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drsugarsweet · 1 year ago

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5 with Rubber Soul where reader is dating Rubber Soul and they can't sleep so Rubber Soul helps them?

Rubber Soul x Reader

5. “I couldn’t sleep”

You had officially given up at two am.

Your body felt sluggish and heavy, a stinging weight pressing down on your eyelids as they clenched tight in frustration. Despite having gone to bed hours ago, you haven’t yet been able to actually fall asleep, and you couldn’t pinpoint the reason as to why. The room was kept cool and dark, everything clean and put away by the time you decided you were ready for bed. You hadn’t done or consumed anything that should have kept have you awake, and yet you simply remained walleyed within the dark confines of your room, exhausted but unable to alleviate the symptoms.

Lying here had long since grown uncomfortable, your body sore from each position you curled into, but the idea of actually getting up from the bed seemed far worse in comparison. The deprivation left your limbs feeling heavy and dense, and irritation was quickly overlapping with the ringing in your ears.

Frustrated with yourself, you rolled over and blindly patted the surface of your bedside table, almost knocking over a half-full cup of water in the search for your phone. If you couldn’t fall asleep then at least you could distract yourself in some way, the boredom was by far the worst thing that drove your irritation in the matter.

Although it was very late into the evening, technically very early into the morning, you knew that more likely then not that your boyfriend would still be awake. He didn’t have issues falling asleep as far as he told you, he simply liked the nightlife and ability to revile in it on his own time. He had no set schedule he followed, his responsibilities unknown and undiscussed between you two, so he often appeared to quite literally pop up at random from time to time whenever it suited him.

Surely he wouldn’t mind if you do the same just this once.

You clicked on his contact and pressed the phone receiver to your ear, listening the ring of the dial for a few moments before it suddenly beeped off. A quick glance at your screen showed that the call had been rejected. Perplexed, you made to call again before a text notification popped up under your boyfriends name, only saying “1 sec.”

You waited a moment, fully expecting the call but still startled by the sudden blaring of your ringtone amidst the enveloping silence of the room, dropping your phone on your chest in a momentary panic. Scrambling to retrieve it, you accepted the call and quickly put the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Well hey there,” your boyfriends amused voice boomed over the line, almost inaudible over the steady hum of music and voices, “hold on just a sec, I’m almost outside.”

You made to apologize for interrupting his fun but you heard the distinct sounds of heavy movement as the music grew fainter in the background, despite being on a call with you he most likely had the phone away from his ear as he pushed his way out of the club and onto the streets,

“Alright, I’m outside,” he started speaking before the phone was within range, his voice trailing along the speaker in growing volume, “what are you doing up so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you replied, the exhaustion evident in your voice, “-was bored and wanted to talk to you.”

“That so?” You could almost hear the smug expression in his voice. “That’s a coincidence, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Yeah, sure sounds real boring over at that club,” your deadpan humor brought a snorting laugh from the other line.

“I know, that’s why I left.”

The faint whirling of cars occasionally buzzed over the receiver, the city still very much alive despite the time. Guess you really weren’t the only one that couldn’t sleep. Maybe you should have just gone out or something.

“You know, you sound sexy when you’re tired,” Soul thinks out loud, “you have that whole ‘low seductive’ thing going on, like, my knees are gonna start shaking over here. Really.”

“Bet,” you reply back, “I think if you saw me that’d be the farthest thing on your mind.”

“Well, we’ll see about that, ‘m almost there anyway.”

“Almost where?” You question him. He hums to himself without clarifying, only to suddenly drop the call at the same time something thumps against your window. You jolt back in alarm, almost ready to leap from the bed and make a dash for the door before you see a familiar face crawling through the frame.

“I have a door, you know.” Honestly the sight was a little amusing, at the very least expected from someone like him. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I keep that window locked.”

“Yeah, you do, I’m just really good at this sort of thing.”

You watch as he straightens himself up, the light of the moon illuminating his sharp features. His hair is slicked back and stiff, his clothing flashy and well accessorized. He had obviously planned on a long night out, and yet here he was standing within your bedroom looking like he could just as happy here as he could be at a lively event. He tosses he jacket and shoes towards a dark corner and motions for you to make room for him on your bed.

“So, want to hear about something I overheard near the ladies room down at the Tampico?”

