickly, even as he sniffled. “yes, only foolish. i am missing my brother.”

“Not so foolish,” Britta said gently. She ladled out a bowl of her own with only the lightest touch of honey before sitting next to Rus, offering no words of comfort but instead the warmth of her furry body leaning companionably against him and for that Rus was grateful.

By the time Edge came to the kitchen, his tears were done and dried. Some sign must have lingered, for Edge hesitated before taking the bowl that Britta held out to to him, his concern obvious. Likely he assumed Rus was upset their guests were leaving and Rus did not dissuade him from the notion. Now was not the time to have a conversation about visiting his brother, not with their visitors close to leaving.

But there was going to be one and that right soon.

After everyone ate and the few dishes were washed, it was time. Despite getting his mask yesterday, Rus couldn’t be surprised that he wasn’t offered a chance to see them home as Edge obviously intended to do. Edge would be an intimidating presence whether they came across a winter-hungry bear or something much worse, while Rus would only be someone else who needed protecting.

He did join them in the front room as they dressed in their outer clothes, layers upon layers to protect from the snow and ice. When Banquo handed Rus a stone, Rus stared at in confusion. It was smooth and round, a river stone nearly the size of his palm. The boy held up a matching one encouragingly, and as Rus watched, Banquo focused on it intently, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. A glow lit quickly within it that was near the same as their cooking stone, and the boy hissed at the heat, hastily dropping the stone into a pocket.

“oh, how clever,” Rus murmured. “like the flatirons blue used to warm for our beds at night.” Another pulse of misery throbbed in his soul. All his thoughts seemed to lead back to his brother this day. Rus shook the thought away, focusing his intent on the stone in his hand. The red glow took longer to fill his and when it did, Rus yelped, tossing the stone hastily from hand to hand as Banquo giggled. The boy plucked it from the air and tucked it into his other pocket, giving it an exaggerated pat.

“don’t burn yourself,” Rus cautioned, only partly teasing.

“Safe,” Banquo told him reassuringly. The others were waiting, their bony masks resting atop their heads and ready to be pulled down.

Rus blinked away another rush of tears as Britta pulled him in for a fierce hug, one that he returned with equal ferocity. She drew away, cupping his cheek bone in a gentle, gloved hand. “We will come back to visit again soon, Rus.”

“Soon!” Banquo barked in happy agreement. Rus reached out to ruffle his ears, stepping away from Britta. For Mathon, Rus offered a shy nod. The tall Dog clasped his hands and bowed over them, smiling warmly. They all turned to the entryway, ready to brave the cold weather.

“I will return,” Edge promised. He started to draw down his mask, only hesitating as Rus gasped aloud, remembering.

“wait!” Rus dashed back to their room, digging for his knitting. He pulled out the long scarf he’d only just finished and ran back, holding it out in front of him like an offering.

“here,” Rus panted. “i made this for you.”

He thrust the scarf unceremoniously at Edge. He took it, running his gloved fingers down the soft length, inspecting it while Rus tried not to cringe. It was not his best work, hardly appropriate as a first gift to his husband. But it was made with his own two hands and watching as Edge carefully wound it around his cervical vertebrae filled him with tremulous warmth. Even if none of those who lived in the woods would see Rus’s mark on it as they did with gloves, at least he would know Edge was marked as his.

Rus reached out to fuss with the scarf, tucking the ends in to keep any nasty chilliness away, and he squeaked in surprise as Edge swooped down and kissed him thoroughly, uncaring of their tittering audience.

A last, lingering kiss, and Edge turned on his heel, leading the Dogs out. Rus crept a few steps out the door, hissing at the cold snow on his bare bony feet as he shaded his eye lights with one hand against the sunshine glittering off the snow, watching them go. All too soon they were out of sight and Rus hastily went back into the safer warmth of the cave.

Rus was hardly past the threshold before he sighed to himself with renewed melancholy, already missing his new friends. It was childish foolishness, really, back in the village he spent most of the winter alone with visitors few and far between and only his brother to keep him company, and there was a thought he should have let alone. Tears were already verging, held back by stubbornness alone as Rus considered what to do with his day.

If past experience taught him anything, it was that Edge would likely be gone until near suppertime, leaving him on his own without a thing to do. He could clean, Rus supposed, that was a never-ending task even when one lived in a cave, or he could start a stew from their stores of dried meat to simmer on the back of the cooking stone until Edge returned to-night.

Or…there were still plenty of books in that crate. Even if there were no others like that outrageous first one, surely there would be something entertaining. That was, if he weren’t too cowardly to seek it out through the darkness.

Rus raised his chin determinedly and called up a flame in his hand, letting it lead the way as he marched towards the back caves.

His courage wavered as the starry field overhead faded. The caves here were so terribly cold and without rugs underfoot, his footsteps echoed hauntingly. Those blank, unknown faces looking out at him from the faded paintings on the walls made him hunch over his small flame, unwilling to investigate them further without Edge comfortingly at his side.

It was a relief when the crate came into view. Rus went to it cautiously, mindful of Edge’s admonishment that magic flame still burned. He held the light up far and away from the crate’s contents as he lifted the lid, pawing gingerly with his free hand through the plentiful novels for a new book to read.

There were so many, a staggering wealth of knowledge even if more of them were similar to the scandalous novel he’d first chosen. The titles were worn off the covers of most of them, leaving only a clutter of occasional letters that offered no clue to their contents.

No doubt he could have simply picked a book at random to entertain himself until Edge returned, yet it was difficult not to indulge his curiosity. Rus stacked books on the inner sides of the crate, delving ever deeper and close to the very bottom was something quite different. It was still a book of sorts, but one heavily swollen with documents tucked into the pages until it was near to bursting at its seams.

This was a family journal, Rus realized unpleasantly, from someone in the village. Near every family kept one, save for the unlucky few who weren’t able to save theirs from a house fire or some other catastrophe and even they quickly started afresh. It was often filled with birth announcements, prayer cards, handwritten notes from town meetings or gatherings. Their own, his and Blue’s, sat in a prominent place in their front room and there were letters from their parents concealed in the pages, pictures of them and of dear, sweet Azzy sketched in Blue’s fine hand, along with the announcements of their deaths written in the same hand, asking for prayers towards their souls to guide them into the Angel’s loving embrace.

