#oh uh if anyone also wants to take this and get/make custom dolls for themselves they absolutely can. just posts pics so i can see them lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

into-crazy · 4 years

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More to the Madness Pt. 9

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: You see J's bare face for the first time before helping him carry out his attack on the Mayor.

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence & murder, incorporated elements from TDK, a dash of J being self-conscious about his scars

I'll admit, that last warning was a bit of a challenge. I might've ruined everything with this & got it all wrong, although I sure hope not. Also, I'd like to add(because I freaking CAN) that I personally adore his scars💜 I find them beautiful, attractive, and sexy as hell

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “More to the Madness” tag lovelies💞💞

7:01 am

You read the time on the wall clock in the empty apartment that belonged to some man named Melvin White. The late commissioner Loeb's memorial service will start soon. Mayor Garcia is scheduled to speak in precisely 2 hours, on the street right outside this very building. Everything's falling into place. Joker and his henchmen had successfully kidnapped the Ceremonial police. Stripped the officers of their guns and uniforms in order to infiltrate the ceremony. This is really happening. Joker's going to assassinate the Mayor.

Your eyes shift to watch J, standing over by the officers- bound and gagged to a sturdy structure inside the residence. Terrified, the men are drenched in sweat, shaking in their restraints. Neither try to mumble or attempt to free the binds in fear of getting themselves killed. Little do they know that's not on the agenda. Still, their frightened state entertains J. That is obvious.

The only one's in full attire in the room are you and J. His men were previously instructed to ditch the clown masks. The area is on a high watch alert, no use in having some amateur blow the job if they're easily spotted. Even though it wasn't negotiable, you're the only exception. Given your stealth skills and the couple lookouts perched down the hall.

The henchmen gather together in their disguises while J is now peering through a telescope onto the street. Angling the scope in a spot to his liking as he mumbles quietly to himself. You slip close beside him, leaning on the frame, glancing down in search of what he's looking for. Which is difficult considering the blind is lowered halfway. Without interrupting his train of thought, you patiently wait. There's no denying that the way he works fascinates you. Given his nature, he can be very precise when it comes to certain things. Since this is a situation which requires precision, he delivers impressively well.

Finally, he gives a soft hum, "annnd.. right there." Still peeking through the lens, he removes his hand from the scope, waving it in a gimmie motion towards whoever's presence he felt next to him. "Timer." You grab the small timepiece put off to the side, placing it in his hand. "Thanks a bunch doll." He gave with a appreciative tug of his lip upwards.

You didn't respond. Instead you caught the gazes of the henchmen looking in your direction. Couple relatively new faces, observing how close in proximity you stood by the Joker. Clearly the sight was unusual to them, like they'd never seen anyone comfortable enough to be within a 6 foot reach by J. Let alone a woman, currently perched the mere inches you were beside him. Intrigued as you are. They didn't have to say what they were thinking, you knew from the judgment flickering of their eyes- what the hell is wrong with her?

That doesn't bother you. Why should it? Why would you care what they think of you? The cowards. You're also not going to let them belittle you. If you let that happen, they're going to think it's okay. That you're too weak to do anything about it. Too weak to stand up for yourself.

Raising your chin, you stare down back at them. Daring them to say what they're too scared to admit directly to your face. You don't need J to stand in and protect you. You can do that on your own, no problem.

Come on. Come over here and say it to my face you fucking cowards.

As expected, they don't. Your message was received. They get right on with the job without throwing another glance your way. Serves them right.

Bringing your focus back to J, you ask, "what were you looking for?"

He turns the knob on the tiny clock, setting a time. His blackened gaze flashes up to meet yours, "where the duck'll be sittin' at." J places his contraption before collecting an officer's uniform and a duffle bag. "Tick-tock doll," he motions for you to follow him, "we're on the clock."

Exiting the apartment, he leads the way to another apartment down the hall. Barging through the front door, it appears this residence is just as deserted as the previous one.

Handing you the large bag, J works on removing his plum trench. Slinging the heavy fabric atop a counter in the vacant living space, it crashes hard against the surface with metallic clinks of the various objects he hordes in that coat. You watch as he continues to strip himself of the remaining articles- blazer, gloves, tie, vest, and suspenders. All in that exact order. The many layers that help complete his look. That join together to make him Joker.

He begins undoing the buttons at the top of his dress shirt, catching the dumbfounded expression on your face while you observe him. "Enjoying the show, aren't we? Getting a ah- good look." A tilt in his head promoting his mocking tone.

"I- uh what- um," You blink a couple times trying to refocus, "sorry, I don't mean to stare." You admit, now remembering you're supposed to place his items in the bag. "You make it a little hard to concentrate sometimes." Cheeks glowing a shade of red, turning your attention towards the pile on the counter, hoping you didn't offend him in any way.

