#Something you put years into honing and days into perfecting only for it to be snatched from your grasp and waved in your face | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moongreenlight · 1 year

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More on Soap and his f!demon!reader because you guys forced me like oooookay I get it you’re horny on main

Just kidding everything I do is for you. All you have to do is vaguely imply that you want something and I’m all over it baby anything you need.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Johnny’s demon who follows him everywhere after his first kill. Bound to him the moment the bullet left his chamber. A partnership of sorts. Cast into the pits and valleys of his soul. Gifted to him in the few intimate moments where the deafening blast of his rifle slowed time. Kept a secret even from him. A partnership between this world and the next. Quite literally a give and take. You sworn to him so long as he kept up his end of the bargain. Kill or be killed.

You stayed concealed in shadows for years. Flitting from corner to corner to make sure you always had an eye on him. Silently coaching him through little whispers carried to his ears on the wind. Watching him grow as a soldier under your care. Honing and refining his skill as you saw fit. Leaning your chin just over his shoulder during missions. Voice leading him through to victory like siren song.

Protecting him when it was necessary. Wrapping your big wings around him to shield him from an onslaught of bullets. Leaving his side only for a moment to gore a sniper with their sights on him with your blackbuck horns. Curling your fingers around his to force the trigger of his pistol back if he hesitated and put himself in danger.

It was a bit dirty in principle. Like forging his signature on the deed that signed his soul over to the devil, but he didn’t seem to mind. The cost of invincibility coming at a relatively low price all things considered. The only drawback was his ego. Sizable before, now bloated into something almost grotesque. Cocksure and arrogant but not without his charms.

Not to mention, you’d almost taken a liking to Johnny in your time together. Like a parasite slowly becoming fond of their host. He keeps you fed. Bringing you with him to the field, letting you gorge yourself on blood and carnage and pain until all you can do is drape yourself over his broad shoulders and lazily flick your magic around when it’s required. And he’s decently entertaining for a mortal. Has to be the best company you’ve been forced to keep in at least a few hundred years.

Though you found yourself getting increasingly irritated each time he came home from a mission and thanked God of all people. Letting him pick up a few more scrapes and bruises than you usually would on his missions after that whole bit started. Each murmured ‘Thank you’ making you hiss and howl down at him from your perch in the shadows. Wanting to show him just who he should be thanking for his survival.

Tired of his baseless belief and wanting to teach him a lesson on saying thank you; you revealed your human form to him during midnight mass on Christmas Day. Can’t say you didn’t have a sense of humor.

You sat alone in the pews. Feeling when he entered the church minutes after you. Skin erupting into goosebumps, hair standing on end, a heat starting under your skin like you’d been dropped into a pot of water being slowly brought to a boil. You watched from the corner of your eye as he and his family slowly made their way down the rows of pews, finding yours was the only one with enough room to hold the lot of them together. It all seemed too perfect when you and Johnny ended up knee-to-knee.

You felt his energy shift. He could feel you as much as you could feel him, but the sensation was foreign to him. The same discomfort you’d been plunged into when you took your human form. Trying to cooly fold the sleeves of his dress shirt up at his elbows and seem attentive to his mother who was harping on him about his hair up until the moment the priest stepped to the pulpit.

You didn’t get a chance at him until the congregation was finally prompted to greet one another. Some love your neighbor nonsense.

Johnny turned to you immediately. Standing from his pew with the rest of the crowd. Unable to sit still in such discomfort. His skin hot as yours. Buzzing just under the surface like he was inches away from a live wire.

You blinked up at him through thick lashes, wetting your lips with a flick of your tongue before pushing to your feet. Letting him shift his weight for a few more moments as you looked him over.

Standing in front of him, he dwarfed you. Always had- but especially now when you didn’t have your wings or horns to compensate. Not the tallest in the room, but carried himself like he was. Chest puffed out, arms subtly flexed by his sides, dress shirt hugging his muscled form just right.

He stuck a hand out. Brow cocked as he sized you up with glittering blue eyes.

“Peace be with you.”

He spoke first. You fitted your hand in his. Barely blinking when the meeting of your skin elicited something like a static shock. Relieving both of you from your discomfort.

“And with your spirit.”

You responded through a coy smile. He looked reluctant to take his arm back. The shock hadn’t deterred him. Instead he wrapped his fingers all the way around your hand, hanging on to you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“Alone on Christmas?”

He still didn’t let go of your hand. A sharp smile. Almost predatory.

“Nobody to spend it with.”

You shrugged, still gazing up at him with big doe eyes. Finally allowing your hand to drop from his and immediately feeling pins and needles in the absence of his touch.

“Don’t believe that for a minute.”

You caught his knee inching toward yours on more than one occasion as the mass carried on. Like he was testing the waters to see if you were truly the reprive he was seeking. Fidgeting slightly where he sat. Teeth clicking softly as he ground them. Cracking his knuckles. Clenching and unclenching his jaw. Shifting his hips slightly forward on the bench. To his credit, he showed an impressive amount of restraint. Never touching you. Not that it would have done much through his trousers.

The one true pitfall of your being bound to his soul. Forgotten until now in its seeming insignificance. It was near agony for the both of you when you took human form. Like your life force being torn in two and dangled temptingly close but just out of arm’s reach. A kind of pain that didn’t need to land blows on either of your physicalities. Felt divinely through each you. Not used to being separated, you had an almost instinctual need to be together. You’d known beforehand and he seemed to be picking up on it quickly. Skin needed to touch skin in order to provide either one of you any relief. Give both of your spirits space to knit themselves back together.

For being so tightly braided in the fibers of his being, you found it almost shocking that you hadn’t noticed how desperate he could be when he was looking for release. Body tense in his increased discomfort. No doubt grappling with the effects of your separation. Sweat beading at the back of his neck. Tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Bouncing his knee. Looking up toward the rafters before fixing his gaze on you in an attempt to pass it off as a sweep of the room. The way he brushed your arm reaching over you for a bible nestled in a pocket just in front of you. Making contact with your exposed skin for a fraction of a second and nearly whining when the both of you felt your unease settle for a fleeting moment.

Trying to push up against you when you were down on the kneelers, murmuring a clipped apology each time. Still somehow finding time to rake his eyes over you. Nails digging little half-moons into the back of his hands where they were clasped in prayer.

On the tail end of the service, communion was given. You followed behind Johnny and his family. Just behind him like you had so many times before. His normal prowl substituted for a more casual saunter. Subduing his ego for something a bit more reserved in the presence of not only his family but also the good lord. Nodding his thanks as he took his bread and wine. You had to fight back the distasteful curl of your lip at the motion. Even now he was thanking God.

You saw the way he tried to casually turn his gaze back to you when you stepped up to take your Eucharist. Tongue laid out flat and long, head tipped back a few degrees. Intentionally pornographic in your acceptance of the wafer. Nearly tripping over his feet when he caught you staring straight back to him. You made a show of pulling your tongue back into your mouth, your best attempt at a demure smile curving your lips.

He tailed you closely on your march out of the church. You lingering on the walkway. Seeing the way his eyes flicked back to you as he walked his parents to their car. Mother still going on about something or the other. He needed to visit more or he needed a proper haircut or he needed to call more. He cut her off with a kiss on the cheek before closing the car door. Shook his father’s hand. And as expected, crossed the parking lot quickly to get back to you. Grinning wolfishly as he saw you stood with your winter coat folded neatly over your arms pretending to look around for who knew what.

“Still alone, are we?”

He queried, standing in front of you, folding his arms over his chest. You didn’t miss the way he flexed just barely, making the dress shirt bite into his bicep.

“You worried about me?”

You cocked your head slightly to the side, chewing the inside of your lip to dilute the smile threatening to curl your lips.

“Ken I oughta be, pretty lass like you.”

He chuckled softly, blue eyes glittering under the warm glow of the lights outside the church.

“Aren’t you sweet.”

You deadpanned.

“You’ve got no idea.”

He’s used to getting what he wants, that ego of his. And you’d made the mistake of not outlining exactly how quickly you’d play into his game beforehand. Mind now clouded from not being with him. Walls came crumbling down embarrassingly quick.

He’d somehow persuaded you to let him give you a lift back to his place. You making up some excuse about not being from the area, staying with a friend who must have fallen asleep instead of picking you up after church. Somehow allowed him to keep his hand fixed on the small of your back up two flights of stairs to his flat. Somehow wound up with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand, pushed onto the couch with Johnny sandwiching you against the arm.

Awfully smart for a mortal man. Figured out what it took to keep him comfortable and ran with it. His fingertips ghosting along the hem of your dress. Delighting in the goosebumps both of you got when he brushed your skin with his. The insatiable heat crackling within each of you dying down each time only to be fanned with a renewed fervor when he drew back. Eventually settling on not pulling away at all. Resting his hand on the top of your thigh, running the fabric of your dress between a few fingers. Careful to keep his palm flat against you. Infuriatingly comfortable with you seeing as you were a complete stranger to him. Chatting like the two of you were old friends. Flirting like you had done this time and time again.

He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. Couldn’t be arsed to play the fool and try and skirt around the subject. A dog after a bone, really. Practically drooling over you as you made idle chitchat. And the worst part was that it was working. You’d try to blame it on your addled state. Not in your right mind. Only you knew how flimsy those excuses were. Trying to curb his advances with little success. Trying to keep the ball in your court.

You were still looking to assign blame to something when he grabbed your hips and tugged you under him on the couch. Circumstance. Mindset. Whiskey. Church. God. You couldn’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about. Something insignificant. Very well could have been the weather. You had a feeling it didn’t really matter.

Hovering over you close enough to feel his feverish heat all over. His knee forcing its way between your legs like he felt some kind of right. Using his big paws, still clamped around your hips to grind you against his thigh. A sharp laugh when you tried to hide the soft mewls that bubbled up inside you.

You felt smaller than you had in eons. Not used to being jerked about. Reduced to something resembling a true human under Johnny’s touch. Not having been material for centuries would do that, you supposed. No room to think about the needs of your physical body if it’s something that’s been shelved until now. And- fuck. It’s like somehow your body had found room to store up thousands of years of repression. Bursting at the seams. Somehow, the heat in your belly rivaled that of being separated from him. A feeling that couldn’t be sated like your bloodlust. Like a hunger that could claw its way up out of you if left untreated.

He was grinning at you like the cat that ate the fucking canary. Properly giddy. Tickled with himself for snatching you up. You wanted to snap at him. Hiss and spit like you had when he’d thanked God instead of you after a mission. Remind him that he wasn’t the hero he thought he was because this was all part of your plan, but the words died in your throat.

“Jesus. Thought you’d be a good girl. Meetin’ you in a church and all.”

His voice wasn’t doing anything to help your case. Nearly sending you feral under him. Unable to help the wetness gathering at your sex. You tried to press your thighs together. To buck his hands off of you, but it only made him snap his teeth in your face. His fingers bit in just a touch harder, pressing you down into the couch.

“Thought you said you were sweet.”

You bit back, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Dinnae know s’what you wanted. Don’t seem like it.”

“Funny.”

You shot back, voice a bit more obviously breathless than you would have liked. He’d let go of your hips, leaving you to grind yourself against the muscle of his thigh that was pressed tightly against you. He looked down, watching the way you moved. Whining at the sight. You were much too lost in your mind to notice the small damp spot that was forming on the leg of his trousers. Rolling your hips lazily against him.

“You like funny? Cunt get this wet for any funny bastard that comes along?”

You couldn’t muffle the high keening sound that tore from your throat in time. His filthy words taking you by surprise. Blinking rapidly and making a vain effort to still your hips, but he was quick to the kill. Snorting a laugh and tugging you up off the couch. Bullying you down the short hallway and into his bedroom. Walking you backwards using his legs to guide you. Puffed-out chest knocking you in the direction he wanted, kicking at your feet if you were going to run into the wall or a corner. Herding you like some sort of farm dog. There was a nasty look in his eyes now that you weren’t touching anymore. Even a few seconds apart seemed too much.

He shoved you backward onto the bed, not giving you time to adjust the awkward angle at which you’d landed before he was knelt before you on the ground. Yanking you forward by the backs of your knees which caused your dress to bunch at your hips. Leaving your dripping sex exposed to him. The thin panties doing little to hide your arousal. You yipped softly, trying to twist away from him. Give yourself the high ground, but he wasn’t having it.

He wasn’t the light, arrogant, charming Johnny you’d seen before. Nor was he the dark, rough operator you’d seen him be on the field. This was something different entirely. He looked like a predator that had finally caught some elusive prey. A flash of his teeth through an infuriatingly smug smile. Eyes raking you over like he was about to tear into you. It made something deep within you coil tightly. The heat in your belly now at a roaring boil. Your plan long forgotten. Lost somewhere to swirl among the fog that took over your mind.

Given the animosity he was exuding, he took his sweet time warming you up. Kissing, nipping, sucking, licking his way up your legs. From knee to hip on both sides. Leaving small, dark marks on your skin. Marking his territory. Panting softly over your barely clothed cunt. You making your situation even worse when you twitched and mewled softly under him. Cheeks burning a deep scarlet.

