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liliesinrequiem · 1 year

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Do you love me?

A/N: I’ve returned. Out of all the P4 characters, Rohan actually became one of my absolute favs very quickly. I hope that y’all enjoy.

Pairing: Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Summary: Reader finally asks Rohan the single question they'd been avoiding.

CW: Angst/Not a happy story, brief mentions/descriptions of sex as manipulation tactic, unhealthy relationship.

I. You shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew through the porch. It wasn’t the best place for confrontation but you refused to take a step indoors. You looked up at your boyfriend. His face held the same expression: boredom. You were going to finally ask him the question that had hung over the two of you since the beginning.

One that you already knew the answer to.

“Rohan, do you love me?”

II. You loved Rohan.

You really did. You loved him so much that it actually hurt sometimes. If he ever needed anything from you, you’d drop everything to give it to him. You made sure to take care of him while he worked. No meals were forgotten and you took care of the house in general. If he wished for you to be his model on occasion, you’d do it and not once utter a complaint, even if you were in an awkward position. You just wanted to please him.

You were a constant in his life. He could rely on you with no doubts as to whether or not you’ll accomplish what he asks of you. He wanted his furniture moved around for some artistic inspiration? You’d move it for him. He wanted a complicated meal? Sure. You did it because you genuinely loved him. You had loved him for so long that the sheer joy when he finally agreed to go on a date with you was inexplicable.

You were happy with him.

Rather, you were happy about it at the time.

In truth, the doubt crept around into you early on. It sunk its claws into your heart and refused to let go. Rohan’s feelings for you weren’t obvious. At all. It hurt to love him because everything you did was expected. It was a sign of absolute obedience to him. It was expected that you’d be there for him whenever. You’d canceled going out with friends, missed out on things you wanted to do, and received next to nothing. Questions about going on dates or doing something, anything, slowly died out of your thoughts. He didn’t want to do anything with you. The expectations that you had for him slowly wilted away as you realized that you seemingly came last in the list of importance for him. If you were in trouble, he wouldn’t drop everything to save you in the same way that you would for him. He’d even told you that bluntly when you’d only jokingly asked him. You went the extra mile and he refused to even take a step.

Perhaps one of the more painful parts was realizing that everyone saw how he treated you. Your shared friends had seen how cold he acted with you. There was no public or private affection. You two were just together. That was it. The words of concern from others flitted into one ear and went out the other. You forced them out of your head. But they were right.

Even with the lack of appreciation, you couldn’t bring yourself to separate from him. Something about him kept you around. It was like he was a magnet that you couldn’t detach yourself from. Every time that you convinced yourself to leave or someone finally got through to you, you were pulled back in by him.

He’d pull you into him and it would be the absolutely rare times that he did pretend to feel something for you. You say pretend because it’s only the moments where you’ve argued with him because you wanted him to do more or you’d leave. Those moments where he would play along in the fantasy that you sometimes made up. A fantasy where he did love you and that you actually meant something to him. A fantasy where you told yourself that the kisses trailing up and along your body were not just an attempt on his part to satiate your concerns. As if he truly wanted to demonstrate that you meant something to him. Where you could tell yourself that his saccharine words were honest and not just trying to sweeten up your mood to agree with him.

Not too long after those moments, he’d return to his usual self because you’d fall back into his desires. You’d drop the matter until you’d circle back to it. The fantasy would always end as quickly as it began. Something that made you emotional on so many occasions because sometimes, you had believed that the two of you were making some form of progress. Where he promised to improve and you had believed him only to go back to square one and the two of you moved backwards once again.

“I love you,” you’d say. He’d merely hum in response if he even felt like acknowledging you. The words had been spoken by you so many times that you doubted that it held any meaning to him. You figured that it just reconfirmed your obedience to him whenever you said it. He’d never once uttered the phrase back to you. You’d held out so long and expected him to say it at some point. But nothing. Ever. All the hints that you dropped on the matter were ignored entirely by him. Ignored purposefully because he was far smarter than he frequently let on.

It drove a deeper wedge into your relationship. The doubt was suffocating you more and more.

“You’re valuable enough,” he once said. That was the closest you’d ever gotten to any form of appreciation. But the sweetness was tainted with the bitterness of being entangled with him in bed as he said it. How could you know if it was honest? He was never honest during these moments. It wasn’t anything truly meaningful in the grand scheme of things.

Recently, though, the doubt was becoming insufferable. You couldn’t keep going on. No amount of lies could keep you satiated anymore.

Perhaps, it was about time that you got tired of his actions. You just didn’t know how to leave him. What could truly drive you away?

You knew the answer to that.

It was a simple question. It was just one that you’d been avoiding the entirety of your relationship.

You knew what he would likely answer too. He’d probably evade the question or he’d probably be blunt about it. Out of the two, you desired for him to be blunt.

The two of you knew what he felt deep down. You just wanted to hear him admit it. You needed to hear him admit it. You just needed it. You needed him to say it out loud. You wanted him to slice through your heart one last time so that you could tear yourself off.

III. You stared at him blankly. Any sign of expectation could lead to a lie. You needed Rohan’s honesty. His face had set into one of discontent. But you didn’t care anymore. Maybe he had realized that you were asking for honesty for once. Whatever the truth may be.

“No, I don’t.”

The curtness of it stung. But you took a deep breath. Just what you needed to hear him say. You smiled for the first time in a long while and he seemed surprised.

“Thank you,” you said.

#rohan kishibe x reader #rohan x you #jjba x you #jjba imagines #jojos bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo x y/n

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kujojotarolover · 2 years

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Also o for Rohan please

cw: Yandere Themes, Allusions to Stalking, Mentions of Stalking, Obsessive Thoughts / Nature, Angst, Dire Situations, Torture, Graphic Descriptions / Thoughts, Brainwashing and / or Memory Wiping Allusion, Thoughts / Mentions of Death, General Dark Themes not Suitable for Immature Audiences. Reader-Insert, Gender Neutral. Uncomfortable scenarios included, read at you own discretion! 18+ ONLY!

author's note: Totally not inspired by House of Wax or anything, nah. This is my first ficlet involving Kishibe Rohan, I hope that you enjoy this delusion man and this creepy fic! These "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" were written and coined by @/nanasparadise . That original post can be located here. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is not a good situation! I hope you enjoy this!

PROMPT: Orchid (love, beauty): "My, you're breathtaking. Your beauty needs to be cherished."

word count: Approximately 1.8k

Swish.

Swish, swish. Swish.

Swiiiiiiish.

Everything dimmed and blurred in a flurry haze. Bright light like you’ve never known before shone and rushed like a hurricane, circling and widening and engulfing. You quickly tried to shut your eyes from the blinding hues, but something pulled uncomfortably against your face. Your mind scrambled.

Why couldn’t you blink?

Your pupils whizzed in frantic dashes, desperately trying to escape the maddening light that started to dull more and more and more and… wait. Hey, yeah. This… you’re standing in a room. It’s not a room you’ve ever seen before and that worries you, but you can finally pick up the faintest edges and outlines of details now. You want to squint, but the pressure from earlier comes back fast so you just settle for letting your eyes slowly adjust.

Swish, swish, swishswishswish.

There it is again. That noise: the sound that had brought you forth into this waking world. Your brain can’t quite comprehend what it's hearing, but it distinctly reminds you of the strokes of a paintbrush. Which, funnily enough, only brings more questions than answers. So, you turn your head.

You… turn your head.

Panic emerges from your chest in a rupture as you start straining your muscles. Why can’t you move your head? It feels like it’s pinned in place, pinioned by that weight from earlier that kept you from closing your eyes and that petrifies you. This doesn’t make any sense, none of it does. Your head is whorling in nasty waves and you start to struggle.

A rattling, like cracked porcelain. Muffled panting, the sound of terror huffing against something solid. You breathe. You try to breathe in but your lungs refuse to expand very far—held down, immobile. You think you’re hyperventilating now, shaking in place like a ball filled with too much kinetic energy and you feel like you’re going to explode with madness.

Then, a voice.

“Oh, you're waking up now, are you?” A deep siiiiigh. “Well, I suppose I did only write ‘until Kishibe Rohan finishes painting the initial coat’, didn’t I?”

A lackadaisical, nasally voice rhetorically questions himself before the swish swish swish begins once more. You don’t recognize the voice. Or, no, you do. The tone and intonation tickle the furthest reaches of your mind and you wrack your brain to call it forth. The name, think of the name. Kishibe Rohan. Why does that sound familiar? You feel something twinge. Yes, you do know him.

“That doesn’t matter now, of course,” Rohan comments, “just stop panicking. The clay may be dry, but you’ll be irreparable if you accidentally tear any of it off at this stage.”

What… What in the hell did he just say?

“It will also bring you unbelievable amounts of pain,” Rohan pauses. Something clacks against wood. He had set his brush down. “But to see you in such agony and in such disarray would cause me more misery than you’d ever imagine.”

Rohan picks up something—another paintbrush, probably—and leans in close.

Your dry eyes have finally cleared and the image before you is flawless.

The room looks unique, for sure, with a triangular bookshelf pressed against the side wall and the artisan desk not too far ahead. There’s also various prints framed and hung around the extra space of the room. The floors are hardwood, the walls are flamingo pink, the room’s trimmings are mauve, and the blinds are a rich royal blue. Everything is dimmer than you’d originally expected, but you notice a singular curtain is drawn up to allow beaming sunlight to gleam across your face. Nothing looks familiar, you’ve never been here before; so, the only logical conclusion is that this is Kishibe Rohan’s office.

Another hopeful scan of the room births nothing of use to you. There’s a flame that withers inside, you can feel a flicker of hope diminish in your chest. What will help you escape? Another fretful glance. What can get clay off of your body?