"Never ah, said I didn't like it," he claims, shedding the shirt from his broadly sculpted torso. Displaying a vast of scars adorning his body. J wasn't the largest man in the world with huge, bulging muscles. He's actually rather lean, fit. With the perfect amount of muscle to compliment his arms, chest, and back. Oh, but his legs- those strong, thick thighs of his. Now those are whole other impressive matter on their own.

To keep your mind from straying deeper into building up excitement, you get to work. Get ahold of yourself, keep your head in the game. Tossing the duffle on the floor, you grab his trench. Huffing at how heavy it is, you comment, "Damn J, this coat weighs about fifty pounds! What the hell have you got in here?" Attempting to fold the thick fabric before shoving it in the bag.

"Just the usual knives and grenades," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Woah, woah, hold up-" startled, you back slightly away from the bag, "you mean to tell me that there are explosives in that coat!?"

"Yeah."

"So you've been walking around with a bunch of hand grenades in your pockets? This entire time!" You continue.

"Uh, most of the time. Yeah." He repeats as if it's something you should've already known. It bewilders you that this is something so casual- so common- for him to keep dangerous explosives, ready to use, on his person like it's nothing. Regular people carry their wallets and cell phones. Better prepared citizens also carry a concealed weapon for precaution, be it a pocket knife or small handgun. Meanwhile, Joker's norms are knives and grenades- and he's never shy when it comes to flaunting his custom modified, fully automatic Glock 17.

"Well, you must carry a lot for it to weigh this much then." You let out a breathy laugh, bagging the other articles.

J was on the verge of removing his pants, when he opted not to. Instead, he collected the police uniform, thumbing towards the door behind him. "Gonna ah, finish in the other room." He promptly tells you, "wouldn't want ya getting too distracted."

"Okay," you manage, a roll of your eyes which he didn't see but very well heard. He went into the room and shut the door.

You finished packing everything, minus his pinstriped slacks and shoes. So you left the bag open for those. J wasn't enclosed in there long, however it felt like he was. This is a little unusual, for him. The eerie silence only prolonging the suspense. What could possibly be taking him so long?

It gave you a brief moment to ponder. All he has left to do is get dressed and remove the greasepai- Ohh.. Right.

The greasepaint.

That must be what's holding him, then. You'd imagine it takes a lot of effort to scrub off the many layers he had previously applied. Especially since his disguise is going to require a bare face. Funny how that works.

As if on cue, the door to the room swings open and he emerges. Your head swings up to find him, walking out the room with his head held down, green dyed curls covering his face. His hair is draping his features, yet through the gaps could you see that he is indeed, without the makeup. Purposely avoiding your gaze, you catch on, he's doing it intentionally. He doesn't want you to see his face. The reason, being one or many, you are unsure of.

He reels past you to the bag, nearly bumping into you, he shoves the remainder articles inside. You go to help him zip the overloaded pack, but he pulls it from you, twisting farther away.

You frown, "J, would you let me? I could do that for you." No answer. You try again, "the pants are going to get wrinkled if you put them in there like that. Here-" you carefully go to reach for the strap, lightly brushing your fingertips over his gloveless digits, which are tightly clamped around the band. "Let me fold them for you." His whole demeanor is tense, you're hoping your gentle touch coaxes him to ease. It helps, least a little bit. He allows you to slide it towards you, but his face remains turned.

You're not fond of this behavior. It doesn't seem like him. Could it be a reason similar to yours from before? Hiding his facial features to protect his identity. No, that can't be it if he's willingly revealing them to his goons and the public. So with that being the case, why not simply show you?

For one, you sure hope it isn't because he's self conscious about his looks- about his scars. You can't have that, no. You will not have that. He has nothing to be ashamed for when it comes to you and what you think of him. You didn't find him repulsive at all before. Why would now be any different?

He stands, "where- where's the ah, cap. I need the cap." Frantically searching the room, barely able to see past his own hair.

You don't utter a word as you neatly place his pants and shoes into the bag, sealing it with a loud ZIP! You want him to look at you, but you don't want to push it. Wanting him to feel comfortable with showing you rather than pry at it harshly. Standing fully, you go to the counter where the police cap sat. There sparks an idea. "I got it," you pluck the hat, waving it in his view. He extends an arm for you to hand it to him. "No," you shake your head, "come over here so I can put it on you."

Irritated, he huffs, "just give it- give it to me. I've got no time for this." Beckoning his arm impatiently.

"Yes you do," you return, "will you please just come here?" Nothing. He rakes his hands through his locks, choosing to grumble to himself. Alright, now you're starting to grow frustrated.

"Joker," you almost demand, the full use of his name gets him to freeze. Still staring in the other direction. "Look at me, please." Your tone is firm, yet underlined with a sense of plead.

