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crypticspacecat · 9 days ago

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Hard to Hold, Easy to Love Jotaro Kujo X black fem reader

Summary: Jotaro Kujo doesn’t do affection. Not in public. Not in passing. And definitely not the way YN needs it. Stoic and unreadable, he gives her little more than grunts and sideways glances—until she pushes, and he snaps.

[Smut | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Touch-Starved Love]

Here is the 1k followers' fic for Jotaro Kujo... be mindful I love this anime down.....he my man fr.

I heard the front door click open like nothing. Like he ain’t been gone damn near a month. Like my skin ain’t been itchin’ for him. He walked in quiet. Always did. That calm, that cold, that silence stretched with him wherever he went like a damn aura. No "I missed you," no kiss on the cheek, not even a damn "you alright?"

Just that same low-ass voice.

“Oi. You good?”

I blinked from the couch. He was standing there in his black longline coat, duffel slung over one shoulder, curls a lil’ damp from the rain. Calm as ever. Didn’t even look tired, just… unreadable. Blank. Like I was the mail on the table. Like he ain’t been gone for twenty-one days and some change. Like my throat hadn’t closed up every night wantin’ to curl into his chest.

“You not gon’ say hey?” I asked, voice already feelin’ tight, stupid. Soft.

He gave this slow-ass blink, boots still by the door. “I did.”

“You call ‘you good’ a hello?”

He grunted. Walked past me like I was just the couch too. Tossed his bag in the corner and cracked open the fridge. “Man’s hungry, innit.”

Something snapped in me then. Just a little hairline crack but it split fast.

“Jotaro, I swear to God—” I stood up, my voice shaking. “Three weeks. Three fucking weeks. You barely text me. No call. And now you back like you just stepped out for groceries?!”

He didn’t even turn ‘round.

Just said low, casual as hell: “Had no bloody signal. It was the fuckin’ Arctic, not Soho.”

I swallowed hard. “You serious right now?”

He finally turned then, leaned back on the counter with a yogurt in hand, spoon tapping the lid slow like he was measuring how far I was gon’ go.

“You done now?” Deadass.

That’s what set me off.

“No. No, actually, I’m not done. I been tryin’, Jo. Tryin’ to not take it personal when you act like touchin’ me gon’ kill you. Tryin’ to convince myself your little grunts count as affection. You don't even hold my damn hand in public, but you swear you fuckin’ love me—"

He didn’t move.

I stepped closer. “So what is it? You love me just enough to fuck me but not enough to hold me?”

His jaw flexed.

Now we was gettin’ somewhere.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say?” I asked, standing right in front of him now. “Not even a ‘come here babe’?”

Still nothing.

So I grabbed his coat, gripped it up by the collar, dragged him down to my height. Pressed my mouth to his like I wanted to punish him with it. Rough. Wet. Furious. He kissed back.

Harder.

That’s when the switch flipped.

His hand gripped the back of my neck—tight, like he missed me but couldn’t say it out loud. Like I’d dragged the words out of his bloodstream and now he had no choice but to respond. His tongue swept into my mouth, no finesse, just want.

I gasped and he growled low, a sound so deep I felt it more than heard it.

“You done now?” he whispered against my lips, mocking his own words from before—but this time, his voice cracked under it. His other hand slid under my shirt, gripping my hip like he was holding himself together.

“Jotaro…”

He kissed me again, and this time it wasn’t angry—it was hungry. Messy. Deep. His fingers dug into my waist, dragged me flush to him like he needed proof I was real.

“Fuck’s sake, I missed you,” he muttered, voice ragged now, breath heavy. “Didn’t think I would, but I did.”

And just like that—I melted.

Because he never says shit like that. Never shows shit like that.

But right now? His mouth was on my throat, sucking heat into my skin. His hands were everywhere, tugging my shirt over my head, shoving me back toward the couch like gravity was pullin’ him to me.

"You always like this after a trip?” I breathed, barely able to think.