But your eyes can’t take in the details quick enough before a dark shadow looms before your eyes and you’re forced to focus on that instead.

Kishibe Rohan.

He looks as eccentric and as fashionable as he did the very first time you laid your eyes upon him. That lusciously vivid sacramento green hair of his swoops over his forehead and stays tucked away by the lime eggshell headband he dons. Intense emerald orbs pierce through you, awash with such emotions that you feel a queer turn in your stomach that make your body involuntarily hitch. Rohan’s expression is tense, but focused. He calmly watches your eyes meet his and the corner of his lips quirk upward.

“Good, my little muse,” Rohan’s eyes close briefly as he sighs again and starts to titter. “Though the clay is much too solid for much to shift it out of place, I’m sure the heat of it and the nature of the substance has caused it to permanently iron itself to your flesh.”

Your heart thunders against your ribcage.

“Moving it or grinding against it could possibly disrupt it and, well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen after that,” Rohan’s sudden humor is once again lost as he lifts his arm back up and brings the paintbrush towards your face.

But you can’t even care about that! What the hell else were you supposed to think about? You’re permanently trapped in this clay prison and moving will flay you alive! And you want to freak out even more. Want to flail, kick, scream, throw a damn tantrum to break free—but it’s futile. It’s so absolutely futile and that’s why you feel like your world is suddenly swinging around you like a merry-go-round. Streaking, and slurring, and swimming, and you pant. you pant. you pant.

You feel painful tears sting against the rims of your eyes. The sclera are so desiccated, so aired out from being held open for this long that tears feel like stabbing needles prickling the very organs. Your head reels noisily.

The paintbrush dabs against the clay of your cheekbone as Rohan finetunes the precise details. You can’t focus. You feel so absolutely lost, you’re so helpless, fuck fuck fuck—is this how you’re going to die? Standing, posed, in this crazy man’s home covered in model clay as you slowly starve and dehydrate to the point of no return? Tortured by a man that you met by chance… once?

That’s when you really became flighty. Your head thumped loudly, right behind your sinuses, and you felt so so full. You’d only met this stranger once! All because of a mishap at a local art store. Fuck, you can’t even clearly remember the memory—that’s how long ago this happened! You think you ended up helping him out, there was a miscommunication. You can’t recall. You’re teetering on the edge of passing out and going numb from how heavily you’re breathing against warm, damp clay. Your appendages are tingling and you feel like you’re floating on clouds. Why is he doing this? What did you do to deserve this?

Rohan’s paintbrush feathers over the bridge of your nose and he releases a pleased hum.

“Absolutely stunning,” Rohan’s free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, but he stops and jerks back. “Not quite yet. I would hate to tarnish my hard work, especially after all of the trouble I went through to get you here.”

The memories before this very moment feel fuzzy. They’re like minnows, swaying along with the currents of a stream and constantly going. On and on and on and on and on. You see them fade and disappear, they wink out and more minnow follow their ilk. You cast your line out in distress, the hook glimmery in the light of your conscience, and watch it dip into the water. It gets sucked along and the line screeches as it’s pulled into nothingness.

“Buuut this was very much worth it,” Rohan states. “I’ve been following you for so long, watching you and studying you to make sure you’re really what I believed you to be the first time I happened upon you.”

Oh, Gods, you just want to sob. You want to start weeping and curl up into a tiny ball, but you’re frozen solid and you’re forced to listen to Rohan’s words. You’re forced to listen to the ramblings of a man long gone.

“You’re so pure, so unlike other people, so kind,” Rohan seems to shudder and you want to just collapse under his loving stare. “When you first gazed at me with those beautiful eyes, I fell deeply in love with you. It felt like my heart was going to burst when you departed from me, but… don’t worry, I made sure to keep you within my sights.”

Swish, swish, swiiish.

“I followed you, every day, every waking moment that I possibly could,” Rohan admits. He then withdraws the paintbrush, dips the end into a swatch of color, and continues detailing. “You were filled with this admirable justice, this sense of innocence and purity. Of truth, of precision. Your honesty, your soul… everything about you was like a flame and I was consumed like oxygen into the laps.”

Everything and nothing makes sense. You would shake your head, would avert your face away from Rohan’s lecherous eyes, and try to plug your ears to mute this insanity. But you can just be his little statue. Listening.

“And after a while… watching you from afar started to bore me, honestly.” Rohan huffs, as if he were absolutely bothered by the notion and then turns his stare over his shoulder. “So I waited and waited and waited. There was much to think about, you know. As an artist, I had to make sure this wasn’t sloppy. I had to be positive that you were the one, that nothing would tarnish you. I… I needed to immortalize you.”

Your eyes gape in horror at Rohan as he drags another long sweep of the paintbrush across your cheeks before arching back.

Rohan scrutinizes your face thoughtfully, romantically, and an excitedly giddy grin smears across his lips.

“My, you’re breathtaking.” Rohan shivers, his eyes widening with something wild as he drops his brush to the palette and laces his fingers together. “Your beauty needs to be cherished.”

It feels like the floor is opening up, is dropping you in, and you’re flushing away. You're going so fast, so soon, so terribly. And you just look into Rohan’s eyes, disbelieving, and you feel like your heart

stops.

“My own personal Astraea, that’s what I’ve made you, my muse.”

#rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #yandere rohan #yandere rohan kishibe #rohan x you #rohan x y/n #jjba x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #18+ only please #your average wfsn

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danddymaro · 2 years

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A Day out in Morioh |Rohan Kishibe x Reader

The second part to [[[ Sweet annoyance ]]] because I like La drama.

Includes A run in with a dangerous man, a worried Rohan, and a lot of interaction with Josuke.

Word count: 5,979

A Day Out In Morioh

The young woman had gone about her day with a rather unperturbed expression that inclined more to budding wonder as she walked along the neighborhood that soon lead into a more populated area with different shops and streets.

Sure, she had an unpleasant moment with Rohan, but after she was able to walk outside and get some fresh air, she realized that maybe she was suffocating him.

'he's used to working alone,' she thought to herself, having to remind herself of that. 'And here I come... and he has to stop everything for me,' she added with a grimace.

It was regrettable, but she'd become something of nuance for a man that was not only used to being to himself, but that needed that solidarity to complete his work.

She understood that, and yet, it still hurt to be at the end of his frustrated outburst.

The little incoming thoughts that related to him wouldn't stop, and helplessly, she shook her head to somehow scramble her brain just a little bit to wash them away as though her mind worked like an Etch A' Sketch.

As time progressed, (f/n) silently walked along the sidewalk, idly staring at the lively crowd that had slowly formed with concerned, (light/dark) eyes.

The good mood she'd been in, and that had only seemed to go up with the more of Morioh she was introduced to, suddenly sank as she realized her current predicament.

She'd blinked once, and after that single second of distraction, it seemed like all of Morioh had simultaneously decided to fill out the streets to where it was not long before everything seemed to melt together.

The already unfamiliar surroundings seemed completely alien to her, every direction she looked in not convincing her they'd lead her home.

"Sorry!" she breathed not once, but countless times as people bumped her on each shoulder, lame apologies being said in return by individuals who hadn't actually bothered to spare a quick glance of acknowledgment back at her during their route home.

- And then there were those that truly brushed her entire existence aside, not even uttering a word, their eyes not shifting from their place forward to glance at the person they'd bumped into.

She then scurried through a couple of passing people that chatted with each other, presumably coworkers that decided to spend just a little bit more time with each other based on their matching uniforms.

Her (e/c) colored eyes tried to find familiarity in her surroundings as she continued to follow the direction she'd already been turned to, but in the midst of her growing alarm, she couldn't quite remember exactly what way to turn back home, and it frustrated her greatly.

'Think!' she commanded herself, 'Just think!' she continued to inwardly cry as she tightly shut her eyes, her two hands flying toward her cheeks as she tried to wake some part in her that had the answers she needed.

It was in there, she knew it.

However, she was fed back nothing, no street names, or even recognizable landmarks that could give her a clue. Instead, the only thing she could possibly think of was the teal-eyed man and the pestering question of whether or not he'd actually found himself something to eat.

That, and whether or not he'd managed to finish up on the new week's chapter he'd diligently worked on and had been somewhat stuck on story-wise.

Had he even bothered to make his way out of his study?

She asked herself that, knowing that it was possible he hadn’t.

much more, had he even noticed she was gone?

"Ah...." she let out a soft, sad breath, "Rohan..." she then airily murmured, growing warm over the possibility of him noticing and showing the slightest concern, eventually saving her from more aimless walking and worry by finding her.

It would be a stroke of luck.

However, as much relief as the thought brought her, she couldn't help but feel even more ashamed as she realized that yet again she'd found a way to be a little pebble in his shoe.

A sudden bump in with a new person had her thoughts shaken, her body jolting at the contact.

Her upturned eyebrows quickly rose high as her body bumped into another, and while the impact wasn't powerful enough to make her fall back onto the concrete floor, it was enough to make her stumble back a few steps.

Her hands both clutched close to her chest in surprise, the brisk, frigidity action done just before her fingers tightly curled into the fabric of her top and held onto it like a lifeline.

At that very moment, her puff of air was caught in her throat, the inhale of oxygen halted for a few seconds as she acted upon her shock.

The shuddered breath she released was audible, and it had the man before her actually stop to glance down at her, acknowledging her in the midst of his monotonous day.

Blue eyes so profound and solemn that they were darkened down to near indigo stared down at her with an itching annoyance that was paired with a slight curl to his upper lip before his gaze zeroed down to her clutching hands that, by then, as a result of his stare had become shaken.

Rebellious strands of waved gold fell forward from behind his left ear, and silently, his matching hand rose to draw them back, long, slim fingers that were accented by overgrown nails raking down the blonde hair during the process.