You hum in amusement as you curl your arms around his torso, drinking in the smell of his expensive cologne and the sound of voice as he begins to list of some of the latest gossip he’s picked up on the town. The details of it don’t interest you so much as the experience of being told everything by him, the way he can’t stop himself from laughing at something he deems pathetically unfortunate or the smooth flow of his hand as it absentmindedly caresses your back. He isn’t even bothered by the eventual signs of your exhaustion creeping up on you, just letting himself carry on until you relax fully into him.

#delicious writing #I still think about this one sometimes #sighing wistfully #jjba rubber soul #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure stardust crusaders

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drsugarsweet · 1 year ago

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Miracle Witness Hour

Demon!Devo the Cursed x Reader

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Synopsis: Life seems to be perfect once you've moved to the cottage of your dreams; the peace and quiet is lovely, the sounds of birdsong greet you every morning, and the Old Woods prove to be bountiful with wild foods. There's just one problem. You haven't gone unnoticed.

TW: implied animal death (not explicit), religious imagery, blood Note: reader is GN, no pronouns aside from 'you' are used.

Masterlist ☆。*。☆。

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"Let's go summon a demon!" Your friends said. "C’mon, what's the worst that can happen? It'll be fun!"

Standing in a dark, candlelit room filled with too much noise and the overwhelming scent of sweet oils and blood, you really aren't having fun. It’s not like you expected it to be much different but it’s a mystery as to why you agreed in the first place. Peer pressure is a hell of a thing. You're sitting cross-legged on a grainy concrete floor in someone’s basement - you’ve lost track of who your friends invite along that you aren’t privy to - and the cold of the room creeps into your bones. It couldn’t be less uncomfortable if it tried.

Moments after you think that, it gets more uncomfortable.

Your friend, a cattish girl that always insisted on ‘getting you out of your comfort zone’, is the one who initially invited you. She pulls out a container full of dark red sludge. The jar is barely half full of the substance and you wrinkle your nose at it.

“What exactly are we doing here again? This isn’t very fun.” Your voice is more of a mutter compared to the obnoxious banter of the handful of other people in the room, but Adrien notices. She shakes the jar at you and the sludge tints the clear glass with red as it sloshes around.

“It’s pig blood, we need it for the ritual! And hey, it’ll be fun soon, don’t worry! We’re trying to summon something good ~”

“Sure, I don’t know that’ll be enough though - “

Your concern is cut off as an arm is slung around your shoulder, belonging to one of the guys that was invited along that you can’t seem to remember meeting before. The hint of booze on his breath makes you gingerly lean away from his hold. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Ey, who cares! If we get this demon, imagine what we can make it do!” The chatter is cut through with giggles as a few of the others discuss the riches they’ll accrue, the people they hold grudges against and the romances they’ll stoke. It feels wrong. You doubt they’ll listen, but your frown deepens as you consider why exactly it’s a bad idea to summon the damned willy-nilly.

“Alright everyone, let’s do this! I’ve got the blood, someone turn off the lights! And don’t mess with the salt!”

As the basement’s dingy light bulbs are turned off and the rest of the group joins you in sitting around a scratchy salt circle on the ground, the room falls into dusky shadows thrown further by the candlelight. No expenses were spared - well, unless you consider dollar store candles, a container of kitchen salt and a questionably acquired book of spells the peak of quality. It’s not like you volunteered any of the supplies. Considering how you were dragged into this whole mess, it isn’t surprising.

Well, that’s not entirely true. You did bring one supply with you, but you haven’t told the others. Your hand toys with a bloodied bandage stuffed into your pocket and soaked from a recent inexplicable nosebleed, courtesy of the strangely dry weather. It isn’t much - nowhere near comparable to the jar of pig’s blood hastily gathered by your friend from a nearby butcher - but you don’t like the idea of skimping out on yet another element of the ritual. It feels wrong to play with forces unknown in that way.

Ah, but listen to you. There’s no way that this whole thing will work in the first place.