“Only for you,” he muttered. “Now shut up and let me have you.”

I don’t know when we ended up on the couch, just that I felt the cushion hit my back and his weight followed, slow but solid—like he was finally deciding to be here, with me.

His hands moved different now. No hesitation. One on my thigh, the other flat on my stomach like he was grounding himself. But it was his eyes that got me. That cold blue locked on mine like he was finally seeing me—not just the shape of me—but me.

His breath hitched as he stared. His thumb brushed against the curve of my waist.

“Three weeks,” I whispered, voice gone small. “I thought you didn’t think about me at all.”

He swallowed, jaw working like the words fought him. “Didn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His gaze dropped to my lips. Stayed there.

“I’m shit at this,” he said, voice low and tight. “Know I am. But you’re the only person I think about when I can’t sleep. When I’m starin’ at fish and ice for ten hours a day, all I want is to feel your skin under my hands again.”

My breath caught.

There it was. The crack in the armor.

I reached up, slid my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. He let me. Didn’t flinch, didn’t shift away like usual. He just closed his eyes like it took everything in him not to pull back.

“You ain’t gotta say all the right things,” I whispered. “You just… can’t shut me out when I need you most.”

He opened his eyes. Something fierce lived in them now. Not rage. Not guilt.

Want.

“You need me now?” he asked, voice like smoke.

I nodded.

That’s when his hand slid up my thigh, under the soft cotton of my sleep shorts. Just the pads of his fingers at first, tracing the skin like it was a language he was relearning. My breath hitched.

“I’ll give it to you, then,” he said.

It wasn’t a promise. It was a vow.

His hand cupped between my thighs, warm and steady, and I let my legs part like muscle memory. My body knew what his touch meant even when my heart still ached a little.

His fingers pressed against the fabric of my panties—slow, deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush. Just wanted to feel. Touch.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Always so fuckin’ warm.”

I bit my lip, watching the way his lashes dipped, how focused he got. He pressed the heel of his hand against me, rolled his palm slow. I gasped and his eyes flicked back to mine—sharp, controlled.

“Look at me,” I whispered.

He did. And there was something starved in that look. Like all the restraint he carried in public, all the distance he kept, broke here—beneath his own hands and my skin.

I reached down, slid his coat off his shoulders. He let it fall without a word. His shirt followed. Every inch of skin he gave me felt like a confession.

And when he leaned down again, lips brushing my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth like they belonged there—

It felt like he was praying.

“I hate how much I missed you,” he whispered, voice cracked raw.

“I hate that I loved missin’ you,” I breathed back.

His mouth crushed against mine again—less anger this time, more ache. He kissed like he was tryin’ to remember and forget all at once. Like he was trying to make up for every second he couldn’t give me a hug, a hand to hold, a simple I’m here.

And when his fingers slid past the fabric and touched skin—

We both gasped.

His fingers slid past the fabric—warm, thick digits parting me softly, like he knew exactly where to press. My hips bucked without thinking.

“Fuck,” I whispered, head tipping back. “Why you gotta touch me like you missed me?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. His jaw was clenched again, but not out of frustration this time—restraint. His fingers worked with quiet reverence, the kind of touch that said I thought about this too much.

I grabbed his wrist, not to stop him, just to slow it. His hand paused.

“Take these off,” I breathed, tugging at his belt. “I wanna feel you.”

He stood just long enough to kick his sweats off, cock heavy and already flushed, curving up toward his stomach. My mouth parted slightly. I always forgot how big he was. How quiet men carried weight in silence.

“Come here,” I said, voice gone low, almost reverent.

Jotaro climbed back over me, settling between my thighs with that same focused stillness he used when dissecting ocean currents—like I was a thing to study and memorize.

But I wasn’t letting him control the rhythm tonight. Not after three weeks of cold text messages and ghost-skin memories.

I sat up, straddling his hips. He let me. Hands resting on my thighs, not moving. Not yet.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” I asked, brushing hair off his forehead. “You act like you don’t know what to do with me now.”