"I'm...I'm sorry," she finally managed to say, her words both soft and stunned, matching her startled demeanor. She managed to muster up a smile, one that was as equally quavered as she was, though kind and definitely touched by an apology of its own.

Gradually, the rather unkind expression he bore shifted, and a welcoming smile warmed his cold features, matching the sparking interest that melted the ice in his deep blues.

"I'm sorry..." she breathed again, her knees nearly buckling as his stare made her feel shamefully bare, enough that her expression faltered, the shy smile dying down.

Maybe it was that she wasn't used to anyone else besides Rohan.

Briefly, she reasoned that perhaps it was that she was overwhelmed by someone else's attention.

However, A boy named Koichi came by once during her stay, and she hadn't been nearly as fearful.

Instead, she'd been delighted to meet someone else, in fact, she'd been disappointed when his visit had been brief, one where they'd only exchanged pleasantries after he'd talked to Rohan about something in secrecy.

They'd been in his study, talking about something serious based on how sour Rohan seemed afterward.

And she wondered what it was.

She'd also met the delivery man that Rohan had hired to run errands, and he'd been a pleasant guest as well, one she'd made idle talk with for just a moment before he'd been practically swatted away by the flustered manga artist after the elder man had innocently asked about who she was to him.

The word 'girlfriend' had been thrown around and it had made Rohan choke, waving off the man with a notable bother.

"And what are you laughing at?" Rohan asked as he turned back to her, his eyebrow raised as he looked down at her, and while he tried to seem annoyed, she couldn't take him seriously with how much color his face had been filled with. Rouge touched his cheeks and even crawled down his neck, making her shake her head quickly, a hand pressed over her mouth as she tried to hide her smile.

She hadn't thought anything of it, becoming too enthralled at the sight of such an expression from the great Rohan Kishibe.

(f/n) had met new people, few, but none like this man.

-this man who had her so fretful.

Everyone around her seemed to pass with disinterest, only having the politeness to move around them, and it made her feel even more exposed to the man because they were left in a little bubble of their own.

And that bubble was slowly thickening with tension that nearly suffocated her, making the air almost hard to breathe.

" You're in quite the panic," he noted, the statement making the hairs on the back of her neck stand, alarmed.

His voice was somehow warm, yet icy all the same, and she couldn't understand why the man made her feel so strange, so afraid.

'Rohan can be cold too, ' she tried to reason, swallowing thickly. 'Sometimes he has a sharp tongue...but I never feel this way,' she added.

'I never feel so afraid,' She thought with alarm.

' A pretty thing like you...so stiffened and in need to be held,' The man silently mused while watching the little hands before him anxiously squirm.

'This must be fate...Right?' he continued to contemplate as warmth blossomed within his chest, a fluttering feeling festering in his stomach as well, and it all felt so remarkably sweet and familiar.

‘As they say...Love at first sight,’ he mused.

The air smelled sweet, and his skin burned to have hers brush over it.

'For you to run into me...’ he started, ‘- to awaken this feeling in me again,' he thought with giddiness, quickly forgetting his former love's name.

There was a blank space left there, and there was an urge to have the loveliness before him fill that opening.

'Looking at you my dear...finding you...I've already forgotten her name...her touch...Her warmth...' he mused with a touch of mischievousness.

'- You look so warm my dear, ' he inwardly commented, knowing that any more thoughts to feel that graceful touch would force him to do something brash.

At that moment, the hand that held his briefcase curled harshly,

"...Quite careless," he murmured lowly, speaking to her, but also addressing himself and the beast that festered within him.

' - To want to take you now, right in the middle of this crowd,' he went on, nearly shaking with anticipation.

"You're aimlessly wondering," he stated, softly chiding her.

" It'll get dark soon you know," he informed her, and she nodded in agreeance, wishing she were already home, wishing she never would have stepped foot out.

'I can't wait to have you alone,' he started as during then, he took a small step closer.

She inched back at the seemingly harmless step, doing so upon instinct, something she hadn't thought of until he commented on it, unafraid to use his voice, unlike her.

"Why so fretful?" he questioned her, speaking almost teasingly.

Her mouth moved, and she practically gaped, not knowing what to say or respond with.

"I..." she swallowed thickly, and slowly her vision began to blur, tears welling inside them, against her will bubbling at the edges of her eyes as she stood frozen.

Why couldn't she move?

"You're shaking," he observed, not at all one to stay silent at what his eyes captured, especially when the reactions he received were pleasing.

"Aren't you a shy one..." he mused, and she shivered even more, her knees buckling.

He started to speak again but before he could utter another word, a different voice rang, his attention tearing from the woman before him to find another approach.

"Mr. Kira!" she said while soon standing near him, her long legs straining to reach him as quickly as possible, having run from the building they worked to him in a quick, desperate sprint, "Mr. Kira, I know this might be inappropriate..." she started, but it became background noise to him as his eyes trailed back to where the (h/c) haired young woman had stood before him, the space now empty.

It had taken just a moment, a single opening for her to make a quick escape, taking the chance the second it presented itself. She was not only greatful for the chance but for the fact that her brain's message had finally reached the rest of her, propelling her into a sprint.

Through the openings that fell between the walking people, he watched his darling retreat, aggravation festering within him while the fleeting woman, in turn, felt flooding relief as she drew farther.

She turned back once, and as she did his dark eyes found hers, and yet again she felt helpless.

It was as though wherever she went, she would never escape, and the feeling stayed with her even while the distance between them became greater.

Yoshikage bit his tongue, swallowing down a nasty snarl as he turned back to his coworker who looked up at him with large, dark eyes that had hope shining within them.

She batted her eyelashes, coyly hoping to persuade him, accomplishing something no one else had been able to, and that was to get Yoshikage Kira to hang out after work.

It wasn't the first time he'd been approached, and like every other time he put on a friendly face, a faux kindness returned to people he truly could care less about.

――――――――――――――――

'I don't know where I'm going,' (f/n) started as she continued to move in the opposite direction.

'- But I want it to be away from him! ' she thought with determination, the sickly feeling he flooded her with far too unbearable to even recall.

She'd started to run, her legs not giving out by exhaustion, but by a numbing pain that stilled her, the scalding ache far too unbearable to withstand.

Her right hand rose to her chest, and to her horror blood oozed from her left bosom, the color coating the extremity before her flesh came in contact with a sharp, scarlet-drenched tip.

In disbelief, her eyes went down to see the red-adorned, golden point that had sprung from her.

She wanted to scream but was silenced by a shock that had made her grow cold.

In spite of the numbing pain, she continued to walk forward, her feet slowly shifting, the energy she had similar to that of a wind-up that was on its last round.

She could feel thick trickles travel through her fingers, blood being left behind where she moved in red little specks.

As she continued to walk along the road, aimlessly, with no destination, her body slumped forward into something that was warm.

Latching, she cradled whatever had come near, needing its support, hoping to somehow have its warmth transferred to her, and simultaneously, she looked up to the hazy figure of the color blue.

Her voice was caught within her throat, but her lips moved, forming each syllable with need, pleading for help.

- And that's how she found Josuke.

" Josuke Higashikata?" She repeated back, a genuine smile gracing her as she tried out the name for herself, already saying it with fondness.

"Yep, nice to meet you," he said back, a very kind smile gracing him, the teen being just the opposite of the other male she'd encountered.

Josuke was nice and pleasant and she mellowed around him, eased by his presence alone, trusting him after the terrifying incident that she still didn't quite understand.

He'd made her pain go away, and she wouldn't have believed him if she hadn't watched him hold the arrow that pierced her.

She also wouldn't have believed him if she hadn't caught sight of what seemed like a ghosting figure behind him, the outline of it visible, but barely.

Her eyes were squinted as she looked over his shoulder, trying to get a better look of what it was that was there, looming. There wasn't anything wrong with her sight. She could see everything perfectly clear, all except that one large patch of something that hovered above and seemed to have the outline of a person.

The blue eyed male noticed, and he pulled up a soft smile, understanding.

"Can you see it?" he asked her, watching as at the question, she seemed to concentrate harder, trying to find what ‘it’ was.

"I don't know..." she breathed. " What am I looking at? ... if anything," she added with confusion.

"I see something but it's like that one spot is blurry like it's a blind spot," she explained, and Jojo nodded.

It occurred to him that perhaps things would come gradually to her. Koichi's stand hadn't manifested immediately, perhaps her own abilities and stand itself needed time to be lured out.

' I should get her to Jotaro...' he thought to himself, ' and the arrow to-'

"Huh?" he whipped around, turning over in every direction as he searched for the cursed thing.

He'd set it aside for a moment as he asked her questions, and now it was gone.

"Oh shit..." he breathed, his teeth clenched in annoyance.

"What's wrong?" (f/n) asked him, her right hand's palm pressed over her temple as she tried to soothe down the persisting thick pules that bothered her.

Her flesh was coated by a thin sheet of sweat, and she felt like she was coming down with something.

The highschooler's thick brows inched down, frustration knitted in between them as he murmured out his response,

"It's nothing..." he told her, making sure to keep the woman close, not confident in leaving her by herself.

She seemed entirely too clueless, holding a sense of vulnerability he could see someone taking advantage of, especially in her disoriented state.

Besides... he needed to ask her more.

He needed to know what her stand was.

He had to know her name, everything he could.

" So… You're new here," he said back as a statement, hearing her out as he looked up at the sky, focused on the cute puffy clouds that decorated the atmosphere.

She silently nodded, "Yeah," she added, gently smiling.

'You could say so,' she thought with halfhearted amusement, not really going into too many details aside from that.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she reasoned that it was quite a bizarre story to tell, even more bizarre than being shot with an arrow that had magically been healed by some ghost thing he'd called a stand.

"- So I don't know my way around Morioh," (f/n) said embarrassed, her eyes strayed far, heat rising over her cheeks.