Ultimately, he decides to look at you. As he does, you have to be careful refraining an admirable gasp in fear that he'll take it the wrong way. Don't make a big deal about it. You mentally apprise yourself as you see his face- bare- for the first time. Easier said than done. If you thought he was breathtaking before, you'd go back in time just to slap that lady across the face, and tell her she hasn't seen his beauty in all its form yet. With those handsome features adorning his face. The same features you already noticed, ridden of the greasepaint. Out on proper display. There have been occasions where you thought about what he'd look like underneath. He's even more gorgeous than you could've imagined. The area around his eyes hold black shades, skin stained from the greasepaint.

J's stoical eyes stare at your face. Searching for a trace of resentment, horror, hate, disgust. He doesn't find either of those, yet he's not sure what he finds, he can't tell.

Your eyes meet his in a deep stare, and your breath hitches in your throat as you fight to hold back what you desperately want to tell him. Baby steps. Giving a soft smile, you inform him, "you still got a bit of white and black by your eye." Pointing to a spot under your own to show him where. He gives a breathy laugh in return. May it be of relief or genuine amusement, he wouldn't tell you, you're unsure at this point. But it's something.

You jump to sit atop the counter, putting you almost eye level with him. "Can I put it on you?" You retry with the hat. He thinks for a fleeting moment, then nods. You quickly remove your gloves as he goes to stand between your parted legs, placing his hands to rest on your hips, keeping a mindful distance. It's respective.

Carefully, do you bring both your hands to his head. Combing your fingers through his locks, pushing upwards, so that you could easily tuck the green strands under the article. Though he's allowing you, if he were to swat your hands away, it actually wouldn't be a surprise. You keep that in mind. He draws in a slow, steady inhale at your delicate touch. His eyes are on you the entire time, taking in the calmness in yours. And wait- is that.. is that adoration he sees? Nevertheless, he remains there, an emotionless look on his face.

"Don't do that." J speaks abruptly. Pulling you from your dream-like trance.

"Do what?" You ask innocently, "I can't sit for a moment and admire you?"

With an exaggerated sigh and a roll of his eyes does he react. "You can stop trying to convince me with the uh, false flattery, doll. I already know I'm not the most ah, prettiest sight to look at."

"It's not false," you frown. "I'm being serious." It hurts that he doesn't believe you. You speak with truth, why won't he at least try to accept the fact that you really do find him drop-dead gorgeous, incredibly handsome, utterly attractive?

"Ha ha," he mocks a laugh that lacks humor in favor of distaste, "Now that was a bad joke." Instead of going on, he chooses to remain quiet. Taking in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching through his scalp. You're being so gentle with him, like anything harsher could ever hurt him. He smiles at the amusing thought.

Once his hair's pushed up enough, you place the police cap atop his head. Completing the disguise. Tucking stray strands that fallen, under the hat. "There.." you draw back to take a final gander. He looks so different, almost unrecognizable. But his blackened eyes, his nose, his chiseled jawline, and the uneven scars protruding the flesh in his cheeks, distinctive features that remind you of how much he is still, him.

Still J.

And damn you. Damn you for allowing it to tug at your heartstrings seeing him this way. You're not supposed to start feeling like this. You're not supposed to start caring. What started out as physical and psychological attraction, is progressing into something more, in-depth. And fuck, are you diving in deep. You know this probably isn't a path to go down. It'd be risky. Although you haven't even scratched the surface of knowing him, you know yourself. Going down that path would result in you growing attached- catching feelings. Which could leave you wandering down a one way road, alone.

Much as you hate to admit, you crave a connection, a real one. And Joker isn't the man for that. He's far too busy carrying out his destructive schemes, he doesn't have the time nor mind for you. Perhaps you should pull out, before everything eventually comes crashing down onto you. Leaving you in a heaving pile of regret. Or in a pool of your own blood once he grows bored of you, realizes he doesn't want you around anymore.

However, once your eyes lock with his in a deep gaze, your rampant thoughts are put on hold. Then you are reminded of how far you've come, and you are not backing down. Let's just keep this going. We're getting too touchy feel-y. Too sentimental. Let's just focus on what's happening right now, and right now, he's gorgeous. You don't mind his scars. You actually think his scars are rather beautiful. Much like a precious work of Japanese kintsugi art. The once severely torn flesh healed together in a way that enhances the tear that used to be there. Visible repairs on his cheeks that give more meaning and strength. Whoops- your sentiment is still showing.

You know what? I don't fucking care anymore. Look at him!

"Well hello officer," you purr flirtatiously. Trailing your hands up the properly done jacket, stopping to rest on his shoulders. "I usually don't take kindly to police officers, but I'd let you frisk, cuff, and arrest me any day."