It was entirely too much and somehow not enough. The visual of him knelt between your legs that were hanging off the bed. His artful way of touching you. Your thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in your ears. It nearly pushed you over the edge without him even needing to touch you.

He was a dog pulling on a taught leash. Doing everything he could to restrain himself. His breathing was ragged. Eyes steely. Pupils blown out. Unable to look away from the damp spot on your panties. Humming his approval at the sight. Working his calloused fingers under the fabric and guiding them down your legs. His muscles were tense, impossibly so, threatening to burst the seams of his shirt. Swallowing hard when he finally got a look at your drooling pussy.

“Jesus, bonnie. Fuckin’ perfect.”

He shifted slightly on his knees. Cock pressing uncomfortably hard against his pants. The muscles in his jaw twitched slightly. Sat stilled for a moment with his hands at your thighs with a white-knuckle grip.

You whined. A choked sound. Trying to squirm out of his eyesight. A bit uncomfortable being ogled. This sent him back into action, strong hands yanking you back toward him. Snapping his teeth in your face in warning.

He then spent more time working you out. Like he had nothing else he’d rather be doing. His mouth hot and wet. Touching anywhere but your clit out of some torturous principle. Spreading you open with his thumbs. Lolling out his tongue and allowing drool to drip down off it and add to your gathering slick. Blowing cool air on you. Watching your every twitch and shake with lust-glazed eyes that somehow seemed more attentive than normal. Committing you to memory.

You were nearly in tears. He’d ruined your plan. Turned you from an all powerful being into some shivering, whimpering thing. Overstimulated without him needing to wreck you with an orgasm. Sweating and whining and yelping at his touch. Trying to tangle your fingers in his hair and jerk him closer, but he just swatted your hands away or sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh to shut you up. Unable to be put off of his path even after you’d stooped well below your status and managed to ask nicely a few times.

And when he finally, fucking finally, showed you a bit of mercy; he only sunk one finger into you. Enough to make you let out a low, throaty growl, but not enough to satisfy you. He pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. Biting his lip and panting as he watched the way your drooling cunt swallowed him so perfectly. You tried to roll your hips into him like you had on the couch. Tried to grind into his knuckles to give your swollen clit some friction, but he rewarded your efforts with a mean slap on the leg. It took you by surprise. Pain like that- physical pain- had been so rare that it made you cry out and jerk your head up to stare at him wide eyed and open mouthed.

“Yer gettin’ bratty. Take what I give you.”

He shrugged, still unable to tear his eyes away from where you were clenched around him. Though he didn’t bother hiding the smug smile he was sporting.

“N-not enough. More.”

You whined, tossing your head back onto the mattress.

“Hell of a way to say thank you.”

He chided, tutting his tongue softly.

“You’re out of your mind if-“

He put a quick stop to your impending tirade by stuffing you full with another finger. A soft squelching sound as he began to pump faster that sent you reeling. Unable to form a coherent thought, you were left to fall apart on his bed. Legs hanging lamely off the edge as he had his way with your cunt. Treating it like you weren’t even there. Cooing pure filthy words of admiration to your sweet cunt. Pinching around your clit for a moment before sliding back down to hold you open between the index and middle fingers of his free hand.

Fuck. So pretty. Look how she sucks me in, mm? Needy thing. Never been treated this good? Need‘ta get you ready, yeah? Bet she’ll be prettier all stretched out.

By this point, you were sobbing. Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and creating little stains on the comforter on either side of your head. Rolling down your neck. Something coiled so tightly under your belly that you were certain you would implode. Turn yourself inside out before he ever granted you release. Pained and overstimulated and under-stimulated all at once. Rendering you useless in doing anything other than moaning and fisting the sheets weakly in your hands.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, until he could tell that you were getting pushed to your breaking point. Working up his pace. Curling his fingers more and more. Letting his breath fan you. Still uttering filth like it was prayer. Fucking reverent. Slowly adding drops of water to a reservoir until the dam burst. It sent you careening over the edge when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit and gave a gentle suck. Lewd, wet noises coming from the both of you. It took all of a few seconds for you to reach your orgasm. Whatever had been furled tightly within you finally snapping and exploding outwards. Wiping your mind clean. Only allowing you to focus on your release. Walls clenching and spasming around his fingers that did not relent. Crying out and moaning and gasping much louder than you’d meant. Clapping a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. Bucking your hips up into him and re-starting the entire process when your now hypersensitive clit grazed his teeth or tongue.

He stayed latched on to you for much longer than was appropriate. Lapping up as much of your spend as he could. Working his fingers into you well past the point of exhaustion. Keeping you spread open and on his view the entire way. Paying no mind to the way his knees began to object to his position or how tight his cock was pressed against his pants. Obsessed with the way your body reacted to him. Obsessed with your pleasure.

It felt like he was trying to make you come completely undone. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were nothing but a puddle on the bed. He spared you no mercy when he finally pushed himself to his feet. Hands flying to his belt and tearing it off. Too impatient be bothered to shed his trousers completely, opting to tuck the waistband just under his heavy balls. Shucking your dress up over your head. Using the slick gathered on his hands to lubricate his cock before he started fucking into his hand.

His leaking tip bumped against your clit each time he thrusted forward, sending you spiraling. Seeing stars. And now that he was certain he’d gotten you to come, it seemed the only thing he could focus on was his own orgasm. Yanking off his dress shirt with one hand. Working his needy mouth across your chest, up your neck, over your jaw until finally he met your lips. Leaving a slick trail of spit in his wake. Meeting your mouth with such a desperation that your teeth bumped together. His tongue sloppily working it’s way past your lips and further into your mouth.

He continued to fuck into his hands, eyes rolling back each time he brushed against you. Hypersensitive by nature, amplified a thousand times by the throbbing hardness of his cock. Dipping into you just a centimeter at a time. Driving the both of you insane. The scalding heat of his skin pressed flush against yours. The taste of yourself still on his mouth and chin. Sweat on sweat. Your head spinning. Mind still clouded with blinding pleasure. You wanted to tear him to shreds. So frustrated with him and his effect on you. Ruining your plans. Like he’d taken a seam ripper to your edges and was pulling you apart without even needing to try.

He hummed something filthy that you couldn’t quite make out. Sound muffled by the blood thundering through your ears. Letting out something that resembled a scream when he finally sheathed his cock deep within your walls. No longer satisfied with the stimulation of his hand. Bottoming out on his first thrust. Finally slipping himself out of the collar that was choking him in his rabid attempt to bury himself in you. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth, and you found yourself truly connecting the dots as to why he was so insistent on stretching you out with his fingers and loosening you up with multiple orgasms.

Your back arching impossibly further up into him. His sweat-slick forehead pressed hard against yours. Noses bumping together as he set a punishing pace humping into you. His eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Groaning and whining about how good you felt around him. He was beating hard against your cervix. White-hot pain popped spots behind your eyes. Your body trying to adjust to the feeling of him buried so deep.

“Fuckin’ perfect. Takin’ me so good.”

His tone was stuck somewhere resembling a growl. Rumbling so low you swore you could feel it in in your chest. Teeth clenched. Huffing in sharp breaths as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly. All you could do was mewl and cry under him in response.

He reached his orgasm relatively quickly, burying impossibly deeper into you when he finally came. His face buried into the crook of your neck, teeth sunk into your collarbone. It irritated you that he didn’t think to ask if he should pull out. But that was yet another boundary he didn’t seem to care for. Like he knew there was no way you could deny him. Like he felt that same entitlement to any part of you that he wanted. And honestly- that thought rang dauntingly true.

He thrust lazily into you, riding out his high before collapsing down next to you. Still sporting that infuriatingly smug grin. Fucking glowing. Tugging you over into his big arms and wrapping them around you. Tucking you under his chin and suffocating you with his smell. Sex and whiskey and cologne and incense. You hated that it worked to calm your aching body and mind.

“Oughta keep you around.”

He mused, chuckling breathlessly over you.

You simply hummed your response. Sighing sharply and resigning to the fact that revealing yourself to him at all may have been a mistake. You were at his service indefinitely.

#this took me forever to write because writing smut is so hard I kept having to take giggle breaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x you #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap x reader #John soap MacTavish smut #soap smut

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wholoveseggs · 8 months

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Indulgences

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

Part Three

As your relationship with Elijah deepens, conflict arises and you are put in an impossible situation.

5.5k words - Warnings: smutttt, red door elijah {my interpretation of him}, drug use, adult themes, domestic abuse, violence, blood drinking.

Please be aware that this part is very violent. {Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four}{Moodboard->}

Elijah kept coming back, week after week, booking the platinum suite and requesting you. Every time you entered the suite and locked eyes with him your memories came flooding back in an instant. He would lay his head in your lap and tell you his heartaches while you stroked his dark hair. You learned how he was robbed of his life a thousand years ago, and how much guilt he carries in his heart. He would speak of his family with equal love and frustration, his world tipping further into turmoil with every passing day.

You admired his heart, his humanity, his fearlessness in facing his darkness. Sometimes, on rare occasions, his vulnerability would peek through and he would confide in you about his need for control and his fear of losing it. And sometimes, even more rarely, his heart would bleed for those he had killed and will kill. They were moments of weakness that he only let you see.

You began to care for him, truly care for him, past being his private dancer, past him being your cash cow. They were times when his perfect mask slipped just a little, showing a more fragile side of him, one you knew he had carefully crafted and honed to perfection. These moments revealed to you just how human he still was, despite having spent the past one thousand years as a vampire.

One night, as you gently traced your fingers through his dark hair while he rested his head on your lap, you softly asked, "Why did you choose me?”

Elijah, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall, murmured, "The way you looked at me... there was something about your eyes, they were so..."

"What?" you whispered, the intimate moment creating a tightness in your chest.

"Alive," he whispered back. "You looked at me as if you could see straight through my mask to the inner demon beyond and didn't care."

"I do see straight through you," you teased.

Elijah smirked, then averted his eyes. It was painfully evident to anyone who met him that beneath the facade of a perfect gentleman in tailored suits, a dark turmoil simmered within him, a side he struggled to keep subdued.

He sat up and ran his hands through his hair, as though trying to compose himself, and returned his gaze to yours.

"Do you like this job? Does it make you happy?" he asked curiously.

"Not happy, but it helps me survive." You replied honestly.

"If there was a way for you to never have to do this job again, would you take it?" Elijah asked seriously, studying you intently.

"It's complicated, this is my only way to earn money and stay afloat, I can't imagine life without it," you explained, a bit confused by his line of questions.

"If you had a choice," Elijah started, leaning in closer.

You sighed, borderline amused by how cliche he was being. It must have shown on your face because the side of Elijah's mouth twitched, and he continued.

"Would you want to leave with me, leave all of this, escape to a better place?" His question made your stomach lurch, and you sat up straighter, heart pounding. You weren't a fool; you had heard this offer from a few clients before. They all craved the fantasy of having a stripper for a girlfriend while playing the white knight, rescuing her from what they deemed a shameful profession. As you stared at Elijah for a long moment, sizing him up and searching his eyes, you realized he was different. Unlike the other men who made similar offers, Elijah possessed the power to fulfill his proposition—a considerable amount of power, so much that it left you feeling unsettled.

"I'd say take me to your kingdom," you jested, wearing a playful expression, not revealing any clear intention to go with him.

He gave you a searching look and leaned towards you, hands on either side of your hips, pinning you to the couch. "Say the word, and we leave this instant," he murmured, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.

"I'm not a fantasy, handsome. I'm a person with a life outside of this place, one you know nothing about," you remarked quietly.

"Then tell me," Elijah asked, the atmosphere around you intensifying, his gaze transforming into a look that pinned you down in more ways than one.

Running your fingers through your hair, you chewed the inside of your cheek, torn about whether revealing the truth would shift the power balance. The mysterious allure you carefully maintained gave you control over clients, resulting in higher tips. However, a part of you hesitated, not wanting Elijah to view you solely as a mystery. You longed for him to see the real you—a human with flaws and struggles like everyone else—rather than getting entangled in the fantasy of you.

"I'd rather not," you said firmly.

"Do you have terrible dark secrets?" He teased light heartedly, not daring to take his eyes away from yours.

"This," you said, gesturing around the room, "is not about me,"

You resisted this glimmer of hope, this tempting fantasy. Reality held you captive, you had troubles and responsibilities that hadn't magically disappeared just because Elijah walked in and requested to see you specifically.

"I disagree," he said gently, cupping your chin, turning your face to meet his. "It's very much about you. I would have never returned to this place if you weren't here,"

You blinked back the stinging feeling behind your eyes, and reached out and grabbed his tie, pulling him close so you were face to face.

"Exactly darling, it's all about you," you murmured, brushing your lips against his.

"That's not what I meant," Elijah whispered, but let you deepen the kiss regardless.

"Isn't it though?" you teased, sliding out from under him, standing up.

"This is where our night comes to an end, handsome," you announced, extending your hand out to him.

He grasped your outstretched hand, his dark brown eyes focused on you, and pulled you down until you were straddling him. You let out a soft gasp of surprise, your hands automatically resting on his chest.

"One more kiss," Elijah murmured, his voice muffled as he nuzzled your neck.