Your friend sits at the head of the group with the book laid open across her lap. It’s just about the only authentic looking thing in this basement. The pages are worn parchment stained with years of fingerprints and ink and other things you don’t want to think about, and the cover is some kind of leather that you’ve never seen before. You didn’t get a chance to take a good look at the insides because she tore the book away from your curious eyes before you could see so much as a glance. All you caught before her expression turned closed off and dour was black scribbles in shapes your mind couldn’t fully comprehend. Ever since then she’s been strangely cagey about the entire ritual. You don’t like it one bit.

The others around the circle seem to be equally out of the loop but they’re far less nervous than you. Their expressions range from staunch disbelief and boredom to the giddy glee of someone daring their friend to say a spooky name in front of a mirror three times. None of them seem unsettled by the atmosphere. They certainly don’t seem cautious. It feels like it should ease your mind but it doesn’t. Shouldn’t there be more gravity to the whole affair? Haven’t any of them seen the movies full of inverted crosses and cold, clammy corpses?

Apparently not. When your friend starts chanting in some guttural language you’ve never before heard, the gooseflesh that dapples your skin should send you packing. It sounds like her voice but not like her in a way you can’t grasp. The rise and fall of her voice in sharp syllables and rasping hisses makes the others giggle and whisper to each other. Everyone else seems to think that she’s hamming it up. You aren’t so sure.

When the flames of the candles begin to flicker, the cheers of excitement only grow. They act like it’s some kind of prank! Briefly, you feel the urge to scan the room for a camera but there’s no way that this is for some stupid video. You would know - you helped set everything up to get away from the pre-ritual beers and gossip. There’s nothing else in the dusty old basement but some leaky pipes, a circle of salt and scentless pale candles, and a group of people with nothing better to do. That doesn’t relieve you of the nerves making your hair stand on end and you grip the bandages in your pocket tighter. The slickness of any leftover blood goes unnoticed.

Soon things start to change. The candles aren’t just flickering idly; it’s as though a massive door slammed open to release the cold night air outside, filling the room with a dank, frigid gust. The candles don’t go out just yet but your keen eyes notice that their flames are different . Where before it was the familiar glow of sunset red, they grow a sickly green by the second. There’s no way that they can change. You saw the packaging they came in, they aren’t supposed to do that. The others are laughing now. They think it’s a well-planned trick.

It isn’t, and you really shouldn’t be here.

Your friend’s voice has picked up now, rising and falling like the strange wind that takes the room in its hold. There’s a strange, terrible scent in the air. There’s mildew and dust, the tinge of iron and copper that only comes from a freshly butchered animal. Your lungs are filled with the taste of ash and you want to leave. To your horror, your body is frozen in place. You’re forced to breathe in the miasma and stare at the circle and your friend across from you.

She’s locked in a fervor as she speaks. You wish you could look into her eyes and see if there’s any sign of fear or mirth or impish glee, but her eyes are wrenched shut as though she’s in pain. You don’t get the chance to ask her, not when your breath is stolen by the sudden darkness that fills the room. The candles are blown out by the wind and the shadows weigh down on you with an overwhelming dread.

The others have noticed their state of stillness by now. The cheers have died down, and the worried mutters of people questioning the unpredictable, dire future replaces them. This isn’t a joke anymore.

Where the room was once filled with a campy glow, a sickening dark green coats every face in unnatural tones. The smell of rot and roadkill is overpowering. You’d feel bile on your tongue if the iron wasn’t wreaking havoc on your senses.

Something is here.

It takes a moment to realize the candles aren’t the only thing glowing. By the time that you shake off the stupor of fear brought upon by the atmosphere, you see that there aren’t six beings in the room anymore. There’s seven.

The thing hasn’t left the salt circle, not yet. It oozes and bubbles and drags itself up from a pool of shadow in the center of the circle, one massive arm then another preparing to pull the thing up. Someone in the ritual circle is screaming now, and the only way you know that it isn’t you is because your teeth are drawing blood from your tongue. There’s blood in your mouth and on your hands and in your pocket, and the jolt of pain finally frees you from your unnatural stillness.

You aren’t sure what made you do it, but your friend on the other side of the circle has broken free from her stupor. You see surprise, shock, horror in the eyes of the others. Not her. You see a terrible, smug knowingness when her pupils flicker to yours, and her hand reaches from the book to the jar of blood. Her caginess makes sense now - her certainty that this would work was no joke. She knew what would happen, and you know that you’re in grave danger.