He smirked. Barely. “Tryna be good.”

I rolled my hips against him, letting his cock slide between my folds, not in yet—just that sweet friction. His breath hitched.

“You are good,” I whispered, leaning in till my lips were just at his ear. “But you owe me.”

That got him. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging in like he was trying not to flip me over and rail me senseless. But I saw it—his restraint crumbling under the weight of me.

I reached down, held him at the base, and slid him in slow. Inch by inch.

He groaned—loud—like the sound slipped out before he could catch it.

“Fuck, YN…”

I smirked as I sank all the way down. “There you go. Knew you had a voice.”

He stared up at me like I’d just knocked the wind out of him. And for once, he didn’t look away.

His hands came up to cup my waist, thumbs stroking the skin under my breasts, gentle in a way that didn’t match the stretch of him inside me. I started moving—slow, steady. Letting him feel it.

Letting me feel it.

“Missed this too much,” he muttered, head tipping back. “Can’t lie. Missed you makin’ those lil sounds. Missed this heat.”

I leaned forward, hands braced on his chest. “Then show me.”

He did.

His hands flew to my ass, gripping hard as he met my rhythm, hips snapping up to meet mine, strokes deeper now—needier. His mouth found my throat, open-mouthed kisses trailing hot and wet across skin he wouldn’t even hold earlier today.

He didn’t speak much, but the sounds he made—low groans, deep grunts, the way he whispered shit, fuck, God under his breath like a prayer—

It was louder than any “I missed you” could ever be.

“Look at me,” I whispered, cupping his jaw. “Don’t close off. Not tonight.”

His eyes opened. Raw. Unshielded.

“I love you,” I said, plain and unafraid. “Even when you act like this shit don’t matter. I still love you.”

He sucked in a breath, like it hurt to hear it.

“I know,” he finally whispered. “That’s what fucks me up.”

Then he flipped us.

My back hit the cushions as he drove into me, deeper now, pace punishing—not angry, but overwhelmed. One hand wrapped under my knee, pushing my leg up, open. The other tangled in my hair as his mouth crashed against mine—biting, messy, needy.

I moaned loud, clutching his back. “That’s it—God—fuck, Jo—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Fuckin’ hell, YN,” he groaned, thrusts stuttering. “You ruin me.”

His hips stuttered, breath ragged—but he didn’t pull out. Didn’t roll off. He stayed right there, chest heaving above me, eyes locked on mine like he couldn’t look away now if he tried.

Then, slowly, something shifted behind his eyes.

Not finished. Not close. He leaned in, kissed me rough—his hand dragging up my thigh, then down again, gripping hard at the meat of it.

“Turn over,” he rasped, voice hoarse and low like gravel. “On your stomach.”

I blinked, dazed. “Jotaro—”

“Now.”

I obeyed before I even registered it, limbs moving on instinct. He sat back on his heels behind me, one hand pressed to the small of my back, the other running up the curve of my ass with deliberate slowness.

“You think I’m done after that?” he muttered. “Nah. You talkin’ ‘bout I don’t show you I love you. Gonna fuck that thought out your head.”

He pulled my hips back until I arched for him, legs trembling under the pressure of his grip. I felt him throb against me again, already hard—already thick and hot as he slid back into me, a slow push that made me moan loud into the couch cushions.

“Still so wet,” he grunted. “Still open f’me. This what you wanted, innit?”

I nodded frantically, voice caught in my throat.

He set the pace this time. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust pressed the air out of my lungs and replaced it with a whimper. His palm slid up my back, then tangled in my locs, yanking just enough to lift my head.

“Say it again,” he growled against my ear. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” I gasped, voice hitching.

He snapped his hips harder. “Again.”

“Jotaro—fuck—I love you.”

He let go of my hair just to wrap his arm around my waist, pulling me back into him with every grind. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed with every move, filthy and wet, raw emotion wrapped in sweat and sex and aching need.