You gave a low laugh, tilting your head back, exposing your neck to him. You could feel his breath on your skin, warm and even, sending a thrill through your whole body. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of his touch.

His hands traveled up your thighs, until they reached your hips, his thumbs hooking under the straps of your g-string. The heat from his fingers caused a blush to rise on your cheeks and your heart to beat faster.

"May I touch you?" Elijah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your body tensing at the thought of him being intimate with you. This wasn't allowed, Mitch would fire you on the spot. No sleeping with clients. It was his number one rule. Mostly because the club would lose its license.

But you didn't care about any of that, all that mattered was Elijah. You wanted him to touch you, to bring you pleasure. You wanted him to take you away from the pain and sadness, if only for a little while. You swallowed thickly and nodded your head in consent.

Elijah's eyes darkened with lust, his hand sliding between your legs, fingers grazing your damp panties. You bit back a moan, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He continued his gentle teasing, his fingers rubbing circles against your clit, watching your responses.

"You are so lovely," he murmured, kissing your neck.

You whimpered softly, arching your back, pushing your breasts against his chest. You wanted more, needed more. You wanted him to make you forget everything except his touch.

He dipped two fingers into your aching core, a breathy moan escaping your lips. You clenched around him, your head swimming with desire. He moved his fingers in and out of you, curling them ever so slightly. He brought his thumb up and traced small circles against your clit. You gasped, your eyes fluttering closed, your climax swiftly approaching.

"That's it, beautiful," Elijah whispered, nipping at your ear.

You came undone, the tension in your body melting away, your hips bucking against his hand. You felt a sharp pain in your neck as he sunk his fangs into your skin. Your legs trembled as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, your breathing ragged, your skin slick with sweat. He continued to stroke you, his movements drawing out your orgasm until you were a trembling mess.

He let out a low groan, pulling his mouth away from your neck, blood smeared on his lips. His eyes were completely black, dark veins snaking down his cheeks.

You gently ran your fingertips over his cheeks, marveling at the creature that lurked beneath the mask of a gentleman. He was breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly deadly. Your touch was enough to calm him and his features returned to their human appearance.

He pulled his fingers from you and brought them to his mouth, licking away your arousal with a predatory growl.

You giggled and leaned in, brushing your lips against his. His hands rested on your hips, his grip tightening. He returned the kiss, a sweet yet heated one that took your breath away.

"We shouldn't have done that," you whispered, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Why not? Did you not enjoy yourself?" Elijah questioned, his eyes full of concern.

"No, no it's not that, I...I mean, we're not allowed to have sex with the clients," you confessed, embarrassed by your admission.

"Do you still see me as just a client?" He asked with a raised brow.

"No, but Mitch will. I'll lose my job." You mumbled, biting your bottom lip.

He ran his fingers through your hair and cupped your chin, his eyes boring into yours. "Then come with me," he murmured, his lips ghosting against yours.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, taking a deep breath. You wanted to say yes, you really did, but the reality was still there. He kisses you again, gently biting on his lip, the taste of his blood making your skin tingle. You felt the sting of the bite mark on your neck fade, and you pulled back. His fingers traced the area where the wound was, his eyes slightly far away.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Why?" You asked, your heart skipping a beat.

"I didn't ask for your permission," he explained, his jaw clenched.

You placed your palm on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath your fingers, soothing the storm inside of him. "It's fine," you reassured him.

His expression softened and he smiled at you, the love and affection in his gaze filling you with warmth. You never had anyone look at you like that before and you found yourself wishing that the moment would never end, but reality set in.

"Time to go, darling." He said quietly, his breath fanning over your face. "You won't remember this until you see me again,"

You kissed him one last time and rose off his lap, swaying on your heels. You could feel his eyes on you as you stretched lazily, earning his appreciation.

"Have a good night, handsome." you murmured, teasingly blowing him a kiss as you strutted out the door.

You sat in the dressing room, looking down at the stack of hundreds on your lap. Once again confused on how you made that much. You couldn't remember a single detail of your time with the wealthy client in the platinum suite, it unnerved you. You wondered if the molly was strong enough to block out your memory and leave you totally empty.

"I hope your not fucking suit guy," Stacy remarked, walking by your chair, admiring herself in the mirror, a dark purple silk robe draped loosely around her body.

"I'm not." You assured her, shoving the hundred dollar bills back into your bag.

"You better not be, Mitch would fire you so fast, not to mention Jordan would be devastated," she remarked, a smirk on her face.

"I don't do that," you repeated, watching her change her attitude.

"There's an exception to every rule," Stacy remarked, pursing her red stained lips and applying another coat of lipstick.

"I'm not a cheater. Elijah is just a wealthy client who likes to talk, you know the type," you said with a shrug.

"Elijah," Stacy echoed, laughing. "You're on a first name basis with him? God, you might as well be fucking him," she taunted, raising her brows at you.

"Fuck off, Stacy," you snapped, glowering at her, refusing to let her get a rise out of you.

Jordan walked in, his usual friendly expression on his face, an extra spark in his eyes, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. He pressed his lips to your cheek in greeting.

"How's my baby?" he asked cheerfully.

"Good," you mumbled, quickly moving your bag out of sight.

"Hiii Jordy," Stacy sang, batting her eyelashes at him.

He flashed her a quick grin before turning his attention back to you. You could feel the knot in your stomach slowly untying itself, he was in a good mood today.

"Let's go get dinner, I know this great bar near here," Jordan said eagerly, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

You gave a half hearted smile, nodding your head. You would rather go home to a quiet apartment but you knew better than to spoil his mood with your defiance.

"Sounds fun," you murmured, forcing a smile.

Jordan and you walked out of the club, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. He glanced down at you, his face still carrying a smile, but his eyes holding a warning.

"You okay baby?" He asked.

"Tired," you replied simply, hoping it would be enough to explain your earlier behavior. "Is it okay if we just go home?"

"No! It's Friday, and I need time with my girl," he practically whined, as he guided you to his car.

Your heart sank at the tone in his voice, knowing very well he wouldn't take no for an answer. It was a game he played to get you to do what he wanted and give him an excuse to fight later, usually for being stubborn or a stuck up bitch.

"My shift was so long," you mumbled.

He shoved you into the passengers seat, closing the door before you could reach the handle. He got into the drivers side and turned the key, a sly smirk on his face. He grabbed your wrist, squeezing it tightly, his nails biting into your skin, he leaned in, his lips next to your ear.

"Why is it so hard to please you baby?" he whispered, his tone seething.

You stared at him, keeping your face neutral, dread churning in your stomach. You could feel the bruises beginning to form on your wrist, his anger slowly rising. He squeezed even tighter and you winced, a strangled cry leaving your lips. He let go of your wrist and slipped his hand between your legs, inching his fingers to your mound, squeezing roughly.

"This belongs to me, baby. How many times do I have to remind you that you're mine?" Jordan sneered, tightening his hold on you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears burning behind your eyes, and looked away, trying to detach yourself from the situation.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you murmured, shrinking away from him.

"Damn straight," he said, releasing his grip on you and turning his attention to the road, "Dinner and drinks at Rousseaus, you’ll love it."

You gave a stiff nod, trying to ignore the fear and anger in your heart.

Rousseau's was more crowded than you expected, but you both managed to find a table. You sat and waited while Jordan got drinks.

Other men always looked at you, wherever you went, it always made you uncomfortable. Especially so when you were with Jordan, his jealousy could cause an explosion at any moment. You wished he hadn't insisted on coming to the bar tonight, there was a feeling in your gut that told you something was going to go wrong.

When he returned with the drinks his mood had dramatically shifted, his eyes darting around the room as he slid into his seat next to you.

You picked at your finger nails, chipping away at the paint, and scooted your chair a few inches away from his. You could feel his eyes on you, seething with jealousy, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

"Maybe we should go," you suggested, shooting him a wary look.

"We just got here and I ain't done drinking," he replied, placing his hand on your knee, caressing your skin with his fingertips.

"Okay," you said in a small voice, lifting your eyes to meet his gaze.

He brought his hand up to your face, lightly brushing the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. You could tell by the look in his eyes that something wasn't right.

"Stacy was telling me something very interesting about you," he whispered, his voice dripping with suspicion.

"Oh?" You asked, feigning innocence, heart beginning to race.

"Yeah," Jordan mused, gently tracing a pattern on your skin. "She told me how you kept having one on ones in the platinum suite. Absolutely raking in the tips. Does that sound like something you're familiar with?" His words were soft, but his voice was harsh.

Your stomach dropped at his question, realizing what he was getting at. You stared back at him blankly, trying to formulate a response. You thought about lying to him, you were a good liar, you did it everyday of your life. Jordan was visibly seething, but he wouldn't do anything to you in public, so you kept your guard up just in case.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, babe," you said in the sweetest, yet most patronizing tone, grabbing his hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly.

He narrowed his eyes at you and took another sip of his drink. Your stomach turned, you knew he wasn't finished, this was far from over.

"If I find out you're lying to me," he started, his voice menacing. "I'll kill you."

The color drained from your face, fear coursing through your veins. You wanted to bolt out the door, run for your life, anything to get away from him, but you didn't. You looked away from his terrifying eyes, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill.

That's when you saw him, sitting near the window, watching you intently. Elijah.

The reality of his existence hit you like a swift blow. He was a vampire. He had bared his heart and soul to you. Just hours ago, you had been in his embrace, experiencing pleasure as he fed off you. Then he would erase the memory from your mind, leaving you oblivious to what he truly was. He offered you a knowing smile, his dark eyes piercing into yours. Your cheeks flushed red as you looked away. Despite everything, a part of you yearned to run to him, to forget about the monster lurking beside you.

"Excuse me for a second," you whispered, letting go of Jordan’s hand and sliding your seat back.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Jordan snapped, his grip on your knee tightening, his fingers digging painfully into your skin.

"Just the bathroom," you muttered, struggling to keep your composure.

He gave you a steely look, before releasing your knee. You gathered your purse and rose to your feet and without glancing back at him, headed for the bathroom.

You felt Elijah's presence behind you when you got to the hallway. Fear churned inside you like a whirlpool, as you turned to face him, not completely sure what you would say to him.

"It's not a good time for a talk," you said in a low voice, opening the door to the ladies room, hoping Elijah would get the hint.

"You seem distressed," he said quietly, concern clear in his voice.

"Come in, you can't be out here with me," you whispered, tugging on his hand, pulling him into the bathroom.

You checked to make sure the coast was clear and locked the door, feeling Elijah's eyes following you.

"Is that your boyfriend?" He teased in a gentle tone, clasping his hands in front of him, subtly checking you out.

"Yes," you said softly, leaning against the counter, staring down at the floor.

"Is he why you won't run away with me?," Elijah asked, taking a tentative step towards you.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, as he placed his hands on the counter, boxing you in between him and the sink.

"Among other things," you replied evasively, tilting your head up, your gaze resting on his.

"Name one of them," he purred, bringing his hand up to your hair, twirling a stray strand around his finger.

"You've messed with my memories, Elijah. When I'm not around you, I don't remember our time together; I’m frightened of you," you admitted, your body stiffening. "I blame it on the drugs I take, I get anxious about my mental health," you trailed off, feeling shame rising in your throat. "But then I'm with you and..I feel calm, I feel safe, like you'd protect me. And, it scares me, this emotional whiplash is taking its toll,”

"I'm sorry for frightening you, that wasn't my intention," he said gently, his hands lifting to rest on your hips, gently lifting you onto the counter.

"Everything is... complicated, Elijah," you murmured, running your fingers through your hair, trying to muster an answer.

"I know," he murmured, leaning in and kissing your neck, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. “I won't compel you anymore, my dear, I trust you,”

You closed your eyes, inhaling his wonderful scent, it made your stomach flutter with butterflies. This didn't feel real, you hadn't felt this happy in so long, it was surreal.

Your hands went to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palms, and his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, affectionate, and full of meaning. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, never wanting to let go.

"You don't love him do you?," Elijah whispered in your ear, trailing his finger down your jaw.

"No," You breathed, shaking your head, grasping the lapels of his suit. "I couldn't, I try, I have for years, but I just can't,"

He hummed his agreement and kissed you with more passion than you'd experienced with any man before. You could feel his desire, his urgency, and you craved him. Your fingers buried themselves in his hair, letting out a soft gasp when his hands slipped under your dress, gently kneading your thighs.

"No, we can't, not with Jordan here," you rasped, reluctantly pushing his hands away. "Please don't. If he suspects something..." You whispered, trailing off, swallowing hard.

Elijah glanced down at your hands on his chest, his brow furrowing as he noticed your bruised and swollen wrist.

"You're hurt," he observed, examining the marks on your skin, his expression a strange mixture of anger and concern.

"It's fine," You reassured him, trying to pull away from his grip, "just forget about it. Really, I'm ok,"

"He hurt you," Elijah insisted, frowning.

"I had an attitude with him," You mumbled, yanking your arm back, and cradling your wrist in your lap, and nervously twisting the hem of your dress in your fingers.

"Y/n," he said softly. "This isn't the first time he's hurt you is it?"

You looked up at him through tear filled eyes, your mask of composure finally slipping.