The suggestive joke brings a sly smirk to his face. Grabbing ahold of your wrists, he sets your hands down on your thighs. "Distractions, bunny." His jeering articulation of the word distractions let's you know that he's back. "Ya sure are good at 'em. Now, we can play officer later. You ah, remember your instructions?" He asks, checking over himself to make sure everything's in order.

"Yeah, I got them down," you return.

"Remember where to wait?" He presses.

"Yeah, yeah.."

" 'Yeah' me like that one more time, an I'll slice that pretty tongue right outta your mouth. Got it?" He warns with a bite of snarkiness.

You can't help but stifle a snicker at his false threat. Um actually, you'd hope that it's false. "Yes sir."

Your part is relatively easy. All you had to do was rid yourself of your outfit- including the makeup- and take J's stuff to the getaway car. Being your car. Oh boy. He gave you a set location to park and wait with his belongings. He mentioned that if everything went in the direction he's striving for, then he'd make it to your car soon after the crowd breaks into a panicking frenzy. If not, then you'll just have to meet him back at the warehouse. Which if course means more improvisation on his part.

You sat in your car, not too far, and not too close in proximity to where Mayor Garcia currently spoke on behalf of Loeb. It wasn't long until you heard the first round of shots ringing through the buildings, then the next, recognizing it to be the 21-gun salute. You braced yourself for the third round of shots, since this would undoubtedly be Joker's point of attack. The moment he and his henchmen turn their guns and fire at be Mayor.

Soon as the third rounds are fired, they are followed by even more shots and loud shouts. That's your cue. Quickly starting the engine, you glance in the rearview mirror, you could see the chaotic riot of people behind you. Rushing and screaming in different directions to get away from the area, escape the immediate danger. Seconds later, there were many running past your car. Citizens and cops alike. Citizens desperately searching for cover and the cops trying to get control of the situation. Madness. It was pure madness. Far from anything you're used to.

The sound of harsh knocking on tbe driver's window startled you. Looking directly at the source of the noise, you instantly recognized it to be J. Clicking the button to unlock the back door, he swiftly moves to get into the car. Shutting the door and motioning for you to go. You didn't have to wait for him to tell you that, as you promptly slammed on the gas before he even shut the door.

Putting as much distance between you both and the scene as possible, while Joker's catching his breath in the backseat. Checking him through the mirror, you see that he's not looking back. Didn't even bother to take a final glance at his work as you drove away. You wondered why, but you didn't ask.

"We missed." J hissed behind you.

"What?"

"We missed the shot." He clarified. "Ole Gordon decided to play hero and jumped in the line of fire." Snickering as he recalls.

"Bummer," you pout while he searches for the bag, "your items are down there." You point to the floor behind the passenger's seat.

He instantly reached inside and pulled out three tins of face paint. Wasting no time in popping open all the containers, dipping his fingers in, and slathering the paint accordingly in his face. Doing it with such a pace as if he couldn't wait to have done it any sooner.

"Please try not to get paint on my seats," you turn your head slightly to smile at him. You expected him to throw a sarcastic remark back, so you weren't prepared when he suddenly reached around, and placed his hand- fingers wet with fresh paint- snug around your throat. Making a showing effort to rub the remains onto your silky skin.

He leans close to where you feel his warm breath on your ear and neck. You find delight in his touch. He relishes the smirk that pulls across your lips, leaning closer to whisper huskily in your ear. "No promises, bunny."

End of part 9. I hope this part wasn't too rushed😭 There's still more to come. So the part in here where I made the comparison of his scars to Japanese kintsugi art, it's something that came to me but I do recall seeing something similar(on the first account that I had before this one) but I don't remember where. I appreciated the reference. If anyone knows where, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know. I'd like to give credit!

#More to the Madness #joker #heath ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x female reader #joker x y/n #ledger joker x y/n #ledger joker x female reader #the dark knight #fanfic

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irwinkitten · 6 years

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matching colours | c.h

requested: yes!!! pairing: calum x reader prompt: you have matching soulmate tattoos notes: @babylonshood‘s fault this time!! thank u @modelukesfor the tattoo ideas!! (also thank u for pointing out my tired ass mistake i love u) @themuseumnights gets a special shoutout for helping me organise my brain without me going into meltdown mode. special thanks also goes to @cals-babylons because my mind is fucking weird and she reminded me to keep at it. we all know i’m a slut for soulmate!aus so here i am and i’m not sorry time to hurt some hearts wheeeeeeeeee word count: 1.9k!!

---

No one really understood why tattoos began appearing on people that turned eighteen.

At first, the public just assumed it was those eighteen year olds, getting drunk and celebrating turning eighteen. But the designs were so intricate, so unique, other questions began to get asked.

It was only when the first couple with matching tattoos met, did people even begin to consider the soulmate theory.