'I don't know how to get back to Rohan's….' she thought to herself, not bothering to mention that she'd been completely lost.

Gradually his eyes fell from the sky, his attention drawn down to her as he heard the somewhat pathetic tone she had spoken with.

The dark-haired teen remained silent for a few seconds, simply watching the shame that flooded her features, and as he did, his pleasant smile lifted up more, and his eyes softened at the sight,

"You're new around here," he easily concluded. " You're not expected to know your way around so easily," he said with a comforting tone.

"I get lost around certain spots of this town, and I've lived here all my life," he added, making her sullen expression lighten.

"- If you want, I could show you around," he offered (f/n).

"Josuke..." (f/n) then started, her voice alone holding gratefulness.

"Could you please?" she asked him.

"Sure," he said in happy chirp. "-But," he then said while suddenly stopping, standing before her and raising two fingers.

"Two conditions," he said, and she nodded quickly, attentively listening.

"First, " he started, "You and me," he said while pointing the finger in between themselves, "We stick together. After all this, I have to keep an eye on you," he said with certainty, taking on the responsibility without question.

Who's to say that the person who struck her had any good intentions?

Besides, a killer was out there, and if anyone made a good target it was her.

"And two, after this, we go and see Jotaro," he said, and the name struck her.

"Kujo?" she said suddenly, seeming excited she might know who he was talking about, and that took the teen back.

"Eh?! Hold on you know him?" He said with wide eyes, and (f/n) then seemed more lively, her hand taking his as she jumped up and down happily.

"I Do!" she cheered.

'Yes. Yes Yes,' she inwardly cheered.

Jotaro was someone that Josuke seemed to respect, and it happened to be the same Jotaro Rohan knew too and had made a few calls to before.

What if they all knew each other?

"josuke! Josuke!" she then said with the same happiness, "Do you know Rohan Kishibe?!" she asked, and that had the boy's kind expression sour.

he looked like he tasted a lemon, as he huffed out a low, "Yeah."

'Well...looks like they do know each other... personally,' she thought with a little cold sweat falling down her brow, seemingly less enthusiastic.

"Hold on, Hold on," Josuke then said while his hands slipped out of her hold, the two flying to his head where he held then pressed the tips of his fingers to the sides of his skull.

"Don't tell me you're his girlfriend," he muttered with both annoyance and partial disbelief.

"- Koichi told me about you," he added as it all clicked.

"He'd said Rohan had a pretty girl staying with him, that he'd called her his girlfriend.

- Ah, no...he said that she was special to him," he then corrected himself.

The sudden knowledge had the woman stunned, and she quickly turned away, chuckling softly, too nervous to ask more.

‘Special,’ she thought to herself, her heart racing.

Special how?

Special as in he liked her... or special as in, ‘I found this person wandering in my property, and we can’t find nay records of her anywhere?’

She didn’t have the nerve to ask, so instead she moved on,

" - yeah, we can go see Jotaro!" she then said, moving past everything else the guy beside her had said.

“But then you take me back home,” She said as her own condition.

“You don’t know how to get back , huh?” the Joestar descendent guessed smugly.

Hanging her head she released a shamed, “yeah.”

“You in a rush to get home?” he then asked her, to which she shook her head.

“Why?” she asked him, curious.

" ‘ cause, I know this cool café," he informed her, pointing ahead with a grin, " It's just a street away, wanna go? " he asked, "My treat," he added just as they were cleared to cross. He’d been paying attention to her to notice the sign change, but luckily she’d been sharper.

She nodded fastly, happy to join him for a treat, sit down and maybe talk more about stands, and whatever the arrow had to do with them.

She noticed the sign for them to go, and hurriedly, she took his hand, pulling him behind her, "Come on!" she said while he stumbled to catch up after the sudden yank.

"Come on Jojo!" she said happily as he caught up with her, managing to lead for just a few seconds.

"You don't even know where you're going!" he said in a long breath.

"I know!" she said back, “ that's why I need you to hurry!" she laughed.

'I really like him,' she thought to herself, thinking that she'd made her first actual friend in Morioh.

It wasn't some meet and greet that had them gone soon after, but rather a little connection that made her optimistic about more relationships.

During their run, they'd been spotted by a frantic, green-eyed man whose steps slowly lost their hurry as he found the one person he’d been in desperate search for.

"Josuke...Higashitaka..." Rohan snarled, and he couldn't help but say the name in a way he'd only ever said curses.

"Ughh, I can't believe it!" Kishibe heard a familiar voice whine, the rasp of it unmistakable, so he had no reason to turn his neck and look.

Okuyasu walked with slumped shoulders as he plopped down on the seat next to his shorter, white-haired friend on the public bench.

"What's the matter Okuyasu?" Koichi asked with concern, and Rohan only barely eyed him, more annoyed with the fact that his conversation with his acquaintance had been interrupted.

He was curious as to whether or not Koichi had seen (f/n) anywhere, and if not then he’d been ready to ask if he could lend a hand finding her.

"- Josuke's out on a date," Nijimura explained.

"he's out with this girl,” he stated, " - They were by the park, and they were holding hands," he added lowly.

“Josuke’s got a girl and he didn’t even say anything,” he lamented.

"- It's not fair" he exclaimed while crossing his arms, pouting.

"You and Yukako are goin' out, and Josuke's got his own girl now too," he said with clear envy.

"- When am I gonna find someone?" he whined, and Rohan scoffed at the ridiculous ‘problem’, as though there weren’t more important things in life.

Teenagers and their ridiculous issues.

- Their relationships.

“Hey,” Koichi started, “You’ll find someone, I'm sure of it,” he assured his friend.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he added.

“Easy for you to say,” the dark haired male grumbled. “You have nothing to worry about,” he added enviously before breaking down,

"I just don't want to end up alone like him!" Okuyasu said with teary eyes, a finger pointed to the elder male whose nostrils flared at the attention.

“Excuse me?!” Rohan huffed. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly fine alone!" The mangaka exclaimed.

'- I don't need anyone,' he reminded himself.

“Of course you’d say that,” the dark eyed male said with pursed lips, and it took Hirose a good minute to mediate, deescalating things when he offered to help Rohan in his predicament, prompting Okuyasu to also offer his own aid.

'- I don't need anyone,' he told himself again, walking by himself, having split up with Koichi and Okuyasu to cover more ground.

'So, It doesn't bother me,' Rohan thought with a long exhale, the breath released through his nose, the air hot and burning as he’d found who he was looking for.

she was safe and sound, having the time of her life, so it seemed.

And he couldn’t stop his rueful shaking as he watched them.

'I don't care...' he added, watching as Josuke pushed his dessert plate to (f/n), offering her a bite of his slice of cake. He had his own fork in his hand, suspended as it held a little piece while he insisted she take her own share.

And (f/n) took little convincing, picking at a corner with more icing, happiness flooding her features before she pushed her own towards Josuke, doing just as he had.

. . .

"Go ahead!" she urged him, “ it's not as good as yours, but it's really spongy,” she assured him. “ oh man...next time I come I'll order that one," (f/n) said while eyeing his share longingly.

she wanted to ask for more, but she held back.

"Next time trust me!" Josuke said while grinning because he'd suggested the dessert and she’d gone with a different one instead. By then, he'd had everything on the menu, and had told her that the one he ordered was the best.

"Ok, but I take care of the bill," she said, letting him know that when they came back, it'd be on her.

"Sounds like a plan," he said, "There's also this place on the edge of town. It's run by this really nice Italian chief." he went on.

"I really recommend it because if anyone puts their heart into what they make, it's him." he praised.

Nodding, (f/n) took another piece of her desert, attentively listening.

"Next time you go... can I tag along?" the young woman asked.

" Of course!

You know, the first time I went was with my friend Okuyasu, and since then it's been our own personal getaway, " he mused. " So he'll tag along, I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly.

" I know he'd be a little hurt if he knew I went with someone else," he said sounding a little embarrassed.

He knew it sounded a little dumb, but he also knew his good friend too.

"That's great," she said without bother, "That's just someone else I get to meet, and if he's friends with you, he must be a good person." she complimented.

"I'm sure we'll get along just fine," she assured him just as the waiter brought them a specialty drink.

Both of their hands reached for it, blindly moving before they accidentally touched.

simultaneously, they jumped, immediately breaking out into a fit of little nervous chuckles.

"My bad," he said.

"Yeah, sorry," she said too.

"You can have it, " he said kindly, not wanting to argue about it. " we ordered the same drink." he reminded her. " I can wait for the next one. It should come out soon," he assured her.

" Thanks," she smiled, " If that's the case Then I'll wait till yours is out," she said calmly, "I'd feel rude just taking it, and having you watch me enjoy it alone."

if he could stop the interrupting blossoming warmth that touched his face, he would, but instead, he lived with it finding it strangely nice.

Seriously,

'What's she doing with Rohan?' he wondered, genuinely curious as to whether or not she was actually with him.

"Girlfriend?!" Josuke exclaimed, "That jerk?" he said aloud.

"Who could stand him for that long?" he asked out loud.

Silently, the elder Jojo listened, Jotaro's mouth quirking up subtly because when he'd been younger, and much more of a jerk, and even then he'd been an annoying lure for girls.

As he silently sat there, he mused over how anyone could have put up with who he was before either.

"Well, she was in his house. and it looks like she's staying there." Koichi informed them.

"He talks about her sweetly. Well, as sweet as he can be," he added.

“I think he really likes her,” the blue eyed male said softly chuckling.

"- And she's real friendly, I can see why he’d like her so much.

I wouldn't have minded staying longer and getting to know her better, but my mom had sent me on an errand, so I was a little stretched for time," he explained.

'Opposites attract,' Josuke started, ' but this much?' he added, curious.

"Josuke " Rohan exhaled like a bull ready to charge, and he even stomped his foot one good time before charging.