“Don’t care who hears,” he muttered, biting down on my shoulder. “Let ‘em know who’s got you.”

I was falling apart—hands clawing at the cushion, teeth catching on my bottom lip to hold back the scream building in my throat.

And then he slowed.

Just a little.

His hand came around to stroke where we were joined, thick fingers working slow, circling—deliberate, tender.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Right here, with me still inside.”

“Jota—” I choked on his name, body already tightening, heart pounding out of my chest.

“I’ll hold you after,” he promised, barely a whisper. “Swear down. Just give it to me now.”

And I did.

My whole body locked up as the orgasm ripped through me, louder than I meant, messier than I could control. I sobbed his name, legs shaking as I clenched around him, walls fluttering so tight he had to grit his teeth just to hang on.

But he didn’t stop.

He wrapped both arms around me now, one across my chest, the other cradling under my hips as he ground into me slow and deep, riding out my high while chasing his own.

“Fuck—YN,” he bit out, burying himself one final time before he finally let go with a guttural sound against my neck—spilling deep, holding me tight like if he let go, it would all disappear.

His breath was still hot against the back of my neck when he finally moved—slow, reluctant, like even gravity couldn’t pull him away from me.

He pulled out gently, with a groan deep in his throat, and I flinched at the sudden emptiness.

Then… silence. The kind that settles between two people when there’s nothing left to hide.

I expected him to roll off, stand up, light a cigarette or slip back into his stiff shell.

Instead, his arm hooked around my waist and pulled me back into him. Chest to my back, legs tangled, his chin nudging gently against the top of my head.

A heartbeat passed.

Then two.

“You alright?” he mumbled, voice rough, like it’d been dragged across broken concrete.

I nodded, still dazed. “Mhm.”

He hummed, low and quiet. A sound like satisfaction. Or relief.

His hand drifted up my stomach, lazy and warm, fingers tracing idle patterns over the sweat-slicked skin of my belly. I let my eyes fall closed, basking in the glow, until—

“Why are you like this?”

His hand paused.

“Like what?” he asked, already playing dumb.

“You know damn well what. All this... locked-down, keep-away nonsense,” I turned slightly, enough to glance at him over my shoulder. “Why you always act like you don’t care until you’re in me?”

He blinked at me, slow. “Because you do too much.”

I smacked his chest.

He laughed.

A real one—short, rough, unexpected. The kind that cracked out of him like it’d been trapped too long. He tucked his face into my shoulder, laughter vibrating through both of us as I stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh, so now you find shit funny,” I said, half scolding, half smiling, even as I smacked him again—lighter this time.

He grinned against my skin. “Nah, for real. You’re always pressin’. Always talkin’. Always wantin’—touch, kisses, words. It’s… a lot sometimes.”

I went quiet.

He must’ve felt it, because his hand reached up, gently coaxing my chin until I turned to face him. His eyes searched mine, softer now, more open than I’d ever seen.

“But you’re my lot. That’s why I let you stay,” he said, voice low and thick. “That’s why I give you this. You’re the only one I’d ever let see me like that.”

“You say that like I’m supposed to be flattered.”

He kissed the corner of my mouth. “You are.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was melting. His hand slid to my thigh, thumb stroking circles like a silent apology.

“You know I love you, right?” I murmured, quieter now.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. And I know I don’t show it enough.”

He dipped his head, kissed my collarbone. Another kiss on my jaw. One to my temple.

“I’ll get better,” he whispered.

“You better.”

“You’ll remind me,” he said. “You always do.”

We laid there for a while, tangled in each other, warmth trapped under the blanket of what we'd just shared. And for once, he didn’t pull away. Didn’t retreat into silence or coldness.

He just held me.

His hand resting over my heart like he was guarding it.

“ I love you, I hope you know my love. I do.”

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crypticspacecat · 19 days ago

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The Truth Lies Six Feet Under the Snow (3/3)

Last Part!