It was by chance that someone had recorded them meeting, and their tattoos that had adorned their wrists had gone from colourless lines to a colourful piece. When asked, they’d described it as if their entire view of the world shifted to fit this one person, who they’d move mountains for, and even though they’d tried to keep it platonic-due to relationships they were in at the time-they realised very fast that denying themselves someone who was designed for them was not only difficult, it was painful.

And so from one chance meeting, the world began to accept the soulmate theory, as more and more evidence came forward for it and supported the theory.

People were fast beginning to realise that part of the tattoo were lyrics, lyrics that sang to your soulmate. Most believed it was a way for you to connect with your soulmate, to understand them a little if you hadn’t found them yet.

When you turned eighteen, you were half asleep and halfway down the stairs before you registered the words and the image that had appeared on your unmarked skin.

“My tattoo appeared!” You burst into the kitchen, startling your parents who looked confused for a second before realisation dawned.

Your mum reached you first as you held your arm out to show her, your own eyes taking it in.

“What kind of design is that?” The words fell from your lips and your mum smiled in response.

“It’s called a Celtic Love Knot, sweetheart. Quite appropriate if I do say so.”

“I don’t think I recognise the lyrics?”

“It’s a Frank Sinatra song.” Your dad finally answered and he pulled out his phone, playing the song.

You found yourself swaying to the music almost immediately and your dad grinned as he took your mum’s hand and the pair began to dance around the kitchen.

“I’ll be seeing you, in all the old, familiar places.” Your fingers traced the words as your dad sang along to your mum and you could feel hope well up in you.

You suddenly understood why so many people had said to listen to the song of your soulmate.

“What shall we do for your birthday, little one?” Your dad asked once the song had finished and you remembered that it was your birthday.

“Uh, can we just have a quiet day in? I’m not bothered about doing much today.” You responded with a shrug and your dad sighed before nodding.

“Alright little one. One quiet night in for the birthday girl, coming on up.” You laughed as he kissed your cheek before disappearing back upstairs to shower.

---

You’d been nervous about the tattoo. So many people you’d met all seemed to excitedly scan your arm to see if there was a match, to the point where you started wearing longer shirts because you could feel yourself becoming frustrated.

You’d always wondered how you were going to meet your soulmate. It was only when you turned twenty one that your dad suggested to start going to jazz clubs that made you really consider.

It wasn’t something you could do often, working two jobs to keep the place you had, but whenever you had the time, you visited the local one, not too far from your apartment.

Over time, you got friendly with the bar staff with each visit. It had gotten to the point that you had claimed your own little spot at the end of the bar, able to watch the band play, but if you wanted to dance, there was space to do so.

Being greeted like an old friend as you stepped through the door, a wide smile at the bouncer who gave you a smile back. You frequented so often that all the staff knew you by name, knew your order and knew how to cheer you up.

“There’s our favourite person in the whole world!” You laughed as you sat down, watching Jack make your drink.

“C’mon Jack, you surely have other favourites?” Placing the drink in front of you, he winked before shaking his head.

“Nope, you’re the one for me, sugar.”

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned in return before taking a sip of the drink, handing him the money. He just laughed.

“I know sweetheart. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we’ve got Sinatra night tomorrow night, I know you’ve been meaning to come to that.”

Luck was certainly on your side because for once your few days off that you had coincided with each other which meant you could actually relax for once. And with this opportunity, you knew you couldn’t pass it up.

“For once I’m not working. What time do they start?”

“Around about seven, so I’d get here before six thirty. You never know, you might meet your soulmate.” Jack teased before moving to serve another customer, making you smile wistfully into your drink.

“If only I was that lucky.” You murmured, taking a sip and listening to the smooth jazz that you’d fallen in love with over the years.

---

The next day you’d decided to make a little bit of effort for the evening.

Instead of your standard skinny jeans paired with a decent top, you opted to wear one of the lighter summer dresses you owned. You kept to minimal make-up and for once you felt refreshed.

It was a rare day when you got to enjoy your days off entirely, and feeling refreshed like you did was even rarer. You felt alive and it was noticed when you stepped into the club.

“Look at you, all dolled up and looking like you’ve actually rested.” Jack teased as you took residence in your usual spot.

“Remind me why I am friends with you?” Came the sarcastic response and the other bar tenders laughed as Jack pouted.

“You know you love me sugar. We going with your usual today?” You nodded and he grinned in return. There were some days you half wished Jack had been your soulmate, but he’d found his a few years before you started showing up to the club.

You twisted in the bar stool to see the band trouping out on stage just as someone took up the space next to you.

“Just a whiskey on ice, mate.” An unfamiliar Australian accent drifted over you and you let your gaze flicker to the guy who had his back to you as he spoke quietly with the person next to him.