"No," you said in a small voice.

"How long has he done this to you?" He asked in a low voice, cupping your face in his palms.

"Years," you choked, no longer able to hold in your emotions, tears trickling down your face. You felt such pure humiliation, embarrassment that Elijah had seen such weakness in you.

"I have to go," you stammered, rubbing your eyes and sniffling.

"You don't have to leave," Elijah insisted, bringing your face up to look at him. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

You froze at his question, wondering what kind of answer he wanted.

"It ruins the fantasy," you said with a dry laugh, trying to brush it off as some stupid joke.

Elijah furrowed his brow at you, looking shocked at your response.

"Do you think I judge you? See you as just a stripper?" He asked earnestly, all of his usual confidence dissipating.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak, but not daring to lie to him, watching him through watery eyes.

"I told you about my life, my father, the torment he put my family through, how could I judge you?," Elijah asked, lowering his face to yours, our lips inches apart, his scent flooding your senses.

"I don't know," you whispered, keeping your gaze fixed on his, savoring his kindness.

"We'll get through this," Elijah whispered in your ear. "Together."

"I have to go," you whispered, before the weight of what he said could sink in.

"Walk out with me, you never have to be near him again," Elijah begged.

"No, please, it'll make everything worse," You pleaded, sliding off the counter. "Don't give me hope, I can't handle hope."

"Y/n," Elijah began, sounding exasperated.

"I'll see you at the club, okay? Goodbye." you said quietly, before he could protest anymore, leaving the bathroom.

Tears filled your eyes as you walked through the bar, taking slow deep breaths to calm yourself. Jordan was still sitting at the table, looking extremely impatient. You tried to ignore the unsettling feeling in your gut as you sat down. He swirled the liquid in his glass, his expression blank.

"Took you long enough, what were you doing in there?" Jordan sneered, pinning you with his icy glare.

You could now remember everything about Elijah, how he made you feel, all those hours together in the platinum suite. Everything. And now here, looking at Jordan, your abuser, the man who took so much from you, was such a contrast that it was almost unbearable. You were revolted by his very presence.

"I just needed a moment to myself, you know? After what you said about killing me," You forced a tight smile, taking a sip of your cocktail, your throat had never been drier.

Jordan scoffed, his features darkening with annoyance. "Let's go, this bar fucking sucks," he snarled, slamming his empty glass down on the table, rose to his feet and swiped his keys off the table.

You took the last sip of your drink and reached into your purse, pulling out your wallet. You felt his hand rest on your arm, you were almost paralyzed with fear.

"What the fuck is that?" Jordan snarled, looking at the tips you earned from Elijah earlier.

You swallowed thickly, completely taken aback, you had no idea what to do.

"I... I got a bonus today," you said in a feeble tone.

Jordan stared down at the money, completely enraged. "Stacy was right wasn't she? You've been fucking that rich asshole," he whispered, his fist closing around your arm, dragging you to your feet.

He quickly guided you through the crowd and outside the bar, pulling you towards the nearby alley. Your mind reeled with panic, realizing what was happening. Your legs no longer functioned as he dragged you behind the building.

"Baby, let's go back inside, I don't understand what's going on," you pleaded, trying to regain composure.

"I asked you a question. Tell me," Jordan growled, his fingertips dug into your arm painfully.

"It was a bonus," you snapped.

His fist connected with your face in a sudden and violent burst of rage. The impact was so intense it dazed you, the air being knocked out of your lungs as you tried to keep your footing.

"I know you're fucking some gangster and keeping all the tips for yourself," he shouted, his hands wrapping around your throat, forcing you against the wall.

Your hands scrambled for his, trying to pry his fingers off, his grip squeezing tighter as the lack of air made your vision blur.

"I asked you nicely and you have the nerve to fucking lie to me? That just shows me that you don't love me at all," he yelled, rage boiling in his veins, his grip nearly crushing your windpipe.

"Please..." you whispered, through ragged gasps for breath.

"I've done nothing but take care of you since we met and this is how you repay me?" He shouted, his grip tightening even more, your entire body struggling to get oxygen, tears pricking at the back of your eyes.

You brought your knee up as hard as you could to his groin. Jordan groaned and doubled over, loosening his grip enough to allow you to wrench yourself free.

You began to run in the direction of the street, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. But he caught up, grabbing your hair and forcing you to the ground. You cried out in pain as he landed on top of you, his hands roaming all over your body as he held you down, squeezing every inch of skin he could grab.

"Shh, shh, don't scream baby, don't scream," he hushed you, slapping his hand over your mouth. "It's okay I forgive you."

"Get off of me!" You cried, as he frantically tugged on your dress. He didn't waste another second, gripping your jaw tightly, his fingers digging in painfully.

"You think I'd let you cheat on me and get away with it?" Jordan gritted out, his hands wrapping around your throat again, increasing the pressure. Your screams were only barely audible now, your vision starting to fade, everything slowly turning black.

Suddenly there was no weight on your chest. You gasped for air, taking desperate shallow breaths, looking up at Elijah who was pinning Jordan to the wall by the throat. Elijah's eyes were completely black, gray veins stretched out under his eyes.

"Do you know what it feels like to be unable to breathe?" He growled, his grip tightening, Jordan's face turning a ghastly shade of blue. "The fear, the terror that overwhelms your body. To know that no matter how hard you fight, you're going to die?"

Jordan's eyes bulged in fear, his hands clutching at his throat, trying to get away.

"You were going to kill her, weren't you?" Elijah seethed, his voice trembling with rage.

"Please... I'm sorry," Jordan wheezed, his voice barely audible.

"She begged for mercy and you ignored her, why should I show you the same courtesy?" Elijah asked, in an eerily calm tone.

Jordan's eyes widened as he struggled against Elijah, desperately trying to loosen the vampire's grip.

"Cockroach," he snarled, his fingers curling tighter around his neck, lifting him up, Jordan's feet no longer touching the ground. "Be still."

"No... no," Jordan squealed pathetically, "what are you?"

Elijah pulled Jordan's face close to his, Jordan's limbs thrashing at his sides, trying to pry away the iron grip on his neck. Elijah gave him a sinister smile, his fangs gleaming in the dim light.

"Death," Elijah whispered, before swiftly snapping his neck.

The blood drained from your face, your head spinning, everything feeling as if it was happening in slow motion. His body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, an unnatural twist to his neck, Jordan's life no longer there.

You felt your heart stop, like someone had thrust a knife through your chest, you almost couldn't breathe. He was dead. Gone. A part of you was happy, euphoric even, he would never touch you again, hit you again, torture you any more. You never felt any pleasure when you were with him, the man was your prison, he had no redeeming qualities and yet, the scars still remained.

Elijah knelt in front of you, pulling off his suit jacket and draping it across your shoulders. Your hands were numb as they slipped through the holes, holding it shut in the front.

"We can't leave him like that," you whispered, staring at Jordan's body, slumped against the brick.

"I'll handle it," Elijah murmured. "Can you stand?"

You nodded, rising on unsteady feet, grateful when he wrapped his arms around you, supporting you as you stumbled. He picked you up bridal style and carried you to his car, quickly setting you down in the passenger seat.

"Do you wish for me to take you home?" Elijah asked gently, seeing that you'd retreated inside of yourself, staring into the distance.

"No." you said hoarsely, resting your head against the glass.

He didn't seem surprised, opening the door, slipping inside and starting the car. His hand rested on your knee, drawing lazy circles on the bare skin, the effect was soothing and you closed your eyes, taking slow steady breaths.

"My home it is, then.”

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four}{Moodboard->}

PS: There will be a part four -xo

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vervain3 ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson smut #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 5 months

Text

Werewolf Bigby Wolf x Reader Headcanons

🌙 Bigby's been a werewolf for a good handful of centuries already, turned right before they all had to seek refuge in the Mundy World hundreds of years ago during the Saelum Trials. It may seem like he has a perfect handle on things, but in reality, he doesn't.

🌙 He used to lose control all of the time, especially in the first year. There were so many rumors and stories that came from him doing so that they've lasted centuries to the modern day. People nowadays brush it off as fake or bring up how back then, glasses weren't a thing so they were all crazy which is a breath of relief on Bigby's part.

🌙 He rarely loses control these days. The last time he could remember off of the top of his head would be the whole Crooked Man incident getting gunned down in the alley. In some sick and twisted way deep down inside, he loves the feeling of hunger and relief that washes over him when he lets go but he will never say it out loud.

🌙 His will isn't the only thing to keep him sane. Centuries of experiments and spells and charms and trinkets the thirteenth floor conjured up also helps, but they all have their breaking point. At least he doesn't turn on full moons anymore and go on a rampage through New York like in the movies.

🌙 There are times, however, when even the thirteenth floor's magic isn't enough and Bigby's iron will breaks. It's rare, but when it happens, it's messy.

🌙 When you two started dating, he could feel the beast inside of him writhing with life, almost like it wanted to come out just to be with you. It was a shock at first, he had never felt like that, especially when he had his little thing for Snow. He likes that feeling though.

🌙 Be careful with certain scents. Bigby's nose is like no other and very strong scents can give him horrible headaches. He won't say anything unless you ask him what's wrong. He loves the smell of you naturally already, there's no need for all of these sprays and scented lotions.

🌙 Speaking of scents, he can also dictate your emotions. It was a skill he taught himself over time. He mostly uses it to try and catch people lying, but's found it useful to detect if you're in distress or even if you're feeling very flirty.

🌙 It's the same with his hearing; Another skill he's honed over the years to weed out the truth from the bullshit lies he's fed. He often listens for your heartbeat during the day if you're around the Woodlands.

🌙 You knew what he looked like, but you hadn't seen it in so long. Bigby would sheepishly look away as you oogled at him in his form. He liked the way you looked at him with those eyes, and he could practically smell your satisfaction, but he wouldn't say something.

🌙 He has a bit of a temper, so flares tend to happen. It's often just the glowing eyes, but there have been times where the claws came out. He doesn't mean for you to see him like that, often worried that you may suddenly see him as the brute many others see him as.

🌙 Speaking of that special little side of him, he loves it when you card your fingers in his thicker hair- especially when you scratch lightly at his scalp or even at the fuzzy sideburns he grows.

🌙 He also likes it when you idly play with his fingers should you hold his hands when he's like that. You're admiring his sharp, black claws without a care for how dangerous they are. It puts his striking nerves at ease.

🌙 Compliment him. It catches him off guard and gets the wolfman blushing and stuttering when you compliment his furry little self. His yellow eyes, his solid body that radiates heat, his strong arms that can hold you like you weigh nothing.

🌙 When he's full wolfman, he often shies away from your gaze at first, worried that you may come to your senses and be disgusted by him- But you aren't. He's instead shocked when you approach him with that smile he fell in love with.

🌙 He's tall as fuck when he's turned, often having to hunch over in your apartment and duck to get through doorways. He often fills up the doorway with his hulking body, his body is broad and muscular, it can be a bit awkward maneuvering around inside.

🌙 He often loves it when you fall asleep while he's all fuzzy, preferring you to sleep on top of him with his beastly arms wrapped around you. There's no need for a blanket as his furry body is enough to keep you warm.

🌙 He likes to tease you when he's like that. Nipping lightly with his fangs, his claws lingering or splaying his large paw across your body, dwarfing you with his size. Anything you say to scold him jokingly earns you a deep wolfish chuckle.

🌙 If you're a fable that also has a different form, it comforts him when you turn and lounge around with him in the comforts of either of your apartments- mostly yours as it's bigger than his by a long shot.

🌙 He's a protective person, it's really in his nature. You're his, and Bigby gets a sour taste in his mouth when certain Fables get around you. He doesn't mean to be jealous and over-protective, he's just acting on his wolfish instincts.

🌙 But if something happens? Hell will break loose. He prays that it would never come to it where it's another Crooked Man situation where he had to turn to protect Snow and almost lost complete control. He saw the pure fear painted all over her face, he doesn't think he could handle that same look from you.

🌙 He lays awake some nights where his nightmares wake him from his sound sleep. It's all the same shit, constant worries pulling at the back of his mind. It scares him to the bone knowing that there's the possibility that he could fully lose control and even hurt you, even with that possibility being so low.