"Josuke Higashikata…." Rohan hissed, "You little punk," He said with the same spite.

" Josuke Higashikata..." he bellowed, "YOU GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF HER THIS INSTANT!" He called out, long legs in a quick stride towards the pair, ignoring the traffic light that beamed red.

He didn’t even care that the touch had lasted for even a second.

Both people flinched, startled at the roaring voice, and the outcry of fury was strong enough to startle a few other people on their peaceful afternoons.

Josuke froze while (f/n) had the opposite reaction, jolting from her seat, and springing up.

" Hands off Because she's mine you got that?!" Kishibe barked, the possessive claim stopping even more onlookers.

The cafe's other customers looked on with surprise too, trying to pretend they didn't notice a thing as they hid behind their menus and servings, none being convincing.

But it's not like Rohan had any mind for them now.

"R-Rohan?" (F/n) sputtered, her eyes widely peeled as she jumped out of her chair, suddenly standing pin straight.

- And it was all she could think of saying before he continued,

"And you!" he then said while shooting his sharp eyes at the young woman,

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" Kishibe spoke, letting her know how half of his day had gone, the terrible stress he'd been under making him imagine the worst.

He'd pictured that she'd been dragged away to some dark corner, scared and alone, left at the hands of some villain.

He could only consider that he'd never see her again, that he'd be stuck having to remember her as a sweet memory that had slipped through his fingers because he’d been such an idiot.

And then that idiot Okuyasu Nijimura would have a point.

He would have had too many regrets, too many nights to ponder over what he could have done to change it all.

And that apology he was holding onto and thought she would have to beat out of him ?

It had so easily slipped out the second he thought of such a scenario.

"I've been so worried," he admitted, and he felt a burning embarrassment as the words just left him before he could consider them.

" It tormented me to imagine you'd run off...hurt by my words..." he said, admitting it with a wounded chest. " I was worried before...but now... now that I find you

- it burns me to know you've been out with someone else...entertained by... HIM," he hissed at the last bit.

His hand then pressed over her waistline, his other hand grabbing hers and pulling her close, pressing her to him, “ you!” He said again with the same furiousness that hadn’t deterred.

“ You think you can just run off like that!?” He said with brewing annoyance escaping as he leaned down.

He was a mess right now, and it was all because of her.

" I was worried sick, my heart racing, my mind a haze," he said before darting his emerald eyes to the dark-haired male with them, " and then I see you're hand in hand with this...delinquent.." he spat.

'This...guy,' Jojo thought irritated.

"Dude..." Josuke said flatly, finally settling down, staring at the man with a halfhearted glare.

"We're just eating cake," he said with a low sigh, gesturing to the table.

" And If anything you should be thanking me," he added with tightly knit brows as he stood up, pressing his palms to the table with his own frustration.

" I had to use my Crazy diamond to heal her," he let the other man know.

"Heal her?" Rohan suddenly said with wide eyes, Looking down at (f/n) with worry, questioning her.

Her eyes strayed, "There was an arrow" she recalled before one of her hands ghosted over her chest, above where the sharp end had escaped her.

Rohan shifted, holding her close again before the hand that held hers let go, moving to grip her chin, holding it sweetly so he could properly gaze at her.

She suddenly melted, and Rohan noticed it, his face becoming awfully mellowed into a tender expression that showed he was terribly lovesick.

“ You’re okay now, right?” he asked (f/n), his tone almost too kind to sound like it could ever come from him, it almost made Josuke gag.

She nodded, entranced by his eyes as she breathed out a soft, “ yes.”

“I’m glad...” he voiced, the words breathed out before he leaned down, his eyes slowly closing as he met her in a little kiss, one that was short lived, yet blissful.

Meanwhile, her arms both found a path that started at his chest and ended behind his neck,

“Rohan, “ she then asked, batting her eyes at him, still surprised, “- you...you care?” she asked him, her heart fluttering.

It seemed that the press was not enough for her and he shook his head,

“Of course I do you silly girl. Of course I care... “ he said.

Had she not listened to word he said? Could she not see what a mess he was?

Did she not feel the envy that he’d sweated at thinking she was with someone else?

“ (f/n), I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lost you,” he confessed.

116 notes · View notes

kkikyoko · 1 year

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The new song Taylor was featured on gives off Rohan x reader vibes and I am FOR it

The love story with Rohan has to involve an angsty start cause I mean he’s very egotistical, it’s going to take some time for him to get used to taking your feelings into account everyday (it’s okay tho cause we’ll get there😚)

So you gotta worm your way into his heart which then he’ll push you away but then he realizes he’s sad without you but then you’re too nervous about going into a relationship with him again cause of how hurt you were for majority of it the first time so then Rohan has to really show you that hes there for you 100%🥹

And I think the Alcott really encapsulates this with how the singers sing of their fragile but loving relationship

#if y’all have any song recs for Rohan I’d love to hear them #:3 #the Swiftie in me had to let this out #diamond is unbreakable #jjba #rohan kishibe #rohan x reader #rohan x you #Spotify #Rohan

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sweetdreamlandstuff · 1 year

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JJBA men thinking of you while masturbating

NSFW / Minors don't interact / 18+

Characters: Jotaro Kujo / Bruno Bucciaratti / Josuke Higashikata / Rohan Kishibe / Giorno Giovanna x female reader

Warnings: male masturbation, fantasies about sex (blowjobs, penetrative sex), slight exhibitionism, voyeurism (Josuke’s part)

Notes: All underage characters aged up of course. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro is used to being the one pined over, the one admired, turning people’s heads, the constant touch of careful hands, being adored for his sheer height and width.

What he isn’t used to, however, is being the admirer.

Since he’s laid his eyes on you, he got to know the feeling. He didn’t even realize it at first. Of course, he wants to study with you, and naturally, he wants your opinion on the latest seminar paper he has written, certainly, he wants to help you with your work. You’re his fellow student, his friend.

But when Jotaro used his stand to stop the time for just a few seconds, to freeze the sweet smile on your face as you looked at him, eyes bright and glowing, to just observe you longer like this, he realized that maybe, you’re not just his friend. Maybe, you mean more to him.

And as he sits in the library now, unable to focus on his laptop screen in front of him, he turns his head to look at you. And he’s sure; you’re not just his friend.

He can see the subtle shadow under your eyes, the way your eyelids seem too heavy, and your disheveled hair. Something tears at his very heart when he gazes at you.

You turn your head, shooting him a tired, nonetheless, sweet smile.

“Could you look at this?” You ask him, pointing at your laptop.

Jotaro nods, scooting closer to you with his chair.

The lack of proximity makes it hard for him to concentrate on the words before him, let alone your voice as you try to explain your work. He hums here and there, his eyes taking in the words, his brain not comprehending the meaning.

He can smell your scent, your subtle and sweet perfume. He feels your heat on his skin. Jotaro slightly turns his head. You’re so close, he can see every pore of your skin, your lashes, the distinct color of your eyes, and the gentle sweep of your nose. He swallows hard against the dryness of his mouth.

You turn your head, slightly rising your eyebrows, your gaze locking with his. His gaze drops to your glistening lips, his desire for you flaring hot in his chest. His head dips forward automatically, every cell of his urging him to lock his lips with yours.

His chair nearly falls over as he stands up abruptly.

“What are you doing?” You ask perplexed.

Jotaro ignores you. He can’t face you like this.

The library is almost vacant. He moves along the high shelves until his breathing has normalized a bit.

He leans against one of the shelves, trying desperately to ignore the way his blood runs hotly through his veins, the way it rushes down his body.

It’s palpable, the way he longs for you, the way he yearns to touch you. His half-hardened dick twitches in his pants at the thought of it.

He buries his face in his hands, embarrassed at his own weakness. Memories of you flood his mind; your shining lips, your bright eyes, your scent.

His head falls back against the books on the shelf, his hands dangling feebly on his side. Jotaro can’t seem to get ahold of himself. His mind is racing, he sees you, putting up your hair, exposing your slender neck, he sees you, sitting next to him, your short dress riding up your thighs.

It seems like the rational part of his brain stopped functioning. He’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, so caught up with thinking of you, until a little sigh drips from his lips.

He looks down, seeing his dick straining noticeably against his pants, his hand palming him through his trousers.

His face flushes hot, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. No one is around, he assures himself once more.

It has no use stopping now.

Hurriedly, he tugs down his pants and boxers. His cock springs free, right into his grip. He hisses at the drag of his palm along his dick. It feels so good. The slight possibility of getting caught only heightens his lust.

He watches his fist drag along his length, taking in the bead of pre-cum dropping along his shaft, easing the glide of his hand.

He thinks about your thighs again, how soft they would feel as he’d let his large hands smooth along them, and what he would find when you spread them for him.

His head tips back against the shelf, his eyes fluttering shut as he slightly increases his pace. He imagines your glistening pussy, dripping for him. He’d sink his long, thick fingers into you, curling and scissoring them until he has you whimpering and whining, begging for him to finally fuck you.

Jotaro can practically see your expression; your doe-eyes peering at him, your lips parted, your body trembling. A low groan rips past his chest, his fist squeezing his cock just a little tighter.

He pictures you, sitting atop of him, your delicate hands pressing against his chest as you lower yourself on his dick, slowly taking him in, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he fills you up completely. He would watch your pretty tits bouncing with every move of yours, and the beautiful, lust-drunk expression on your face.

His hips stutter forward into his fist as he imagines rutting into you, holding your hips so tightly as he fucks up into you. He can practically hear your moans, your sweet, whiny whimpers, and the way his skin slaps against yours.

Jotaro increases the pace of his hand, concentrating on his sensitive tip, a strained gasp falling from his parted lips.

He imagines you cumming, his name drops from your lips, drawn out into a delirious moan. He can almost feel it; the way your pussy would spasm around his throbbing dick, practically urging him to spill his seed into you.