Turning away, you found yourself swaying as older classics filled the air

After a few songs, and another drink, you stood from the stool, gently swaying to the music as the vocalist crooned out New York, New York.

You certainly appreciated your soulmate’s music taste as you’d gotten older.

As the song moved to I’ll Be Seeing You, the song of your lyrics tattooed into your skin, the Australian accent spoke up once more.

“Would you care to dance, doll?” There was a gentle touch to your shoulder and so you spun around, fully intent on agreeing, but when your eyes met dark brown, the air in your lungs left you as you could feel something slot itself into place.

Immediately, your eyes went down to your tattoo which had filled with colour, your eyes returning back to his almost immediately.

“Who knew my girl would be a fan of Sinatra?” He breathed. You smiled at him, taking his hand in yours.

“I believe you wanted to dance?” It knocked him out of the shock and he grinned so widely, you could feel your heart skip a beat as he moved around the little makeshift dance floor with you, his voice singing along quietly.

You were almost certain that you were going to melt.

Once the song ended, you found yourself not wanting to let go of your soulmate. He really was here.

“My name is Calum. What’s yours, doll?” He’d finally spoken and you blinked before realising he’d spoken.

“Oh, I’m Y/N.” You beamed up at him in response and you watched as his face relaxed into a wide smile.

Taking off the leather jacket that he’d had on, your eyes darted to the sleeves of the crisp black shirt as he began rolling them up, ignoring his friend he’d arrived with.

There, clear as day was your matching tattoo and the lyrics ‘Loving you is not in my control.’

“Oh.” You breathed, your fingers tracing the skin lightly.

It was one of the few things you’d shared with your parents. You remembered going to see the show with them when you were a teenager and you’d fallen in love with the song, understanding that finding such a love like that was rare.

But as you stared at Calum, you began to understand the emotions a lot more, your heart filling up with such joy.

“It was just a song that stuck with me I guess. I watched the musical and I remember wishing to have someone who could love me as much as Fosca loved Giorgio.”

“You found them, doll. But I promise you that I won’t up and die on you.” He whispered and you giggled softly.

“Please don’t. I waited a long time for you.” You whispered softly and his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer. His friend had long since realised what was going on and kept anyone else from disturbing the two of you.

The band had struck up once more and Fly Me To The Moon filtered through the room and the two of you began to sway once more.

“In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.” Calum sang quietly and just as the music struck up, his lips met yours and you could feel every emotion flooding through as your arms snaked up around his neck.

“Alright love birds.” Jack’s voice broke through your little bubble and you smiled into the kiss as you pulled away.

“Serenading me with Sinatra, you certainly have a talent Cal.”

Pulling you closer, he laughed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”

Your heart had never felt so full and spending the night with Calum, dancing to the sound of Frank Sinatra covers in his arms, talking about your lives as you swapped stories of growing up.

As the night drew to a close, his friend long since abandoned him for other ventures of night life, you suddenly found yourself hesitant.

“I don’t want tonight to end.” You whispered softly and he gave you a sweet smile in return.

“Did you think I was letting you go that easily? You’re stuck with me for good now, my beautiful soulmate. Would you care to accompany this poor, love-sick sap back to his home for some more wine and dancing?”

“Since you asked so nicely, I think I can spare the time.” You teased, his lips pulling up into a grin as his arm wrapped around your waist, tucking you into his side as you began to leave.

“As long as you’ve got time for me doll, I’m happy to do anything with you.”

---

tag list: @cals-babylons, @plainwhiteluke, @calumsdemons, @wrappedaroundcal, @pumpkincalum, @blameiuke, @pumpkinsmashton, @themuseumnights, @astroashtonio, @catchinqcalum, @modelukes, @qualitylu, @5saucewho, @babylon-uncrowned, @dontstopisagoodsongchangemymind, @therainydays4, @my-world97, @silverchainbee

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katharaya · 7 years

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SLBP Fic: Before the Stars Fade Out (1/1)

A/N: A little could-have-been scene set during the epilogue of Shigezane’s first English ES, right between the third and fourth parts, where he’s carrying MC home. Warning for alcohol and drunk kissing.

Pairing: Shigezane/MC Word count: 2,098 Summary: As he carries her home along the darkened Kyoto streets, Shigezane wishes, selfishly, that morning never comes.

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She stirs just as he turns onto her street, her hair tickling his neck as she shifts position on his back.

"You have excellent timing," Shigezane says, chuckling softly.

"Mmngh," is her only reply, before she nuzzles into his neck; her nose is cold from the evening air, and the shock of it hitting his skin sends him stumbling on non-existent pebbles on the road.

He's going to pretend that didn't happen.

"You just didn't want to walk, did you?" he accuses instead, hoping, hoping that she doesn't hear how his voice cracks when her lips brush gently against the shell of his ear.