#bigby wolf #the wolf among us #twau #bigby wolf x reader #bigby x reader

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kitashousewife · 2 years

Note

I don't know if this counts as a prompt but how about the "Only One Bed" trope with Hinata~?

nonnie this is perfect!! thank you sooooo much for the idea heehee i hope this turned out okay!

brazil!hinata, fluff, friends to lovers

hinata's bubbling with excitement all day long. through his morning shower, while he took out the garbage, during the practice games this afternoon, and the entirety of the evening, he's been giddy. riding the transit to the airport and dealing with the tense flow of travelers didn't phase him one bit.

now he stands in the airport holding a ridiculously large and vibrant sign with your name in massive letters, right above his head.

the two of you had planned this trip a little over three months ago. hinata had almost reached his two-year mark in brazil, and was getting ready to move home. he asked you to be his travel buddy, even offering to pay for your travel if you would be so kind to accompany him. you couldn't say no, of course, and made plans to fly to see your best friend.

you and hinata met when you were first years, both in the same elective classes. you've been inseparable ever since. you watched every game that you could, despite your own busy schedule. even while he's been gone, weekly facetimes and daily chats have kept you closer than ever.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous, though.

over the past two years, you've watched hinata grow from a bouncy, excited teenager into a confident and strong man. he's honed his skills to perfection and it shows. you've seen the streams. you thought he was incredible in high school, but he's got to be the best volleyball player you've ever seen. it's amazing, and you're so proud.

but this confidence has affected more than just his performance.

hinata carries himself in a way that exudes confidence and pride. he's tan, dusted with freckles, and toned muscles that prove the hours of volleyball he's endured. he smiles often, a bright and toothy grin whenever he speaks. hinata is sure of himself. he knows who he is, speaking with a clear voice and tone.

which is much more attractive than you had thought.

you've found yourself thinking about him more, lingering thoughts of his happy grin that follow you throughout the day. you think about his pretty hair and how it shines in the sun during your morning commute. you think about his cheery voice and the nicknames he calls you on your lunch break.

and as you step off of the plane, those thoughts come to a screeching halt.

once off the terminal and into the building, you're hit with the heat of brazil. that combined with the disorientation of it all, you are a little overwhelmed. until a near fluorescent pink sign held up by tan, strong arms and an orange mop of hair catch your eye.

"sho!"

you run, carry on dragging behind you until you meet your best friend. hinata picks you up, squeezing you as tight as he can before setting you down.

"god, i'm so glad to see you. was the flight okay? did i get you good seats? were you able to sleep?"

hinata tucks the sign under his arm, picks your bag up for you, and leads you to the exit. you follow behind him with a laugh.

"yes, yes, and a little bit," you answer while the two of you wait in the shade of the large sign, being put to good use in the evening sun. "did you wait long?"

he shakes his head. "less than twenty minutes. but you know that i would've stayed all day for you."

as the bus pulls and the two of you find a seat, hinata can't sit still. he's been feeling the same way that you have, but he's been able to distract himself until now. the way you say his name feels special, something that he looks forward to on every call. he counts down the hours until your weekly facetimes, heart pounding in anticipation everytime the call rings through.

"so, what's on the agenda shoyo?"

thankfully, that snaps him out of his thoughts and back to you as you rest your hand on his knee to get him from bouncing it.

"sorry," he stills. "well, i figured we could grab something to eat at my place. i don't have any practice until tomorrow, so we can relax tonight and head to the beach tomorrow. i figured you would want to rest after flying all day."

you can't help but smile. years of beach photos and now it's finally your turn to run into those waves he gushes about every day.

"sounds perfect to me. after the house tour i'll change and we can relax."

hinata snorts. "can't wait to show you everything, it will take a whole two minutes!"

you push into his side with your shoulder, rolling your eyes. the bus slows to a stop and hinata stands up, nodding his head towards a set of apartment buildings.

"this is our stop," he sighs, grabbing your hand to lead you off of the bus and across the street. as soon as you are en route for the building, he lets go of your hand. a small wave of tension washes over the two of you, but you're quick to move on. the excitement of seeing your best friend after two years outweighs the newfound feelings.

"okay, first part of the tour," hinata mumbles as his fingers fuss with the lock on his door. he cheers to himself as he finally gets it open, and runs into the middle of the room.

"ta-da!" he puts his arms out and waves his hands. "here's...everything!"

it is quite small, but it's just what he needed. a small kitchen with a couple of bar stools, a large window with an AC unit, and a few photos taped to the fridge. a couple volleyballs sit in what must be the living room, along with his goggles and extra water bottles. he walks to a door adjacent to the front door and laughs.

"so that's my kitchen, obviously. and then this was my living room, but i already sold my couch and chairs,"

you stop walking and give him a confused stare.

"wait, you got rid of your couch? what am i going to-"

"here's my room. that's the bathroom," he points towards another door which is next to a large map of japan taped to the wall. the other walls are decorated as well, with photos of friends and family and other photos he enjoyed. some scenery from home, photos he snapped at the beach, and some volleyball posters as well. hinata scratches his head. "i know it's pretty small, but i didn't need much. but, if you need towels they're in here, and-"

"shoyo."

"the AC unit is perfect, too. if you need it turned up just let me know-"

"shoyo."

he stops finally, hand reached towards his small closet door when he turns to you.

"what's up?"

"you got rid of your couch?"

he laughs, flopping onto his bed. "yeah! two days ago. it was a pain in the ass to get down the stairs," he shakes his head, remembering how ridiculous the whole thing was.

"why did you do that?"

now he returns your confused look. tilting his head to the side, he looks at you. your arms are folded across your chest, your boarding passes still in your hand from earlier. a habit you clearly haven't let go of.

"what do you mean? i'm moving home next week, and i can't take it with me."

"shoyo, i was going to sleep on the couch."

hinata's smile falters slightly as the realization sets in. you're right, he was going to sell it the day before the two of you left. the busyness of the past few days caused that to slip his mind, selling it to his downstairs neighbor.

he swallows. normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal. the two of you have had tons of sleepovers before. but something is different now. something that he doesn't want to ruin.

"you can take my bed. i can just sleep on the floor, i don't mind at all!"

you shake your head, shuffling to join him on the bed. "it's your bed, sho. i'm not going to do that to you!"

"you're my guest, what sort of host would i be to make you sleep on the floor? c'mon, it's my fault i sold the couch to begin with. you can take the bed, i promise."

you play with your fingers for a moment, deciding what you're going to say for a bit.

"we could share," you suggest, voice quiet. when you look up at him, hinata's cheeks are dusted pink. he clears his throat.

"i-if you're okay with it, of course."

you nod. "i don't mind. it would keep us both comfortable."

hinata nods, hoping you don't hear the pounding of his heart in his chest. honestly, he would like nothing more than to keep you close. many nights, especially over the last few months, he's awake with thoughts of holding you, keeping you tight to him as you count the stars.

"well, i'll start dinner. feel free to shower, change, whatever you want."

"is that your way of telling me that i stink?"

hinata laughs out loud, throwing his extra pillow toward you before heading to the kitchen. god, he missed you. he missed your wit, your laugh, and the way your nose scrunches when he tells a bad joke. he missed everything about you, but he can't find the words to tell you.

the two of you spend the night playing cards on his living room floor, sharing stories of silly things that occurred over the last few weeks. hinata showed you a few photos he took a couple days ago, and laughed as he retold the stories behind them. before you knew it, it was almost 2:30 am, which meant it was time to go to bed.

the two of you had been putting it off as long as possible. but, with the way you rest your head in your hands between games, hinata knows it's time.

"i have extra blankets in the closet if you need them," he points from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his lips. you nod, moving your things out of your suitcase to keep busy. you're hoping to distract yourself as much as you can. "i'm going to shower really quick, but make yourself comfortable. i'll keep quiet," he closes the door all but a crack, the warm light escaping onto the bed like a spotlight.

you do as he says, getting comfortable underneath the blankets as far to the side as possible. as soon as your head hits the pillow, you begin to fall under. hinata's warm scent envelopes you and you feel safe, the hours of travel finally catching up to you as you shut your eyes.

you're not sure how long it's been before hinata joins you, sliding into bed as carefully as he can. he lies on his back for a while, trying to decide if he should hold you or keep his distance. the smell of his body wash causes you to stir a little, and without thinking hinata pulls your back to his chest.

you hum, very groggily as you feel the warmth of his bare skin on you. after a moment your eyes snap open as you realize the situation.

"i didn't mean to wake you, i'm sorry," he whispers, voice close to your ear in the position the two of you are in.

"it's okay," you breathe, scared if you move that he will push away.

a few minutes pass, the two of you unmoving and listening to the sounds of your rapid heartbeats, slowly beginning to beat as one.

"i'm sorry about the couch," hinata whispers once more, voice raspy with sleep. "but i like having you close."

your lips part slightly at the confession. your mind is swimming, shocked at the fact that he feels the same. you start to speak, but nothing comes out. instead, you reach for his hand with yours, softly pulling it wraps around you in wordless accord. hinata pulls you closer, a silent reassurance that he feels the same.

"goodnight, shoyo," you sigh, leaning back into his chest. shakily, he leans forward to place a kiss on the back of your head.

"goodnight," he says into the night. the two of you drift off to sleep, feelings pushed aside for the time being. for now, hinata finally holds you close, and falls asleep with a smile.

#hinata x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata fluff #hinata shoyo #shoyo hinata x reader #hq fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu fluff #shoyo hinata

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writing-intheundercroft · 10 months

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Masterlist

Finally put together a masterlist of everything I've written! Take note, most works (okay all of them) are NSFW, MDNI!

All works can also be found on my AO3, wordswe_neversaid

Series:

When We're Older (Sebastian Sallow x F!Slytherin OC) Rating: E Chapters: 22/30 AO3 Link Summary: Forever indebted to his two best friends, Theodora Caulfield and Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow swears that he’ll be a better man. He’ll balance his classes, new job, good grades, future career prospects, and his social life, all while promising to never delve into dark magic again. He promises to figure out a way to make it up to Anne, win Ominis’s trust back, and help Theo hone in on her ancient magical abilities. When Sebastian Sallow sets his mind to something, he rarely gives up (clearly to his own detriment). Promises are easy to make at sixteen, and even easier to break as one gets older.

Your Ivy Grows (Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader/OC) Rating: E Chapters: 11/?? AO3 Link Summary: Ominis Gaunt cannot see, but he can feel. He can feel the tall thickets of grass outside of his Aunt Noctua's house, now his for the summer. He can feel the sand down by the beach, the water of the tide pools, the overgrown ivy in Noctua's beloved garden. Most importantly, he can feel the gentle brush of his house guest's hand against his as they take their daily walk. He fears that he may feel much, much more for his new house guest.

This Little Life (Auror!Sebastian x F!Reader) Rating: E AO3 Link Summary: Scenes from a life with the auror, Sebastian Sallow. The Night Shift ~ Only You ~ At Home ~ Wreck My Plans ~ Bite The Hand

One Shots:

Tis the Damn Season (Garreth Weasley x F!Reader) Rating: E AO3 Link Summary: You're back from five years of traveling the world and living in America, and Garreth Weasley invites you on a foraging trip down to his family cottage in Cornwall. You accept, having regretted not sharing your feelings when you last said goodbye. Or, the origin story of the Weasley knitted sweaters.

The Perfect Gift (Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader) Rating: T AO3 Link: Coming Soon Summary: Ominis overhears the girls talking about some singer, and decides to write MC a song for Christmas. Sebastian can't help but be his wingman.

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman (Leander Prewett x F!Reader) Rating: E AO3 Link Summary: You never think much about your friends' roommate, Leander. Until you start crashing in his room.

Tried and True (Ominis Gaunt x M!Reader) Rating: T AO3 Link: Coming Soon Summary: Days after the events in the Scriptorium, Ominis can tell something is up with the new fifth year.

You're Gonna Go Far (Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader) Rating: E AO3 Link Summary: It's the night before graduation, and Ominis Gaunt is moving to New York City next week. There isn't much time left to say all the things that have gone unsaid over the past seven years.

#writing-intheundercroft

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effloradox · 1 year

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I love Taylor swift and twilight! Ur blog is perfection 💜! Do you mind doing more jasper fan fics!

thank you so much, you're so sweet 🥺

Jasper doesn't like to talk about his past. Conversions about his history are reserved for late night whispers, when it's just the two of you in the safe haven of your room. It's not something you hold against him, you can't judge him for something he did over a hundred years ago in bad faith, but you know he feels resentment for the person he used to be. You know how much he struggles with controlling his thirst, and it’s still not the easiest thing for you to deal with.

The problem with introducing a human into a house full of vampires is that it had the potentially to go fatally wrong. Control is something that all your coven take very seriously, it's the only way you can continue to exist amongst humans after all. Everyone knows that it's you and Jasper that have the hardest time controlling yourselves around blood, it’s not exactly a secret. It never fails to astound you the sheer amount of control that Carlisle exhibits on a daily basis in his job. You're getting better with controlling your urges, and you haven't relapsed for a while but introducing a clumsy human into the house felt like a disaster waiting to happen.

In a way you blame Edward. Your emotions towards your adoptive brother are complicated even on a good day, but the idea of him bringing his human girlfriend into the house for her birthday felt like a terrible idea from the offset. Part of you had hoped Alice would have some dramatic vision that would mean you could call the whole thing off but all she'd seen was an admittedly nice vision of Bella blowing out the candles on her birthday cake surrounded by all of you.

It seemed Edward had forgotten how unbelievably accident prone his new girlfriend was though. An unforgivable oversight on his part, one you'll definitely be calling him out on later. You'd turned your back on the birthday girl for a second, just to look over to where Alice and Esme were putting the finishing touches on the cake when you'd smelt it. The acrid coppery smell of blood hit your nose instantly and every fibre of your being is drawn towards it like a forbidden siren call. Your sisters had moved to your side in an instant, only partially caging you against the kitchen counter you'd been leaning on. It's hard trying to centre yourself and not give into the urges, and it's only what's taking place on the other side of the kitchen that really brings you back to yourself.