There was no family name embossed on the cover and Rus reeled back as he abruptly realized he was inspecting it far too closely with a flame-filled hand. He swallowed hard, sourness rising at the back of his mouth. Where could such a thing have come from? No one would carelessly misplace such a treasured thing. Could this have been taken from someone after they were…they were…

No.

No, even if such a thing happened, Edge couldn’t have been the one to commit such a horrendous act, he refused to believe it even as Rus forcefully pushed the memory of Edge fighting with Banquo out of his memory, and that was when he hadn’t been fighting to hurt the boy. Because it was simply impossible and that was that. To even imagine that Edge might…might have harmed a villager and taken these books along with their family journal like a person might claim a handful of prize ribbons at the Midsummer fair was a betrayal of his trust in his husband.

Surely there was a reasonable excuse for Edge to have this journal, even if Rus couldn’t quite think of what it might be. He would simply have to ask Edge when he returned, yes, that was what he would do. He’d listen to Edge’s explanation and laugh at his own silliness, that he could even consider that Edge might…that he might…

Rus set the journal firmly aside and delved into the trunk again. But his curiosity was shriveled, lost, and he only chose a couple random books. He gathered them all close and headed hastily back out into the warmth of the light. The shivering darkness had crawled up his spine enough this day.

He left his trophies in the parlor, puttering about in the kitchen for luncheon and tea to sit with. Then he decided he wanted an extra blanket to keep warm before he settled in to read. He warmed the stone beneath the draped table, tucking his legs beneath it and drew the other blanket around his shoulders.

Cozy warm, his plate of treats sitting invitingly nearby and his tea still wisping steam, Rus was ready to let his imagination take him away on whatever adventure his new book held.

The first novel he’d chosen seemed quite interesting, yet his gaze strayed back to the journal. At the papers tucked between the pages, one poking out to show a sentence Rus could almost read, something about the autumn harvest needing, but it ended there and the rest was concealed within the book.

He should wait for Edge to explore that, who knew what things it contained, he should—

Rus made a helpless sign to preserve one’s soul from sin, and carefully picked up the journal. The cover was badly worn, showing the barest hints of gold leaf, and the corners bent in such a way that spoke of much traveling rather than sitting out reverently in a parlor. Gingerly, Rus turned to the first page.

At first, he could hardly puzzle out a word; the writing was so extravagantly curled and scrolled that any pedagogue at Rus’s schoolhouse would have given a firm rap of a ruler against the knuckles of anyone who dared write in such arrogant flourish.

A bit of squinting and he was able to see it was a marriage announcement, though the family name was not one he knew. It was difficult to read through the fripperies, either Fell or Sell, but neither was a linage that he knew.

The corner of another page peeked out from beneath the announcement and Rus carefully drew it out a scrap of brittle vellum on which there was a fragile sketch of a couple, a young man with a skeletal face, his eye lights penciled to be gazing lovingly at the beauty of the woman next to him, her own skull covered in a light veil, a crown of delicately wrought bridal flowers set atop it.

“What are you doing?”

Rus gasped at suddenness of the sharp words, the sketch falling from his hands to the floor. He picked it back up, tucking it with hasty care back beneath the announcement before turning towards the doorway to find Edge standing there, still in his long crimson cloak and his sockets narrowed as he took in the journal laid out before Rus.

“i was—” Rus began weakly. He caught himself and switched languages, admitting softly, “i found this in the crate. i am sorry, i didn’t—” His meager language skills failed him, faltering away, and Rus was forced to finish in village speak, “i didn’t mean to pry, i was only curious.”

Edge only stared at him, his stony expression as cold as the skull he wore out in the woods. Except for his eye lights, they burned in his sockets like coals, deep and fiery. Forbidden crimson, like the hellfire the Elders spoke of in the prayer meetings.

Not since the first day they’d met had Edge looked so dreadfully unforgiving and a trill of fright ran spidery fingers up Rus’s spine.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #village au

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gaygent37 · 5 years

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Anonymity - Day 5

No-Set-Prompt-List-tober, October 5: MASKS

JayDick, no capes, soulmates, secretary Dick, blowjob, 2,629 words

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

The club was a special one.

Everyone who entered had to wear a mask, one that could not be taken off anytime during the visit, even if someone wanted to. The club was a place for complete anonymity.

People who entered somehow forgot their names, their friends’ names, and any personal information. Any meetings sparked within the club were sadly lost after exiting the club because that was just how the club worked. No one could explain it. It was mysterious, and perhaps a bit magical.

Dick liked going to the club just to people watch. At the club, people could really be themselves, behind the masks that let them be anyone they wanted for that night.

Dick sat at the bar, nursing his glass of expensive wine and absently rubbing the spot on his forearm, where his soul mark usually was. However, since entering the club, the soul mark seemed to have disappeared from his skin. Dick missed its comforting presence, but he knew he would get it back when he left.

Dick swirled his wine in his glass and took another sip.

“Hey.”

Dick turned to glance over his shoulder, and he saw another masked man standing there. “Hello,” Dick said politely, turning to face the masked stranger.

“Um,” the man chuckled awkwardly. “My friends told me to come talk to you,” he explain. “They want me to-” the man stopped talking. Then, he held out his hand. “Ah, I’m J-” His lips turned into a frown as he realized he could not get his name out.

Dick laughed. “First time here?” he asked.

The man huffed. “Obvious?”

Dick shrugged. “Not to worry,” he said. “I’ve done it a few times too. You’ll get used to it though.” Dick took the man’s hand. “Call me Ric.”

“Ric?”

Dick nodded. “It’s not what I go by, but I’ll still answer to it,” Dick explained. “And you’re just J?”

The man laughed. “Yeah. Just J sounds good. So, can I buy you another glass of whatever you’re having, Ric?”

Dick quirked an amused smile. “No offense, but it’s a pretty expensive glass of wine,” he said.

J sat down next to him and waved the masked bartender over. “Another glass of wine for him,” he said firmly.

Dick gave a little sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When Dick’s wine came, J pulled out his wallet and opened it. “How much?” he asked.