"Mmmaybe I just wanted to be carried," she says, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

"You shouldn't make a habit of that," he scolds. "What if I was some strange man and just carried you off, huh?"

"You are very strange."

"Hey!"

"But," she says, her breath hot against his ear, "I don't think you're that kind of man, Lord Narumi."

"Shigezane," he corrects her, slowing his pace further as he nears her home.

"And even if you did carry me away," she says, seeming not to have heard him, "I wouldn't really mind."

"You—!" Shigezane says, but it comes out rather strangled, so he tries again: "You shouldn't go around saying those kinds of things to just anyone, you know!"

"I don't," she says, and his heart gives one very loud, very worrying thump.

She's drunk, he thinks. She doesn't know what she's saying.

So why doesn't he know how to feel about it, anyway?

"We're here!" he says, instead, stopping at her storefront, and he bounces her a little on his back to gain her attention.

Which is—not very smart, in hindsight, because there are – don’t think it! – and they're also bouncing against his back, and, and—

"Mmmngh," she groans, and lazily she loosens her grip on him just enough so that she slowly – torturously slowly – slides down his back, every inch of her pressing against him and gods, Shigezane thinks, he is a good man and he hasn't done anything so terrible in his life so as to warrant this kind of cruelty—

So what if he likes it? It's still cruel. Mercilessly so, in fact.

And then, and then, even when she's got both feet on the ground, she just kind of—stands there, her hands fisted in the back of his kimono, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

"Feeling dizzy?" he asks, tipping his head back. He can't see her until he turns his head, but like this he can see the night sky above them, an expanse of stars stretching from horizon to horizon, and like this he can pretend that morning will never come.

"I'm feeling something," she says, fingers tightening in the fabric as if to pull him closer, and he has to close his eyes because the stars are suddenly spinning and he's dizzy from the amount of blood rushing to his face.

He takes a moment to just breathe, before he reaches around to grip her wrist and gently turns them both until they're facing each other. She stumbles a bit despite his best efforts, but the way he catches her by the arms is effortless, as is the way her hands find themselves clutching the fabric of his kimono once more.

And Shigezane isn't cruel, but he is very much a tease.

"Hmm, I think I know what that is," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the quiet sounds of nighttime.

She swallows. "Attraction?"

"No,” he deadpans, "it's sleepiness. You're feeling sleepy. Off with you, now."

Gentle but insistent, he starts to push her towards the door despite her vocal protests and the way his own heart is protesting loudly in his ribcage.

"Wait—" she's saying, "Milord, wait!"

"Nope," he says. "You're drunk, and you're tired, and you need to sleep—"

"Wait! Lord Shigezane—"

"Oh, now you remember my name—"

She whirls around just before the doorframe and says, bold with the drink in her system: "I want to kiss you, Lord Shigezane!"

There's silence, except for the crickets, and what might have been a crow, somewhere, far off, and then—

"Whaaaa—!?"

She stands her ground in the face of his mortification, which is impressive, really, because she's swaying a little on her feet.

"I'd like to give you a kiss, milord," she says, each word deliberate.

"O-oh?" He hopes it comes across as mildly interested instead of wildly nervous—which is what he is, what with having her so close and tipsy and warm, right there next to him.

"Yes," she says, stepping closer still until he can make out the individual strands of hair in the errant lock that had fallen out of her bun and swayed gently against her neck with every movement. "As thanks. For saving me."

"You're drunk," he says, and somewhere in the jumble of his thoughts his mind tells him that he's not quite saying no.

"Mm," she says, "And you're very, very attractive."

"Well, that's true—" he says, defaulting to humor because he doesn't know how else he's supposed to cope.

It gets a laugh out of her anyway, a pretty little giggle that stretches her cheeks and scrunches up her eyes.

"Our customers—" she says, when her giggles die down, "our customers – when they're drinking, you see – they say—they say drunk thoughts are sober actions."

He sighs, exasperated. "You know you've got it all mixed up, doll?"

She huffs, and he swears the way her cheeks puff out in annoyance is cute enough to kill him. "I know what I meant to say."

"Yes, but clearly you don't know what you said."

"I know what I meant!" she says indignantly. And then, softer: "I know what I want."

Oh. Oh.

It's late, and she's drunk, and he's too tired and confused to deal with all the implications of this right now, but Shigezane has never done anything so very terrible in his life so maybe, maybe, whatever gods are watching will forgive him for being selfish, just this once—

"Well," he says, praying to any and all gods that might be listening that she doesn't hear how hoarse his voice sounds, "who am I to turn down a lady's generosity?"

She gives him a lopsided smile, before she rises onto her toes and just kind of—she tips over more than leans forward, and sort of just falls toward him, her mouth pressing against his in a sloppy kiss.