A string of curses leave his lips, his hips stuttering into his hand once more before he cums. He jerks through his orgasm, a spurt of cum dripping down his dick, onto his hand, with each hurried stroke. He thinks about rolling his hips into you, letting your pussy milk him dry as a mess of your slick and his cum runs down your thighs.

He shallowly thrusts into his fist until he’s hissing from overstimulation. His heavy eyes flutter open, his heart racing in his heaving chest as his gaze drops.

A strained sigh drops from his lips as he takes in his messy hand holding his weeping length. Slowly, he comes back down to earth, realizing what he’s just done.

His head snaps in the direction where you’re probably sitting, hopefully, still staring at your laptop screen. And Jotaro just stands here, a few meters away, his released emotions for you tainting his hand.

Bruno Bucciaratti

It’s obvious that you’re new on the job. Bruno doesn’t notice this solely because he’s a regular at the restaurant and hasn’t seen you before.

Rather, it is the way you fail to see the subtle signs the guests give you, asking for the check or mixing up orders one too many times.

You’re the new waitress. And until now you don’t do a great job.

It’s obvious that you’re stressed, evident from the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead and the way your cheeks glow. A wave of sympathy washes over Bucciaratti as he watches you rush around the restaurant. And he feels something more, a little tug in his chest because you just look so unbelievably cute while doing that.

He’s not even mad that he already had to wait so long for you to finally bring him his wine. Because when you do, he can look at you from up close, observing your delicate fingers place the wine glass on his table, watching the loose strands of hair hanging into your face.

And when he thanks you, the smile you give him makes the minutes worth the wait.

His eyes hang onto your body as he watches you retreat. He’s glad that his fellow gang members aren’t here right now because they surely would tease him for being a pervert or something. But he just can’t help himself, his eyes greedily glide along your silhouette.

Bruno takes a sip of his wine, trying to cool down the hotness rushing through his body.

He orders his second glass and he’s not sure if he just flatters himself, but he’s pretty sure that you pay particular attention to him. Or maybe he’s just deluding himself.

When you walk towards him, his eyes cling to your waist and the way your trousers hug you so right. You look amazing; even when you’re stressed.

He breathes in your scent when you lean closer to him, basking in the feeling of your warmth.

The clang of the glass rudely rips him out of his thoughts.

Seems like you’re not only incredibly gorgeous but also incredibly clumsy.

The wine leaks over the table, staining the white tablecloth red and spilling all over his pants.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” The panic in your voice is palpable.

“Don’t worry,” he tries to soothe you.

He watches your eyes nervously flickering over the mess you made before they lock with his.

You look at him with so much gratitude because he doesn’t make a big scene. His heart flutters in his chest.

You quickly take ahold of a napkin, dabbing it on his trousers, trying to let the fabric soak up the liquid.

You’re so close, bending down, granting him an intimate look right on your cleavage. Bruno swallows hard, reluctantly averting his gaze.

He can barely hear you muttering your apologies. He just tries to stay calm, to think of anything other than your hand smoothing along his thigh, rubbing over his stained trousers.

The motion just makes a flood of sinful associations enter his mind. He can practically feel his face growing hot.

Abruptly he gets up. You look at him startled.

“Sorry did I-“

“I’m just going to clean myself up, no worries really,” he adds, unable to bear the way you gaze at him.

The stain is big, bright red, clearly noticeable on his white trousers. The soap and water he applies have no use in helping it whatsoever.

He doesn’t even care, his mind is somewhere else anyway.

Bruno just can’t get over the way you looked up at him, the lack of proximity you two found yourself in, and the way you were practically kneeling in front of him. He can only think about you doing other things in that position.

A long sigh escapes his mouth. He surrenders, stopping to take care of his stain. His head falls against the closed bathroom door and he allows himself to let his desires take hold of his body and mind.

His dick strains hard against his pants as he sees you in front of him again, kneeling, with those doe eyes peering up at him.

He frees his cock from the confinement of his pants, wrapping his hand tightly around his girth. Bruno hisses quietly, dragging his hand along his throbbing length, imagining it is your hand wrapped around him instead.

He visualizes your hand pumping into his swollen head, the way his cock would look so big in comparison. A low gasp drops from his lips as a bead of pre-cum drips down his shaft, easing the glide of his eager hand.

His head tips back against the door, thinking about you kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as your delicate hand strokes his cock.

The pace of his hurried hand increases, as he envisions you taking him into your mouth, softly sucking on his flushed tip, your eyes peering up at him obediently. He bites back a low whine.

He sees your beautiful face in front of him; your glowing face, your starry eyes, as you take all of him inside of your pretty mouth. His hands would thread through your hair, holding you, feeling the restriction of your tight throat. And then you would follow his guidance, bobbing your head just how he likes it.

Bruno groans quietly. “Just like that,” he mutters, pumping hurriedly into his swollen head.

He can clearly see you in his mind, those unbelievable eyes staring up at him, tears spilling over as he ruts into the wet, soft heat of your mouth. His hips involuntarily rut forward into his fist.

A low whine slips past his lips, which he has no control over. He practically feels your swollen lips wrapped around him.

His hips stutter forward into his hands, two, three times before he tips over the edge. His orgasm washes over him, his thighs tensing, breathing erratic.

Bucciaratti jerks through his orgasm, panting hard, imagining his dick pulsing in your mouth, his cum landing on your awaiting tongue as you swallow everything that he gives you.

Then he’d pull out, letting his hot spurts of cum land on your beautiful face, mixing in with your spit, dripping down your chin, your cheeks. He groans desperately, seeing your messy face, your lips parted, opening your mouth eagerly for him, glassy eyes staring up at him obediently as he paints your face white.

His fist pumps into his swollen tip until he hisses from the overstimulation. Only then he slowly opens his eyes, taking in his soiled hand.

This mess may compete with the one you spilled on his table.

Josuke Higashikata

Sometimes Josuke really has to wonder if you do it on purpose. Can you really be that unaware of your surroundings, this clueless?

It isn’t the first time he has watched you like this. Far from it actually.

Since you’ve moved into the house right next to his, you made a habit of getting undressed, late in the evening or night, your light illuminating the room, leaving little room for imagination.

You haven’t invested in any kind of curtains yet and your lucky neighbor hopes you never will.

It has kind of become a habit of his, watching you through his dark windows, careful that you don’t notice him. And you never do.

Josuke observes how you lose your sweater first, followed by the top you were wearing underneath. He sucks in a little breath when he notices that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. He can clearly see the outline of your bare breast, the way they softly jiggle as you throw the top somewhere.

Blood rushes down his body as his eyes greedily glide along your exposed upper body, your beautiful tits, your soft tummy, and your waist. He swallows against the dryness of his mouth, desperately hoping that one day he could be the one undressing you.

You open your jeans now, letting them plummet on the floor before stepping out of them. You bent over, picking them up to fold them away.

Fortunately for him, this gives him a perfect view of your ass. He can see your pussy through your panties, squished between those perfect asscheeks.

His heart beats violently against this ribcage, his blood running hot. He can feel it; the twitching of his hardened cock.

What he would give to bend you over like this himself, to pull those panties to the side. Josuke pulls down his pants, freeing his throbbing cock, wrapping his hand around his girth, because now his favorite part of your little routine comes; the instant he replays in his mind day and night.

You pull down your panties, carelessly tossing them on the floor, leaving your body completely bare. You observe your own reflection in the large mirror hanging on your wall. You let your fingers run through your hair, before they glide along your sides, your gaze following them, sliding along your body.

Josuke strokes his dick, his hungry eyes gliding along your silhouette, leaving no part unseen. You’re enticing. He could watch you like this forever.

But he can’t. You get your kimono, tieing it around your waist as you step out of the room, switching off the light.

Josuke sighs. He closes his eyes, still seeing your body in front of him.

He imagines his large hands gliding along your sides, feeling your soft skin under his, grabbing, kneading your flesh. He would cup your breasts, letting his thumbs circle your nipples until they harden under his touch.

What he would give to gaze deep into your eyes, pressing kisses along your throat, further down, sucking your nipples, hearing your voice bleeding into a soft moan.

His hand increases his pace as he imagines dropping to his knees, smoothing his palms along your hips, grabbing your ass.

A low whine rips past his chest as he thinks about your pretty pussy, right in front of his face.

He would worship you, his eager lips pressing feathery kisses onto your plush thighs before letting himself allow a taste of you. He just knows you would taste so good, letting his tongue glide along your folds, teasingly, before his tongue would draw tight circles on your sensitive clit.

Josuke imagines you bending in front of him, facing your floor-length mirror, as he slowly sinks into your sloppy pussy.

He would watch you, your reflection, the way your expression would change with each of his slow, deep thrusts, your face glowing as you watch yourself getting fucked by him. He knows you like to watch yourself.

He hurriedly pumps into his swollen tip, a bead of pre-cum rolling down his length, easing the glide of his eager hand.

Josuke can practically hear your voice, your whines, and the depraved sounds of pleasure, skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy as you drip all over him. He would watch his large, slick cock split you open, again and again until he has your whole body trembling.

He imagines it's your pussy wrapped so tightly around his twitching cock, not his own hand, as he fucks into his fist. His hips involuntarily stutter forward into his hand before he tips over the edge.

He groans breathlessly, a string of curses leaving his lips as he jerks himself through his orgasm. His hot cum stains his hand, dripping down his shaft as he shallowly thrusts into his fist, riding out his high. He lets go of himself, panting as he comes down from his high.

Josuke will be there the next evening as well, waiting for you to give him his show.

Rohan Kishibe

Rohan observes you, he practically reads your face like a book - and this without the help of Heaven’s Door.

He hates you for your obvious expression. He really does.

You skim through his latest proposal for his manga, your delicate hands turning page after page as his green eyes hang onto your every expression.

You're strict with him and honest. Most people would probably appreciate it if their manga editor possessed such qualities. Rohan doesn’t. He hates getting told what to do. He knows he’s good. Everyone knows this. Everyone should.

Only you don’t seem to, often having suggestions or comments. He pretends like these aren’t helpful. He doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

Just like now, as you propose some suggestions, pointing out some inconsistencies in the story, he just listens, his eyes gazing into yours.

“How very helpful of you, I can really count on you, my love,” he hums, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bite back a smile, standing up from the seat behind your desk, and making your way to him. You stand behind him now, your hands resting on his shoulders. His muscle tense under your touch. You dip down, letting your hands glide along his chest, playfully so.

Rohan feels your breath on his neck and your heat on his skin, his nose filling up with your scent.

“Oh, you know me, always at your service,” you breathe into his ear before you retreat.

He composes himself, hurriedly standing up as well, saying goodbye to you as usual. He sees a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He fully knows, that you just enjoyed baffling him. And he can’t seem to have anything to say, that would imply that he wasn’t.

The moment resurfaces in his mind throughout the remaining day.

He doesn’t know why meeting you always aggravates him so much. But this time you really were too much.

Late at night, when he’s lying in his bed, he really can’t seem to shake the memory of him. It’s like he can still feel your hot breath on his neck, your soft, inviting voice. He practically feels your hands smoothing along his chest.

Rohan desperately tries to ignore the way his dick twitches in his boxers. He has to tell himself that he doesn’t like you. Not one bit. Not at all. He tosses and turns, throwing his blanket away, and getting up to get himself some water.

It doesn’t help. He sits at the edge of his bed, looking down at his hardened cock showing through his boxers.

Every minute he doesn’t do anything, his longing for pleasure, for release, seems to heighten until he’s unable to hold back anymore.

Rohan tugs down his boxers, letting his cock spring into his grip. The first, slow drag of his palm along his length elicits him a gasp of relief. He lowers his gaze, watching as he drags his fist up and down his cock.

His mind is somewhere entirely else.

He thinks about you. About your hands on his chest, about your scent, about your sweet, honeyed voice.

He imagines you’re here in the room with him, that it was your hand that is dragging along his weeping length.

Rohan envisions you kneeling in front of him, your eyes peering up at him curiously before you wrap your plush lips around him. You’d look so good with hollowed cheeks and obedient eyes, bobbing your head.

“Just like that,” he mumbles. His grip grew a little tighter with each pump of his hand.

He visualizes his hand threading through your hair, pushing you to take more of him. He yearns to see tears spill from your eyes, he wants you to gag on his cock.

“Nothing to say now, huh?” He mumbles deliriously, lost in his fantasy.

He pretends it's your mouth and throat he’s fucking into, not his own hand. A breathless moan pulled from his chest, and another bead of pre-cum dripped down his cock to ease the glide of his hurried hand.

He can feel his impending orgasm, the way the knot in his stomach is twisting tighter and tighter with each harsh stroke of his hand.

A desperate groan falls from his mouth when he imagines your glassy eyes peering up at him. He envisions slipping his cock out of your mouth, and how you would loll out your tongue for him.

“You want that? Want me to cum all over that pretty face of yours, huh?” His voice is breathless, strained.

A low whine rips past his chest as he practically hears your whiny, desperate “Yes.”

He cums, a drawn-out moan of your name filling up the room, as his orgasm washes over him. His thighs tremble, his abdomen tensing as his hot cum paints his hand white.

He visualizes his spurts of cum landing on your tongue, dripping down your chin and lips, mixing in with your spit, imagining you swallowing, eagerly taking all that he gives you.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his chest heaving with his heavy pants.

Slowly he comes back into reality as his cock softens in his hand. His dick falls heavy against his thigh, as he observes the mess he made.

Rohan swallows, muttering to himself that he really does find you annoying. But he isn’t so sure if he can still believe this now.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno leans against the rough bark of the tall birch, his long legs spread on the grass. He’s letting his eye wander, observing people walking their dogs, kids playing tag, and friend groups sitting in a circle on the green grass, beer in hand.

It fulfills him with contentment, with a certain tranquility when he sees all these people that are so happy, so careless, seeming so innocent and pure. He often comes here, clearing his mind, forgetting about all his duties and stress.

And as his gaze moves from one place to another he discovers you. As his eyes rest on you, he wonders how he could’ve been caught up in observing anything other. And now that he has seen you, how could he look away?

You’re sitting on a bench not far from him, a book in your delicate hands. Hair falls into your face, softly swaying in the breeze. He notices the corners of your eyes crinkling as you try to make out the sentences in the bright sunlight.

After a few minutes, it seems like you have given up, placing the book next to you on the bench. Your eyes fall close, soaking up the sun.

And Giorno just watches you; angling your face towards the sun, discarded book next to you, the soft breeze playing with your hair.

He doesn’t know why he can’t seem to tear his eyes away. It calms him in a way that is hard to describe, to see you comfortable in your skin, with no trace of stress or worry painted on your face, falling into the moment, appreciating it. It touches something deep within himself.

Giorno is mostly surrounded by hard, harsh people. Men that have killed, and will do so again.

It’s refreshing to look at you, it makes his skin feel warmer than the sun shining upon it.

He doesn’t know how to approach you, he’s not even sure if he should. He picks up a blade of grass, letting his stand metamorphose it into a butterfly.

The little insect reels through the air, heading for you.

You don’t notice it until it lands on the tip of your nose. Your eyes open languidly. They grow wider as they take in the butterfly right before them.

It takes off again, fluttering a few centimeters in front of your face. Giorno watches you laugh out of surprise, your smile shining brighter than the afternoon sun.

You stretch out your hand, the butterfly landing on your finger, sitting still. The wonder in your eyes as you observe it from up close makes his heart flutter, just like the butterfly’s wings. He’s entranced, his eyes hanging onto you until you go.

And when he is back in his home, after talking to some of his subordinates, after feeling the stress and his responsibility resting on his shoulders anew he wishes he could see you. To let his gaze travel along your features, to feel this tenderness washing over himself again.

He leans back in his chair behind his desk, picturing you. How your eyes widened in surprise upon gazing at the butterfly, how your delicate hand waved through the air, how your skin glowed in the sun.

Giorno can’t help wondering how soft your skin would feel against his lips, imagining kissing your shut eyes, pressing feathery kisses onto every centimeter of your face until his ears pick up your soft giggles. He would pull away, his nose nearly touching yours, his hands cradling your cheeks, watching the creases at the corner of your eyes deepening.

This is harmless. This is okay.

But his mind can’t stop running. He can’t stop his thoughts from wandering, from imagining himself pressing tender kisses along your jaw, your throat, along your breasts.

He thinks about taking your nipple into his mouth, softly sucking, noticing your breath deepening, his other hand kneading your other breast.

Giorno gulps, his blood rushing down his body. He imagines moving further down, a trail of kisses along your waist, your stomach, along your thighs.

His breath hitches, feeling his dick straining against his pants. He wonders how your pussy would look, how sweet you would taste, as his tongue laps at your folds.

His chest burns with desire, his cheeks hot as he just can’t shake these thoughts off.

Reluctantly, he gives in to his urges. He tugs down his pants and boxers, his hand wrapping around his hardened cock.

His head rests against his chair. His eyes drifted shut, to visualize you more clearly. He sees you in front of him, your unbelievable eyes staring up at him, slightly widening as he sinks into your wet pussy, his cock being encompassed by your warm, tight walls. A sigh drops from his lips.

His thumb swipes across his slit, collecting the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there. Slowly, he starts to drag his hand along his length, pumping into his swollen tip, before repeating the gesture. With each pass, his grip grows a little bit tighter, and his fantasies a little dirtier.

He imagines it's your pussy that is wrapped so tightly around his cock, not his own hand. He pictures your every expression, your eyes darkening, your cheeks burning, your plush lips dropping open, releasing sweet moans and whimpers.

Giorno wants to see you tremble, wants to see you fall apart underneath him, because of him. He mimics the slow and deliberate thrust with his hand, before increasing his pace. A drawn out, breathless moan escapes his parted lips.

He yearns to see the surprised look in your eyes, the little frown on your face, as he throws your legs over his shoulders, thrusting even deeper into you.

He would fuck you until you quiver underneath him, until your voice is hoarse until you can’t see straight, until you’re a mess, gushing all over his cock. He would fuck you until you’re satisfied.

Only then he’ll let himself succumb. A groan rips past his heaving chest as he imagines your pussy clenching down on him greedily, urging him to spill every drop of his hot cum deep within you.

With that thought in his mind, with him envisioning your sloppy pussy fluttering around his dick, he cums. A groan drops from his lips, his fist squeezing a little tighter, concentrating on his swollen tip as his orgasm washes over him.

He envisions himself buried deep inside of you, his cock throbbing with each rope of hot cum he fills you up with.

Shallowly he rides out his high, his body twitching helplessly as his ropes of creamy cum drip down his thick shaft and onto his hand, imagining your pussy milking him dry.

He’s breathless, his chest heaving with pants, as he lets go of himself. His gaze drops onto his soiled hand.

Giorno wonders how such a sweet and tender thing as you could lead him to do such lascivious things.

©sweetdreamlandstuff

#jjba smut #jjba fanfic #jojo smut #jotaro smut #jotaro x reader #jotaro x you #bruno bucellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno smut #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno smut #giorno x reader #josuke smut #josuke x you #josuke x reader #rohan x reader #rohan smut

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sotwk · 11 months

Text

Taken (Eomer x femReader )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end.

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame.

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped.

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed.

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago.

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow.

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that.

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety.

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.”

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.”

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury.

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor.

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you."

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you.

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund.

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!"

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses.

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms.

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought.

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever.

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat.

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him.

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear.

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist.

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in.

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope.

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

Tag list: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @guardianofrivendell @quickslvxr @asianbutnotjapanese @heranintomyknife23times @entishramblings

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#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #valentine event 2023 #follower request

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kiritella · 5 months

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You know, I recognize that I have second lead syndrome, but seriously, it is getting out of hand.

Eomer of Rohan is not even the second lead, or the third, or the fourth, like...there are 9 REALLY great guys, and then I'm like...

"No, I want that odd ball. Gimmie the weirdo horse man. I want that one."

ugh.

#ellatalks #lord of the rings #lotr #eomer of rohan #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer x lothiriel #emoer x you #eomer x y/n #tolkien #the lord of the rings #tlotr #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #tlotr x reader

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essenceofarda · 2 months

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Commission for @musing-and-music, gifted to @torchwood-99 !

‘Lady Eowyn,’ he said at last, unable to justify leaving one who was weeping, without first trying to offer some comfort. Her head jerked up, confirming what Faramir suspected. She sprung to her feet, and her hand went straight to the hilt of her sword. Faramir held his hands up, and stayed like that, until the lady’s breathing steadied. - "The Lady's Hand" by TeamGwenee/Torchwood-99 Fic Summary: After one escapade too many, Theoden and Eomer decide it's time for Eowyn to wed. (post canon au)

This was such a delight to make (and for a great fic too!) !! Thank you to Musing-and-Music for commissioning me!! Everyone go check out this fic and give it some love <3

More info about my commissions here :)

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #tolkien fanart #lotr fanart #lord of the rings fanart #lotr au #eowyn x faramir #faramir x eowyn #eowyn of rohan #faramir/eowyn #faramir #my art #not my writing #this was SO delightful to work on :D #Thank you thank you thank you to musing-and-music for commissioning me!!

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

Text

Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

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rougepancake · 8 months

Text

QUIET DOWN!!

FT. Rohan Kishibe

WARNINGS: Sexually explicit content under cut. Minors and ageless blogs dni. Bratty sub Rohan who turns into needy sub Rohan. Gn reader, teasing, begging, using Rohan’s headband as a blindfold. Kind of weird cutoff bc I got lazy 😅

“What more do you want from me?” Rohan grumbled, shooting you a glare as you moved to push him down onto the bed. “Don’t you think I’ve been a ‘good boy’?” He was clearly mocking you, but you didn’t care.

You had more important things to worry about.

“When are you ever a good boy, Roh?” You pulled out a pair of handcuffs out from god knows where and grabbed ahold of his wrist. Your goal was to chain him up and make him cry, mainly because he had been such a dick to you earlier while you were out.

Silence met your question, and you knew that your actions had intrigued him. There were times that he let you dominate him, and this was one of them, so he sat back and let you take control.

Which he began to regret as soon as you pulled his headband over his eyes.

“Hey now, be reasonable Y/n,” his voice quivered in anticipation, the thought of him not knowing what you’d do to him arousing him more than it should’ve.

“I’m not going to have a pain in the ass such as yourself tell me what to do, so hush it,” you snapped at him, your hands trailing down his chest slowly as you spoke. You couldn’t help but admire how slutty he looked in that crop top.

Without warning, you pulled his headband down over his eyes, rendering him helpless. He gasped in response.

“Don’t worry, Rohan. If you’re a good little mangaka, I just might remove it,” you whispered as your hand palmed his clothed erection. His hips bucked upwards almost instantly, a quiet ‘please’ falling from his lips.

Wow. That was easy.

“Speak up.” You applied more pressure, distracting him from your other hand slipping underneath his crop top once again. Experimentally, you pinched one of his nipples, amused by his whiny reaction.

“P-Please-“ he panted, gritting his teeth. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier-! A-Ah- please fuck me-!” His words were rushed out of his mouth, and they hardly made any sense. Thankfully, you understand Rohan well enough to know what he wants.

“If you say so,” you smirked, slowly removing your hand so that you could free his strained cock.

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: not self-harm scars, but there are mentions of war/battle and violence, talks of being a prisoner of war

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

Legolas’ is here.

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲: You’ve been in many battles, fights and wars. And your s/o is seeing your scars for the first time.

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

・It was late evening, both of you had had your supper, but even after you had finished eating, you were still sitting at the oak table

・Unwinding, you were both relaxing after a big day

・Aragorn was smoking pipeweed, and you were happy with your wine

・The snow was falling outside and you were both rugged up

・The conversation from the day had found its way into your chambers

・Although there was no threat of war, it was still spoken about since Aragorn was the ruler

・He was no stranger to seeing the horrors of war, it was drastically different when he saw the effects of it on your body

・He was devastated.

・His gruff voice asked about what you had been through

・Aragorn filling both your cups in celebration of surviving

・Though neither of you were drunk, the affect of the drink was starting to make you both loosen up

“Do you regret them?” Aragorn said suddenly, breaking the impregnated silence

“I don’t.” You said after a while, insinuating that you didn’t see your scars as a negative thing

It was quiet for a while. But not the type of silence that was awkward. Nothing with Aragorn felt awkward, nothing.

After taking another sip from your cup, you asked him the same, “Do you?”

“For some...I do.”

・He said it without looking in your eyes

・And he took a long puff of his pipe. After blowing the smoke from his mouth, he reached across the table and took ahold of your hand

“I just want you to know. I love you.”

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

・She hadn’t been in many battles herself, so seeing your scars took her breath away

・Many long slices that had healed badly, some healed well

・All depending on how many healers had been there during the fights

・Eowyn’s long hair travelled down her back in a braid that you had done earlier

・Making it so her hair didn’t fall in her face as she trained

“That looks like it hurt,” she said absentmindedly, reaching out to stroke the reddish coloured scar.

Without meaning to, you laughed and nodded enthusiastically. “It bloody did.”

・Her heart broke for you

・But she laughed lightly at your response

・You were both standing, staring out the window which overlooked the village below

・Her hand snaked down to yours and squeezed

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, entwining her fingers, still looking out the window

“Thank you, but I did what I had to do. And this is what came of it.”

・She turned to you then, and leant her forehead against yours

“I won’t let you get hurt again.”

“And I you.”

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

・Sighed when he saw them, hanging his head in defeat. “I wish you never had to go through that.”

You smiled at him, “No other choice, my lord.”

・Although you meant the name as a joke, a teasing nickname, he took it in a different way -

・Like he could have somehow stopped this from happening. That he had the power to stop it.

・He was very upset

・And went to sit by himself for a bit

・You didn’t go after him; sometimes people just need time to process their feelings. In other words - to feel their emotions...and work through them

・When he came back, Boromir got on both of his knees and held your hand against his face.

・Shocked, you let him lead the situation

“Y/n, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

・Your shock didn’t waver, it didn’t falter - only grew

“Boromir, why would you ask for my forgiveness?” You knelt as well, so you were on the same level.

“Because your family has lived in my kingdom for so long. Every decision my forefathers have made led you to endure this. They are to blame, and therefore, I am to blame.”

・Tears welled in both of your eyes and he stroked his thumb against your cheek

“I will not forgive you. Because there is no need for you to apologise. I know you will be a just ruler, but I will not have you apologise for my decisions.”

・Kneeling, he took you in his arms and hugged you fiercely. His hand firmly holding your head to his chest.

𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧

・Her gentle voice soothes you, it was the end of another battle and she was healing your wounds

・As your partner, she tended to you without breaks. You had your own rooms that she took you to, getting help from the other’s to move you to the bed

・She was with you day and night

・So she saw your scars when you were unconscious and her heart broke from what she saw

・Arwen never wanted you to go through the hateful thing that was war. And seeing the results of that on your skin made her want to kill every person who did that to you

・When you finally awoke, she was asleep next to you

・But the moment you stirred, she jumped up and hurried to your side

“My love, how do you feel?”

“...sore,” you said in a croaky mumble

・She smiled, going to get you some salve and drink that would mull the pain

・When you realised you were topless, you deflated

・And when she came back, you stared at her, trying to see if anything had changed in her since seeing your scars

・When you were about to talk, she beat you to it

“Yes, I’ve seen them. And I’m sorry you went through that.”

・You were glad she spoke, because you still didn’t have the strength to explain

・It was like Arwen could sense it; or maybe she just understood beings better than most. Because she didn’t push for it, she didn’t ask you too many questions.

“I can do my best to fade them as well, if you wish.”

・It took you a while to decide, but at the end of it. You decided against it.

“They’re apart of my story.”

・And again, she understood.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫 (this is where talks of being a prisoner of war is)

・You were both up late talking about life and the conversation went to war and what you had both experienced

・A deep conversation that you both didn’t intend on having

・It was late night, with the stars above you, a fire in front of you and two pales of ale next to you

・Faramir didn’t mean for the conversation to go to a darker place

・But you were in the beginnings of your courtship and you wanted to learn more about each other

・It wasn’t until you took off your large jacket and left on your undershirt that he noticed the raised slices on your skin

・He took a sharp intake of breath, seeing your arms alone...it broke his heart to see just how hard you had fought for what you believe in

・Faramir didn’t know how to bring it up, but you knew what he was talking about

・You had been a prisoner of war, and had been tortured for information...but still held strong. They got nothing out of you but a bunch of spitting and swears

・It was Aragorn who had found you, and both you and Faramir were eternally grateful

・But Faramir hadn’t seen how bad the orcs had hurt you

・Their brutality was obvious and it took everything in Faramir not to scream out in agony and hatred

・You, who he loved so much. Who made him feel whole, who made him feel like the world made sense, who gave him a purpose - a will to live

・The fact that someone had hurt you so badly... he wished he could return the favour a hundred times over

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