Prologue

Part II

Messages from Beyond

Thankfully, the guard was being truthful as the tower was empty, but it won’t be for long. She runs down the seemingly endless hallway with the dimly lit torches being her only source of light. The hallway is thankfully silent, except for the sound of her footsteps and labored breathing. Zariah feels her speed picking up, not knowing where she’s going or when the guards will be back from their lunch break. Suddenly, Zariah almost trips over her gown, interrupting her hasty escape. She rushes to get back on her feet, dusting off her dress before noticing the obstacle.

“Finally.”

Zariah sighs in relief as she looks down at the spiral staircase before going down without hesitation. She holds up the bottom of her dusty gown as she sprints down the stairs towards her freedom, with the sound of her flats echoing throughout the walls. The more she felt the familiar cold weather, the faster she went. Zariah sees the door leading to the exit as she reaches the last of the stairs. She pushes the door open, running outside like a bat out of hell.

“Why do they always give us crappy food? Those royal snobs have more than enough money to give us something more edible.”

A guard complains, urging Zariah to run to the point of her lungs almost burning. At this point, she didn’t care how close they were, she’ll be damned If she waits around for her execution.

The barren area lacks any roads or pathways. For all she knows, she could be running around in circles. However, Zariah keeps going, she knows there’s a way back to civilization, or at least a suitable place to hide until she can come up with an actual plan to prove her innocence. The cold, whistling winds are unforgiving as it begins to slow her down. She stops in her tracks, finally starting to catch her breath. The wind becomes even more aggressive, almost screaming this time.

“No wonder no one has dared to escape. This place is almost impossible to navigate.” Zariah groans as she struggles to breathe, as the wind screams even louder.

“Zariah…”

She whips her head around, looking for the source of the voice. Is she hallucinating now? She shakes her head and prepares to continue her trek out of this hellscape.

The snow starts blowing around her, almost creating some sort of winter tornado. A figure manifests in the midst of this, forming into someone familiar.

“Mother?”

“Zariah, I don’t have long, so I need you to listen very carefully. You’re close to a nearby village. You must find some way to disguise yourself, as your father will soon learn of your escape.”

Isis explains. Zariah’s eyes widened as she questions if any of this was real.

“Mom, did he-“

“Yes, he and that witch conspired to use black magic to make himself immortal so that he could secure the throne for eternity. The rumors of their affair are also true, I just didn’t want you to be involved in this mess. When I confronted him, Yanina murdered me without a second thought. I didn’t realize he’d be sick enough to frame you.”

“How am I supposed to prove my innocence? I don’t have any evidence except for hearsay.”

“In the nearby village, you will meet a young woman of similar age. She will be your biggest ally when taking your father down. You’ll know who exactly she is when you see her.”

Isis briefs before disappearing into the wind.

Zariah expected a lot of things in her young life. Preparing to take the crown, finding a husband that’ll rule alongside her, and even producing an heir. Taking down her corrupt father was not on the list of things she expected to do. However, his selfishness and greed killed her mother and uprooted her life. For the first time in her life, Zariah will have to stand up and act before her father destroys the kingdom and her.

#black writer #original story #short story #fantasy #black authors #authors of tumblr

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crypticspacecat · 21 days ago

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The Truth Lies Six Feet Under the Snow (2/3)

I hope everyone is having a good weekend, here's part 2!

Prologue

Part III

Tower of Grey

In the middle of a white forest, no humans or animals are to be seen. The only thing that stands is a grey tower made of old and cold stone. However, living beings are inside. One of them being Princess Zariah. The beautiful princess, known for her radiant dark skin and soft curly hair, is now considered a cold murderer. Tragedy struck the kingdom when her own mother was murdered, with black magic being the weapon of choice. Zariah, though with little evidence, was to blame for the Queen’s death. This being the scandal of the century, the kingdom couldn’t help but run their mouth.

“The queen, killed by her own daughter!”