Jasper is looking much worse for wear. His senses have honed in on Bella and all of you can tell he's only seconds away from pouncing. Emmett and Edward have their arms around him in an instant, stopping him from beelining towards the injured human but it's clear he's putting up enough of a fight that they'll struggle to restrain him for a long time. You're in front of him in the time it takes Bella to blink, your hands cupping his face gently to keep his eyes on you. Edward had pushed her towards the wall as soon as he'd heard Jasper's thoughts so she's not as close as she was, meaning she only hears fragments of what you're saying to him.

"Hey, hey, Jas it's okay. It's okay. It's just a little blood. Look at me, it's okay yeah?" Your words seem to be having some effect but Bella notes that Emmett and Edward still haven't let Jasper out of their grip. Carlisle appears by her side and she's vaguely aware that he's speaking to her but her eyes are still trained on you and Jasper. Your words seem to be having some kind of effect on him and it sends a small pang through her chest that you have the ability to calm Jasper down even in the face of the strongest temptation when Edward sometime can’t even look at her as a result of his urges.

Her eyes are still trained on the two of you as Esme leads her out of the room to go and find the first aid kit. The last thing she sees is Edward and Emmett letting Jasper go as he collapses in your arms almost bonelessly. His arms wrap around your waist as his head rests on your shoulder, giving you ample chance to press a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.

#my writing #drabbles #jasper cullen x reader #jasper hale x reader #requested #twilight x reader

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penaltyboxboxbox · 5 months

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how long have you been drawing for ? your art seems so confident (that seems mean but it’s a compliment i promise) like your strokes and stuff just seem so… educated? like you don’t need to sketch you already know what you want to do ?

my whole life!!!!! ive been drawing since i was a little childdddd like the second i could hold a pencil i was drawing! i got put into art classes very young as well cause i liked to draw so much. i started formal classes at like? 6/7 years old probably? and i did some form of either art class at school, out of school, or some combination from that age until i was an adult. So i've had a decent amount of formal training as a kid and have always just genuinely loved drawing so on top of that i was always drawing for fun too.

I think things really shifted for me when I was like?? 21/22 ish and i got very very into portraiture specifically- i really honed a lot of my skills in that department and honestly just became so obsessed with form. I would draw so much realism, tons of studies, i loved to work backwards- draw the shape/form of a thing first, usually in paint or marker, and then add the lines/details on top. i generally during this time also completely stopped working in any erasable mediums. i became and still am to this day a pens only artist, i cant stand to draw with a pencil.

Doing this gave me what i think is one of the best skills to have as an illustrator- a very confident stroke. Being able to attack a piece, not be afraid of the marks you make, working with what you have rather than fussing until you think it's perfect, made my work much more striking and made me a lot more comfortable with messing up and figuring out a way to fix it. or even start over.

i think generally heavily and meticulously sketching in pencil is what leads a lot of artists to tons of frustration. the linework never looks as good as the sketch, you sketched for hours and only now you realized something is off, takes forever to go back, etc etc etc. I find it to often be very demoralizing- so i always advise just to get as comfortable as you can with as few lines as possible. focusing on FORM and PROPORTION rather than the skeleton method or going over with tiny little pencil strokes. everyone has different methods that work best for them, but that was one thing i taught myself that really changed art for me!

#IM BLABBERING BUT YEAH...#ask

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the-orange-tabby-cat · 10 days

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ALBUM OF THE DAY: Depeche Mode - Violator (1990) (10/?)

WHICH PEDRO BOY IS BASED ON? Dave York

ALBUM VIBES (listen to it on Spotify)

Cinic, sexy, and morally dubious, Violator is a Depeche Mode masterpiece, an 80s classic. The lyrics don’t hide their intention, instead, they show the listener what they are without guilt or shame. Despite Dave York being the suburban dad with a stable life, he is also a mercenary with some dark wild thoughts running inside his head, matching perfectly the album’s morally grey scenario. Did I say these lyrics are horny? Because they are.

DAVE YORK CODED LYRICS

“Now let your mind do the walking and let my body do the talking, let me show you the world in my eyes” (World in My Eyes)

“That's all there is nothing more than you can feel now” (World in My Eyes)

“The sweetest perfection to call my own, the slightest correction couldn't finely hone” (Sweetest Perfection)

“I stop and I stare too much, afraid that I care too much, and I hardly dare to touch” (Sweetest Perfection)

“Takes me completely, touches so sweetly, reaches so deeply, I know that nothing can stop me” (Sweetest Perfection)

“Sweetest perfection, an offer was made, an assorted collection but I wouldn't trade” (Sweetest Perfection)

“Reach out and touch faith” (Personal Jesus)

“Your own personal Jesus, someone to hear your prayers, someone who's there” (Personal Jesus)

“Things on your chest you need to confess, I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver” (Personal Jesus)

“You wear guilt like shackles on your feet, like a halo in reverse” (Halo)

“There's a pain, a famine in your heart, an aching to be free, can't you see?” (Halo)

“And when our worlds they fall apart, when the walls come tumbling in, though we may deserve it It will be worth it” (Halo)

“Bring your chains, your lips of tragedy, and fall into my arms” (Halo)

“I'm waiting for the night to fall, I know that it will save us all. when everything's dark keeps us from the stark reality” (Waiting for the Night)

“Someone is coming to harm, I press my hands to my ears, It's easier here just to forget fear” (Waiting for the Night)

“To my surprise, with half-closed eyes things looked even better than when they were opened” (Waiting for the Night)

“Words like violence break the silence, come crashing in into my little world” (Enjoy The Silence)

“Painful to me, pierce right through me, can't you understand? Oh, my little girl” (Enjoy The Silence)

“Words are very unnecessary they can only do harm” (Enjoy The Silence)

“Vows are spoken to be broken” (Enjoy The Silence)

“Feelings are intense, words are trivial” (Enjoy The Silence)

“Pleasures remain, so does the pain” (Enjoy The Silence)

“You had something to hide, should have hidden it, shouldn't you? Now you're not satisfied with what you're being put through” (Policy Of Truth)

“It's just time to pay the price for not listening to advice, and deciding in your youth, on the policy of truth” (Policy Of Truth)

“You will always wonder how It could have been if you'd only lied” (Policy Of Truth)

“It's too late to change events, it's time to face the consequence” (Policy Of Truth)

“Never again is what you swore the time before” (Policy Of Truth)

“Now you're standing there tongue-tied, you'd better learn your lesson well, hide what you have to hide and tell what you have to tell” (Policy Of Truth)

“Put it on and don't say a word, put it on, the one that I prefer, put it on and stand before my eyes” (Blue Dress)

“Something so simple, something so trivial makes me a happy man, can't you understand?” (Blue Dress)

“Say you believe just how easy it is to please me because when you learn you'll know what makes the world turn” (Blue Dress)

“Something so worthless serves a purpose, it makes me a happy man, can't you understand?” (Blue Dress)

“The cleanest I've been, an end to the tears and the in-between years and the troubles I've seen” (Clean)

“I've broken my fall, put an end to it all, I've changed my routine now I'm clean” (Clean)

“I'm starting to grasp what is in my own hands, I don't claim to know where my holiness goes” (Clean)

“As years go by all the feelings inside twist and they turn as they ride with the tide” (Clean)

“I don't advise and I don't criticise, I just know what I like with my own eyes” (Clean)

TRACKLIST (highlighted are the most Dave York coded songs)

1. World In My Eyes (04'27")

2. Sweetest Perfection (04'42")

3. Personal Jesus (04'54")

4. Halo (04'28")

5. Waiting for the Night (06'07")

6. Enjoy The Silence (06'12")

7. Policy of Truth (04'53")

8. Blue Dress (05'38")

9. Clean (05'32")

#the whole discography of depeche mode is dave york coded tbh #dave york #equalizer 2 #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york fanfic #depeche mode #violator #album review #pedro pascal

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lanawrx · 21 days

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I absolutely adore the way you write Takumi! Could I request a fluffy oneshot where he teaches his s/o how to drift? If you want to change anything, go for it! Thank you <33

Takumi Fujiwara teaching his S/O how to drift

a/n: thank you so much for the request! :) Feel free to send more <3 Enjoy!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

Takumi Fujiwara, with his natural talent and years of experience behind the wheel, was always calm and composed when he drove. He had been driving since the seventh grade, his skills honed to perfection by countless runs down Mount Akina. To him, drifting was as natural as breathing, something he did without even thinking. So when you expressed interest in learning how to drift, he thought it would be simple enough to teach you.

The two of you decided to spend the day on one of the less crowded mountain roads, where Takumi could safely show you the ropes. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden light over the winding road as you both pulled up in the AE86. You felt a mix of excitement and nerves, knowing that Takumi would be teaching you something he was so passionate about.

As the two of you made your way up the mountain, Takumi’s calm focus on the road only made your heart flutter. His intense concentration, the way his hands effortlessly guided the steering wheel, and his complete mastery over the AE86—it all made you admire him even more.

You couldn’t help but steal glances at him as he drove, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, how his jaw clenched just a bit as he entered a turn, and the calm confidence in his eyes. To you, Takumi was amazing, and watching him in his element was nothing short of mesmerizing.

At one point, you sighed dreamily without even realizing it, causing Takumi to glance over at you. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks as you quickly turned your gaze back to the road. “Nothing… I was just thinking how cool you are when you drive.”

Takumi’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise, and you caught a glimpse of a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m just driving,” he replied modestly, his tone humble as always.

“Yeah, but you make it look so easy,” you said, your admiration evident in your voice. “It’s like you and the car are one. I love watching you drive, Takumi.”

Takumi’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his heart warming at your words. He wasn’t used to such open praise, but hearing it from you made him feel something he couldn’t quite put into words. “Thanks,” he murmured, the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks as he kept his focus on the road.

Takumi pulled the car to a stop at the base of the mountain, the engine idling smoothly as he glanced over at you in the passenger seat. “You ready?” he asked, his voice soft but with a hint of a smile.

You nodded, feeling a flutter in your chest. This was something you’d wanted to learn for a while, and Takumi was the perfect teacher. The way he handled the car was mesmerizing, and you wanted to understand that feeling, to be a part of it.

“Alright,” Takumi began, his voice calm and steady. “Before you try it yourself, I’m going to show you how I drift. Pay close attention to how I handle the car, how I move the steering wheel, and how I use the throttle. It’s all about balance and timing.”

As he started to drive, you felt your nerves settle a little, focusing on how effortlessly he maneuvered the car. The familiar curves of Mount Akina stretched out before you both, and Takumi’s expression shifted into one of calm concentration. He was in his element.

Approaching the first corner, Takumi downshifted, the engine roaring as he smoothly turned the wheel. “Watch my hands,” he said, his voice steady even as the car began to slide. “I’m turning into the corner here, and as soon as I feel the car starting to lose grip, I counter-steer. It’s important to feel the car through the steering wheel and your body. You’ll know when it’s about to break loose.”

The back end of the car swung out as Takumi applied just the right amount of throttle, sending the AE86 into a controlled drift. The tires screeched against the asphalt, but Takumi remained unfazed, his movements smooth and precise.

“See how I’m keeping the car balanced?” he continued, his hands moving the wheel almost instinctively. “I’m not fighting it; I’m guiding it. The key is to stay relaxed and let the car do the work. You’ve got to trust it.”

You watched in awe as Takumi navigated the corner with ease, the car gliding through the drift as if it were second nature to him. He made it look effortless, but you could tell there was a deep understanding behind every movement he made. His passion for driving shone through in the way he taught you, his voice steady and reassuring.

As he exited the corner, Takumi straightened the wheel and smoothly accelerated. “When you come out of the drift, you’ve got to be ready to catch the car. That means easing off the throttle and steering it back in line. If you’re too aggressive, you’ll spin out. If you’re too cautious, you’ll lose the drift altogether.”

He continued to guide you through the process, explaining each step in detail as he tackled more corners. He pointed out the importance of throttle control, how to balance the weight of the car, and how to use the natural momentum of the vehicle to your advantage.

After a few more corners, Takumi pulled over to the side of the road, turning to you with a calm smile. “Alright, your turn,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence. “Remember what I showed you. Take it slow at first, and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. It’s all part of the learning process.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as you switched seats. Settling into the driver’s seat, you gripped the steering wheel, trying to internalize everything Takumi had said. He adjusted your position, making sure you were comfortable.

“Just remember what I told you,” Takumi said, his voice calm and steady. “It’s all about balance. You’ve got to feel the car, let it guide you.”

Taking a deep breath, you began your first attempt. The car moved forward, and as you approached the first corner, you tried to mimic what Takumi had shown you. But your initial attempts were rough. The car wouldn’t quite slide the way you wanted, the back end refusing to break loose like it had for Takumi. You felt the car jerk and stutter as you struggled to control it, your frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

By midday, your frustration had boiled over. You pulled the car to a stop, gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turned white. “I can’t do this, Takumi,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “I just… I’m never going to get it. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’m not cut out for car culture at all if I can’t even manage a simple drift.”