“Forty-six.”

J handed the bartender a crisp fifty. “Keep the change,” he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow behind his mask. “Showing off?” he asked. He still curled his fingers around his second glass of wine. After a second’s consideration, he pushed it towards J.

J glanced at him. “It’s yours,” he said. “Yes, that was a bit of a ridiculous price, but I said I’d get you another glass.”

Dick laughed. “Now, now,” he said. “You may be a gentleman, but I can’t let you buy me that.” He started reaching into his own back pocket.

J shook his head. “Ric, really. It’s alright. My friends didn’t let me treat them tonight, so it’s only fair I get to treat someone.”

Dick paused. “You paid fifty dollars for a glass of wine. Really, J, let me-”

“I think you’re really interesting,” J blurted out.

“I’m sorry?” Dick asked. “What do you mean?”

J gave Dick a smile. “Well, a lot of people come here to do and say things they would never say in their ‘real’ life. But this whole time you’ve been here, you’ve just sat here, nursing your wine and watching people. You’re different.”

“Maybe I’m just not in the mood for hooking up with random strangers in the club bathrooms tonight,” Dick said, sipping and finishing his first glass of wine. “Or maybe I was just looking for the right person.”

“No,” J chuckled. “I don’t know how I know, but I know you’re not. I just... have a feeling that you’re special. Special enough for that glass of wine, certainly.”

Dick looked at J intently, staring straight into the blue eyes behind the mask. Dick had not noticed it before, but there was something different about J. Dick could sense his genuineness somehow.

“Okay,” Dick said softly. “Say I am different,” he said. “What now?”

“Let me show you?”

Dick thought about it for a while. He stared at J, his sweet smile and his bright eyes, and Dick really could not find any ill will in the man.