The ‘pop’ of the jar’s lid being removed is barely heard over the cries of fear around you. The thing is now up to a broad set of shoulders and horns that grow longer than your forearm, but you hear it all the same. In your moment of clarity, you pull the bandage from your pocket.

The salt circle is dampened by pig’s blood. It pools and oozes towards the shadowy beast and coats the concrete in filthy red. At the same time, you do the only thing you can think of. You spare a single glance to the crimson glazing your fingertips and you throw the bloodied bandages into the circle.

Whatever the reason, the sudden addition of sanguine gore elicits a response. The thing in the circle jerks and unleashes a most horrible groan. You get a better look at it as it pulls itself up and out of the shadows with a burst of energy, and you know why the others scream in terror and plead to gods that will not answer them.

The thing is terrible.

The thing is beautiful.

You’re reminded of why demons are so often referred to as fallen angels as your eyes fall upon glistening irises the color of the sky before a tornado. It peers from a curtain of long, inky hair tied in mismatched braids with a blank look upon its face. Scarred skin tinted green from the candles stretches across a mass of muscle that could easily crush you with a passing blow. You don’t have to look long to see the rows of bone-breaking teeth beneath thin lips, the massive claws tapering to black and the metal formed into chains and spikes across its body. As though mocking your thoughts of holiness, a monumental set of horns crowns its head and curl around, a classic homage to a ram hewn from ebony.

It’s awful. It’s awful, and mesmerizing, and it’s looking right at you.

Through you.

Its presence whips the other people into a frenzy. The only one besides yourself that isn’t struck by fear is your (former) friend across from you. Her brows are furrowed. She opens her mouth to speak, perhaps wanting to command the thing as its summoner. Before she can, it whips around and you have only a second to note the burnt nubs of what may have once been wings on its back.

It hisses something guttural that hurts your ears. The woman blinks once, then twice. The thing hisses again, and with each attempt it grows closer to speech. When it finally speaks in a tone far too smooth for something with those teeth, everyone in the room shuts up long enough to listen.

“You are not the one.”

Finally, for the first time tonight, fear crosses her face.

“Wh… what do you mean? I summoned you , you wretched thing! I control you!” Her voice reaches a fever pitch. She is confused and afraid and for a moment you feel righteous glee at the position that she’s in.

“You. Did. NOTHING.”

With a voice like grinding metal, the thing whips back towards you with the fury of a caged animal. You don’t have time to react when it steps impossibly close to the salt circle, mere inches away from your form as it kneels on muscular legs thicker around than your torso. Its eyes glow like the candle flames around you and a twinge of something that isn’t yours joins the confusion and fear filling your heart. A slick black tongue darts from its lips to taste the air.

“What is it that you wish?”

It’s talking to you .

Why in hell’s name is it talking to you?

The spark of hunger and sadistic glee in your chest flares again and you fear that you know exactly where it’s coming from. The thing seems to sense your confusion. It licks its lips and raises one massive claw to meet your gaze, and dangling from its grasp is the bandage you threw in earlier. The cloth is white as snow, not a drop of blood to be seen.

The blood still in your veins turns to ice. Your blood. It accepted your blood.

The room feels too small and you’re dizzy with fear. A terrible, joyful grin covers the thing’s face, and it snarls - no, laughs - with enough power to send dust shaking from the ceiling. You know you don’t want anything from it, but you know deep down that isn't true. Your eyes glare accusingly at the person you used to call your friend and the cowards that joined you. It’s clear that they never cared for you, and in a flash of memories, you’re not sure they ever did. Something deep and vengeful and grudging fills your heart, and you know what it is that you want.

You don’t have to tell the demon. Its eyes glow more fiercely and thick globules of black saliva drool from its teeth, and it saturates you with unholy anger. It knows what you want. What emotion is yours and what is the demon’s? You can’t tell anymore, but you’ve begun to move before you even realize. You stand upon shaking feet, and watch as the creature towers over you with monstrous height.

There will be time to consider the consequences later. When you nudge the salt and break the circle, you know exactly what will happen.

As the demon grins at you before the carnage begins, you aren’t sure that you care.

#doc's fics #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #jjba devo the cursed #monster au #teratophillia #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw blood #devo the cursed #stardust crusaders

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