She's very warm, is the first thing he thinks; and then, she's very drunk, is the second.

But oh, oh, the warmth of her mouth is intoxicating, more than any sake, and the kiss is heady and overwhelming and he's maybe, perhaps, just sort of a little bit drunk too.

Just this once, he thinks, as her hands cup his face and his own find themselves gripping her waist. He's going to be selfish just this once and then never again—

But she sighs against his mouth, a moan low in her throat as she presses herself closer, impossibly close, and Shigezane thinks that if he's going to be selfish only once in his life then he wants to make it count.

So he tilts his head, slanting his mouth against hers and tentatively slides his tongue along her bottom lip. He's not so far gone that he'd take more than she's willing to give, but if she does—

She does.

With a gasp and a moan she opens her mouth and all at once her tongue is tangling with his, bringing the taste of sake and honey and the salt of her skin as she deepens the kiss. He doesn't know when his hands gripping her waist became one arm slung around her torso and the other hand tangled in her hair, but damn it all, he doesn't care because he's kissing her and for one wild, selfish moment the world stops—

—only to lurch back into motion when she pulls away – just a fraction, their lips brushing together with each gasping breath they take in tandem.

He can't bring himself to look away – partly because he's so, so tempted to look down, where he can feel her – don't think it! – pressing against his chest with every inhale – but mostly because she's looking back at him with wide eyes that are a little bit dazed but above all clear and incredibly, blessedly sober.

"I think," she says, in between trying to catch her breath, "perhaps I might be a little bit dizzy after all."

"You should—" and it's hard to reply when he can't quite remember how to breathe, but he plows on: "You should—get some sleep. It'll help, probably."

"Alright."

"Mm."

Neither of them move.

"Lord Shigezane?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I'd like to kiss you again."

The fight to keep a smile off his face is valiant, but ultimately futile.

"And what's this one for?" he asks, grinning.

"For—uh, for the road?" she says, which is the flimsiest excuse ever, but Shigezane is already bargaining with himself as he thinks, Twice. Just two selfish moments in his entire life and then he'll live the rest as a veritable saint— which is about as far as he gets before she kisses him again and he's lost.

He pulls away first, this time, but she rises on her toes to follow his mouth and overbalances, falling against him.

He laughs, breathless, as something warm and tender blooms in his chest. And it takes very little effort and no hesitation at all for him to pick her up, bridal style, and carry her through the doorway himself.

"Second room on the left," she says, directing him through the back of the restaurant, which is good because he'd never have been able to find his way around with how distracting she's being, leaning her head on his shoulder like that. He slides open the door she'd indicated with his foot, stepping into a sparse, clean room. He sets her down on her bedding, already laid out—presumably courtesy of her mother, which makes him feel a little bit guilty because they probably worried while she was gone?

Ah, but she's so cute, curling up on the mattress like that, and he's not so good a person as to regret any of the circumstances that led to him being witness to this moment.

Gently, he draws the blankets over her, but before he can move away so much as an inch her hand shoots out from beneath the covers and grasps his wrist.

"Can't you stay?" she asks, mumbling, her eyes already half-lidded with sleep.

And that's—that's too selfish. He can't. He can't.

"I'm leaving in the morning, remember?" he reminds her, drawing his hand away.

"Oh," she says, voice small and unspeakably lonely. "Okay."

He's not quite sure what to say, but she's quiet after that, and he assumes she's fallen asleep. He decides to leave her a note just in case she was more drunk than she seemed to be.

Just after he sets a paperweight atop the letter, she reaches out to catch his sleeve, startling him.

"Lord Shigezane . . . ?"

"Hm?"

"Can I kiss you again? Before you go?" she mumbles, bleary-eyed, but her grip on his sleeve is sure.

He chuckles softly, finding her endearing beyond measure.

"And what's our excuse this time?" he asks.

"No excuses," she murmurs. "Just because I want to."

Well, he thinks. It's not that selfish if she wants it too, right?

He leans down and gives her a chaste kiss, softer than he thought himself capable of and sweeter than he'd ever dreamed. It feels like the first kiss he should have given her—something new and tentative and unhurried, in a world where they would have had time enough to take it slow.

It's a little bittersweet, to think that instead it's probably their last.

If this is the last kiss he ever has in his life, Shigezane thinks it will have been enough.

She doesn't open her eyes when he pulls away, but she smiles all the same. "Good night, Lord Shigezane."

With a rueful smile, Shigezane notes that the light outside has shifted to pale blue, signaling the coming dawn.

"It's almost morning, actually," he says, wistful, but she doesn't hear him, already fast asleep.

#samurai love ballad party #slbp #slbp shigezane #date shigezane #shigezane x mc #slbp fic #this boy is?? so cute???#i can't #send help #katharayawrites

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