“Okay,” he agreed.

~~~

Dick tapped his pen against his lip, unable to concentrate at the task at hand. Last night was a bit of a blur, but not enough of a blur that Dick did not know what happened after he followed J into the back rooms.

The club had a few rooms specially reserved for those who could pay to use it. And Dick did not even have the time to protest before J slipped security a couple bills that Dick was sure were hundreds.

They had collapsed onto the sofa together, and Dick just remembered laughing at J’s jokes until his sides hurt. His wine glass had to be set aside because he physically could not take any more liquid into his body otherwise he might pee himself.

They also ended up making out a lot. And a lot of groping around. Dick’s shirt may have come off at one point, and J’s hands definitely touched every part of his upper body. Maybe several times.

Absently, Dick touched his neck, where the dark hickies were thankfully hidden by his collar. The night had been one of the best nights Dick had ever had. Two glasses of amazing wine and even better company. Needless to say, Dick was actually quite upset to know that he will never see J again, and if they do, Dick will never know.

“Hey!”

Dick’s eyes snapped up. “Hm? Oh, Bertha.”

The old lady glared down at him. “Do you have Mr. Todd’s reports done yet?” she snapped.

“Uh, yes,” Dick said, flipping through the mess on the his desk before pulling out a stapled packet. “Right here.”

“Humph!” Bertha said. “I don’t see why Mr. Todd had to hire you,” she grumbled. “You are never doing your work.”

“Maybe because he likes looking at my pretty face?” Dick answered half-heartedly, already more than used to Bertha’s bitchiness.

“Mr. Todd would never!”

As the she stormed away, Dick sighed and his eyes flickered across the hall to where Mr. Todd’s office door was open. The man was frowning at his computer screen, eyebrows pulled together in concentration.

Even like that, he was so very attractive. Maybe a little less attractive than yesterday because Dick was pretty sure he was still enamored with J at the moment, so much so that his crush on Mr. Todd was almost a distant memory.

Just then, Dick snapped out of his thoughts, and he realized that Mr. Todd was staring at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

Dick blushed hard, quickly looking down.

“Mr. Grayson,” Mr. Todd’s voice called from across the hall. “A word?”

“Shit,” Dick cursed. He stood up and reflexively brushed himself off. “Yes, Mr. Todd?”

Mr. Todd gestured for him to come in and close the door. “I’m curious,” Mr. Todd started, leaning back in his chair and tapping his pen against his lip.

Dick licked his own lips as he stared, wondering if he picked up the pen tapping habit from watching Mr. Todd all the time, or if he had always done that. “Yes?” he asked.

“Ms. Bernard mentioned something to me about you once,” Mr. Todd said slowly.

“Bertha?” Dick blinked in surprise. “I- I mean, what did Ms. Bernard mention?”

“She said you liked expensive wines.”

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I do. How did she-”

“She was your Secret Santa last year,” Mr. Todd explained. “You had some expensive wines on your wish list.”

“Oh,” Dick said, feeling dumb.

“Well, Mr. Grayson,” Mr. Todd said.��“It just so happens that I have a $300 bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon at home, and I don’t drink red wines, so I thought I’d gift it to my favorite secretary.”

Dick’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times. “I, uh, Mr. Todd, that’s really too generous,” he said with a weak laugh as his heart pounded wildly at being called Mr. Todd’s favorite secretary.

Mr. Todd waved his hand dismissively. “Though I do have one thing I would like to know.”

Dick stopped smiling quickly. “Yes?”

“By any chance,” Mr. Todd said. “Is your soul mark on your forearm?”

“Huh?” Dick reached for his arm, giving himself away. “I- why would you want to know that, Mr. Todd?”

Mr. Todd smiled warmly. “I hope I’m not being too intrusive,” he said. “But what is your soul mark?”

Dick looked down, gulping. “Oh, it’s not- it’s not too intrusive,” he said. “I’m just not used to... talking about soul marks with my boss,” he said quickly. He blushed harder. “It’s... It’s a wineglass...?”

Mr. Todd laughed. “Really?” he asked, sitting up. “That’s adorable.”

“It- It is?”

“Reflects your tastes, does it not?” Mr. Todd asked. “A wine glass for a wine man.”

“Y-Yeah,” Dick said with a small smile.

There was a moment of silence. Then, Mr. Todd gestured for Dick to come closer. “C’mere,” he said softly.

Dick took a few steps forward. “Yes?”

Mr. Todd pushed his chair back and stood up. He started unbuckling his belt.

Dick’s eyes nearly bugged out. “Mr.- Mr. Todd, what-”

“Oh, calm down,” Mr. Todd said, pushing his pants down a bit to reveal his upper right thigh. Dick’s eyes bugged out even further to see that Mr. Todd had a wine bottle on his thigh, in the middle of pouring into an invisible wineglass.”

His eyes snapped back up to Mr. Todd. “Is that...”

“Your matching soul mark?” Mr. Todd said softly, his voice almost breathy. “I think so.”

“Can I-”

Mr. Todd nodded. Dick stepped forward and slowly dropped to his knees, his trembling hand hovering over Mr. Todd’s thigh. Then, he touched the soul mark, feeling the slow burning warmth course through him. Dick gasped softly.

His eyes flickered up to Mr. Todd, who looked back down at him. Mr. Todd swallowed hard.

Just then, the clicking sound of heels started to come towards the door. Panicking, Dick ducked under Mr. Todd’s desk, and Mr. Todd sat back down, not having time to get his pants back up. He pulled himself in as the door opened.

Dick could hear Mr. Todd’s disapproving voice as he said, “Ms. Bernard, please, please, knock.”

Bertha did not answer. Instead, she started rattling off something about a missed meeting. Dick, meanwhile, had rolled up his sleeve and placed his arm next to Mr. Todd’s soul mark.

He felt Mr. Todd shift slightly under him as heat burned through their bodies again.

Without thinking, Dick pressed his lips against Mr. Todd’s soul mark, and Mr. Todd jerked in surprise. The heat became even stronger, tinged with a lovely pleasurable haze. It was a similar buzz to when Dick had had a couple of glasses.

Just then, Mr. Todd pulled back out, and Dick crawled back out.

“Fuck,” Mr. Todd said, his eyes drinking in Dick and the soul mark on his arm. “I knew it was you, you know.”

Dick was confused again. “Mr. Todd-”

“Please, call me Jason,” he murmured, cupping Dick’s face. “You’re my soul mate, baby. Mr. Todd’s bit formal, don’t you think? Besides,” Jason said, his smile growing a little sly. “We’ve already been well acquainted.”

“Well acquainted?”

“That was your last night, wasn’t it?” Jason asked, his thumb running over Dick’s cheek. “Ric, you called yourself?”

Dick’s eyes widened comically. “How’d you know-”

Jason laughed. “I guess I owe you an explanation. See, you had a couple classes of wine last night, so I don’t think you really felt it when I touched your soul mark, but I felt that, and I knew I had to find you,” Jason breathed, moving in little by little as he spoke.

“But how did you know it was me?” Dick breathed into the inches between them.

Jason smiled a little. “I own the club, baby. I’m allowed to break the rules.”

“You- You own the-” Dick snapped his mouth shut suddenly. “Oh,” he said instead.

Jason laughed. “You’re so adorable. You always are.”

“You think I’m cute?” Dick asked shyly.

“I’m not blind, of course I do,” Jason said. “You know, I’ve actually be suspecting you were my soulmate for a while now. We’ve got a lot of the same habits. And last night, I just had to confirm it,” he said.

“Well, um, I’ve kinda been... crushing on you... just a little,” Dick admitted, his eyes darting away from Jason’s face in embarrassment.

“Oh, baby,” Jason grinned. “So fucking cute. Can I kiss you?”