“A travesty indeed…”

“I knew those royal goblins would eat each other alive.”

“Is this the downfall of the monarchy?!”

Not knowing her actual fate, Zariah assumes she’ll either die in this tower or meet the axe. She looks out the barred windows to see nothing but snow. The winter wonderland used to bring her comfort when she was at the palace, but all she sees now is death and despair. Brooding over her predicament, a loud bang at the door catches her off guard. Zariah turns around as the locked doors open, and she sees one of the guards with a tray full of less-than-appetizing food.

“Lunch has arrived, your highness.”

He sneers as he rudely drops the tray on the floor. His eyes roll as he stomps out while the princess glares holes into his back. She hesitantly picks up the tray, sighing in defeat. She knows that she didn’t kill her mother; she loved her dearly.

“My own father thinks of me a monster,”

Zariah whispers bitterly to herself. She once again sits by the barred window to look at the depressing view of barren trees clothed by snow and the general lack of life. The young princess is almost tempted to wallow in pity. She looks down at her ice blue gown, now covered in dust from when she was dragged to this prison. Why would her father, of all people, believe that she killed her mother? Especially since he knew her views on black magic.

The one thing the royal servants enjoyed most about the palace was the grand library. Millions of books neatly arranged in alphabetical order on freshly crafted mahogany shelves. The tan porcelain floors are so clean that you can see your own reflection. The walls covered with past members of the royal family from the start of the kingdom to now. In a secret room, little Zariah and Isis look at various kinds of history books.

“Mommy, why do I have to read this boring stuff?”

Zariah groans. At least once a week, the queen would take her daughter to the library and educate her on the history of the kingdom.

“As a princess, these are things you must know. One day, you’ll be crowned queen, and a good queen is educated.”

Isis explained, earning a huff from the 7-year-old.

Zariah looks over the books, none of them worth reading, until she comes across a black book. This particular black book had a lock restricting access. The cover is a rough leather with tiny thorns adorning the spine. Most children would be frightened by the book, but it only made Zariah curious

“What’s that?“

The young girl questions, pointing at the suspicious book. Iris follows her daughter’s finger to see the cursed book. She sighed, wondering if Zariah was ready to learn about the evils of this world. The queen didn’t even mean to pick up the book.

“Sweetheart, you’re too young to learn about what’s inside this book. When you’re older, I'll tell you.”

“But why? The book can’t be that bad.”

“It’s just, the things in there are a bit much for your-“

“Didn’t you just say that a good queen is educated? If I’m going to rule one day, there’s important stuff I need to learn, right? This book looks important!”

Zariah fires back. Iris pinches her nose bridge in frustration, knowing her curious child will not let this go if she continues to refuse.

“Well, if you insist, but the things in that book are quite dark. It explains the history of black magic.”

“Black magic? What’s that?

“It is a type of magic only practiced by the greedy, deceitful, and bloodthirsty. It is mostly used to harm others and for self-gratification. When it comes to its exact origins, it depends on who you ask. I’ve heard stories of people doing this practice to gain power or riches, and it will give you those things. However, it always comes at a price.

Our family has an interesting relationship with black magic. In the infant stages of the kingdom, King Ezra and Queen Fatima had a hard time asserting their authority, as the natives weren’t used to a monarchy. Their solution was to use black magic to gain power over their subjects. The spell did work, but the King and Queen started seeing spirits, and not the friendly kind. Six months later, they were both found dead in their chambers. Their bodies almost resembled mummies with thin, leathery skin and protruding bones. A century ago, the reigning king and queen at that time were extremely unpopular. For a while, the commoners grew to despise the royal family. The king at the time, Emry, imposed higher taxes on bread. This, unfortunately, created new enemies.

At the annual royal festival, a rogue witch tried to eradicate the royal family using black magic. Luckily, the royal guards took the brunt of the magic and were able to subdue him; a few of them still died, however. The witch in question was beheaded and burned for his crimes. From that day forward, King Emry passed a law that any black magic used against the royal family carried an automatic death sentence by beheading and burning.”