Takumi turned to you, noticing the tears welling up in your eyes. He could see how much this meant to you, how badly you wanted to learn and be a part of something that was such a big part of his life. He reached over, gently taking your hands off the wheel and holding them in his own.

“Hey, don’t say that,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “This stuff takes time. It’s not something you just pick up in a day. I’ve been doing this for years, remember? You’re doing fine. You just need to relax, take a breath, and try again. It’s not about getting it perfect right away. It’s about feeling it, little by little. You’re closer than you think.”

His words sank in, calming your nerves. You looked at him, taking in the soft expression on his face, the way he was holding your hands so gently. His belief in you, his steady presence, made you feel like you could do this.

“Okay… okay, I’ll try again,” you said, your voice steadier now.

Takumi smiled at you, giving your hands a gentle squeeze before letting go. "You're doing so good for me."

For the next few hours, Takumi patiently guided you through the basics again, helping you adjust your technique. He praised your progress, even when it was slow, and never once lost his calm demeanor. You began to feel the car a little more with each attempt, starting to understand the subtle shifts in balance and control that Takumi had talked about.

Takumi found himself quietly admiring you as you took the wheel. Even though you were nervous, there was a determination in your eyes that he found endearing. He couldn’t help but watch you closely, noticing how serious and focused you became as you tried to get the hang of drifting.

He felt a swell of pride every time you improved, even if it was just by a little bit.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you did it.

The back end of the car slid out smoothly as you turned, the tires skidding just enough to send the car into a controlled drift. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a drift, and for the first time, you felt that exhilaration, that rush of adrenaline that came from getting it right.

“Did you see that? I did it!” you exclaimed, your eyes wide with disbelief and joy.

Takumi’s chest tightened with affection as he saw the way your eyes sparkled with accomplishment. “Yeah, I saw,” he said, his voice soft but filled with pride. “You were amazing.”

Your heart swelled with pride, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. You weren’t perfect, but you had done it. The sense of accomplishment was overwhelming, and you turned to Takumi, your smile broad and bright.

As the sun began to set, they decided to call it a day. You were exhausted, but it was a good kind of exhaustion, the kind that came from pushing yourself and finally succeeding.

As you drove back down the mountain, Takumi’s hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You looked over at him, feeling a wave of affection wash over you.

“You did great today,” he said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. “I’m proud of you.”

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering at his words. “Thanks, Takumi. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Takumi glanced at you, a small smile still lingering on his lips as he admired you from the corner of his eye. You were exhausted, but you looked so happy, and that made him feel a deep sense of contentment.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the comforting weight of his presence. Takumi glanced down at you, his heart swelling with a quiet, unspoken affection as he felt you relax against him. He knew that this moment, with you by his side, was one he would cherish for a long time.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

#initial d #initial d x reader #initial d imagine #takumi x reader #takumi fujiwara x reader #takumi fujiwara imagine #takumi imagine

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runnning-outof-time · 2 years

Text

->The Shelby Brothers Masterlist<-

Main Masterlist

Last Updated: 8/14

Want to be tagged? Let me know!

All works are my own - I do not give consent to the reposting of them in any form.

——— (listed oldest -> newest) ———

x Reader Imagines:

— Right Place, Right Time: (platonic!reader) The Peaky Blinders have honed in on a warehouse of one of their rival gangs with the intent of stealing the score that they know is inside. Things go sideways when they discover a girl who is being held at that same warehouse.

— Please Come Home: (sister!reader) The Great War was tough on everyone. (Y/N) thought it took her brothers, who were the only people she was really living for. So you could imagine that she's really excited when she stumbles into them years later, right? Yeah, not really.

— Gifts: (sister!reader) Although she's technically one of the siblings, (Y/N) Shelby acts more like the mother of her family. So it's understandable that she wanted everything to be perfect for the upcoming holiday.

— Treading Water: (sister!reader): In which the two, less serious, Shelby brothers teach their younger siblings how to swim.

x Reader Mini Series:

-> Got Your Back Series (platonic!reader)

— PART 1 - Got Your Back: (Y/N)'s been working for the Shelby Company Ltd. as a way to help her through her journey of pursuing a writing degree at a university. She knew that the Shelby brothers would have her back, but she never knew that they meant that statement literally.

— PART 2 - Good Intentions: (Y/N)'s met someone. Someone she really likes. And he's passed the initial test of her bosses. But they're still keen to keep an eye on him. That's just what happens when you're employed with the Shelby Company Ltd.

— PART 3 - It’s Urgent: (Y/N)'s graduated from university. While out celebrating with her boyfriend, she happens to run into her bosses and can't hold back the wonderful news. Then, she tries to pull some strings and get Jack a job with the best company in Small Heath.

——————————

-> A Tough Sell Series (platonic!reader):

— PART 1 - A Tough Sell: Who’d have thought that several hardened gangsters all had the same weakness: a little girl selling cookies.

— PART 2 - Something Good: Elsie (Y/L/N) has been the Shelby Company Ltd.'s faithful cookie supplier for a few months now. On this certain day, Tommy has plans for even more people to gain happiness by eating Elsie's cookies.

Preferences/Headcanons/Blurbs:

— Leaving Kisses on His Neck (preference blurbs): How each of the Shelby brothers would react to someone letting them know that you had left a lipstick stain on their neck.

— There Was Only One Bed (preference blurbs): How Arthur, John, and Tommy would react if there was only one bed in the room that he and (Y/N) are supposed to share.

— Busted (blurb): The Shelby Brothers get put in their place after their significant others find out about their trip to London.

— The Thing About Tattoos (preference blurbs): How Arthur, John and Tommy would react if their children decided that they were going to change up their tattoos.

— A Reaction to Blood (preference blurbs): How Arthur, John and Tommy would react to their partner fainting at the sight of blood.

— A Bad Habit (preference blurbs): How Arthur, John, and Tommy would react to their partner's habit of biting her lips when something's bothering her.

— I Saw Her First (headcanons): How the Shelby brothers would react to their brother having a crush on the same woman as they do.

— Breathe (headcanons): How Arthur, Tommy and John would react to their significant other holding their breath when they're scared.

— My Eyes! (blurb): Little Lillie Shelby doesn’t like watching her brother, John, and his new wife, Esme, kiss (Shelby!Sister OC)

———

Divider by @firefly-graphics

#shelby brothers x reader #shelby brothers imagine #shelby brothers headcannons #shelby brothers preferences #shelby brothers blurb #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders preference #peaky blinders blurb #masterlist update

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sulky-valkyrie · 11 days

Note

Happy Friday! For Morrigan and anyone (or no one) “ why are you so invested in keeping me alive? “

Happy Friday!! for @dadrunkwriting

Daylen walked out of his room, then just stood in the hallway, watching his hands shake. After almost two years of fumbling through finally understanding what it meant to live outside Kinloch, his world had shifted underneath him again, but this time, it was as though he was walking on crumbling tiles, or quicksand. There was no euphoria in revelation today, and no satisfaction in learning more Warden secrets.

From the moment the words left Riordan's mouth, Daylen had been on automatic, nodding along as Alistair argued that there must be some other way. He'd barely heard Riordan's assurances that it probably wouldn't come to it, that the oldest Warden alive always was the one to do it. Daylen's mind was already miles away and days ahead, focused on one immutable fact: Alistair had to live.

Daylen was no one and nothing: a mage who hadn't had the grace to lie down and die. Alistair was someone, no matter how many times he might protest otherwise. More’s the point, he was far less likely to be 'accidentally' killed, either while fighting, or afterwards.

He'd been ready to die to keep Alistair alive, and had been planning how to do exactly that when Morrigan had thrown a wrench the size of a pony through on his schemes and left him as shaken as he'd been at Ostagar.

Morrigan wanted to sleep with him.

He certainly wasn't opposed to it, or to engaging in a bit of carnal ritual magic. She was beautiful and smart and spoke her mind the way he wished he could, using that barbed tongue to cut anything and everyone to ribbons. No, he wasn't opposed to it at all, nor had he been when she'd coyly complaining about how cold and lonely her tent was. He'd been besotted with Alistair at the time, but not so besotted to turn her down, and when she'd made it clear that a relationship didn't interest her, he'd put it out of his mind. Like being back in the Circle, really.

What was the harm in doing it again? Especially to be certain Alistair would live?

But still. A child? To know he'd fathered one and left it with a woman less nurturing than a than broodmother and twice as mean? How would he be able to look himself in the mirror? How would Zevran ever look at him the same?

He could ask Alistair, of course. Well, tell him. After the Landsmeet, he'd been so grateful that he'd sworn to Daylen he'd do anything to repay him for killing Loghain and not making him king.

He could ask him and not even mention a child. He'd never see it anyway, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

That thought made him feel ill. No, no more secrets.

Daylen wiped his palms on his robes and steadied his hands with a quick spell. It was one of the first he'd ever figured out how to modify, and, after years or daily practice, he'd honed it to something so simple yet complex that it cost barely any mana to cast or maintain, so little that even a Templar wouldn't spot it. Only Alistair had ever noticed, though he hadn't realized exactly what he was commenting on until Daylen explained it.

You're so confident all the time. Is it that spell you do every morning? Would it work for someone else? I — no. The spell stops the shakes. Everything else is a side effect and sort of… flattens a lot of rough edges. I think if I cast it on you, it would just paralyze your face.

It was that tremor in his fingers that made him avoid classes on creation magic back in Kinloch. Sigils and glyphs required precision, but any amount of stress made it virtually impossible for him to hold a pen, much less sketch out straight lines or perfect circles. Destruction was easier. He didn't need to be precise, just not pointed at a friend.

Tonight though, he wasn't destroying anything, except his life with Zevran. Would it be worth it?

He touched the door knob. It has to be.

"Have you decided, then?" Morrigan asked as he walked in. She hadn't moved from her spot by the fireplace, but everything in her posture radiated wariness. And impatience.

Daylen folded his arms and leaned back on the wall. "Just one more question." He'd never consider casting the spell for the side effects, but tonight, he was grateful for the calm in his voice that masked the screaming terrors in his mind. I have to do this.

"The time for questions is over," she snapped. "Either lay with me tonight or I leave. Simple as that."

"Why?" he asked. "Not why are you leaving, but… why do it at all? Why are you so invested in keeping me alive? Not Grey Wardens, but me." He paused. "And don't try to tell me it's because your mother wanted it."

Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see her flush with anger, or possibly embarrassment. "Is it not enough to know that I am? Is it not enough to simply accept my offer and be grateful for your life?"

He shook his head. "Just say it, Mori. Tell me this means something. That we could've had —"

"I will not." She took a step toward him. "You have your Templar and your assassin. Your life is too crowded already."

Daylen stayed put as she continued her approach, hips swaying with promises he couldn't help but think about. "He's not mine. Not like that. Neither of them, especially Alistair. And you didn't answer my question."

"Didn't I?" Morrigan was pressed against him now, warm but unyielding, and pulling his arms around her waist. "Perhaps your hearing is as damaged as Oghren's liver." Her lips were soft against his ear. "Now, let us make this a night to remember."

#da drunk writing circle #prompt fills #male amell #morrigan #dark ritual #morrigan x warden #morrigan x amell

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its-blip-on-the-radar · 6 months

Text

[ID: A grayscale digital drawing of a broken pencil with a butterfly standing on top of it. The butterfly also has a broken wing. The background has an overlay of a galaxy pattern and also a paper texture giving it some color around the edges. Text across the top reads "art is dead."]

I don't know who I am anymore

I wish I was able to come back and tell you guys all about my experiences with recent events but all of it... All of it was about people being bigoted to me. I can't make positive comics about my psych ward stay, or me moving into a new place (that is actually safe and accepting thank the gods) or my day to day life because... The psych ward stay fucked me up a lot, and now I'm dealing with ableism practically daily, because I've almost completely lost my ability to mask. Strangers are being cruel to me, between demonizing me and getting me kicked out of places, to infantilizing me and treating me like I'm a lost two year old, it's just been... a lot.

I originally made these comics because I wanted to show people my reality. I used to be proud of it. I liked showing off that despite all these big scary mental disorders, I could survive, I could maybe even thrive like this!

...But I'm not thriving.

Ever since I recieved the news that tumblr sold their soul to the AI overlords, my desire to create digital art plummeted. I was already contemplating quitting when I returned from the psych ward because the stay fucked me up so bad I was convinced I deserved to be ashamed. I didn't deserve to put myself out there to be seen and accepted because my disorders make it easy to demonize me. That's all the psych ward did for almost two weeks, is drill into my head I was a "bad patient" and that I should never be proud of who I am, because who I am needs to be corrected.

And the news about tumblr almost sealed the coffin for me.

What actually sealed this metaphorical coffin for me was my therapist. I was discussing with him my disdain for creating (thinking digital art was the only "valid" format I could create in) and he pointed out to me that I was technically still creating. I was scrapbooking, and painting, and sculpting, but I was drowning in the guilt of not updating on here, not having anything to show here. I've always had the mentality that the only kind of art worth sharing online was digital because it was the only way I could share my art in perfect quality. I don't have my camera anymore so I'm reliant on my phone for traditional art images and my phone camera sucks. So... it felt like I had nothing. And then... My therapist pointed out the obvious. I was in fact still creating. I was also indulging in the things I had always ignored about myself in my childhood. My love of insects and butterflies specifically, my desire to get good at home repair, my passion for gardening, bird watching, fashion, video games, organization, all of it.