Dick gave a small laugh. “We did plenty of that last night,” he said. “I don’t see why you’re asking now. But yes, you ca- mmph!”

Jason cut him off, capturing Dick’s lips instead. At the same time, he grabbed Dick’s arm, hand enclosed around Dick’s wineglass. The heat that followed was immediate, making the kiss all the more intimate.

With his other hand, Jason pulled Dick’s free hand to his own thigh. By a small miscalculation, he also pulled Dick off balance a bit, so Dick’s hand ended up on Jason’s crotch, which was not unwelcome. And Dick did not move his hand away either.

Jason moaned into this kiss as Dick’s warm palm gently rubbed his clothed cock. Blood immediately rushed down there, and it was not long before he was hard and straining in his briefs.

“Fuck, Dickie,” Jason groaned against Dick’s lips.

Dick pulled away with a dazed look in his eyes. “Can I- Can I suck you off?” he asked in a breathless voice.

“Right here?” Jason asked, knowing that he wanted nothing more than for Dick to suck him off right there.

Fortunately, Dick nodded.

Jason wasted no time lifting his hips and pulling his briefs down. Dick eagerly helped, his hand wrapping around Jason’s hard cock - thick, veiny, and heavy in his palm.

Dick leaned in and let his lips wrap around the head of Jason’s cock. He swirled his tongue around, taking in Jason’s taste. Then, he pushed himself down, nearly getting Jason’s cock all the way down his throat before his gag reflex kicked in, and he had to pull back.

Jason however threw his head back and groaned. He threaded his fingers into Dick’s hair and pushed him back down. He felt the way Dick’s throat fluttered around his cock, and like a teenager, Jason blew his load into Dick’s hot mouth.

“Fuck!” he grunted as he shot ropes of cum down Dick’s throat.

Dick looked up at him, his hands gripped on Jason’s thighs and unintentionally over his soul mark. His eyes were teary and wet, but he stayed down, swallowing around Jason’s cock.

After another few seconds, Jason pulled back, allowing Dick to take a wet breath.

“Shit,” Jason said. “Sorry about that, Dickie. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Dick laughed and shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat of leftover cum. He grinned wider. “Perfect, actually.”

Jason gave a relieved laugh. “I swear I can usually hold out longer,” he said, his cheeks tinged with a bit of red. “But that was...” He gave a low whistle. “Amazing, Dickie. You’re amazing.”

Dick rubbed his hand over Jason’s soul mark, and he smiled up at his soul mate. “Of course I am,” he said. “I was made for you.”

/╲/\╭( ͡° ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ͡°)╮/\╱\

This was not meant to be this long. Shit, I honestly keep telling myself, “Keep it PWP, keep it PWP”, but no. I just had to add the soulmates thing and yeah. Anyway, don’t expect it to be like this every time. Hope you guys enjoyed!

#jaydick #masks #day 5 #gaygent doesn't follow a set prompt list

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Rumble (1/2)

mmmm greasers and socs we stan

also its like 1:40 so uh yah be gentle ik my writing ain’t thriving rn

warnings: homophobic slurs, heated make out seshes, uhhh knives/stabbing, bad 1 am writing im sorry

ship: sprace

word count: 2600

Electricity coursed through Race’s veins as Spot reached up, tangling his fingers in his blonde curls and tilting his head, deepening the kiss even further. Race hummed, tightening his grip on Spot’s waist and pushing him further against the wall, smirking against Spot’s lips when the breath of a moan escaped him.

It was thrilling, the leather of his own jacket combating the blue boiled wool of Spot’s letterman one. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, the long standing rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs holding strong. But Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins had never been known to stick to the status quo.

It had started as a heated fling. Adrenaline riding high after a particularly intense rumble one evening led them to Race’s dingy bedroom, where they had spent the night on his mattress, words scarce and breaths heavy. They’d played around like that for a while, stealing kisses when no one was looking, holding teasing eye contact across classrooms. It drove Race crazy, though. He wanted more, his passion for Spot giving way to love, care for the Soc worming its way into his stomach and seizing hold of his heart.

This internal conflict, however, was quickly resolved when Spot had pulled him into the boy’s restroom between periods, leading him into a stall and kissing him gentler Race could have imagined. He’d whispered his love onto Race’s lips, insisting that they become something closer than what they were.

Race had agreed, but they had a reputation to uphold. For as long as anyone could remember, they hated each other. A childhood bond breaking awfully when Spot’s dad got a decent job and moved their family to the other side of town, instilling a jarring pretentiousness within Spot and damaging his friendship with Race.

So, although the hateful feelings had ceased, the snide remarks and nasty sneers remained ever present when they were in public. It was a painful mask to wear, biting names at each other and digging into known insecurities for the sake of their act. It worked, though, because no one suspected a thing.

Race ducked his head down, pressing a bruising kiss to Spot’s neck, allowing his teeth to graze the skin. He began to suck a hickey into the sensitive area, but stopped when Spot nudged him away.

“Mm, the last one just faded,” he breathed, watching Race through lidded eyes.

Race just smiled, “All the more reason to leave another,” he kissed Spot briefly, reaching around to grasp Spot’s ass, squeezing it playfully, “gotta let everyone know you’re unavailable.”

Spot narrowed his eyes, though there was no hint of malice in them, “Fine, but if you’re gonna leave one, go lower. Bumlets noticed last time.”

Race swallowed, alarm spreading through his veins, “Did he ask you anythin’? What’d ya tell ‘im?”

“Relax,” Spot said, easily, playing with the curls at the nape of Race’s neck, sending a jolt down his spine, “Told ‘im I made out with Sarah Jacobs.”

Race’s eyes widened momentarily before he cracked a grin, a laugh forcing its way out of his stomach, “Sarah Jacobs? That David kid’s sis?”

“That’s the one.”

Race snickered, “Did Bumlets buy it?”

Spot shrugged, “Guess so, he was off my ass after that.”

Race whistled, “Does Sarah know you two apparently made out?”

“I told her I needed a cover,” Spot said, looking mildly uncomfortable, “But I didn’t say what for.”

“Did she ask?”

Spot shook his head, “Just went with it.”

“Good friend,” Race said, nodding approvingly. His eyes flicked down to Spot’s lips, “Now where were we?”

Spot laughed, leaning in to kiss him, “So eager.”

“Yeah well,” Race fisted Spot’s jacket, tearing it off his shoulders and making Spot gasp, “You’re irresistible.”

Race left their little escapade with Spot’s jacket still held loosely in his grip and a bounce in his step. The sun was completely set by the time he ventured back to his neighborhood, wandering down the street freely until he came up to his house.

“Where were ya?”

Race froze, the blood draining from his face as he turned to the side, shoving Spot’s jacket behind his back. Seated on the rickety armchair that had always resided on the front porch was Race’s brother, Albert, arms crossed at his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and a pair of their other brother, Jack’s, old pajama pants hung casually on his hips. It was obvious that he was about to go to bed.

“And what did you just try to hide from me?” Albert pushed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to Race’s arm, which was still behind his back.

“Mind your own business,” Race snarled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Albert studied him for a moment, his gaze landing on Race’s hair, “Why is your hair all fucked- oh my god,” his expression changed from one of skepticism to pure shock, “You’re hookin’ up with someone, ain’t ya?”

Race spluttered for a moment, feeling his blush deepen, “No,” he sounded entirely unconvincing.

Albert smiled, hopping up with way too much fervor for Race’s liking, “You are! Who is she?”

Race grit his teeth, eyes shifting away from Albert. He couldn’t lie to him- he’d never been able to- but he couldn’t tell the truth either.

“No one,” he mumbled, “‘M goin’ ta bed.”

He hurried inside, briefly glancing down the hallway to where he could see Jack reading on their ratty sofa, before bounding up the stairs. He slammed his bedroom door, locking it behind him and slumping down on his matress, kicking off his shoes along the way. He wriggled out of his jacket and jeans and pulled his blankets up to his chest, tucking Spot’s jacket under his head, breathing in the comforting and familiar smell.

He allowed it to lull him to sleep, calming his nerves as he was pulled under.

XXX

“Higgins, where’d ya get those jeans?” Race set his jaw, fighting the urge to smile as Spot’s voice entered his auditory, “Did your mother buy them for you? Oh wait,” Spot clicked his tongue, “Guess she can’t now that she’s what, six feet under? If you could even afford to get her properly buried.”

Race turned towards him, noting the apologetic undertone in his voice, “Nah, got them from your parent’s closet when I was visiting your mom last week,” he leaned against his locker, “I must say, she’s really brilliant when she’s-”

Spot lunged forward, slamming him against the locker and biting his lip to keep from laughing, “Don’t you dare speak about my mother like that, Higgins,” he growled. Race had to give him credit, his acting was brilliant.

“Or what?” Race countered, reluctantly shoving him back and taking note of the small crowd that had circled around them. Spot pretended to flounder for a moment and Race took the opportunity, “You Socs are honest pussies when it comes to fights,” he scoffed, “Suck my dick, Conlon.”

Spot’s eyes flashed and he grabbed Race’s ear, yanking him down to his level and whispering, “Better meet me out behind the school after last period,” he pulled away, raising his voice once more, “And that’s a promise, Higgins,” the crowd around them hooted, obviously expecting some sort of threat to be fulfilled, “Watch your back.”

Race watched him leave with his posse, letting his guard down. Faux fights with Spot always instilled some sort of excitement in him, the lie a fast wave to ride.

The school day crept by painfully. Race sat restlessly in his classes, bouncing his leg vigorously as he watched the clock tick excruciatingly slow. He was out of his seat, backpack slung haphazardly on his back the moment the bell rang, He walked faster than strictly necessary to the back of the school, where Spot was already waiting. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips and he looked up as Race approached, plucking it from his mouth and holding it out in a silent offer.

Race took it blindly, pulling a deep drag before chucking it to the ground and stepping on it as he moved forward, pinning Spot to the wall and pressing their mouths together. The taste of the cigarette melded between them, adding a certain heat to their already intense session. Spot gasped against his lips, whining when Race reached down, unzipping his fly and unbuttoning his khakis.

“Aye, Conlon, there you-”

Spot drove Race away from him, fumbling to fix his pants as Hotshot approached, looking both confused and furious.

“What, are you two fucking or something?” He barked, rounding on Spot, “Thought you wanted nothing to do with this Greaser scum.”

Spot seemed to regain his composure, “I don’t,” he said, voice low, “He came onto me, I was just about to beat the shit out of his faggot ass.”

Race winced, mentally forcing himself to remember Spot was pretending.

Hotshot frowned, nose scrunched in disgust, “Yeah? Kinda looked like you were enjoying it.”

Spot rolled his eyes, attempting to shoulder past Hotshot, “Whatever.”

Hotshot grabbed his bicep, holding him in place, “You two really wanna prove your little rendezvous wasn’t what it looked like? Be at the lot tonight at sundown. Shouldn’t matter what happens if these little fairy flings are fake.”

Hotshot threw Spot to the ground, spitting next to him before leaving. Race watched him go, making sure he was out of sight before reaching down a hand to help Spot up. Spot shook his head, his chest heaving as he hoisted himself to his feet.

“We could run,” Race said, “Leave before tonight.” He was trembling, certain that his face matched Spot’s pale expression.

Spot looked like he was having some sort of aneurysm as he backed away, “No, I, uh-” he sounded breathless, scared, “I gotta go, I’ll see you...tonight, yeah, uh. Be there,” he finally looked at Race, “Please.”

Race shook his head, dumbfounded, “Spot, we don’t have ta-”

But Spot was gone, footsteps echoing as he ran in the opposite direction.

XXX

Race sat on his mattress, nausea turning in his stomach as he watched the sky change through his window. There was probably homework he could be doing, but what did it matter if he was just going to be killed this evening. Rumbles were unpredictable; a nasty throttle of blood and animosity. It was rare that anyone actually died, but that didn’t stop the worst possible outcome from crawling into his brain.

These things were huge, large sums of both sides turning up for each one. Race usually liked them to a degree, finding the exhilarating atmosphere entertaining, but that was when he wasn’t the center of the conflict. Now, it was just sickening.

“Aye, if you’re coming to the rumble, we should get goin’ now.” Jack peeked his head into his room.

Race forced himself to look at his older brother, trying to smile as convincingly as he could. He hadn’t told Jack and Albert that he was a key contender in the rumble, just that there was one. Though, in hindsight, he should’ve refrained from talking about it at all- not that it would have stopped them from finding out. Word gets around fast.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Race said, clearing his throat and scooting forward to pull on his shoes, “Al comin?”

“You know the kid,” Jack leaned against his doorframe, holding out Race’s jacket for him, “Could never pass up the chance ta watch a fight.”

Race choked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a whimper, “Yeah,” he flinched as his voice cracked.

Albert was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, shoes tied and jean jacket on, “C’mon guys, the sun’s settin’!” he exclaimed, reaching out and pulling Race out the door, “It’s gonna start soon.”

With each step Race took towards the lot, it felt like he was approaching his doom. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with Spot and find comfort in their closeness, but he couldn’t have that now. Besides, Spot was clearly mortified, there was no way he was up for cuddling right now.

The mass of people in the lot was visible even from a distance, already divided seamlessly into two sides. The three boys approached, naturally fusing into the side that housed the Greasers, blending in with the hoard of rowdy looking boys. Race’s eyes scanned the other group, immediately finding Spot at the head of the crowd, clad in his favorite red sweater. He was jeering at someone from the Greasers, though Race could sense the apprehension emanating from him.

He tried to blend in, staying purposefully towards the back, but it was no use. He made piercing eye contact with Hotshot and felt the blood drain from his face as the Soc’s face morphed into one of triumph. He shoved his way to the middle of the split and held his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly enough to gain everyone’s attention. Race looked back at Spot, who was staring at Hotshot, lips parted slightly.

“We’re gathered here this fine evening,” Hotshot began, his tone innocent, but eyes fiery, “Because I had the pleasure of witnessing something extraordinary,” he had everyone’s apt attention now, “See, I was walking after school, looking for our favorite shorty here,” he yanked Spot out of the crowd and Spot grimaced, looking like he wanted to disappear, “When I found him behind the school,” he paused for affect, “Pants unbuttoned and tongue down the throat of-” Murmurs were already rippling through the crowd, “Racetrack fucking Higgins.”

Race shut his eyes as he felt every head turn towards him. Somewhere to his left, he could hear Albert mumble, ‘what the fuck’, along with a few confused hoots from other people. He wanted to run. He wanted to grab Spot and skip town and pretend that none of this was happening- that they were okay. But his feet were glued to the spot.

“Now, I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding,” Hotshot spoke again, “Seeing as it is common knowledge that these two cannot stand each other,” Race gasped as someone pushed him to the middle, “I’m sure this little debacle can be cleared up.”

Race opened his eyes, sucking in a breath when he realized how close he was to Hotshot and Spot.

“You two hate each other, yes?” Hotshot hissed, leaning in close to him.

Race nodded vigorously.

“Prove it, then,” Hotshot jabbed, producing a switchblade from his back pocket, “Stab him.”

Race choked, “Stab Spot? You want me to stab your best friend?”

Hotshot laughed, “He’s not my best friend,” he said, “Not as long as he’s okay with kissing on other men,” he pressed the knife into Race’s hand, “Now go.”

Race stared at the blade, turning it over in shaking hands before flipping it open. He could feel the crowd watching him with baited breath and he spared a glance at Spot, who was watching him with desperation written on his face. Race focused his eyes, making a split second decision.

He lunged forward, tackling Spot away from Hotshot and pinning him to the ground, driving his knee into his side. He flipped open the knife and held it between them, watching as Spot’s expression calmed.

“I love you,” Spot murmured, breaths evening out, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”

Race drank in his expression, bathing in the warmth of his rich brown eyes and cherishing the beauty in his hard features.

“I love you, too,” He muttered back, “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, plunging the blade into his own stomach.

nnng yeah im gonna write a pt 2 dw dw we’re not jus leavin it there

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #newsies fic #bad writing lmao #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #jack kelly #greaser au #hnnng ngnalskdfj #oof #yeah #ok

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digressfromreality · 7 years

Text

The Day The Tables Turned

Synopsis: This was PERSONAL. That much was obvious. What does one clown do when a mobster doesn’t learn his place in Gotham’s new criminal hierarchy? Of course, kidnap their life blood, the one that literally means more than the filthy air they breathe. First he isolates her, second manipulates her, third the mutual companionship was completely unexpected. Revenge at its finest.

Original Inspiration: Heath Ledger’s Joker Part 3 of 6

Warning: SMUT, DEATH, my terrible grammar lol

THE MEMORIES

Rose glared at the monitor beside her, it blinked menacing indicating someone had entered the lobby and went passed the front desk. She internally sighed, her receptionist must have taken her lunch. Her clients looked up from the portfolio reports she had handed them. They were reviewing the vast improvement of their investments.

“Is there something wrong Ms. Codwell?” She smiled sweetly trying to mask her irritation with her receptionist.

“No problem at all, do you approve of your more diversified portfolios? I see this quarter was exceptionally well.”

“Yes, this is promising, we would like…” Rose’s client paused at the knocking heard on her door, she could see two preteens waiting impatiently at her office door. Rose smiled and waved for the two youngsters to enter her office, she could see out of the corner of her eye her female client tightened her grip on her male companion. Rose just wanted to roll her eyes, she stood up from her desk greeting the preteens.

“Marcus, Daniel, I have lunch set up in the conference room. Go ahead and start without me, I have some business to attend to.”

“Yes, Ms. Codwell.” The boys replied, shutting the door. The three adults stayed quiet until the boys were out of eyesight.

“I would like to apologize; my dinner company came an hour early. They must have been eager for today’s catering.” Which was for the most part true, Rose had lunch with many unprivileged children, but these two were sent there for her.

“Well, Ms. Codwell you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I grew up with strong sense of frugality and strict ideas of how to spend my money, but it left a lot to be desired. I like to share some of my wealth with children that I know had less savory means that I did growing up.”

“Aren’t you an angel, David, I think we should continue investing here. I think our money is best spent with someone who cares about our community.” Her husband nodded his head, looking over the numbers again. She was good, very good at growing their wealth.

He quickly pushed from the desk making the chair spin around, the wheels clamoring against the floor trying to keep support his weight and violent movements. She looked up from her nails, she had been picking at them for lack of anything else to do. Just picking at her nails and musing in memories. Joker paused his laughter and antics, when he caught her stare.

“I'm bored,” he wheezed out like a child. He grinned at her.

“And?” She nervously asked, he turned his head slightly to the side licking his scars. She didn’t like that look one bit.

“Come here.” She slowly stood up, not wanting to anger him. She already had enough wounds to tend to as it was. He pointed to the ground in front of him, “Right huuree.” She cautiously stood before him, trying to rid herself of her stiffness, she needed her movements to be fluid and adaptable. She needed to be able to carry herself for the whiplash of his personalities.

He yanked her wrists hard, slamming her body down onto his lap. She was awkwardly straddling him while he held both of her arms on either side of his head. Without saying a word, he began to furiously rub his face in between her cleavage. She took in a sharp breath when she felt him nip the top of her breasts. She tried to hold in a giggle when his scars tickled her sensitive skin.

“Something funny?” His grip intensified.

“No.” She squealed out. She blushed looking away from him, “it’s just, uh, I like that.” One eyebrow lifted and he let out a callous chuckle.

“Mhm.” He pushed her from his lap, her head colliding with floor with a sickening crack. She tried to hold her throbbing head but Joker pinned her hands with one of his gloved ones. She stopped moving when she heard the click of the knife. He traced the knife from the crook of her neck to the top of the dress he made her wear. “Still excited, aren’t we?” He grunted out pushing his hardened dick against her leg. Suddenly he sliced the front of her dress, nicking her breast in the process.

“OW.” He lapped up the blood, making her shiver.

“Take this off.” He commanded, she pulled away from him. Trying to pull the ruined dress off carefully. He dragged her back to him, giving her no chance brace herself for his brash caressing. He smothered his lips over her, while one hand wrapped in her hair, he took a firm grasp of her ass. She moaned, confirming what he had already known, she wanted this. “I’m going to make that ass clap for me tonight.”