Iris explained.

That memory still burns in Zariah’s mind. Isis was never afraid of transparency, as the truth may be uncomfortable, but it will bring clarity and closure. Lost in her thoughts, hushed whispers invade her mind.

“What was that?”

She whispers to herself, eyes scanning the small room. She follows the whispers that lead to the other side of the locked door.

“He knows very well she didn’t kill Queen Isis. I knew the princess since she was an infant, wouldn’t hurt a bloody fly!”

“Let’s be honest, Ezekiel. It wouldn’t shock me if that whore was behind this.”

“What in the world are you talking about?

“You didn’t know? It’s common knowledge that the King has been having an affair with that witch Yanina. She even walked around the castle like she owned the damn place when the queen wasn’t around. My theory is that the king and his little mistress orchestrated Queen Isis’ death and framed the princess to save their skin.”

“That’s ludicrous, Rafael! The king would never betray his own daughter.”

Ezekiel gasps in disgust.

“The same king who barely acknowledges her? The same ruler who isn’t above murder to get what he wants? Think about it, they’re the only ones with clear motives.”

Zariah widened her eyes at the revelation. Like Ezekiel, she didn’t want to believe that her father would backstab her. However, Rafael has a point, as much as she hates to admit. Whenever her mother was absent, that woman was so damn off putting. It wasn’t a secret that her father enabled Yanina’s audacity. Zariah’s first meeting with the witch still leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

Victor rarely called his daughter into his study, as it was considered forbidden for anyone else to enter. So, when she was summoned, she knew that it must’ve been something important. The guard leads her into her father’s study, where she sees him at his desk with a strange woman beside him. The princess’s eyes darted to the suspicious, slim, pale woman with long silver hair and a defined jawline. Her height and the empty look in her icy blue eyes make her look even creepier to Zariah.

“Zariah, this is my new advisor, Yanina.”

Victor announced, gesturing to the woman next to him.

“Hello, child.”

Yanina greets coldly, keeping that same distant look in her eyes.

“Child? Did she seriously say that?”

Zariah thought to herself. She might’ve just met this advisor, but she already knows this woman is bad news.

“Father, for years, you refused to appoint an advisor, even when Mother asked. Why do you need one now? Don’t mistake this for malice, Yanina, but it’s Princess. I may be young, but I’m still your superior.”

Zariah said candidly, looking at the slender woman up and down. This causes the King to slam his hand on the desk, taking attention away from Yanina.

“Listen, girl, you will not disrespect my advisor in my quarters! Whether you like it or not, she’s here to stay, and you might as well get used to it. You may be a Princess, but you will stay in a child’s place. Your mother might’ve enabled your attitude, but it stops here.”

Victor scolded, earning a look of suspicion from his daughter before she stormed out of the study.

Zariah didn’t want to assume the worst of her father, but it’s no coincidence that he hiring an advisor caused this domino effect that resulted in her mother’s death. However, one thing she wants to know is, why frame her? He could’ve easily framed any of the servants, but he threw her, of all people, under the bus. Amid her racing thoughts, a creaking sound catches her attention. In the doorway, she sees Rafael, one of the gossiping guards.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this because it will cost me my life, but we both know you didn’t kill your mother. Being a good daughter and staying in this tower will only result in you meeting your mother in the afterlife. If you’re brave enough, get out of here and prove your innocence while the other guards are having lunch.”

He mutters before disappearing down the hallway. This was her only chance to escape, but what’s next? How would she prove her innocence? Where will she even hide?

“There’s no time for second thoughts; I won’t get this opportunity again.”

She mutters to herself as she runs out into the hallway.

#black writer #black authors #short story #fantasy story #fantasy #original story #authors of tumblr

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crypticspacecat · 22 days ago

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The Truth Lies Six Feet Under the Snow (1/3)

I'm back from the dead, lol. This is a short story I wrote that I'm thinking about making into a novel (so, criticism is welcome!). It's only three parts, so I'll post the next part tomorrow.