I have been creating this whole time. I've also been healing this whole time. But this conversation also made me realize something fundamental about my existence.

The only reason digital art was my sole medium of choice for most of my existence as an artist was because my parents convinced me it was the only way to be a successful artist.

If... you went back and asked 5 year old me what I wanted to do with my life, I would've told you "I want to be an artist" and to some degree I did accomplish that. But the key thing there is when I said that I meant a fine artist. Someone who creates traditional art for museums and shows and stuff. I didn't want to be a graphic artist, or an animator, or any of that. I wanted to be a traditional artist. But my parents were very abusive and strict. They told me the only professions I could pursue were anything that would guarantee earn me money (They often told me my only actual options were doctor, scientist, or lawyer) so I wasn't allowed to hone my skills in the traditional format. If I wanted to earn my right to go to an art school for college, I had to pour myself into the most "successful" format of art. Digital.

This... is a really long winded way of me saying, I'm probably going to be switching to posting traditional media on here, if I post at all. The AI thing really took a blow to my self confidence (knowing people think a computer can do a better job than you at something as human as art, kinda sucks) so we'll see. But I want to come back to Love and Injury eventually. It will take a while but I will. I'm not completely adverse to digital, it's just not what I really want to be doing. I need a pretty long break from it right now. So... If you care about me, if you care about my stories, my life, my work, please stick around. I'll try to post art commentary and other peoples work, and update about my life for those who care. I may even post my newer traditional stuff. But... to those of you who gave my art a chance in the first place, thank you.

I really hope I don't let you all down.

#blip is on your radar

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skinnytuna · 1 year

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I really really like that long post you did about making art. especially: 'i have somehow convinced myself that, if i maybe try a little bit, not exceptionally hard, but only a little bit, maybe i will somehow magically be good enough and worthy of critical praise.'

I spend all my time thinking about the beautiful or ""groundbreaking"" things I would make but no time actually doing it. and then when I attempt to create something the actual discomfort of physically drawing, writing or even coding is so unlike the idealised version in my brain that I have to stop because it is so frustrating. I wish I could be the sort of person who decides to spend hours upon hours perfecting a craft. but I just cant. weirdly I've come to terms with it. theres a whole world of art that exists just for me in my head. maybe one day ill be able to translate it into reality. but for now, im just going to be happy with the dual presence of my shitty real art and my lovely art thats just for me.

(also: I dont think your posts are lacking. the way you use language is unexpected and hilarious. I like it a lot.)

we should have a word for the terminal need for validation but lack of any and all discipline ... seems like a relatively new phenomena. i'm considering the strong possibility that it's a widespread result as the death of the "hobby"... however many years ago i imagine it was normal to just do something for yourself, because you love doing it. in fact i see a lot of my friends parents still doing stuff such as this.

i have a lot of friends whose dads make eps and albums for fun. for them only. no wishing on a star for it to blow up overnight. none of that. security in the quality of it. security in how far it probably won't reach. now that security, of course, could just come with age. but i suspect there's a generational parasite.

we were all raised with Numbers. the follower count, the like count, these are burned into our psyche. a neurosis coiled tightly around an objective metric of validation. a handful of years ago such a neurosis couldn't even exist! and it especially couldn't exist in a matter of seconds or minutes. your value as a person is a pair of dice that you roll and you snatch them back the moment you see snake eyes. almost all of the amateur art, music, writing we are exposed to has a number right under it. you don't get to evaluate it yourself. there is immediately a pavlovian connection, i like this thing, this thing has this number attached to it, if i can get a number like that i'm worthy of coexisting with this thing.

there's an almost instant dissociation between the craft, the skill, the time, and the FRUIT. what you get back. we are almost trained to care more about how popular something is than how good it is. not like, hollywood productions, or Columbia Records' chart topping album by a thirty something with A&R parents, but how popular someone just like you is on the internet. a plausible professional with a twitter account who draws whatever they want. someone you could relate to. someone you could be.

but because you want the numbers you skip the learning... you make something and put it out. and you keep doing this. your learning is public, your honing of the craft is documented before an audience of hopefully thousands. and you see what they respond to. and their responses steer the direction of your learning. you never have an opportunity to make something shitty. make something no one likes. experiment. you just keep feeding the computer. and it works until the point where you want to do something else, or something real, or something better, or something serious, and realize you don't know how. and you're like Fuck Shit why did I hustle instead of learning in peace.

but of course this is all by design. the numbers can't teach themselves more numbers if you doodle in your sketchbook and don't show anyone. i'm not sure if it was ever a specific person's idea to make everyone's entire life a performance, but whoever engineered it did a damn fine job. takes a sledgehammer to break out of. oh well ! in a few generations i'm sure all of our skin will have glare dampeners evolved specifically to vlog better with. and everyone will have forgotten what it's like to do something in your room, by yourself, because you like to do it

#forgot i had a tumblr im back hello

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realmsalot · 2 years

Text

Cousins (Homographs AU Fic)

Wordcount: 1,628 words

Read undercut or on AO3.

A/N: Just a heads up, suicide has a very brief mention near the end. It's only like half of a sentence, so I didn't feel the need to tag it, but yeah. OKAY HAVE FUN!

--------

"Why does he have the same name as me?"

Hamato Yoshi looks down at his baby cousin. The baby slept peacefully in his crib at the moment. You almost couldn't tell that he just spent the last few hours whaling his lungs out.

"Cause Yoshi's such a boring name they forgot it was taken already," Oroku Saki snarked. Yoshi rolls his eyes at his brother but otherwise ignores the comment.

His aunt comes next to him and bends down to gently rub the baby's cheek. "Yoshi is a good name. You should feel honored to share such a name."

Well, he sure doesn't feel honored. He thinks it's just confusing. But he knows the side of his family his cousin comes from travels a lot. They rarely stay with the rest of the clan. As soon as they're able, they'll be traveling again; and he will no longer worry about sharing a name.

---------

Years pass, and the next time Yoshi sees his cousin, it's for a funeral. His aunt's funeral.

His 5-year-old cousin was predictably crying throughout the whole ceremony. The sky never once showed an ounce of sympathy for the crying child. Not a single cloud passed through the blue sky, to show that it too was sad about her passing.

It's after the ceremony now, and the child is sitting with his grandfather. His cries were reduced to mere whimpers.

Yoshi stands awkwardly, watching them. He wants to walk over there and comfort him, but he does not know what to say. He hasn't experienced a loss, so great. Any words he can think of he just knows will fall flat.

His brother comes up to him and like he can read his mind, says, "maybe he doesn't need comfort. Maybe he needs something else."

"Like what," Yoshi asks.

Saki smiles and turns to where their cousin is sitting. "Hey, Yoshi! What to play ball," he yells.

This gets their cousin's attention as he looks toward them. He seems interested but hesitant. So Saki continues to speak.

"Come on! Don't you wanna play with the big kids!"

The 5-year-old looks to his grandfather for permission before getting a nod. He then gets up and starts racing over to them.

At the time, Yoshi could not understand what his brother was thinking. He still went along with it, of course, and the three of them played together until the end of the day. But it isn't until years later does Yoshi understand Saki's train of thought.

Their cousin did not need to linger on the death of his mother anymore that day. No, what he needed was to get his mind off that and be reminded that there is still joy in the world. Like the joy of playing a good ball game with the family, you have left.

------

Yoshi wonders why his late aunt ever gave his cousin the name Yoshi.

It's not even curiosity as to why they must share a name anymore. It's more the question of why she gave him such an ill-fitting name. Yoshi is a name meaning good, and respectful. And from what he can see, his cousin, who is now a movie star, is anything but.

He can't believe that his cousin is out there using his training to completely disrespect the art of ninjitsu. All to chase fame and glory through the silver screen.

At least his cousin had the sense of taking on a stage name so this mockery would not be associated with the Hamato Clan.

Breath out. Clear your mind. Meditate.

He's not angry at his cousin, at least not like Saki is. Saki thinks that the films are nothing but dishonorable. That there is nothing but disrespect in them. But Yoshi does see some merit in them.

Lou Jitsu, as his cousin is known in the films, always had perfect form in them, only occasionally putting some flourish in for the camera. Most of the moves shown were actual ninjitsu moves that had a long history behind them. Any that were new were clearly made by someone who was very advance in the art and knew the history. Honestly, Yoshi wouldn't be surprised to find out that his cousin created them himself.

Meditate. Clear your mind. Breath in.

Knock, knock. "You in there, Yoshi?"

With a sigh, Yoshi loses his posture and opens his eyes. "Yes, brother. What do you need?"

Saki slides the door open. "Nothing, but look! Our big-shot cousin decided to pay us a visit." And true to his word, their cousin was here following Saki in.

"Ah, cousin Yoshi. Or should I call you Lou Jitsu? What do you grace our presence for?" Their cousin rolls his eyes at Yoshi's theatrics.

"Yoshi works just fine," Lou says. He nervously plays with the paper in his hands. "I'm here to ask a favor -"

"It's money for drugs, isn't it," Saki interrupts, "I've heard that Hollywood stars do drugs."

"What? No! It's not for drugs! It's for -"

"Wait, it's my turn to guess." Yoshi interrupts this time. He can hear his cousin's protests about how this isn't a guessing game as he thinks.

"You want me... to act in your next movie," Yoshi guesses. Lou gives him a look of confusion as Saki lets out a snort. "You drive a hard bargain, but I accept! Now, who do I need to play? The villain? Oh, is he your secret evil cousin?" Yoshi teases.

Lou seems to finally pick up on the joking and joins in. "Oh yeah, that's exactly it. And guess what? His name is also Lou Jitsu."

"What? But we already share a name?"

"Exactly," Lou smiles," you're already used to it." Saki lets out a laugh at this. The other two soon join in.

They quickly collect themselves. "But really, I need to ask you something," Lou says, and his demeanor changes back to what it was before.

"I'm getting my own dojo in New York! And I'm trying to write out the lessons for it but... I don't know what to do. Just because I can do ninjutsu doesn't mean I know how to teach it. So, I thought I should ask you to help me, please?" Lou explains with an excited look in his eyes.

"Why me? Why not your grandfather, Sho," Yoshi asks.

"You're already a master, and I hear that you volunteer to teach some of the younger kids." Lou looks away. "Also, Sho and I aren't really on speaking terms right now." He looks ashamed of it.

Yoshi slowly puts an arm on his cousin's shoulder. Slow as to give Lou time to see and prepare for the touch. He never liked sudden touches outside training.

Yoshi doesn't really like the path in life his cousin has chosen. But even still, whether it be in his movies or right here in front of him, Yoshi can see that Lou truly loves ninjutsu, and he wants to do right by it.

"I'll help."

------

The last time Yoshi saw his cousin in person, he was dropping off a VHS tape of a movie of his that had yet to be released.

That was years ago.

Yoshi remembers asking for the tape. Tang Shen loves his cousin's films, and Yoshi wanted to impress her by getting the new movie early.

He's watching the same VHS tape now at Shen's place. It's dark outside, with the only light coming from the tv. Shen sits next to him. She's leaning against his arm and is resting her own arm atop her pregnant belly. His eyes are pinned to the tv.

He remembers that Lou didn't even tease him about needing to impress a girl he's already dating. Not like Yoshi expected him to. Instead, Lou just gushed about his newest girlfriend.

"She's the one, I know it," he had said. "She's nothing like the others."

A fight scene starts on the small screen. The sounds of Lou's punches and kicks, paired with the bad guys' exaggerated grunts, filled his ears.

"Ooo, I think Miwa likes this part," Shen says, drawing Yoshi's attention.

"Oh really?"

Miwa gives a hearty kick. "Yes, really." Shen rubs the sore spot on her stomach. A moment of silence passes.

Yoshi remembers the last time Lou called. Him proudly announcing that he's gonna do it. He's going to propose. His cousin had about ten seconds of false confidence and bravo before losing it all. The rest of the call consisted of Lou practically begging for advice, and Yoshi happily giving it to him.

A week later, Lou Jitsu was declared missing.

That was a month ago.

"Any new news," Shen asks.

Yoshi shakes his head. "No. They still can't find anything." He looks at the image of his cousin on television. He acts so differently there than he did in real life. He can't help but think that the world was looking for Lou Jitsu, not his little cousin.

"I tried convincing father to send a team to look for him," he mentions.

"And what did he say?"

"Ninjas go missing all the time; it would be no use to send anyone." His breath hitches before recalling the next part. "And if he is gone because he is an Hamato, he would be dead by now. By either the enemy's or his own hand, as is his duty."

Silence.

"I'm sure Yoshi will turn up eventually, honey," Tang Shen reassures. "He's always been tough, right?"

He nods in response, but his mind is far off. He almost forgot they share a name. Yoshi has been Lou Jitsu for so long that's all he will be remembered for.

He wonders how odd it would be to see, "Hamato Yoshi Missing," as the headline instead of Lou Jitsu.

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