She desperately tried to match his groping and heated kissing. She started pulling at the buttons of his shirt, he smirked. He pushed off from her getting the hint. She watched at his torso graced her eyesight. His body was riddled with scars, much more excessively then hers currently. He was very toned as well, the sight made her heart raced. He concentrated on removing his pants when she quickly rolled back 3 times staring at his surprised face from the mattress rather than the floor. He growled at her, “Where do you think you're going?” Her bottom lip trembled at his tone but she answered him.

“Nowhere. I just wanted you to come over here.”

“You think you make ME do whatever you want-ta?” She nervously shook her head. It wasn’t her intention to make him upset.

“We both know I cannot make you do anything you don’t want to.” He raised an inquisitive brow at her response. He continued to remove his pants, kicking them to the floor. Before she could react again, he pulled her to her knee in front of him.

“Open uppp.” Popping the ‘P’ as he spoke. She stared up at his maniac eyes, they were dark with need and desire. She flicked her tongue at the end receiving a hiss from above. She slowly, and deliberately slid her mouth down his shaft, swinging her tongue back and forth as she pulled back up. Rose repeated the process several times. Her hand gently cupping his nuts, while she moved her tongue around the head.

Next, she took a calculated breath and pushed her lips all the way to the base, her lips firm against his pelvis. This gesture, was something that really excited him. He became rock hard in her mouth, causing her to gag slightly. Joker couldn’t stand the agonizing pace she had set, it needed to move along quicker. He began to push his hips back and forth, while holding her head in the same spot.

He could feel her gasp and shudder as she tried to get quick breaths in before he slammed back into her throat again, and again. The slight graze of her teeth felt, uh, felt amazing against his increasing throbbing member. He quickly threw her off him, she could feel tears slid down her cheeks as air finally filled her lungs. Without speaking a word, he flipped her around and shoved her upper half down to the mattress. He spread her legs apart, and pushed into her from behind.

“Joker.” She mewled out. He grinned, wrapping his fist in her hair, thrusting into her without a care in the world.

-------------------------------------

No one will truly understand the pain that she had been through. She turned to see the Joker snoring, even his sleeping noises sounded like laughter. All the innocent sounding lies. She wanted to reach out a caress his bare face but it would only displease him. He hardly slept and about the time he finally did she would ruin it.

She didn’t want to have another bruise. She just wanted to observe, she just wanted to stay like this. Be with the man without the makeup, without the ever changing, impossibly fast mind, without his violent tendencies. She just wanted a small part of this brilliant man. She wanted to be selfish and keep it all to herself. At times all the chaos, the disruption of normalcy, was exhilarating. Far and few in between. But she knew better, him and all his…quirks were a packaged deal.

One she couldn’t just pick and choose from, even though she tried desperately to thwart his plans for her father. Her father had never really been directly involved in her life, but the romanticized version of him her mother had instilled upon her was not a disappointment like she had originally feared. He was sleazy but eloquent. He had kept appearances and yet kept track of her comings and goings.

“What you staring at toots?” Joker mumbled, still not wanting to succumb to being awake and alert. It was still very early in the morning. She just let out a sigh, she thought she was being relatively quiet.

“You.” She replied, hoping it would satisfy him. Without missing a beat or opening his eyes he grabbed her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Well toots, I’m staring at the back of my eyelids and you should do the same.” He nuzzled his head in the crook of her neck. “Don’t wanna hurt that little brain of yours. Back to sleep.” And like that she lulled off to sleep in his arms.

“What was so important that I had to get dressed like this?” Rose gestured to her cocktail dress, and continued. “And why am I carrying? If things happen I can’t very well run in these heels.” Darius just took another drag of his cigarette but didn’t reply right away. “Darius?” She could see the apprehension in his face, he flicked the Marlboro out the window of the moving vehicle.

“I don’t want you all worked up. You’re not in trouble.” That made her feel slightly better, but she could feel him holding back.

“Why do I feel like there is another reason though?” Darius sighed and looked at her from the corner of his eye. He could see her contemplating all the possibilities before he could get the words out. He snatched her hand, trying to soothe her panicking mind.

“The boss wants to meet you.”

“Meet me as in how? I just do the books, I just do what I’m told, I just…” She shuddered, he squeezed her hand a little tighter.

“Well you’re not his usual type, so I wouldn’t worry about that.” She slapped his hand from her sometimes lover, most the time boss. How dare he assume, just that, how, argh, just she wanted to slap him.

“Fuck you Darius. I’m not a whore, just because I’ve been very causal with you, does not mean I do it for everyone. I’m insulted.”

“Rose, I didn’t mean it like that.” He paused, gauging her reaction. It was a losing battle.

“Whatever Double D.” And that was it, she only spoke his full name or nickname in anger. He wouldn’t be able to convince her otherwise. Sometimes he wondered why he word vomited so much in her presence. It’s like he couldn’t think straight. She glared out the window, seeing a bright club approaching in the distance. She was going to meet this unknown at a nightclub? Just her fucking luck. She slammed her head into the window and sighed annoyed.

The music was blaring in the club, the strobe lights flashing making her feel as if she was walking through the crowd in slow motion. She could feel the heat and breathe in the perspiration of sweaty bodies moving. She clutched his hand tight. He dragged them near the bar and away from the music. They were greeted by a group of bodyguards and women. Very beautiful women who glared at Rose. Darius dragged her to an older gentleman who was causally sipping his drink. “This is Salvatore Maroni.” Darius gestured, and promptly dropped Rose’s nervous hand at the raise of an eyebrow.

“Hello sir my name is…” His smiled disarmed her. There was something familiar about it. “Is Rose,” she said cautiously.

“Nah, I think there is a better name to describe such a pretty face.”

She blushed, “and what would that be?”

“Trouble.” Her hand dropped, her smirk faded into a sad smile. Darius as well as the entourage could tell the sudden change in the air.

“How did you know about that?” She questioned. He smiled, beckoning for her to follow.

“Let’s talk privately.” He dismissed his guards with a wave of his hand and had her follow he into a VIP room. She put her arms in front of her, insecure was what was to happen next. He pulled a bottle from a bucket, and motioned to her, “wine?”

“No thank you.” She politely declined. She wanted to be sober for this particular encounter.

“I thought the Italian in you would be more prominent.”

“How do you know my heritage, or my nickname growing up?” He grinned, she noticed a happy gleam in his similar colored eyes. They almost looked like the ones that greeted her every day in the mirror.

“I’m a bit disappointed that you don’t remember meeting me.” He raised his glass, breathing in the sweet scent before taking an appreciative sip. “I have always kept tabs on my little girl.”

“Come again?” She stared at him in disbelief. He turned towards her, playing with a rebellious strand of blonde hair.

“You look so much like your mother.”

“Answer my question.”

“To make the answer simple, I am your father.”

#joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker imagine #joker smut #heath ledger joker

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