Part II

Part III

Prologue

The Ice Kingdom was without a monarchy until a tribe from unknown origins appeared five hundred years ago. The people had skin tones of shades of brown and hair like wool. The pale natives had never seen anything so different and were enamored. After the two tribes agreed to coexist, the previously unknown tribe created a monarchy that would govern the kingdom for years to come. The current generation of royals — King Victor, Queen Isis, and Princess Zariah — have been working to end the centuries-long conflict with the Fire Kingdom since they ascended to the throne. However, King Victor’s tongue has caused many close calls with other rulers. This, however, was put to a halt when Isis was mysteriously murdered, and Zariah was blamed for her death.

#black writer #original story #short story #fantasy

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crypticspacecat · 3 months ago

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#black writer #blackout poetry #poem

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crypticspacecat · 5 months ago

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LIKE A TATTOO — [PART 4] J. KUJO

pt.4! jotaro kujo x blk! reader

❝ …broken by the burden of his youth ❞

if there’s one thing you’ll always love about jotaro, it would be his birthmark. it’s literally a star on his upper shoulder and it’s the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen, you could’ve sworn he got it tattooed at first until he shown a photo of him and his grandpa jojo with the exact mark. too adorable!

however, he felt the opposite.

he hated it.

he despised the abnormality— from the color of it to the very shape

you thought it was because it was a random star on his body that didn’t go with the whole hard ass loner aesthetic he had growing up

so when you was over his place trying to get out of your writer’s block, your eyes drifted to a shirtless jotaro, glasses perched on the brink of his nose as he read from paper to paper

“the foundation is going to be the death of me..” he grumbled before tossing one of the papers carelessly before pinching the brink of his nose. exhausted wasn’t even the word to describe how he was feeling

remarkable shade of turquoise along his hues, yet they somehow seem to shine like diamonds at the likes of you. “cmere” he said loudly enough to bring you out of your daydreaming. you strolled over, letting the oversized tee of his engulf your body whole. you behind him, wrapping your arms soundly around him. if he could turn into puddle , he definitely would in your embrace. stress doesn’t seem to manifest when he’s in your touch “you really should take a vacation! we could see josuke & gang again this summer” you suggested, peppering kisses on the crown of his head before moving down to his neck causing a deep chuckle from the stoic man.

“and have even more stress dealing with those knuckleheads? are you trying to send me to an early grave?” he turned his head slightly shutting his eyes as well, letting you drown him in your affection. the softness of your lips against his skin caused goosebumps to emerge from your touch. he soon froze once he noticed you stopped your affection assault on his body

insecurity began to gnaw at his pride. did you find the star bizarre? did it make him less attractive to you? so many negatives he thought up , he also didn’t realized the faint tracing of it by your finger “y’know what i love most about you, jojo?”

“hmm?”

“your body. before you get too far inside your hurricane of a mind, your birthmark is beautiful to me as well as your scars.” you announced awful at your finger traced other patterns on his shoulders and back, “they’re your story.” you smiled to yourself

“my story?” he raised a brow as you made your way into his lap. you ran your fingers through his slightly greying curls, “yeah. how the most feared kujo became a doting and loving man he is today” you booped his noses with a giggle, surprisingly getting a little chuckle from the normally stoic man. he loved that you allowed him to have this rare moments just between the both of you

“thank you, y/n”

“for?” you dragged out a bit, now it was your turn to raise a brow. he pressed a tender kiss to your lips, “helping me become who i am now. thank you for accepting my ugly” he whispered against your lips, turquoise eyes low with admiration as they scanned over your face. he stayed like that for a while, etching out every small feature of you. how did he get so lucky with such a breathtaking woman

if defeating a 120 year old evil vampire was the result of stumbling across you, then he wouldn’t mind the baring the scars of his youth to the world

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