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trashcanplant · 3 months

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The Harvest

Mob Au to @//clownsuu

Penny to @cherrythepuppet

Vince to @cloudy-dreams

TW: Spooky scary scarecrows send shivers down your spine! Rotting meat.

Grover sat at the bar, keeling over a hearty glass of rye whiskey like there was no tomorrow. He felt miserable, grabbing at his chest and struggling to breathe. His mind spaced out, and when he came back to reality, Penny was sitting beside him.

“Ugh… what do you want.” He groaned, slamming back another cup. Grover let Howdy finish pouring him a new one before he turned back to Penny.

With the changing of the seasons in full swing and clumps of leaves layering the ground, she had now taken a poofy feather boa oon her bare shoulders. The little lady raised her eyebrows at him as a snarky grin graced her lips.

“Hi.” She said quickly, turning to Howdy and raising her finger. He nodded silently and started to prepare a Shirley Temple.

“Doesn’t answer my question.” Grover grumbled worthlessly, sinking into the bar stool like his roots were planting into the ground.

“Well, Scarycrow—“ Penny began before a cough from Grover interrupted her.

“Not my name.” He growled. Penny rolled her eye.

“Yeah, anyway, Boss told me to tell you ‘Feed him’ So. Feed him. Whatever that means. Has he started talking in third person?” She questioned, looking down at the pear bracelets over her opera gloves. Grover perked up. He looked out the window, downed his drink, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Penny asked, reaching for her drink that Howdy had just finished shaking and topping with whipped cream and cherries. Her eye followed Grover as he grabbed a coat.

“Out.” He said. This piqued Penny’s curiosity. She’d heard from Antoni that Grover wasn’t allowed ‘out’ without permission. She hopped from her barstool, chasing Grover into the night.

“You’re not allowed out! Boss said-“

“Boss told me that I need to go when he gives the word. Where the fuck are those birds..” He growls, eyes on the skies as he listens for a distant cawing. His eye spots two birds, barely visible behind the night sky as they cry from their branch. Grover huffs, turning to Penny.

“You’re helping me make a delivery.” He said sharply, practically dragging her by the arm to one of the cars.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She shouts, struggling against his grasp.

“Help me make the delivery and I get you whatever treat you want.” Grover replies, getting her in the car. It’s not the usual continental that he’d drive. It’s a pickup truck, back covered with a tarp. Penny sits in the passenger seat, holding her arm nervously.

“Fine.”

And they drive off into the night. Penny watched as the lights from the city began to dim. The truck passed by the warehouse that marked the edge of town and drove farther than that and parked at the tree line. Grover got out of the truck and took the cover off the truck bed.

It was a cacophony of flies, buzzing over the top half of a deer. It had been ripped in half, and smelled like it had been a long time since it had died. Its guts had stained the bed red and maggots had begun to creep through the deers skin and pelt. Grover looked down on it, grabbing it and easing it out of the truck. It hit the ground with a somehow wet squelch. