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iwritefandomimagines · 11 months

Text

SET-UP — GREG HOUSE

masterlist

pairing: greg house x f!reader

description: wilson knew house had the hots for you, because every time you visited to have lunch with your best friend he seemed to make an appearance. so, after growing increasingly fed up of just watching his two best friends pine, he decides to do something about it.

warnings: swearing, maybe a tiny bit ooc for house at some points but i got a bit of writers block at one point and couldn’t get the flow so i hope it’s ok! other than that, not much else!

author’s note: i kinda wanna write some wilson imagines after this too hehe so if you have wilson requests please let me know ! i hope you enjoy <3

“Y/N’s coming for lunch today,” Wilson hummed, pulling his lips into a thin line to prevent the smirk threatening to grace them, “Around 1:15, I believe.”

House’s head snapped up from the pile of papers in his hands, but he tried to make it look like he was just astounded by something he’d read and not pleased he may get a chance to see you today.

“And you’re telling me about your lunch date, why?”

Wilson scoffed, “Because for someone who likes to joke that I was having an affair with her, you also seem very fond of flirting with her every chance you get.”

House rolled his eyes, waving his hand in the air dismissively, “Jealous, much? If anything it’s your mistress that’s taken a liking to me, I’d say.”

He wasn’t wrong — your lunchtime visits got more and more frequent once House had started imposing himself on your lunches.

Wilson was your best friend, and since you’d only just moved back to the area after a hell of a break-up and you worked nearby, you’d made a habit of coming to grab lunch with him.

You were both so perpetually busy of late that you rarely saw each other in your free time, so your lunch meet-ups were the perfect way to stay caught up… And to ogle at his other best friend as he brooded away in the corner.

“Sure, that’s why you’re always conveniently free at lunch when she’s visiting,” Wilson replied, shaking his head at him.

House pressed his hand to his chest and feigned a gasp, “Wow, so serendipitous. Maybe we are meant to be! I’d better go and buy a ring!”

It was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes now, knowing that House wasn’t going to budge.

And that was when his plan was concocted.

Two hours later, at just around 1:20, House ambled past the cafeteria pretending not to be scanning the room for his best friend and you.

When he turned to leave, not spotting either of you and assuming plans had change, he collided with you and your hands flew to his chest as you steadied yourself in panic.

“Oh Greg! I’m so sorry,” you flushed crimson as he chuckled, leaning on his cane but placing one hand on your waist to help steady you too, “I was about to leave because James wasn’t here still and I assumed he was still busy with a patient.”

You were well aware of how his hand lingered on your waist still, and yours was still flush against his chest as you watched each other carefully.

“Strange. He seemed very excited about lunch today and he’s never la— ah, I see what’s going on here.” House deadpanned, finally moving his hand from its spot against you.

You mirrored him, moving your own hand back to your side as it clicked in your mind too just what was going on here.

“That little shit,” you laughed, “I should’ve known.”

You took a small step back, acutely aware of how close you were and how intensely he seemed to be watching your movements.

“You don’t, uh, have to have lunch with me,” you gazed at the floor for a moment, “I’ll grab something on my way home. I’ll just text him and let him know I’m heading off.”

“No,” House stayed still, barely a hint of a smile on his face until he seemed to consciously realise that and force one, “I’m starving. Might as well. You’re a much less insufferable eating companion than Wilson usually is anyway.”

You shook your head with a laugh, “Much less insufferable. Wow, House, anyone might think you’re actually in love with me. You’re just too kind.”

His lips broke into a small smile now too, pleased that your reaction had been in jest too.

He liked that you never took his jokes the wrong way, and maybe he should admit that Wilson was right to think he had feelings for you.

But admitting them made things much more complicated, and so he was more than happy to just continue flirting with you.

On the other hand, you were more than aware of House’s past thanks to Wilson, and though you’d suspected he may reciprocate your feelings for months now, you also were unsure of whether to bring it up.

You joined the cafeteria queue in a comfortable silence, sinking into your seats opposite each other minutes later and spending a moment just watching each other carefully.

As a small smile graced his lips, you couldn’t help but begin to feel brave.

“I like it when you have lunch with us,” you grinned, taking a bite of your food to punctuate the point you were making, “James thinks I enjoy it too much. It’s no surprise he’s done this, really. Sneaky asshole.”

House stared inquisitively at you, thinking over what he wanted to say in response, “I like having lunch with you too. Much more without Wilson here, surprisingly.”

You smiled softly across at him now, an unspoken undercurrent to his words that sat firmly in your chest and made you feel warm.

“I’m glad. I think it’d be nice if— if,” okay, the bravery was waning now as he continued to watch you carefully, a twinkle in his eye, “If we got food together, like, out of here sometime.”

His eyebrows raised for a split second as though he’d not expected that from you, but he leaned forward to rest his chin on his open palm as his elbow found the tabletop, “You do, hm?”

You nodded once, only quickly, as if afraid to confirm what you’d said any more for fear of embarrassment if he declined.

“Are you asking me on a date, Y/N?” he teased, and now you just blushed crimson again and looked down at the table with a small whine, “Greg!”

He shook his head, laughing at his own teasing and taking a bite out of his sandwich as if to deliberately keep you on edge waiting.

“I think a date with you sounds good,” he shrugged, as though entirely nonchalant about it, “If nothing else it’ll get Wilson off our backs, hey?”

You heaved out a sigh, no longer feeling the warm fuzziness you had been and instead just growing irritated.

You usually liked his dry sense of humour, and his tendency to play down every emotion or make light of every situation — but now you just felt mortified.

He seemed to realise this, shaking his head again and leaning forward even more, “Sorry— no, I’d actually like to go for dinner with you, Y/N. Because I want to, and have for a while. Not because our moron of a mutual friend has been trying to set us up for an infuriatingly long time.”

You felt your stomach flip at these words, hope reigniting a fire in the pit of your stomach as he continued eating his food.

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“Not before our first date!” he joked, feigning shock before chuckling at himself and then relaxing his face, “No, I’m not fucking with you. I’d like to take you on a date. This week, maybe.”

You took out your phone, opening up your contacts and pressing “Add a contact” with a blissful grin on your face, “Put your number in, then. And I’ll call you.”

“This isn’t one of those ‘“I’ll call you’’ and then you never come back for lunch and don’t call me’ moments is it?” you knew he was joking, but there was a small part of him that was genuinely unsure you were serious about this as he took your phone and entered his number.

“Why, happen often? Do women not swarm to you?” you giggled, taking back your phone and letting your hand linger on his for just a moment too long.

He cocked his head, “Don’t you know tortured souls with legs that barely work are like, so last season?”

You chuckled at that, “Well, I’m a last season kind of girl. And I’ve got to get back to work, but I will call you.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone,” he joked, before softening his expression and rubbing a thumb over the back of your hand where it rested on the table in front of him, “I’ll see you soon, Y/N. Have a good day.”

You sent him a wide smile in return, standing up and discarding your rubbish in the bin on your way out as you waved a final goodbye.

As you reached the edge of the cafeteria, you finally saw Wilson’s tall frame approaching and shot him a knowing grin, shaking your head slowly at him as a smirk graced his lips.

“Oh, Y/N! I thought I’d missed you. Have you seen House?”

“Nope, no sign of him,” you sing-songed jokingly, almost failing at your charade until you watched his face drop under the belief that his plan had failed, “I’m joking, moron. We’re going on a date. Thanks, Cupid.”

The smirk returned to his face then, his eyes lighting up at the victory, “Ha! I knew it.”

You pulled him into a hug abruptly — because though his scheming was annoying, you were immeasurably grateful for his push because you’d never have had the courage to ask Greg fucking House on a date without it.

“Thanks, man,” you hummed, pulling away and ruffling his hair, “I just asked Greg House on a date because of you… What the actual fuck.”

“You asked him— no, actually I’m not surprised,” he shrugged, “I’m glad though. It was getting annoying watching you both silently pine, so I had to do something. I’m happy you’re finally doing something about it now.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, but I love you,” you gently shoved his shoulder, resting your hand on it for a moment before noticing your watch on your wrist and realising you needed to rush off, “Shit, I’d better go. I’ll text you later. Have a good day!”

“You too, Y/N,” he waved you off with a smile, blissfully relieved that his plan had worked and his too best friends were finally beginning to admit their feelings for each other, “Now to go and grill House!”

———

thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed — sorry it’s been a while since i’ve posted as well. if you’d like to send in any requests, please feel free! and in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

#house #house md #house md imagines #house md imagine #greg house #gregory house #greg house x reader #greg house x y/n #greg house x you #house imagine #house imagines #james wilson

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soulaires · 8 months

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Love, Is this a prank?

pairings: Aaron Warner x F!Reader

Summary: five times you pranked your husband, aaron warner, and the one time he pranked you back.

warnings: fluff, mention of killing someone, ooc (?) Idk i think thats it. Lmk if i missed any!

« words: 3,957 ┇ao3┇reblogs are appreciated! »

🪩:: voicemail ; read my other aaron warner fics here.

authors note: here’s another fic for y’all warner whores 🫶 thank you for 50 followers!! Love you all :) and also bold text means that the message comes from you while italics text means it’s from Aaron.

Prank #1 𖦹 ₊˚.

It was a warm, sunny Saturday morning, and you had decided to run some errands. As you were getting ready to head out, you couldn't resist the urge to play a little prank on your husband, Aaron Warner. He had been working long hours lately, and you thought a bit of light-hearted mischief might bring a smile to his face.

You quickly gathered three small Ken dolls you had stolen away from James and arranged them strategically on the hood of your car. With a mischievous grin, you sent your husband a text that read,

_______

My beloved 🫶

baby

Help

3 guys won't get off my car

_______

Aaron was in the middle of a conference meeting when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the message and his expression darkened as he read it. He quickly excused himself from the meeting, not bothering to say something. His protective instincts kicked into high gear.

He was more worried about your well-being, and Gods, if something happened to you, he would rain hell. Even if it's just a small touch on your hair.

Without a second thought, Aaron rushed to the bedroom to grab his machete, a weapon he kept for safety purposes. He didn't know what was going on outside, but the idea of three strangers sitting on your car infuriated him. He was ready to confront them and ensure your safety.

You stifled a giggle, knowing that Aaron's protective instincts would lead him to take swift action.

Moments later, the front door swung open, and Aaron stormed out, his machete in hand. His face was a mask of fury, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble. When his gaze fell on your car, he saw the three small figures on the hood.

Confusion washed over his anger as he realized that they weren't real people. He lowered the machete, his brow furrowing as he took in the scene. It didn't take long for him to put two and two together, and he turned to you, a mix of amusement and annoyance in his eyes.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of his bewildered expression. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched your stomach, trying to catch your breath between fits of giggles.

Aaron's lips twitched into a reluctant smile as he shook his head. He couldn't stay mad for long, especially when he saw how hard you were laughing.

He approached you, his machete still in hand but now pointed downwards in a non-threatening manner.

"Love, what's going on here?" he asked, his voice a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation.

Wiping away tears of laughter, you managed to compose yourself enough to explain. "It was just a prank, Aaron. I thought it would be funny to see your reaction."

Aaron sighed and tucked the machete safely away, his stern expression softening. "You got me good," he admitted, shaking his head.

He crossed his arms and shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “my love, I got worried.” He said.

You giggled and reached out to take his hand. "I'm sorry, love. I couldn't resist pulling a little prank."

He chuckled and pulled you into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"You need to stop hanging out with kishimoto," he said with a fond smile. You only laughed at that.

“I love you, you know,"

Aaron said, his voice soft and sincere as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

You snuggled closer to him, feeling grateful for the bond you shared.

"I love you too, even when you're ready to kill someone over a prank."

He chuckled, planting a sweet kiss on your lips, his love for you shining in his eyes.

"Especially then,"

he replied, his arms wrapped around you in a warm and protective embrace.

—————

Prank #2 𖦹 ₊˚.

It was a quiet evening, and you had decided to treat your husband, Aaron Warner, to a homemade dinner. As you worked diligently in the kitchen, you couldn't help but smirk as you concocted a mischievous plan. You would prank Aaron with an overly salty soup and see how he reacted.

You knew Aaron had an excellent poker face, but you were determined to make him crack. As you stirred the soup, you added an excessive amount of salt, enough to make it nearly inedible.

With a wicked grin, you carried the steaming bowl of soup to the dining table where Aaron was patiently waiting. He smiled warmly as you set the bowl in front of him.

"Here you go, love," you said sweetly, suppressing a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "My homemade soup just for you."

Aaron took a spoonful and brought it to his lips. His face remained remarkably composed, but you could see a faint twitch in his jaw as he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"It tastes good, my love," he said, his voice steady, though you could sense a hint of hesitation. "But it's a little bit salty."

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to hold back a triumphant grin. "Salty? It's not really that salty," you replied, your tone casual.

Determined to see if Aaron would break character, you decided to call in reinforcements. You dialed Kenji's number and invited him over, mentioning that you wanted him to taste your homemade soup.

Kenji arrived promptly, looking curious as he took a seat at the dining table. You offered him a spoonful of the soup, watching his reaction carefully.

Kenji took a cautious sip and then froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. He glanced at you, then back at Aaron, trying his hardest to keep it together. "What the fuck? Are you trying to kill our kidney stones? That's so salty!" he exclaimed.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Kenji's dramatic response. You turned to Aaron, expecting him to back you up. "See, it's not that salty, right?"

Aaron winced and shrugged his shoulders, "It's a bit salty, love."

You shook your head incredulously, feeling a pang of doubt. Could Aaron really taste the excessive saltiness, or was he playing along too well?

In a last-ditch effort to prove your point, you decided to call Juliette over. She arrived with her usual grace and took a seat at the table, accepting a spoonful of the soup.

She savored the bite and then smiled warmly. "It's not salty? It's good," she declared.

Kenji and Aaron shared a knowing look, and you couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. The prank had gone on long enough.

"It was just a prank, guys!" you confessed, unable to contain your amusement any longer. "I added extra salt to see if Aaron would say anything."

Kenji burst into laughter, his earlier outrage replaced by amusement. "Woah, Princess I thought you were trying to sabotage my taste buds."

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "You almost had me convinced, love. Well played."

—————

Prank #3 𖦹 ₊˚.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the evening sky as you sat in the cozy living room, your phone in hand. You couldn't resist the urge to play a little prank on your husband, Aaron Warner. He had been working tirelessly, and you thought a playful jest might lighten the mood.

With a mischievous grin, you began typing out a text message.

________

My Beloved 🫶

Baby, guess what

I got my Brazilian wax today

Oh?

Shush, as I was saying,

It was so expensive.

I see where this is going.

I already sent you money, darling :)

No I’m just telling you that It was expensive

Oh, so you don’t need the money?

I thinks it’s bc he’s always busy

So he charges more

like everyone Wants to book w him

He???

Where’s Diane?

she was sick so jake did my wax

Jake?????

Can men do that job?

Yeah??

Jake was really nice and sweet

I’ll kill jake.

How’d you even know he was ‘nice’ and ‘sweet’

Cause he was being gentle and complimenting me

I get it why he was so expensive lol

What?

Complimenting you?

Yeah, he talks me through it.

Talk you through it???

Love.

This is ridiculous.

Is this a joke?

No?

He was really sweet

He’s not sweet.

I’m sweet.

He’s an asshole.

How would you know that 🤨

My love.

You should have let me do it.

Do what? 😂 lol

Wax you.

You don’t even know how to

Yes, I do.

Wash and dry the are, warm the wax, avoid retinoid cream, apply the wax, apply cloth strip and then remove the cloth strip.

Easy.

Jake probably did not wash it or dry it properly.

I bet he used retinoid cream.

Amateur.

WHAT 😭

Since when did you become a waxing professional?

Since now.

———

Aaron's brow furrowed, his expression turning noticeably jealous and irritated. He set aside his phone, not bothering to see what you replied.

Hours later, when you finally arrived home, you found Aaron sitting on the couch, his arms crossed, and a pout on his face. He was clearly still miffed about the prank.

You walked over to him, your heart filled with affection for your sulking husband. "Aaron," you began, "it was just a prank. I didn't actually get Brazilian wax from anyone."

He glanced at you, his pout still firmly in place. "Oh," he grumbled, but his annoyance was slowly giving way to amusement.

You couldn't resist the urge to cuddle him, wrapping your arms around him as you pressed a loving kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry for teasing you," you said sincerely. "I promise I won't prank you like that again." You added, which is clearly a lie.

Aaron finally cracked a smile, unable to stay upset any longer. "Alright, you win this round," he conceded, pulling you closer to him.

—————

Prank #4 𖦹 ₊˚.

You couldn't help but smirk as you flipped through the pages of a book in the cozy living room. Your husband, Aaron Warner, sat across from you, engrossed in his own work, as he often was during the evenings. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light on the room, creating a tranquil atmosphere.

"Hey, bro," you chimed in, breaking the silence.

Aaron, absorbed in his reading, merely scrunched up his face, a faint, bemused smile playing at the corners of his lips. He chose not to acknowledge your playful term of endearment, instead continuing to focus on his work.

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle and decided to take it up a notch. "Bro, can you pass me the remote?"

This time, Aaron raised an eyebrow but still didn't respond. He adjusted his glasses and turned a page in his book, clearly ignoring your attempt to get his attention.

You chuckled to yourself, knowing you were pushing his patience. But you couldn't resist teasing him, just a little bit more. "Bro, I need your help in the kitchen."

That did it. Aaron finally looked up from his book, his expression shifting from bemusement to a warning look. He arched an eyebrow, his gaze drilling into yours. "I'm not your 'bro' I'm your husband," he declared, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You couldn't hold back your laughter any longer, and it bubbled out of you in a melodious cascade. "I'm sorry, bro," you said, still grinning.

He let out an exasperated sigh, his lips quirking into an amused smile despite himself. "You're impossible," he muttered, shaking his head.

________

The soft ambiance of the upscale restaurant created a romantic atmosphere as you and your husband, Aaron Warner, settled into your table for dinner. The dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the anticipation of a delicious meal made for a perfect setting for a memorable night out.

As you perused the menu, you couldn't help but hatch a mischievous plan. A playful prank that you were convinced would bring a smile to Aaron's face. You decided to refer to him as "bro" and "boyfriend" during your interactions with the server, just to see how he would react.

With a sly grin, you waited for the server to approach. "I'll have the salmon, and my boyfriend here," you said, gesturing towards Aaron, "will have the steak."

Aaron's brows furrowed slightly as he glanced at you, but he decided to play along, thinking it was a harmless joke. "Yes, the steak is fine," he replied, a bemused smile on his face.

The server nodded and jotted down your orders, seemingly oblivious to your prank. You couldn't help but giggle quietly, delighted with your cleverness.

As the evening progressed, you continued to drop the occasional "bro" or "boyfriend" into your conversations, each time with a mischievous glint in your eye. Aaron, for the most part, scrunched up his face in mock annoyance but kept his composure.

However, after the third instance of your prank, his patience began to wane. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with a warning look that hinted at the limits of his tolerance.

You chuckled nervously, realizing that you might have pushed the joke too far. "Alright, alright, I'll stop," you whispered, leaning in closer to him.

Aaron's lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded in approval. The remainder of the dinner was filled with pleasant conversation and shared laughter, all the while you refrained from any further pranks.

After finishing your meal, you left the restaurant hand in hand, the evening still full of promise. But as the night wore on, you noticed a shift in Aaron's mood. He became quieter, his laughter less frequent, and his responses to your attempts at conversation grew increasingly subdued.

"Is everything alright, Aaron?" you asked, concern lacing your voice.

He glanced at you with a hint of irritation before responding tersely, "I'm fine."

You knew better than to press him when he was in this mood, so you decided to give him some space. You retreated to the living room, leaving him to his thoughts in the bedroom.

The following morning, Aaron was still distant. He responded to your greetings with curt nods and monosyllabic answers, his attention firmly focused on his work. It was as if the playful terms of endearment from the previous night had left a lingering mark on his mood.

You couldn't bear to see him like this, so you made an effort to engage him in conversation throughout the day, hoping to lift his spirits. However, he remained withdrawn, lost in his own thoughts.

It wasn't until dinnertime that Aaron finally spoke up. "You do realize that I am your husband, right?"

You scrunched up your nose, confused, "um..yeah?"

"Then why did you keep addressing me your 'boyfriend' last night?'

"Aaron, I'm so sorry," you said sincerely, reaching out to touch his hand.

He pulled his hand away, his expression one of mild indignation. "I'm not your 'bro' or 'boyfriend,' I'm your beloved husband," he declared, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You reached across the coffee table to take his hand in yours. "I promise, no more 'bro' or 'boyfriend' for today."

He sighed dramatically, but his fingers tightened around yours. "Very well, my mischievous love." you laughed at the nickname.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, my love." He teased.

The night ended with a loving embrace, and as you drifted off to sleep in each other's arms, you couldn't help but think how fortunate you were to have Aaron Warner as your husband, your beloved, and your one true love.

—————

Prank #5 𖦹 ₊˚.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room as you and Aaron Warner prepared for the day. Aaron had an important meeting to attend, and he was already running late. He stood by the doorway, dressed impeccably in his suit, ready to leave.

"Okay, bye, love," he said, his voice soft and filled with affection as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. His lips lingered for a moment, and he whispered, "I love you."

You hummed in response, your attention momentarily occupied by the task at hand. You knew he expected you to reciprocate, but you decided to play a little game. A teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you continued with what you were doing.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to respond with those three cherished words. When you remained silent, he tried again, his gaze fixed on you. "I love you, my love," he repeated, his voice filled with anticipation.

You glanced up at him, a mischievous twinkle in your eye, and replied, "Ok, bye."

Aaron's face fell, and he couldn't hide the disappointment in his eyes. He had hoped for a heartfelt response, but instead, he got a playful dismissal. He pouted, refusing to give up.

"I love you," he said once more, his tone tinged with determination as he stared at you, expecting you to say it back.

You chuckled at his persistence and continued with your task. "Ok," you replied, teasingly, "I'm not stopping you."

But Aaron didn't move. He remained rooted in the doorway, a stubborn look on his face. "I'm not leaving," he declared.

You looked up in surprise, genuinely confused. "Huh? I thought you were leaving for your meeting."

His expression softened as he gazed at you. "Not when you're mad at me."

You blinked, realizing that he had misunderstood your playful banter. "I'm not mad at you, Aaron," you reassured him, setting aside what you were doing to give him your full attention.

He sighed, a hint of relief in his eyes, but there was still a trace of uncertainty. "But you're not saying 'I love you' back," he pointed out.

You couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. It was all in good fun, but you could see that Aaron had taken it seriously. You stood up and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"It's a joke, hon!" you exclaimed, grinning at him. "I love you! Now, go! You're already late."

Aaron's face broke into a smile as he realized he had been played. He hugged you tightly, pressing a loving kiss to your lips. "Not Funny," he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

“I’m staying.” He said.

“c’mon you can’t just cancel the meeting, darling” you replied with a teasing smile.

“Actually, I can. I'm the boss, love. Remember” he then replied, matching your teasing smile.

you then both settled in for a cozy day together. He canceled his meeting, and the two of you cuddled on the couch, watching movies and enjoying each other's company with your husband who kept whispering sweet nothings and I love you’s in your ear.

—————

The cinema had been showing a late-night movie, and you and your husband, Aaron Warner, had decided to catch it together. It had been a long week, and the idea of a cozy night out was too tempting to resist. Little did you know that this night would turn into an unexpected adventure.

The two of you settled into your seats, the dimmed lights and the sound of hushed whispers creating a perfect atmosphere for the film. As the movie began, you both found yourselves engrossed in the story, occasionally sharing a quiet laugh or a whispered comment.

However, the day's fatigue began to catch up with you, and the comfort of the cinema seats didn't help matters. Gradually, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, and before you knew it, you had fallen asleep during the movie.

Sometime later, Aaron woke up with a start. He blinked at the screen and then checked his watch, only to find that it was well past 3 AM. The cinema was dark, and the movie had ended. Panic set in as he realized that the mall was likely closed, and you were both trapped inside.

A mischievous idea began to form in Aaron's mind. He couldn't help but think of the pranks you had pulled on him in the past, and this was the perfect opportunity for payback. Quietly, he grabbed your phone, noticing that it was still on and unlocked.

With a sly grin, Aaron changed the time on your phone to 11 AM and placed it back beside you. He then leaned over and gently shook your shoulder to wake you up.

You stirred, slowly blinking your eyes open and letting out a sleepy yawn. "What's going on?" you mumbled, still disoriented from your nap.

Aaron, his act perfectly convincing, replied, "Wake up, love. It's already 11 AM. We need to leave."

You glanced at your phone, which now read 11 AM. However, something felt off. It was still dark outside, and the cinema was eerily quiet. "Why is everything closed?" you asked, confusion creeping in.

Aaron kept his expression composed and reassuring. "It's Sunday," he explained calmly. "The mall is usually empty this early on Sundays. Come on, let's go."

You furrowed your brow but trusted Aaron's explanation. You gathered your belongings and followed him outside the cinema. As you walked through the mall, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The lack of people, the darkness outside, and the empty shops all added to your growing sense of unease.

"Why is it so dark?" you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety.

Aaron maintained his charade. "It’s dark when it’s sundays here, love," he replied, his tone soothing.

You checked your phone again, which still displayed 11 AM, even though it felt like the middle of the night. Doubt gnawed at you, but you couldn't pinpoint what was wrong.

As you continued through the mall, your unease grew, and you couldn't help but question the situation. "This doesn't feel right, Aaron," you admitted, clutching his hand tightly.

He glanced at you, his expression softening with concern. "It's okay, love. Sometimes malls can be a bit eerie when they're empty. We'll be out of here soon."

You nodded, trying to calm your racing heart. But as you approached the mall's main entrance, you realized the truth. The security gates were closed, and the mall was locked up tight.

"Wait, Aaron," you said, your voice trembling. "Why are the gates closed? We can't get out."

Aaron turned to you with a sheepish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, revealing the prank.

You stared at him in disbelief, a mixture of surprise and annoyance washing over you. "You pranked me?" you asked incredulously.

He chuckled, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I had to get you back for all those pranks you've pulled on me," he confessed.

You couldn't help but laugh, despite the initial shock. "You got me good," you admitted, shaking your head.

Aaron smiled, relieved that you took it well. "I promise I'll make it up to you," he said, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

As you both waited for mall security to let you out, you couldn't help but admire Aaron's clever prank. It had been an unexpected adventure, and it was moments like these that added a touch of excitement and humor to your relationship. In the end, you couldn't be mad at him for too long, and you were already thinking about how to plan your next prank in revenge.

(Aaron Warner) tag list 🏷 : @ravisinghs-wife @aishaleblanc

If you want to be added or remove from the tag list plz let me know 🫶

#reader insert #aaron warner #aaron warner x reader #shatter me series #aaron warner x you #shatter me #aaron warner anderson #aaron warner x y/n #riewrites 🫀#prank #husband Aaron warner #shatter me x reader #shatter me imagine #aaron warner imagine #fanfic

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Antithesis

james patrick march x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn-ish, oral sex, one-sided pining, devotion, body worship, hand jobs, slight choking, pet names, oneshot

word count: 7640

a/n: my apologies if james seems at all ooc here. i try my goddamn hardest to keep characters as close to their source material as possible. but, when it comes to self indulgent smut, sometimes you gotta pull a few strings!!! oh, and i'd also like to apologize for the long length of this fic. and for how abruptly it ends hdsghkjdshkgsg it's a mess, sorry !!

bonus note ig: in 1920's slang, a "goof" is an idiot. james basically thinks of you as naive and dumb here. sorry!

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March doesn’t dislike you. “Dislike” is much too strong a word.

No, he tolerates you. Dare he think it, he might even be somewhat…fond of you. The two of you were born nearly a hundred years apart. And so, as expected, you were the absolute antithesis of one another. March built himself from the ground up. He started with little to nothing. Carrying with him a background he so dreaded to recall. Childhood memories best left buried deep. Never to see the shining light of day again. March walked with a prestigious elegance. Something all but lost to the world in modern times, he thought. He was high-class. New money incarnate. Fancy, social affairs and aesthetic, art-deco decor were his most treasured hobbies. Amongst his other, more…contentious interests. And you. What were you?

Some little goof. You poor thing. Your story was quite the tragedy, really. Born almost one hundred years later to middle class stock. An entirely different world from the one in which March knew. Your arrival to the hotel Cortez was…unfortunate. You were the embodiment of innocence. Overly polite to a fault. Kind to the staff and the hotel’s mysterious residents. Never going out of your way to disturb a single soul. And you always made sure to apologize for the times you did.

And like all lives brought to the Cortez, yours ended there. A shame. A pity. Truly. What a waste. After you died, you drifted aimlessly for a while. Exploring every inch of the hotel you could. Bearing witness to the unspeakable horror that burned like scorching fire from inside. The hotel Cortez was nothing short of the infernal regions made earthly.

Even so, you weren’t the least bit fazed by this fact. Death changed you. It changed your moral perspective.

But you were missing something. A purpose. Every soul, lost adrift, needed purpose.

Liz knew all.

She knew everything about everyone. Including you. You’d sit at the bar, talking to her for hours on end. About your life. Liz’s life. The lives of the Cortez’s other, ghostly residents. She’d tell you of the hotel and its history. And you learned all there was to know. But in sharing your deepest thoughts, desires, and fears, you’d been a little too open. And Liz learned enough that, had a curious party asked about you? She could easily act as an informant.

You were a poor sap. Harboring a deep rooted, psychological need to please.

In death, you told Liz, you wanted nothing more than, simply…a person. Someone to dedicate yourself to entirely. Someone to love, to adore, to spend all of eternity caring for. Such an innocent desire, from such an unsullied soul.

You heard of him only in passing. James Patrick March.

You knew of his murderous atrocities. And you’d heard whispers of his bloodied history in hushed tones. Liz told you of everything March built, and what he’d become in the process.

March assumed you thought nothing of it. Nothing of him. Because at the Cortez, he was often that. Nothing more than a rumor. Only making himself present whenever necessary. Any other day? He remained a chilling, ghost story. And that’s all he’d been to you.

Until the two of you crossed paths, that is.

March was polite and courteous, as he always is. And the soulless, empty void of his dark eyes met yours. Pure, beautiful, and innocent. The two of you couldn’t have been more different from one another. You, his polar opposite. If he were the infernal reaches of hell itself, you were the luminous kingdom of heaven.

Whatever you felt for him, it must have been instantaneous.

Because suddenly, your sorrow dissipated. A lifetime of suffering and anguish faded away into thin air. And finally, you were free. Joyous. You, the little goof. Your demeanor somehow became all the more polite and inviting. Ironic, really. Considering…the source of your happiness was the very personification of evil itself.

You’d skip around the hotel with a spring in your step. Greeting everyone who passed you in the halls with a chipper, sunny disposition. Parading around in those loose-fitting clothes. Your skin decorated in ink reminiscent of your rather quirky interests. Appalling, if you were to ask him.��

You were vexatious. And yet…

March found he appreciated your company.

You really were too sweet. Sickeningly so. Like cavity-inducing candy. Truly good at heart. There wasn’t a hateful, nefarious bone in your body. But you were deeply loyal to a fault. It was a weakness that kept you chained. It held you down. Never allowing you to reach your true potential. March could see it. He saw right through you, straight into your delicate soul. He saw your aura. Unsullied purity.

March learned all he could about you from Liz.

And once he had, he felt the need to test your unbroken clarity.

He showed you everything. Every secret. Every piece of gory history which revealed his past, his life’s purpose, his true intentions. The never-ending, torturous suffering he brought upon the innocent lives of the world. He confessed to you his killings. Even going into the dark, gritty details. March stared you down with an empty, far off look in his shady eyes. An uncanny gaze. And he expressed to you all his crazed, degenerate passions.

He expected you to react accordingly. Like any soul so pure and unblemished as yours should.

But death…

Death truly did change you. The hotel Cortez? It corrupted your moral code.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you often seemed.

You treated his passions like any other hobby. And you engaged in conversation about them casually. Beaming the brightest, most curious, smile. Your eyes glimmered with genuine interest and fascination. And March found he was more than happy to share that part of himself with you. Delighted to discuss his exploits with a newfound friend. A trusted friend.

He did long for someone to talk to…

And it was then, he realized. He knew. He was woefully fucked.

Because you. Naive, little goof that you were…

You’d found your purpose.

The one person whom you’d give your undying devotion, for forever and into eternity.

No one, not a single soul in the hotel had expected it. When you sat at the bar, sipping on your sweet sodas instead of anything alcoholic (ever the carefree babe, you were). You spoke of having ‘found’ your purpose. And there were smiles all around. “ Ooh’s ” and “ Aah’s ” exchanged through hushed gossip. Who could this person be, they asked themselves.

Imagine the residents’ surprise once they put two and two together.

Of all people. Him? Really? Were you mad as a hatter?

From then on, you followed March everywhere. Attached at his side like a leech. And though he considered you a dear friend, you weren’t much more to him than a loyal dog. You offered your help whenever you saw fit. And, somewhat reluctantly, he allowed it.

To his surprise, March found you respected his personal space. You’d disappear when he found your company too overwhelming. Sometimes, you were gone for days. Or even weeks. Off to explore the hotel again. Or to drift aimlessly as you did in the days before you’d found him. Uncertain as to what you should do in your lonesome. Sometimes, you’d listen to music. Clamorous racket of the modern era.

And eventually, always, you returned.

Sometimes, March found he missed your presence when you were gone.

And despite the admiration you carried for him, you valued March’s love for his dearest wife. The Countess. Often, you’d go so far as to listen to him drone on and on about her. And he could. If March were allowed the opportunity, he’d speak of her for centuries. He’d reminisce about his most cherished memories of her. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. When March had his monthly dinners with his dearest, you felt it necessary to assist. You were insistent upon it, actually. Helping alongside Ms. Evers, you did what you could to make those nights as grand and romantic as possible. And when he banished Ms. Evers, you didn’t hesitate to take over entirely. Every one of those special nights, you were there to help him prepare.

Once the dinners themselves started, you’d run off. Leaving the pair undisturbed. And he wouldn’t see you again until the next morning.

One night, March sat across from the countess at the table. She glared at him with a half-lidded, miserable expression. But March missed this glare. Because he’d been busy watching you leave. He smiled, raising his glass to you. And you waved him off, wishing him luck, before closing the door.

At that very moment, he made a decision.

The next night came, and there he sat. Present at the dinner table again. Only, you were his cherished guest of the evening. Dinner lay before you both. Though, in death, you never ate. March watched with a grin as you sipped some champagne. You fluttered delicate lashes his way. Devotion leaking like tears from your eyes. A delighted smile played across your lips. One always present in his company, he found.

“Darling! I assume you’re wondering why it is I’ve called you here tonight, hm?” He posed the question rather excitedly.

Your pretty, doe eyes widened at that. You poor thing. Your cheeks burned in a flurry of rose red. Even in the dim, candle-lit light of the room. Even at a distance, across the table, March could see your blush clear as day. He smirked into his glass.

Never, in all the years since the two of you met, had he ever addressed you as darling.

The effect this seemed to have on you was very much apparent. He could see the shift in your expression. The way you’d fallen breathless under his cold-blooded gaze. March couldn’t help but find your obvious desire for him…amusing.

“Uhm…y-...yes. Well…sorta? I figured this was just another…casual, hang-out night for us!” Your quiet, timid voice spoke aloud.

March lowered his glass, and he hummed.

“Casual? I suppose one could consider this casual, if they’d prefer.” March said, “All the same, I’ve called you here because…I have a proposition for you!”

“Wh-uh…what kinda proposition, sir?”

“Let’s not dance around the matter any longer, dear. Simply put, I’m well aware.” He said.

Confusion overtook your delicate features, and your brows knitted together. March sat still in his seat with a knowing smirk. You tilted your head, bringing your own glass down to the table.

“I’m…confused. You’re aware of what, exactly?”

“Why, that you’re in love with me, of course.” March stated.

Your eyes widened further. March caught the awkward movement of one of your hands. It trembled where it lay on the table. And when you spoke again, you did so shyly. Your voice was as soft as the pink in your cheeks.

“A-Am I?” You dared to ask. As though he hadn't known all these years.

March’s knowing grin spread wider. A dark, domineering color washed over his eyes. And he fixed you with an intimidating look. One that could so easily kill, had you been anyone else. Even in death, you felt your stomach twist in fluttery knots at the sight. You dropped your bashful gaze to the table, too nervous to look him in the eye. You were being avoidant, March knew. And your denial only heightened his desire to bait you.

“I’m not stupid, old friend. For how long?” He asked.

“Since…” You swallowed nervously, shrinking in on yourself, “...the moment I saw you.”

March’s expression remained unchanged. His cold gaze unblinking.

“All this time?”

Taking a brave chance at looking him in the eye, you glanced upward. And you were met with that empty, black gaze. Pools of ink, much like an abyss, stared intensely at you. You didn’t need to say anything further. His suspicions were confirmed then. March’s brows pressed together in thought.

“I…see.” He said, and he brought his hand to his chin, “Well, in all those years? You’ve proven yourself undoubtedly loyal to me. You see, so often, when Ms. Evers was around. Though, I did care for her. She had these…maddening tendencies. She’d express her apparent distaste for my darling wife. And she was incredibly passive. Selfishly so.”

As March spoke, his tone shifted. Infected with a venomous sting, and unbridled hatred. His other hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist.

“As you’re aware…Ms. Evers…she deceived me. In the name of love, was her excuse. Such a…disappointing betrayal.” March lingered on the statement for a moment longer.

He snapped himself out of his spiteful rage. Blinking, March perked up. And his handsome grin returned.

“But, you! You’re quite the opposite of her, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you say? Never once have you said an unkind word. You’ve always been so polite to my dearest Mrs. March. And so generous to me! I can't recall you ever acting selfishly. And for that, I must tell you, I am profoundly grateful. It's so dreadfully difficult to find someone you can trust these days.”

“O-Of course!” You nodded, speaking in a gentle tone, “I guess…I just don’t really care if you-uh…if you never feel the same way I do. Being by your side, sir…getting to see you every day…”

Dreamily, you sighed. Like a dame in a daze of infatuation. The sweetest smile graced your blushing face.

“To see that smile of yours. And those eyes…” You sighed once more, “To hear your heavenly voice…that’s enough for me.”

You allowed a little…indulgence to slip through your confessions. Admiration and adoration for March permeated within your every word. Looking at you, he could practically see with his own eyes the unconditional love scorching with a passionate fury in your eyes. He might’ve even felt for himself your amorous desire. It exuded like pheromones from your admittedly fetching body.

He almost found it…endearing.

March blinked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his collar.

“Yes…I trust your devotion knows no earthly bounds, my dear.” He said, bringing his hands together before him, “Which is why, I’d like to present to you…that proposition! I’m nothing, if not a man of mercy. And if anyone is more than deserving of my mercy, it’s you, old friend.” March pointed to you with a ring-clad finger. And curiously, you tilted your head. “If you recall…before my dearest passed? She and I often had those dinners together. One night a month! They were…so very special to me. Truly a gift. The only thing that kept me balanced in this endless, monotonous purgatory of my own design. …Such a treat it was…to share at least…one night with my beloved.”

“It must’ve been nice, sir. Especially after she passed? To have her around more often? I know that meant everything to you.”

“It did.” March smiled fondly. And yet, as quick as it came, his adoring smile fell.

A broken-hearted melancholy plagued his ghostly features.

“Though…our time together has…diminished these days. She avoids me anymore. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in…weeks. Do you know that, at last night’s dinner? She didn’t say a goddamn thing! And again, she’s run off in search of…the pleasures of other men…”

March stared off, his dead-eyed gaze dropping to the table.

“It’s a….barren feeling. The most desolate ache I’ve ever endured…” He confessed.

Sympathetic, little goof. You looked at him then with an expression of sympathy, and opened your mouth to speak. March interrupted you before you could even begin. The very, last thing he wanted was your pity. At the flip of a dime, March perked up once more. He clapped his hands together loudly, suddenly appearing chipper. Beaming a wide, uncannily sweet grin.

“But nevermind all that, darling! What I’m proposing…is of a similar nature. For you, if you’d like! If it’d satisfy your deepest, perverted desires? Then, for one night a month…I, James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez and America’s most infamous executioner…am all yours!”

Your eyes flew open wide. Like a precious, vulnerable creature under the gaze of a vicious predator. And your darling face…it burned an even brighter shade of red. March’s smile crooked up into a smirk. Addicting it was…this influence he seemed to have over you. Precious thing.

“Wait…wh-...what??” You waved your hands, “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t ever ask that of you, sir! Please, really! Don’t even worry about it! I’m not-...I don’t have to have you in that way to survive our purgatory together!”

The silence that overtook the room was deafening. In the background, the ticking of an old clock rang on. Along with the distant, alluring melody of a gramophone. John McCormack. Roses of Picardy. March stood up after some time. And slowly, steadily, he made his way to you at the other end of the dining table. He approached you wordlessly, eyes like obsidian focused entirely on your own. Analyzing and observing. Once close enough, he reached a large hand out. His palm fell to your shoulder, squeezing you in a firm grip. Leaning in, March spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Are you suggesting that you’re…ungrateful? You do realize this is…a gracious gesture…coming from a man of my status…” He didn’t break eye contact with you for even a second. March’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “...don’t you, little one?"

Despite the menacing nature of his actions, you let your eyes so shamelessly trail up and down his fancily-dressed form. And March saw all of it. Every movement of your eyes. The motion of your throat as you swallowed. The not-so-subtle way you leaned into his touch. How your thighs pressed together as if to relieve some…personal tension.

He raised a brow. Curious.

Your eyes sparkled innocently up at him. And again, you fluttered those delicate lashes.

“I’m not ungrateful, sir! I’m so honored. I mean, obviously, I’m honored! But…” You scoffed, as if in disbelief, “But, me? I mean…come on… you ? With me??” With a soft huff of a laugh, you looked down at your lap, “But…I’m not…Mrs. March. I’m…nothin’ like her.”

March hummed a sound which suggested his pity for you.

“You’re right. You’re not…” He muttered in monotone, “You lack everything my dearest Elizabeth has. Her grace. Her ethereal elegance. She…is a creature of divinity.” March paused for a beat, “But you’ve no confidence nor class, I’m afraid. You’re more…a being of the mundane.”

Again, a sinister loathing invaded his gaze.

“But…unlike Ms. Evers…wretched, old bat…” He growled.

A wild grin spread across March’s lips, his teeth sinking into them. He brought his other hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. Upon your face, he caught a broken-hearted frown.

“You, darling…” He hummed, “You have been blessed with certain…more pleasant qualities…”

His hand on your shoulder grazed a thumb across it. March let his eyes drop to your figure, as if to suggest something. And in that instant, you felt your lifeless heart skip a beat. As though your soul were springing to life again. Born anew.

“I…have?” You furrowed your brows, “So…what you’re sayin’ is…this is you settling? For someone lesser?”

March hummed again, considering your words. He pulled both hands from you.

“I prefer to think of it this way. In return for your undeniable devotion and loyalty throughout the tenure of our friendship. I’m giving you the opportunity to be with me. Consider it a reward, if you will. However you wish, my dear. One night a month, you can have me. Romantically. Physically. Intimately.”

“Uh…okay…wow! That’s-...that’s…very kind of you, sir.” You stared up at March with those doting eyes. Biting your lip, you hesitated to ask, “So…wh-...when would we-uhm…when would we start?” A pause, and you nervously stammered over your words, “I-if I were to-uh…accept your…generous proposition?”

Immediate eagerness. Exactly the response he’d suspected from someone as smitten as yourself. March leered down at you smugly, his eyes falling half-lidded

Desperate, little thing, weren’t you?

“Tonight, if you’d prefer! Or…any night of your choosing. Whatever you want, darling. I insist. This courtesy is entirely yours.” He suggested.

A moment of contemplative quiet passed as you thought it over. And March watched you like a hawk, patiently waiting. Though, he already knew exactly what you were going to say. Even before you’d made a decision. The rosy color blooming darker in your cheeks ultimately gave you away.

“T-Tonight then? If you’ll…have me.” You stammered, “I’m honored, sir.”

March wanted to laugh. To boast that he could read you all too well. But calmly, he nodded.

“Very well!”

He walked off then. March pulled at the fabric of his bowtie, tugging until it came completely undone. Following that motion, he shrugged his jacket off. Folding it neatly and setting it aside, he moved to unbutton the first, few buttons of his dress shirt. March disappeared into another room, out of sight. But you heard his familiar, smoky voice call out.

“Come!”

Hesitating, you stood from your seat at the table. And with tiny, careful steps, you followed the sound of March’s voice. In a vintage loveseat, you found him waiting. He sat with his chin in his hand, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His legs were spread open wide. And he patted his lap.

“Best not to waste anymore time, dear.”

“Wh-...What are we doin’?” You asked, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with them.

Poor dear. You were standing in the room so timidly. Looking innocent, and so very delicate. Like a frightened, fluffy, little deer. Easy game, for a hunter like March.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He took a drag of his cigarette, his tone low and vibrating. March spread his legs open further, “Don’t be bashful, now, little one. I’ll only bite if you ask it of me.”

You seemed hesitant. Fearful of making any sudden moves. But, with a facade of confidence March knew all too well you didn’t possess, you approached him. And you lowered yourself into his lap slowly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Eye contact was one of March’s many, gifted talents. And being such a shy dame, you could barely keep up. Once snug on his lap, you took time to admire March. Carefully, you trailed your hands down his chest. And you let your trembling fingers brush the fabrics of his perfectly tailored clothes. Clothes once deep-cleaned of blood-stains by the very maid he considered an abomination.

Your hands moved upwards, first tracing over the bloody slit in his neck. Before cupping his cheeks for only a moment. You brushed a small thumb over one of his dimples. March smiled at you, hardly invested in what you were doing. Allowing you to have your fun. You touched March with careful, delicate movements. Handling him as if he were your most precious, priceless treasure. You looked at him as though you couldn’t fathom the reality before you. As though being with him like this was a foggy, distant dream. One you’d never ask to wake from.

Daringly, you leaned in. And you let your cool breath ghost over his lips.

“A-Are you sure about this, sir?” You asked, timid as ever.

March appeared unbothered and uncaring. Yet, admittedly, he felt somewhat curious of your next move. How far could a shy, innocent thing like you take this…intimate interaction? March assumed you’d clock out after a bit of heavy petting. With an equanimous smirk, he nodded.

“Positively certain.” He muttered, “And please, while we’re together like this, darling? Do call me James. You can forgo the formalities.”

You blinked, amazed. Looking into his eyes with all the love and adulation in the ever-expanding cosmos. Marveling in his presence. Your nose brushed his, and you leaned even further in.

And you kissed him.

It was a clumsy, graceless kiss at first. But as you continued, you found your confidence. A heated flow enveloped your every movement. And for the first, few kisses, March didn’t reciprocate. He kept a hand at the armrest of the loveseat. His other occupied with that cigarette. He didn’t care to touch you yet. But as your kisses drew him in deeper, as you mewled little noises into his lips…March found himself giving in. One of his large hands found your hips, squeezing there first. Before moving to wrap his arm around your back. He pulled you in close. And you ran your hands up through his hair. Freeing those irresistible curls of his.

Finally, at long last, he kissed you back. And in that instant, you drank in the motions of a man far more cultivated and refined than you could ever hope to be. In a thousand lifetimes, you could never live up to his status. And yet, he kissed you anyway. If you could taste, his lips would’ve tasted of champagne and nicotine.

“Wow-” You breathlessly gasped into his lips.

A flash of fire burned in his lidded eyes, and he peered up at you. March let out a soft, vibrating chuckle.

“Eager are we, darling?”

“Uh…” Poor, little goof. Still so lost in your lovestruck daze, “I just-”

The urge to kiss March again proved far too much for you to resist. You leaned in again, capturing his skilled lips in another flurry of deep kisses. And when you pulled back, you shook your head. For a moment, you simply stared at March. Taking in his ghostly features. Admiring his handsome face, his black eyes, the curls of his hair.

“Thank you, si-uhm…James. Thank you. I…never imagined…you’d ever let me touch you. Let alone k-uhm…kiss you like this…”

He chuckled again, humming a deep noise in his chest. The sound sent a spark of something gratifying straight to your core.

“I told you, didn’t I? I am, after all, a man of mercy…”

You brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently with soft fingers. March noticed that, whenever you touched him, you did so as if he were a timeless lover.

“You most certainly are…” Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead, “...so gracious.”

March hadn’t expected you to wiggle backwards. And where did you think you were going? Were you giving up already? Giving into your paranoid worries? You let yourself sink off his lap and onto your knees. Scooting your way across the carpet and in between his legs, you gazed up at March with those lovely, doe eyes.

“You know…I’d do anything for you, don’t you James?” You trailed your hands up to his trousers, your fingers fiddling with the buttons, “...is this alright?”

To say he was caught off guard by your boldness, would be one hell of an understatement. His innocent, pure-of-heart, little goof? Submitting to him on their knees so easily like this? How had he never suspected this of you? March’s empty eyes widened, watching you from above with a dark, predatory gaze.

“If it’s what you so desire, then…do continue. I’m not going to stop you. This is your night, little one. Don’t you remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, uncertain of yourself. Before finally working the buttons of his trousers open. Bringing a small hand through the slit in the fabric, you felt around. And your fingers brushed across-

An adorable gasp escaped your lips.

You…hadn’t expected him to be hard. If the surprised, embarrassed look on your face was anything to go by. Because surely, the James Patrick March himself couldn’t possibly be aroused over someone as mundane as you. Could he?

Sucking in a slow breath, you continued. Your fingers snuck their way through the softness of his undergarments. A bit of movement, and you pulled his thick cock free. At the sight of the twitching length, those sparkling eyes of yours lit up brightly. Beaming, as if mesmerized. You were practically drooling over his cock. And you’d barely touched it at all.

March’s breath hitched from above. He watched you attentively, focused on the movement of your small hand. It stroked and squeezed around the thickness of him. Somewhat skillfully, he’d have to admit. Almost as though you knew exactly what you were doing. How is it that here, touching him intimately, you weren’t the least bit clumsy?

You bravely tilted your head upward, meeting his darkening gaze.

“You said…I could do whatever I wanted?” You asked. Your tone had fallen considerably lower. It sounded seductive, even, “May I sing your praises, James?”

March had never heard you speak in that tone before. He hadn't realized you were even capable.

Wordlessly, he nodded. You gave a few more firm strokes of his cock, leaning in to kiss the tip gently. And as the soft wetness of your lips brushed it, you hummed. Reveling in every second you had March like this. Even in such a filthy, perverted position. With the head of his leaking cock at your lips. Your eyes glimmered, acting as windows. And your complete devotion for him shined through like the light of the sun. Holding eye contact (when did you get so good at that?), you generously peppered his cock in mouthy, wet kisses.

“Just let me worship you, James…” You sighed, dragging your free hand down one of his thighs. Your nails drew lines into the fabric, “Let me appreciate you. That’s…really the only thing I could ever ask for.”

He kept watching you, occasionally taking long drags from his cigarette. March found himself in awe of your boldness and honesty. Though, if there was one thing he knew about you for certain. You were always honest with him. Turning your attention to his aching cock, you pushed the head past your lips. You lapped up the bead of precum leaking from the tip, mewling in pure delight. Suckling for a few beats too short, you pulled away by an inch.

“You…are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Did you know that, James? Have I ever told you? I could stare at you all day. Every day. Forever, if you let me. You’ve got the most stunning, beautiful, brown eyes…”

You paused in the midst of your praises to push the tip of his cock past your lips again. Letting your tongue dance around it, you stroked the remaining length with your hand. And just when he thought you might give him more, you pulled away.

“You can’t imagine how thrilling it is to have those ferocious eyes looking down on me right now. Oh, and I absolutely adore your smile. How full your lips are. Kissing them was like a gift of temptation, straight from the depths of hell. And I am in no way deserving of such a thing…”

March was steadily beginning to lose his composure. That calm, unbothered demeanor of his teetered on the edge. Threatening to fall with every cutesy noise you made, and every flick of your tongue. With each confession of your deepest admirations, he felt himself breaking. March knew you loved him. He knew you found purpose in serving him. And yet, somehow, he hadn’t been aware of the extent at which your worship of him ran. He took another drag of his cigarette. March’s free hand found your hair, and his oversized palm settled there. He didn’t yet tug, but merely braced himself.

“No modern man dresses nearly as elegantly as you do. Those men at those high-class fashion shows? The ones they have here? They can’t even begin to compare. It’s almost intimidating…how refined and elegant you truly are.”

You halted your confessions, only to take the entire length of his twitching cock into your mouth. Moaning around it, you sucked hard. Letting your tongue drag along the underside, across pulsing veins. You pulled off all over again. And March’s grip in your hair tightened only slightly. You continued to stroke his cock, spreading the wetness your tongue left behind.

“You’re so intimidating. So good at striking fear into those around you. But, god…it only makes me more attracted to you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough of you…”

Breaking eye contact, you focused on his cock. You stopped to admire the heavy weight of him on your tongue. And you had the nerve to giggle with the innocence of a dame in church. March remained speechless. He stared you down as you took his full length into your mouth again. Your praises fell short for a bit. Instead, you were fixated on pleasuring him with more enthusiasm. Your movements slowly grew rapid. But as you edged him further, you popped off. You nuzzled his soaked, aching cock with your cheek. And once more, you giggled. It was infuriating.

“I wish you could hear your voice. Fuck…your voice. Your accent. It’s to die for!” The smile you gave him radiated purity, and you bit your swollen lip between your teeth, “You’re to die for. Y’know? I’d die for you. Over and over again.”

Dragging your tongue up and down his cock, you peppered it in more, loving kisses. And you fluttered those pretty lashes.

“As many times as you wanted me to. If I could die by your hands, James, I would. If it’d make you happy? If cutting my throat and watching the life drain from my eyes would satisfy you…”

March’s grip in your hair tightened even further, clenching around your soft locks.

Who knew his little goof could be such a shameless sycophant? Groveling over his deviant passions.

He was growing immensly impatient. You’d carried on this little charade of praises for far too long. When you lowered your mouth over his cock, March guided you. With the rough hold he had on your head, he forced you down. The action caught you by surprise. As the tip of his cock pressed into the back of your throat, you gagged, squeezing around the head. And a pleased grunt erupted off March’s tongue, cigarette smoke rising from his lips. Reaching over the arm of the loveseat, he put the cigarette out in an ashtray. And while doing so, March kept his half-lidded eyes, dark as burning coals, on you. His throbbing length filled your throat, and you took all of it. Every inch. You squeezed his thigh hard with a hand, letting your fingernails dig into the fabric of his trousers. As you clawed at his thigh for purchase, a wicked grin spread across his face. Salty tears stung your pretty eyes. They poured down your flushed cheeks completely out of your control. An embarrassing display. March’s breathing picked up in pace. He jerked you backwards, pulling you off his cock by your hair. Generously, he allowed you a moment to catch your breath. Not that you needed it, really. Being dead and all. Smirking down at you, he sank his teeth into his lip. And upon his pale cheeks, you caught the slightest hint of a pink hue.

You’d never once seen March blush on account of something you did.

“Y-You were…you were saying, darling?” March, usually so well spoken, stumbled over his words.

With a smile, you returned to your previous motions. Dragging your tongue lazily up and down his cock, you stroked him with a hand.

“U-Uhm…” That timid nature of yours returned. Perhaps on account of his manhandling? But you fought to shake it off, “Y’know somethin’ else I love about you, James? That look in your eye. I can’t even describe it. When you’re feelin’ bloodthirsty? When you’re thinkin’ about unleashin’ hell? You look divine like that.”

His gaze turned colder then. March’s fingers dug fingernails further into your skull. And the gesture was near painful. He didn’t seem to care, even when you hissed in response to the sting. Your puffy lips and mouth were drenched in drool. And your hair! His rough handling left it frazzled and wild. You looked an absolute mess of yourself. And in any other circumstance, March would’ve found it repulsive. At this moment, however…

“That…storm in your eyes. The passion that rages on once you’ve taken the life of another. There’s somethin’ so…irresistible about it. Makes me wish I could’ve dropped on my knees and worshiped you like this sooner.” You covered his cock in those mouthy, sloppy kisses, “I just want to submit myself to you, James. Let you have all of me.”

“Really now? Is that how you feel, little one? Truly? ” He spoke suddenly, catching you by surprise.

His fingers curled harshly into your hair, and he pulled you back in a rough, swift motion.

“Enough of this.” March said, “I realize, I said before, this was your night. And you should be the one calling the shots, with me at your leniency. However, since you seem to want my attention so desperately, darling. You’re going to listen to me now.”

You stared up at him with a wide-eyed, sinless gaze. And you didn't dare to say a single word. Good then.

“On the floor. And strip yourself bare for me, would you?” He commanded.

You let yourself fall backwards. And with the motion, March’s grip in your hair loosened. He let go, keeping his eyes on you, as you scooted back along the carpeted floor. The rough surface burned the skin of your elbows. But in death, it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you'd be left with not a single mark. Zero evidence of the night's events. Hastily, you shed your clothes. Your fingers trembled with every movement. March followed, standing slowly from his seat. He watched as you laid yourself naked and bare before him. And he pulled down his suspenders. His pants followed, leaving him in those soft undergarments. March hadn’t yet removed his dress shirt, and he didn’t bother to now.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, crawling over you with an animalistic gaze in his eyes. Immediately upon reaching you, he kissed you deeply. Drinking down every surprised noise you made in response. Your noises. Those mewls and squeals. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more.

March wasn’t the fondest of missionary. But that devotion, that love, that worship bleeding profusely from your eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. March found he needed to look at you. To watch you. His hands trailed down your body, touching you with precise grace. Each touch started with a delicate brush of his fingertips, steadily growing rougher. And there you were, pleasured by the hands of a murderer with almost a hundred years of practice behind him.

As he looked you over with those dark eyes, he could see you slipping so easily into madness. Submitting to him, an eternal ghost of pure malevolence.

And you were pushed even further over the brink once March buried two, long fingers in your cunt. All without a single warning. No preparation. He shoved his digits deep, watching you with a devious smirk. You breathlessly moaned, and your slick walls squeezed around his fingers. March knew every angle at which to twist and press his digits. Only to spur more of those lovely noises out of you.

His long, dexterous fingers pulled themselves from your cunt, and you longed for more. You ached for him, whining pitiful, little protests. And your desperate desire was soon satiated.

In one, rough motion, March forced his cock through your folds. He buried himself deep in a single thrust, growling a rough noise in response to your screams. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him. And you pulled March closer, inching him impossibly deeper.

He hadn’t been this…intimate with another person in…what felt like a millenia. Having his cock buried to the hilt in the tight plush of your cunt…it was enough to make him lose it. March had to take a moment to gather himself. Before he began harshly drilling you into the floor. And the rug underneath you burned painfully against your skin. Though, in this position, you couldn’t help but find the sensation extremely gratifying.

Your screams were all the encouragement he needed. And you begged him to fuck you harder. To vent all his pent up anger and fury using your fragile body as his aid. March gazed down at you, his eyes carrying a near sinister edge. The pace at which he fucked you grew vigorous and unrelenting. A jolt of pleasure shot through your core suddenly, as March pressed his deft fingers to your clit. Rubbing slick, generous circles against the sensitive bud, he soaked in the sight of you falling apart underneath him. Your precious moans were like music to his ears. March cooed quiet praises in a rugged voice, encouraging you to give in. To succumb to the sweet allure of release. He knew you needed it desperately. All the pent up desire you'd carried for him for so long must have felt torturous. A man of mercy, he was. He couldn't allow you to suffer like that any longer. Not after all you'd done for him. After having been so loyal.

He felt your release, as it hit you like a rushing wave. Your walls constricted around his cock in a tight pull, and your entire body trembled. Those delightful screams of yours were more than likely heard across every floor of the hotel. But March's mind was much too hazy with pleasure to care. He wanted the world to hear you. For you to let them all know just who it was you'd submitted yourself to entirely. And as you came down from your high, sobbing soft cries. You met his eyes. Tears rained down your cheeks, and you shivered under his cold gaze. How vulnerable you looked...

One of March’s large, veiny hands found your neck. He squeezed with so much strength that, had you been alive; he easily would’ve cut off your circulation. However, in death, the ache that came with asphyxiation felt like euphoria. Under the pressure of his fingers and hands, you were ascending to the stars. Or, rather…considering you were getting mercilessly fucked by a devilish being such as March? Perhaps a more accurate comparison would be: March was dragging you violently down to an all too pleasurable circle of hell itself.

His cock hit your cervix with a few more, harsh thrusts of his hips. And you were left to suffer the ache of overstimulation. As he squeezed your neck hard enough to leave bruises, and tight enough to kill any living person. March reached his peak. A thick warmth burst from his cock, overflowing you from deep inside. His release filled you up until it leaked from your folds. Purity and innocence sullied. You were his little goof now.

You probably expected March to pull out, now that you received exactly what you wanted. Surely, March would move away from you. Only to clean up, redress himself, and go about his business. Keeping his distance until the next month came. And…he thought he’d have done the same. March didn’t care for you on a deep level of any kind. A loyal dog. That’s all you were. A follower. Indeed. A naive, not-so-innocent, little goof. Who also, just so happened to be completely and utterly in love with him.

And March was not at all enchanted by your obsessive devotion. Why would he be? There was only one woman for him. His dearest wife. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. If anything, you were simply a means of distraction. Easy company in light of his most lonesome days. His old friend. You weren’t graceful. You weren’t classy. You were, at your core, his polar opposite. Of course. Yes. In the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic bliss, he'd almost forgotten.

But even so…

March found he couldn’t pull himself from you. For a few moments longer, he kept his softening cock buried inside your slick walls. There he rested, on his knees, staring down at you from above. His gaze was much less blackened. Instead, replaced with a warm brown. Leaning forward, March buried his flushed face in your shoulder. He nibbled the gentle skin of your collarbone, breathing out his exhaustion.

He chuckled a hushed, but maniacal noise. The vibrations of which tickled your bruised skin. Not to worry, those bruises wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Some possessive part of him wished they would be, though. March raised his head up, looking down into your eyes with a soft, more than satisfied smirk. The curls of his hair fell even more loose upon his head. And once more, he leaned in, only to brush his nose against yours.

“You know…” He mumbled in a croaky whisper. You felt him slowly, gently thrust his hips forward, “...the night is still young, little one. And there’s so much more the two of us could do together…should you be interested...”

His lips met yours in a kiss far too intimate for a casual session of coitus. And you kissed him nervously back, as though you weren’t allowed to indulge yourself. That familiar sense of naivety and purity claimed you all over again. And for whatever reason, it made March want to kiss you more. To envelop you entirely, all his own. His old friend. His little goof. Poor, not-so-innocent sap.

Maybe he was...a little fond of you.

Only a little.

#james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x y/n #james patrick march x you #jpm x reader #jpm x y/n #jpm x you #smut #american horror story #ahs

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fuckmymunson · 2 years

Note

Anon from yesterday hehe, so what I had in my mind was that, reader is James' stepsibling (since I'm poc) and is in Slytherin. Hence he hates them. Even in Slytherin they're not respected and bullied cus they're nice. They also try to be like James and are animagus only so could get love but James confesses he hates his sibling.

Fast forward, reader marries regulus who again treats them like crap. Their marriage is sad. Until maybe something happens and regulus realises their value and later even James accepts them. So basically shit ton of angst with happy ending.

Sorry for long request. You can make it as dark and angsty as you can

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

☆ CW: ANGST, suicide attempt, a lot of cursing, family issues, bullying, James (probably OOC, but idgaf<3), being really, really mean, Regulus being a bad husband. | word count: 5.4k. ☆ a/n: First time writing Reg, sorry. Part II it's still in the making (yes almost a year later, leave me alone lmao)

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Can’t the dark side light my way?

Another morning was waking up to an empty bed.

Rolling on your side, you sighed pressing your cheek against the silk pillows. Every morning was the same, every day felt the same in this old house.

Wrapping yourself in the soft robe, you walked downstairs, to the kitchen, where your husband was already, a cup of black coffee in one hand and the daily prophet in the other.

“Good morning.” You said as you did every morning.

“Good morning,” Regulus muttered back, as he did every morning.

Monotone, a routine, tasteless. That's how you could describe your marriage. Oh, and loveless.

“I'm going to Diagon Alley, do you need anything?” You asked, side against the doorframe.

“Can you buy more of those cinnamon rolls you brought last week?” Regulus lifted his gaze from the newspaper.

You nodded and he muttered a quiet thanks, and with that, you were off. It was always like this, boring conversations, obligatory questions, obligatory answers. He wasn't your husband, he was more like your roommate, perhaps a stranger whom you shared a roof with.

Diagon Alley was crowded, as it always was. Store after store, you stopped by the local bakery, smiling at the (apparently) only thing you had in common with your husband.

To say you didn’t care about Regulus would be a lie, even if it was an arranged marriage, and even if you two had your discrepancies in the past, he was now someone who circulated your orbit daily. Someone whom you liked it or not was going to be there for a long, long time. Regulus was more of a ghost, a phantasmagoric entity that floated around you from time to time, barely speaking, barely acknowledging your existence.

But fights? Were there too. Rather constantly.

Sometimes over nothing, sometimes over past wounds, that were still fresh, sometimes because of his family, sometimes because of yours. Fights always ended up the same, with you sobbing against your silky pillows, and Regulus sleeping in one of the guest rooms.

“Excuse me” A feminine voice behind you dragged you out of your melancholic daze. Turning around, your eyes widened as you recognised the redhead woman in front of you, with a shy smile and a baby with wild hair and green eyes in her arms. “I’m sorry for bothering you, I was just passing by and I saw you here. Say hi Harry.” She cooed at the smiling baby in her arms, who eyed you curiously.

“It’s okay.” You assured her, not sounding convinced at all. “Hello there.” You smiled at the little Harry, who just giggled, his little teeth peeking through his small lips.

“How you’ve been?” Lily asked, clearly trying to start a conversation. “I’m sorry if it seems a bit… meddlesome. It’s just, I never see you around and, you know.” She looked around, visibly nervous.

“Lily.” You spoke softly. “I understand.” You knew where this conversation was heading, and it was something you weren’t really in the mood for. “You don’t have to talk or interact with me if you don’t want to, I don’t mind.” You stopped caring about that long ago.

“I do want to!” She chirped, almost offended. She understood how difficult your situation was, but she was, after all, your stepbrother’s wife. “Harry’s birthday is next week, I was going to send you the invitation, but, hence we are here—”

“James won’t be happy to see me there.” It was true, a crude truth though. Lily frowned but didn’t object, proving you right. “I don’t want to ruin Harry’s birthday party with my presence, besides, I don’t think Regulus would even consider it, I’m pretty sure his brother will be there. ”

“Oh.” Lily quietly muttered, she didn’t think about that further. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You gave her a faux smile, one she didn’t believe at all. “Excuse me, I have to go. I’ll see you around.” Another lie. “Goodbye Harry.” You waved at the infant, who just looked at you with his big, green eyes.

The second you stepped out of the bakery, you heard Lily’s voice calling your name. Once again, you turned around, clutching the paper bag against your chest. You really wanted to go home, but you were too polite to ignore her. She approached you, with a fierce determination in her eyes.

“Look. I know James isn’t the best brother.” She didn’t use the correct title, just like she always did back at school, and James always corrected her, frustrated. “I know he was a total asshole in school, and I’m sorry I never speak up or did something to stop him. I understand family can be difficult, God, my sister? Petunia, she despites me.” She chuckled slightly, shaking her head. “I’m not trying to be a bridge between you two, I won’t force you to reach out to him either, I just want to see you happy. I’m was going to talk to James tonight, and probably scold him for everything he has done these past years, perhaps a few years late, but better late than never, right?”

It seemed too, genuine.

You were speechless. With a deep sigh, you give in, Lily was too persistent, and you were sure she wouldn’t give up, she was head girl after all.

“Fine.” You smiled, this time it was a real smile. “I’ll talk to Regulus tonight as well, I can’t promise you anything, but, I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” Your sister-in-law hugged you, for real. She smelled like peaches and cinnamon, and baby powder. “Thank you, I promise you, everything will get better.”

Everything will get better.

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“No. Absolutely no.” Regulus stood up from the armchair, frowning. “Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s just a party, Regulus.” You interjected, pinching the bridge of your nose. Why did he have to be so uptight? “It won’t hurt. Lily really wants us to go.”

“Us?” He asked, raising his hands, annoyed. “There is no us.”

He was right. There was no us.

Regulus saw, firsthand, how your chest deflated, how your gaze lowered, and how you sighed. He was right, there was no us. It was only you, It was always just you.

“I’m going to bed.” You announced, turning around to hide the tears. Fights weren’t new, but what was new, was the raw twist in his stomach, at the sounds of your sobs on the other side of the main bedroom door. Regulus pressed his back against the wooden frame, listening to how you cried. It wasn’t the first time you cried after a fight, but why did this time make him feel something?

Was it regret? Guilt? Remorse? All of the above?

He slept in the guest room that night, and as he lay on the pillows, he realized he couldn't recall when was the last time he slept next to you.

Dreams weren’t nice either, they weren’t an escape from the cruel reality. Dreams, at least for you, were a constant reminder of how miserable your life was.

Dreams. Memories. Nightmares.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Laughs, evil laughs. Evil snaked dressed in green and silver surrounding you, mocking you. You rubbed your eyes, groaning at the sticky feeling of your fingertips over your face, your hair, your uniform. Someone spilt a glass of orange juice over your head, and no one did anything to stop them. No one cared, no one overlooked.

For the proud and ambitious house of Slytherin, you were just a poor joke. You were the insignificant excuse of a wizard, and definitely, you didn't belong with them. You were too nice, too soft, you were a gentle soul. Qualities that, the Slytherin house wasn’t quite fond of.

And they were sure to remind it every day of your school life.

Across the dining hall, students from other houses looked at you with pity, amusement and even curiosity. Were they expecting you to defend yourself? Probably. Were you going to? Probably not. Instead of giving them a piece of your mind, you just ran away. Once again, as you rubbed the orange juice off your eyes, now mixed with the salty tears of humiliation, they laughed, and their cruel barks echoed in your ears, your mind and your heart.

How did this fit in your story?

Outside, under the dark night sky, the stars were bright. Glowing carefree in the firmament. Your feet wandered around the edge of the astronomy tower, wondering how it would be to be a star. Maybe this just wasn’t your timeline. Maybe you weren’t born to succeed, to achieve great things. Everything just felt empty, flavourless, pointless. Since when did that bright smile change into a sorrowful grimace? When did everything go downhill? Questions, questions, so many questions and no answers. Shaky hands held tightly on the chilly rails of the tallest tower in Hogwarts, where the wind was colder and the stars were closer.

Have you ever dreamed of being reborn as a star? Many times. A wish, your last wish, as your feet started to move away, closer to the sky. Star light, star bright, wish you may, wish you might. Closing your eyes, ignoring the tears streaming down your cheeks, you let go of a hand, darting dangerously around the edge. Everything would be quick, painless, and that’s what you wished for the most, for the pain to just stop.

"Wait!" A voice, a masculine voice. A voice of a star, the brightest star. You opened your eyes violently, gasping at sudden vertigo in your stomach, your feet slipped, and realizing for a fraction what you were about to do. It was too late now, your hands were away from the rails, as your body sway almost gracefully, towards death.

His hand grasped yours, it hurt. Great, just what you needed, more pain. Regulus held firmly to your hand, as you sobbed. Carefully, he eased you back into the ground, your knees wobbling the second you landed on the stone floor. Hard sobs rocked your body, your heart pounding wildly inside your chest.

“Why?” You asked, between sobs. “Why did you stop me?”

“Why were you… going to—” Regulus started, breathing heavily, shocked by what he just witnessed.

“Because I knew no one would stop me.”

"I'm sorry for what happened in the Great Hall." He already said that, why did he insist upon it? "I should've said something, what they did to you was so unfair, even if…” Even if it what?

“Even if I deserved it?” You suggested with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Regulus kneeled next to you, keeping a prudent distance. “I didn’t mean it that way, sorry. I don’t know what to say. It was wrong, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Pity. It was pity.

“Regulus.” Hugging your knees, you inhaled the sweet scent of orange juice lingering in your uniform. “Don’t pretend you overlook me. They have been pestering me for years, and you never seemed to care about it. If this is a joke, it ain’t a funny one.”

“It’s not a joke!” He protested. “I just… never actually cared, yeah. Until now.”

Until now.

“Until now?”

Days later, you found out, what ‘Until now’, finally meant. It meant a black, wax-sealed letter, a bad omen. Just a few words were enough to crumble the little piece of peace you had.

War. Fiancé. Marriage. Regulus Black.

You threw the letter to the fire, watching it twist and burn in the desertic common room, late at night with a blanket around your shoulders. You were too immersed in your own thoughts to notice his presence. Regulus called you, making you jolt in surprise. He saw the envelope next to the fire, and the ashed on the wood confirmed his suspicions.

“So, until now, uh?” You asked, with a harsh tone, harsher than intended, not bothering to look at him.

“I’m not happy either.” His voice was a brick, and you were sure he had an unpleased frown.

“There must be a way. I’m sure.” Standing up, the blanket rolled down your shoulders, pooling on the thick green rugs. “Fuck.” You cursed under your breath. “This can’t be happening.”

“It’s borderline ironic.” Something about Regulus’ tone didn’t sit quite right with you.

“Ironic? How so?”

“She's vivid by the idea of me marrying a pureblood, a Slytherin, she didn't even care that your Mother was married to a Potter. A blood traitor, just like my br— just like Sirius.” Of course, it all came to that. Of course, Regulus was just like his family, just an elitist, classist piece of shit. “Perhaps we can tell my Mother how much of a coward and weak you are." His words tensed you, were all the Blacks so venomous? "How you aren't a real Slytherin.”

That was the last drop, your thirteen reason. “Sure, and we can tell my Mother how much of a self-centred asshole you are. How you can't see beyond your fat nose and realize there are other people besides you." Your nostrils flared with rage, no tears, just rage.

Regulus’ face contorted into one of anger, outraged by your words.

“I regret walking on you that night.” He scoffed, looking at you as if you were nothing more than a speck of dirt in his expensive leather shoes. “I wish I could travel back in time and stop myself from not letting you fucking kill yourself, giving up like the coward you are. Absolutely pathetic.” His words were pure venom, living up to his house and its emblem.

You slapped him. His face distorted into one of surprise. "I wish I had died that night. So I don't have to watch your ugly fucking face daily."

That night, like many others, you cried yourself to sleep, casting a silencing spell around your bed, hiding from the world, letting the pain consume you, poisoning your soul. Days only got worse, your grades dropped, and soon the whole school knew you were engaged to none other than the Regulus Black. Students stared at you more than usual, whispered louder than usual, and you ever wondered if you became a zoo animal without noticing it. The little contact you had with other students was now unexistent, you spent the majority of the time alone, in the library, where books couldn’t hurt you.

The library became your safe space, a bubble to hide from the real world. Standing on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelve, your attention caught a familiar voice, a loud one, too loud to be allowed in the library.

"Moony c'mon, we'll be fine!" James, it was James.

"Stop insisting, Prongs." Remus answered, and he sounded annoyed. With silent steps you walked closer to them, leaning over a bookshelf, eavesdropping on their argument. "Last full moon was a disaster."

"You know who's fault that was." That one was Peter.

"Keep it down, please." Remus sighed. "You're lucky she knows how to heal a scratch like that. Because if Madame Pomfrey ever hears about this—"

"She won't!" James interrupted him. "She said that she'll be close so if we need her, she'll be there."

You heard Remus's breath hitching. "Are you out of your damn mind? I'm not going to let her near me when I'm a fucking werewolf, Prongs."

A werewolf.

"Calm down, Moony, we know is your time of the month." Sirius's teasing tone only had the opposite effect. "Ouch! Fine, fine, I'll stop. But don’t pinch me like that, it hurts.”

“Great, now shut up.” Remus groaned, annoyed.

It made perfect sense. Years ago, you heard Severus teasing him in one of the few classes you shared with them, calling him "Loony Lupin", a freak, pointing out his scars... Speaking of scars, he had a lot of them.

A couple of essays and works about werewolves had taught you only one thing: They were cruel creatures and extremely dangerous, but, Remus never, in a thousand years looked like a cruel person, he was the only one of James's close friends who had never actively participated in your stepbrother's antics to humiliate you and bother you, but he didn't do anything to stop him either, and you learned the hard way that doing nothing was also part of the problem.

“I still can’t believe you three spent three damn years, putting your lives at risk to become an animagus.” Remus scoffed, but then laughed. “You guys are insane.”

“Hey,” Sirius said. “Anything for our Moony.”

What the hell was happening? First werewolves and now animagus? It really, really, really made perfect sense. Padfoot, Moony, Prongs and Wormtail.

If James and his friends could transform themselves into an animagus, how hard could it be?

It was hard, extremely hard.

It could be considered delusional and psychotic, attempt it without previous preparations, and professional supervision. Being young and naive makes you do stupid things, just for the sake of being accepted and loved. Book after book, the migraine drilled deeply into your skull, it was borderline impossible. After two weeks of exasperating research, two broken quills and a roll of paper, you always ended up with the same conclusion: It was dangerous. Becoming an animagus without any type of help or supervision from the Ministry of Magic was basically a premeditated suicide.

Constantly asking yourself how could they manage to do it without getting caught, how were their methods, how were they still alive? After your third attempt that night, hiding in the Astronomy tower, your whole body ached, a bad move could ruin your life forever, becoming a half-human half-animal, or in the worst case, becoming a corpse. The books you had scattered around the cold floor were useless now, they only repeated the same words with different fonts, words that only vanished your enthusiasm. You didn’t have enough time, enough skills and enough confidence.

"Come on, come on." You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes, feeling the magic flowing through your veins, powerful, strong, earthly. It felt natural, it felt yours.

It was there, you could feel it. You were so, so close. Your whole body tingled, the sparkles in your soul the purpose of your efforts igniting the magic within you. Just a little bit more...

It was gone, and you groaned in pain. It vanished as quickly as it approached, four failed attempts were enough for that night. So, while throwing the useless books inside your backpack, you walked back to your dorm carefully to not be caught by Flitch or Mrs Norris.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Full moon. It was time, it was your last chance.

It was risky, worst case scenario you could die, your corpse rotting the night. But, death wasn't a thing you were afraid of, at least not anymore. You planned every single step that night, you went through it the whole week. You avoided Regulus, you avoided James, you avoided everything and everyone. The hardest thing was to know when and how to follow them. You knew they were leaving the castle at any time soon, you were a smart girl after all. Logically, Remus couldn't transform near school, for the safety of other students and himself. Dungeons? No, inside the school it was impossible, very noticeable too, and too easy to guess. It must be out of the school grounds.

The first step was to successfully walk out of the school without being caught, and perhaps one (if not) of the most challenging (asides from the transformation itself), then all you had to do is wait. Wait for a signal, for voices, steps, anything. Hiding outside of the castle, next to the greenhouses, the night air was cold, really cold. Wrapping yourself in your jumper, you waited to hide next to a pile of dirt sacks, patiently.

Forty minutes or so later, when you started to doubt your plan, you heard them. Not them exactly, but you could recognize McGonagall's voice everywhere. Taking a quick peek, Madame Pomfrey was also there, and they were escorting Remus, who was silent between the two women. Taking a prudent distance, you followed them all the way to the Whimpering Willow, and you watched in awe how McGonagall with a flick of her wand paralyzed the tree, walking right into a hole next to the prominent roots, followed by Remus and Poppy. So, there was a secret passage. It made sense. But where did it lead them to? Hiding behind a big rock, you waited again. Until they returned, chatting in a low voice.

Until you were sure they were far gone, this was your only chance. Mimicking Minerva's movements, you hoped a simple paralyzing spell would do the trick, and to your surprise it did. Wasting no time, you slid under the tree, scratching your hand as you did so, wiping the little pearls of blood in your jumper. The dark pathway was lugubrious, and you weren't exactly sure where it would lead you, you reached the end, and a weak ray of the pale moonlight guided your steps until you were outside of the Shrieking Shack. This was an excellent location, away from Hogwarts and away from Hogsmeade, plus, the abandoned house had the reputation of being haunted, so, naturally, no one approached it. It was brilliant!

You heard voices, and this time it was them. Running to the nearest tree, you hid behind it, cold sweat running down your face. The unmistakable sound of Sirius' laugh filled your ears, and you watched how the entered the house. The moon was almost at its peak, almost ready to take its protagonism in the dark sky.

A deep, crucifying silence reigned over the terrain until you heard it. A howl, a deep, loud howl, mixed with pain and ache. It was your signal to go with the final step. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. Inhaling, exhaling. It was now or never.

There it was again, that sensation running through your veins, pumping magic through every cell of blood. Your skin felt warm, tingling, you felt every hair, every pore. Taking a deep, long breath, you closed your eyes. Wand in hand, you took another profound breath, placing your wand-tip against your heart, begging to the stars.

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

Blazing pain and an intense shiver ran through your body. The bright moon witnessed everything, how your body contorted in agony, your heartbeat was loud, hard and fast, and then it stopped, for a brief instant. Then two. Double heartbeat. It was too late now. There was no going back. A dark cloud fogged your mind, and it happened, you saw it, inside your head, and it was beautiful, it was graceful, it was you. The fear that followed you through the transformation started to crumble your bravery, but surrendering only meant one thing:

Death.

Opening your eyes, everything was… different. The sounds were louder, the scents were stronger. The perspective was abysmal, what was big was now small, and raising your gaze, there it was, the full moon, golden and proud, smiling softly at you, or at least it seemed to.

Their scent was strong, mixed and together, they were a pack. You heard them from miles around, and the rational voice inside your mind kept you in line, it would be too abrupt to approach them firsthand. Sneaking silently around the abandoned building, you devoured your surroundings, every rock, every stick, every curve. The fresh imprint of paws guided you through the woods, closer and closer to the forbidden forest. Still keeping a safe distance, you joined their voices, still hesitant.

The big, grey wolf was the first one to approach you. Slowly at first, reluctant. Were you a friend or an enemy? The tension was high in the skies. He growled, cautious. It was him, it had to be him. He sniffed the air, your scent, and taking a seat, he maintained eye contact, narrowing his golden eyes.

You didn’t felt threatened at all. It was an innofensive interaction, you could smell his curiosity, if that was even possible, or even rational. The atmosphere relaxed for a bit, and the wolf laid down, resting his snot in his long paws. He accepted your presence, but it wasn’t an invitation either. You chirped happily, progress was progress.

Until, the rest of them emerged from the shadows. Larger than you, stronger, angrier. They didn’t liked you, at you could sense their discomfort and hazard. The large, black dog, barked at you, a simple warning: ‘Stay away’. You remained still, blinking slowly, showing them no harm was planned. At least not from your part. The stag was the biggest of them all, with enormous, extravagant horns, graceful swirls in a soft bone colour. The usual prey now looked and acted like a true predator, and the brownish stag was the first one to walk closer to you, looming over you. Stretching his neck, the animal attempted a showoff of dominance, to express how proud and unwelcoming he was.

Behind him, the black dog growled again at you, this time louder. A second warning: ‘Leave’. But you didn’t. You remained still, strong-willed.

A sudden high-pitched squeal caught your attention, and you observed how the wolf was stepping on the tail of a abnormal big rat, not in a dangerous way, more leaning into a playful manner. Unfortunately, letting your guard down for a brief second was a mistake. The black dog pounced, this was the third and final warning. He hovered over you, the drool dripping down his canines. Rolling over a couple times, you tried to fight back, but it was hard, this new form was still new, and your movements were clumsy and dull.

His sharp teeth were wrapped around your throat, hard enough to pierce the skin but not to be considered mortal. The primal instinct of survival ran through your veins, and using every ounce of strength you had in your animalistic personage, you pushed him off you. It wasn’t a fair fight though. The painful stab of the Stag’s horns against your sides caught you off guard once again.

Wheeling over the dirt, you hissed in pain, panting. The adrenaline was high and the anxiety too. Loud alarms inside your head screamed at you. Run, run, run. On all fours, you sprinted away, quickly being pursued by the two aggressive animals. The wolf’s howling broke the silence surrounding you, it was a long, melancholic howl. From the sounds of heavy steps behind you, you knew they were getting closer. They knew how to move, you didn’t. Your legs gave up, sore and pristine to this new anatomy. Those sharp, brutal teeth caught the flesh of one of your back legs, as you cried in distress.

«No, no, no, this can’t be the way I die.» The rational and human voice inside your head sobbed.

A flash of gray freed you from the dog’s grip. The two canines fought against each other, barking and howling at each other, as if its human sides were in a heated argument. You suddenly remembered, the stag was still there, and you wouldn’t comit the same mistake twice.

Duels for you, were never fair, less, if your adversary was your stepbrother, James.

The stag was stronger and bigger, but you were lighter and faster. Dodging every lunge and assault, the strong scents of their proximity clouded your common senses. This wasn’t correct, you never meant to hurt them, especially him. For a very strange reason, you still cared for him, even after all he had done.

Bright, warm rays of sunshine dazzled you, the sun was rising, which only meant one thing; The world stopped for a minute, and everyone ran back to the Shrieking Shack, where they were supposed to be in the first place, but this was far from over.

Running back to your first hiding spot, you closed your eyes again, resting your shivering form against an old tree trunk, accumulating all the last resilience you had to transform back. If someone had told you a month ago, you would’ve been hurriedly dressing back up, bleeding for a hundred superificial wounds, next to the Shrieking Shack, you would tell them they were out of their fucking mind. The sun was brushing the horizon, carefree, as the moon waved back, ready to leave and gossip with the stars. With trembling steps, you walked towards the haunted house, panting, one hand making pression on your stomach, where your most profound wound was.

Inside the old place, it reeked of dirt, old magic and a hint of cinnamon, and maybe citrus, and odd combination, to say the least. Their voices were loud whispers, and, turning around a corner, you found them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” James shouted, however, this time you didn’t backed away, to hide and cry.

You were too tired to run away.

“You almost killed me!” You snapped back, surprising him with your offputting attitude.

“Stop,” Remus interjected, standing up from a broken, dusty bed, just to groan slightly in pain and sit back down. “Shit—. She knows, she knows too much.” His face was bloody, he was wrapped in a yellow blanket, his silver scars peeking through the fabric along with new ones, angry red and still bleeding.

“Fucking idiot.” James stepped closer, clutching your shoulder. “You ruin everything. You’re so selfish, you are so stupid.” He continued, unloading his anger on you, just like he always did. “Do you know the risk you made us take? Just because of your senseless actions!”

“James.” Remus called him again, this was going too far.

“Remus, he’s right.” Sirius spat, sharing the same venomous look his brother did, nights ago in the Slytherin’s common room. “She knows too much, and if she opens her big, fucking mouth, it would be the end of us.”

“She’s not going to, right?” James pressed, looking at you dead in the eye, you had never seen him this furious before. “She won’t if she knows what’s good. You’re just a self-centred bitch, you can’t stand people having friends right? Just because you’re a loner and no one fucking likes you—”

You slapped him, all across the cheek, knocking off his glasses and successfully shutting him up. Tears ran down your muddy cheeks, this was it, this was your limit.

“Me? Me?!” It was your turn to shout. “Since I met you, you've done nothing but make my life miserable!” Breathing heavily, chest rising with the unpleasant feeling of resentment and rancor. “I did everything! I tried everything for you to like me! I just wanted to be your fucking friend James. I just wanted to fucking be happy, for once!”

“So you became an animagus, in the ridiculous attempt to join us?” His tone was mocking, the tone every student used to address you. “Pathetic. I would never like you, you’re just a lying snake. You don’t care about us, or my father, your mother is just marrying him for Godric knows what. You would never be part of my family.”

“I fucking hate you!” You stomped your shoe at the creaking wood flooring. “I fucking hate you James, you’re just an arrogant piece of shit! You think everyone likes you, you think you’re the greatest, but no. You are just a pretentious, smug fucking loser. You’re the one who doesn’t belong to Gryffindor, you’re a bigger snake than I would ever be!”

James pushed you, face red with rage. You collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain, from head to toe your body was sore, every inch of skin screamed in agony.

“Take it back.” He demanded, forcing you to look at him. “You think you hate me? Then I hate you ten fucking times more.” He spat. No one uttered a word. “I wish you were dead, I wish my father had never married your golddigger mother. You don’t deserve my last name, my house, anything!”

“Fuck off!” You replied, kicking him, crawlinging backwards, attempting to move away from him. “Get away from me!” His hand yanked your hair, making you sob.

“You’re fucking dead to me. I would never, ever see you as an equal. You’re nothing, you’re useless. Everything everyone says in school is true. You’re nothing more than a pathetic mistake, and you dare to call me a loser? At least I have friends.” He let go, turning around to pick up his glasses. “Everyone is right; You are just a hindrance. You don’t belong anywhere.

“One day.” You promised. “One day you will fucking regret those words.”

James laughed, Sirius laughed, Peter was to stunned to speak, and Remus was too tired to even think properly, besides, this wasn’t his battle. Nor of Sirius, or Peter.

In the end, it was always, only you.

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. I appreciate any feedback!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #regulus black #regulus black angst #regulus black x reader angst #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black scenario #regulus black imagine #regulus black x female reader #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #petter pettigrew #marauders era #regulus by omel!#omel's asks<3 #omenhel's love letters #🌼 anon

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guizika · 4 months

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Vampires!

Dean Winchester x Male Reader

Cw - Male reader, you/yours pronouns, fluff, Mention of death, violence, drinking, maybe it’s a bit ooc.

Synopsis - You decide to go to a bar to forget your problems, but unfortunately you end up finding more problems, but you also find a solution.

Word count - +1500

A love disappointment, problems at work and some encouragement from your friend were enough to make you go to a bar. The bar was located in a more secluded part of town, and most people went there at weekends.

You left the house wearing your favorite outfit, a white T-shirt and black pants. When you got to the bar, you ran into your friend, who was already drinking and hitting on the bartender. As you approach, you nudge her shoulder lightly and she lights up when she sees you. "You really came!"

"Of course I did, I'd never miss a chance to drink myself into a stupor." You say jokingly, smiling amusedly. Soon, you sit down next to her and order whisky to drink, chatting about silly things. Some stories have already been told, but they're still funny. You drink and laugh as you reminisce about your teenage years.

"Remember when you and Willian nearly blew up the school laboratory?" She says, laughing out loud as you let out a nasal laugh. "Firstly, that was far from an explosion and, secondly, it was all Willian's fault." You say defending yourself, laughing as you remember that day.

"Hey, do you remember when you flooded the bathroom at school?" Her laughter stops and then she blushes with embarrassment, drawing a genuine laugh from you. "It wasn't my fault, I was unfortunately in the bathroom and then disaster struck." You finish your whisky and then smile sarcastically at her. "Yes, of course, whatever you say."

Before you can order anything else to drink the Bartender hands you a beer, causing you to raise an eyebrow. "Uh, sorry, but I think you gave it to the wrong person, I didn't order a beer." The bartender smiles at you and then points to a man sitting on a bar stool by himself. "That man sent you that drink."

Your gaze goes in the man's direction, analyzing his face, he notices your gaze and smiles seductively at you, then takes a sip of his beer. "Oh my God, you have to go to him now!" Your friend whispers to you excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Don't worry, I've already found someone I want to stay with tonight." She says as if she knew what you were going to say, making you sigh with relief.

"Wish me luck." You smile and then walk over to the man, clearing your throat to talk to him. "Ah, hello, did you send me the beer?" He nods and then you sit down next to him, your beer in hand. "So, what's your name, handsome?" He smiles and then takes a sip of his beer.

"James Hetfield, but you can call me daddy, and what would your name be, sweetie?" he says, smiling seductively. He says, smiling seductively as you raise an eyebrow and laugh slightly. "Oh yes, you're the lead vocalist of Metallica, I'm John Lennon, nice to meet you."

He laughs, catching your drift. "I'm Dean, now, what's your name?" He takes another sip of his beer as he waits for your answer, after you reply he smiles and then looks around. "Right, well, what do you say we get out of here, sweetie?" His tone comes out suggestive, making you smile and then agree immediately. You finish your beers and then leave the bar kissing, you go to his car and then he takes you to the motel room where he's staying.

"Just don't make too much noise." He says between kisses, making you bite his lower lip and smile seductively, he lays you on the bed and you continue kissing.

…

The next day you open your eyes and see that the man is still asleep, so you get up and put your clothes on. After buttoning up your white T-shirt, you go out and then order a cab on your cell phone.

You see that your friend has sent you a few messages and you laugh, opting to reply when you get home. The cab arrives, you get in the car and say the address, driving home.

...

After two months, a lot of murders began to occur in your town, worrying most of the population. These crimes usually occur at night, so many people stop going out, but that doesn't stop you from going out to cool off.

The bartender looks at you and greets you, smiling and then placing a glass of whisky in front of you, already knowing what you were going to order. You finish your drink and the bartender hands you a Cuba-Libre. "That's the man who told me to give it to you." You look at who the bartender pointed to and notice that the man has pale skin and long black hair, he smiles and then walks over to you. His gaze never leaving your face, looking at you with a mischievous smile.

"Wow, what does someone like you do in this kind of place?" he asks, smiling and looking at you seductively. You take a sip of the drink he's sent you and smile kindly. "Just enjoying life, that's all, how about you?" The man seems to like your answer, looking you in the eye and then taking a sip of his drink. "I'm just enjoying life too."

After talking for a while, you leave the bar, he kisses you and takes you to his car. "Well, you're very handsome, I confess I'm sad to have to kill you." Hearing his words, your eyes widen and you try to push him away, only to be surprised by a blow to the back of the head, knocking you out. You hear other people's voices and then faint.

…

"What the fuck, ouch." You feel a strong pain in your head, probably because of the blow, you try to get up or move your arms but realize you're tied up, becoming more aware of your current state.

"You're finally awake, I thought you'd died from the blow." The barman's voice echoes off the walls of the shed, he turns on the light and your eyes close, opening only when you've gotten used to the brightness. "Where am I?" Your voice comes out hoarse, probably because your throat is dry.

He laughs, the laugh containing malice. "Well, you're in the nest." Your expression shows doubt. "Nest?" The man snorts, then opens his mouth and bares his fangs. "Yes, well, I'm a vampire and this is my nest, there are lots of vampires here." You stay silent, trying to process what he's said.

"Vampires?" You whisper, making him smile. "Yeah, I'd explain it to you, but there's no point because you're going to die soon." His words make you squirm as he approaches, screaming and begging for help even though you know it will be in vain. However, before he gets too close to you, the sound of a door opening can be heard and then he turns around to see two men.

You look too, relieved that someone has arrived, but after looking for a while you realize that one of the men is Dean. "Hey, bloodsucker, how about you come over here and face us?" Dean says and then the vampire charges at them, but he's easily defeated.

"Hey, how are you?" The taller man comes towards you, cutting the ropes that bind you and helping you to your feet. "Well, I almost got killed by a, uh, vampire, I guess, but I'm fine." The man smiles embarrassedly and then introduces himself. "I'm Sam Winchester and that's my brother, Dean." You smile and then introduce yourself.

They get you out of there and then take you to the car, you lean against the car and then cross your arms. Sam leaves you and goes to talk to someone on the phone, leaving you alone. Dean ends up explaining their work to you, causing you to let out a sigh.

"Well, I had no idea that James Hetfield also hunted monsters." You say in a joking tone, smiling in a relaxed way. "But seriously, that was super unexpected, like, I never imagined that these things actually existed." Dean laughs lightly and then lets out a snort, looking away.

"Well, I don't think anyone really wants to imagine that sort of thing." After he says that, you look at each other, until Sam arrives and clears his throat, making you look embarrassed and then look at him.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to Dean." You just smile and shrug, watching the two of them walk away, talking about something you can't hear. After a while they come back and Dean lets out a sigh and looks at you.

"Looks like we have to go, another case has come up." His tone contains dissatisfaction, but he tries to mask it, you let out a sigh and then smile at him. "All right, but when you pass through this town, come and visit me."

Dean brightens up and then takes his cell phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. "I've got a better idea, put in your phone number, so we can, well, keep in touch."

After that you both get in the car, he drops you off at your house and then he drives off, heading for the place of the next case.

Maybe you'll meet again in the future...

Please don't translate or copy my work and don't repost on other social networks, if there are any grammatical errors I ask you to excuse me!

#male reader #male reader insert #ftm reader #ftm!reader #male!reader #supernatural #spn x male reader #dean wichester x male reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x ftm reader #supernatural x male reader #supernatural x ftm reader

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gorogues · 1 month

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I was looking up the Rogues for some writing. When I remembered Trickster and the mind altering stuff that did him dirty. Is this scene the one where Trickster is reverted back to his “original” because of Top. Cause if it is. I don’t think it is. I think Top believed that he undid his own work but what he actually did was mess up Trickster even more.

“He’ll never help anyone but himself.”

I feel like that right there is Top pushing his own views on what Trickster should actually be and the not Trickster himself.🧐

That's one way of interpreting it, and it's certainly a valid one, though we may never know what Johns intended unless he elaborates.

Without any word-of-the-author explaining what he meant, I think it comes down to whether one wants to be charitable to James, or to Roscoe…and I know that most people would rather be charitable to James (he's got tons more fans). And Roscoe's my favourite and I like to defend him against fan hostility so I probably lean towards being charitable to him 🤷

Here's the thing: Roscoe is frequently a huge dickhead, especially in the modern era. But James has also had some real dickhead moments, and I'm not talking about the OOC garbage that was Countdown or the questionable shenanigans of "The Greatest Trick Of All". Even in James' "I'm not a mean man" issue, he intentionally caused a gondola full of people plummet to the ground so the Flash would be forced to save them and he could escape. Sorry James, that was incredibly mean and people could have died. (It probably happened before he even met Roscoe because Rogue team-ups were extremely uncommon at that point, but we don't actually know when the two of them met).

James used his mind-control device on Big Sir -- a man with intellectual disabilities -- and told the Rogues that turning it to the highest setting would eventually render Big Sir a vegetable. The Rogues laughed about it, as did James. And James' reform was pretty much because he didn't want to go to Hell and be at the mercy of Neron, which he stated very clearly. He wasn't doing it out of some intrinsically noble nature, it was largely self-interest.

So neither of these guys is innocent, even if James is definitely kinder and gentler than Roscoe. James is unquestionably a better person. But what I'm saying is that he also has darkness in him and has had it since the Silver Age, even if we don't see it very often, so Roscoe didn't need to force anything into him for it to appear. And thus whether Roscoe did or didn't do that is likely up to individual interpretation.

#demonbirdsforever #words #the Trickster #the Top

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xxmiracle · 6 months

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~𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐔𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐚~

~𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐡~

a/n: I'm not sure how this turned out or if I'll continue it. It's an idea I've had for almost a year now, if you like it and want me to continue please tell me.

CW: Smoking, Blood, Probably OOC Characters, Ghost with kids

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Ghost steps out for a smoke break away from his office to be interrupted by two young playing past the bush.

Ghost steps outside taking the spot he claimed himself for his smoke breaks, a quiet spot that drowns as much sound from the training soldiers and moving vehicles. Coming back from a mission meant for him as a lieutenant was a bunch of boring paperwork despite how burnt out he must be. He took pride in doing his job well but he hated the endless boring paperwork that comes when he’s back on base. Lighting up his cigarette he let out an exhausted sigh breathing out a puff of smoke.

He intends to take his spot here as long as he can procrastinate in the paper work. He didn’t care if his Captain or anyone else gave him shit for it. Even so if it was urgent he would know.

Unfortunately he wasn’t alone, past the bush he saw two young boys of different ages guessing from their height. Walking as the older lead with his backpack and the younger followed with his purple cartoon stuffed bunny. He saw their mouths moving while talking but he couldn’t hear them, perhaps some children game. He hasn’t been a boy himself for a long time now. He doesn’t mean to be creepy to stare at the two young boys play, he honestly found amusement seeing the kids play but also on instinct he held his eyes on them especially the lack of supervision they had on base. Ghost could only assume the kids are the sons of a superior from how laid back and freely they walked around the place.

They played freely with one another in childish games such as tag. And perhaps it was just a big brother or sibling thing to do. The older boy took the stuffed bunny out of the little boys’ arms, running away laughing at how much it bothered his brother. Ghost almost felt bad for the poor boy, his big brother clearly had the advantage and he took over that. Though by instinct he worried over the danger of tripping running in dirt and rocks.

The little boy tried to run as fast as his brother but his shorter legs wouldn’t allow him. “James! Slow Down-” The little boy tripped on his own feet falling to the floor, his face getting hit from the impact too.

The older boy, James, came back to check on his brother as he sat on his knees crying, getting to the watchful ears of the man that stood from afar. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to trip.” Ghost could sense the panic that arose in the boys’ face, unsure what to do for his crying brother. He’s seen the look of uncertainty many times on men in his field, just never in young boys.

Whispering a string of curses he ditched his cigarette, pulling his mask down walking past the bush to the crying boy. He’s not sure what opposed him to do this but as the only adult available he guessed it had to be him to help. “Y’re alright, kid.” Pocketing his gloves he picked up the crying boy onto his feet dusting his clothes of any dirt.

“He’s bleeding.” The older kid pointed out. “Shit!” He cursed out he didn’t have anything with him that helped with a bleeding nose and even if he ran to get it the kid will probably get light headed from the blood loss. Feeling small hands tap his forearm, the older kid with his backpack open in his arms, hands him a cloth to take.

Now sitting on the steps of the building the Lieutenant held the cloth near young boys’ face catching any blood that fell instructing him to keep his head tilted forward to keep the blood from the esophagus. The bleeding wasn’t so bad anymore but the boy did show concern of the blood getting on his shirt. The older boy, James, sat next to his brother asking him if he’s alright every few seconds the little boy could only respond with soft weak hums of response. “Can you hold it yourself?” The boy responded with a quiet “Yeah”.

“Forward.” He reminded me. “Okay!”

Now they sat in silence for a few moments. “My name’s James. What’s your’s?” James introduced himself by asking the older mans’ name. “Ghost.” He responded. James looked at him curiously. “Why Ghost? You have a skull mask?” He pointed towards his mask. Though Ghost understood the concept of his callsign when he wears a skull mask. Though he found the question more bearable to answer when it’s the kid.

“And I’m Tommy!” The younger boy blurted before he could answer, wiping his nose of blood. “And that’s Bonnie. From Five Nights at Freddy’s.” He pointed to the stuffed bunny sitting between him and Ghost.

Ghost eyes softened a bit at the name, it’s been years since he’s heard of the name. “Yeah, is that a show?” His question seemed to spark an excitement into their faces. “It’s a scary game.” Seeing how the man seemed to atleast to be interested they took turns ranting about a game of where you play as a security guard in a pizzeria where you must survive the night from animatronics.

The older man couldn’t really understand what they were saying as he doesn’t know what “Five nights at Freddy’s” is but from their description of the game it seemed much for kids who look barely ten and possibly four. What things kids enjoy these days are kinda odd, though he felt relaxed at the moment so he didn’t bother to stop the conversation.

Deciding to finish their little rant he would ask the question. “Who’re boys with?”

“Uncle Price.” Now this was surprising; the Captain has nephews.

James held a guilty expression. “I ran away from his office and Thomas wanted to come with me.” He admitted fiddling his two thumbs. “Don’t tell, Please, Dad will get mad at me!” His round eyes begging to Ghost. He looked away for a moment and sighed, patting the kids’ head.

“I won’t tell, kid.” He said, Jame’s face bursted into a smile.

Thomas looked between the two, he stopped wiping his nose when he felt like he wasn’t bleeding. He wiped his nose a few times more just to be sure. “Do we have to go back to Uncle Price’s office? He smells like cigarettes.” The question was innocent but Ghost couldn’t help but let a deep chuckle out when it was so true the old man smelled of cigar most of the time.

Digging into his backpack James’ brought out a juice box. “Thomas, want one?” When he nodded yes he opened the straw of the juice box poking it in the hole before handing it to his brother. “Mister Ghost, want one too? I brought extras.” He looked at James’, his eyes almost pleading him to take the juice box.

“Why not, kid.” Accepting the juice box lets the kid have that same bright smile as he sat back down on his own spot opening his own. Opening the packet the straw was held in he poked the straw into the box lifting up his mask to drink it. He’ll probably call Laswell to take the boys, afraid the smell of cigar from the old man is gonna have the kids running away again.

~~~~~

“John,”

With a few rings of the ringtone he’d answered the computer’s facetime call revealing the face of Kate Laswell. She didn’t often call him like this so this was sudden, if this was about work he’d expected to get an email to talk about it in person.

“Laswell,”

“Have you read the files yet?” She smiled, earning Price’s suspicion.

“Yes,” He showed the file he’d received from her hours ago. “Though I’m a bit disappointed this is all you can find of her.” He said flipping through the few pages of information he was given, some of it wasn’t even reliable as some still had gaps in between.

“Well she did learn from us.” She chuckled. “Why do you want her whereabouts so bad?” She’d asked. When John came to her for a favor she wasn’t expecting this she didn’t know what he’d wanted with this but she’d did it not because they worked together but also as his friend. Price didn’t answer but he held a complex expression. “Feel guilty.” He’d stayed silent for a moment moving his hand to scratch his beard. “You could say that.” Assuming that was the end of their conversation he was about to end the call.

“Oh John, another thing.” He looked at her puzzled. “Have you lost anything?” All he could do was stare in confusion, raising his brows.

Laswell just chuckled again now he felt like she was messing with him. Like the times she’d call football ‘soccer’ just to annoy him. “Boys, say hi to your uncle.” She showed the camera to the backseat of her car showing the two boys, James and Thomas.

“Hi.”

“Bye,” The boys looked at each other in surprise, Thomas was quick to cover his mouth after blurting the opposite of hello. “I meant hi.”

“What are they doing with you?!” Price looked bewildered at the computer; he swore the kids were fine in the other fine playing with their games. Looking at them they seemed okay except for the dried blood and a small scrape on Thomas' nose. “What the hell happened with his nose?!”

“Ghost called, said he found them outside of the west building. He took care of them till arrived.” She explained she was gonna comment on how stressed out he looked but decided she messed with him enough. “I thought I’d take them out for ice cream and bring them back to you.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He heard the cheering about ice cream from the boys before he’d ended the call.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he could only brood how’s he’s potentially gotten soft, he’s a fucking captain for fuck’s sakes yet he couldn’t notice two little boys sneaking out of his office. He could blame the tiredness in him but even Laswell it’s something more than that. Those boys are worth more that he won’t even bother getting mad at them for sneaking away, either way he knew their mother would have his head if found out anything happened to them.

Looking at the file almost seemed to confirm that.

______________________________________________________________

NAME: 66

CODENAME: [UNKNOWN]

ALIASES: [REDACTED]

D.O.B: [REDACTED]

GENDER: [UNKNOWN]

NATIONALITY: [UNKNOWN

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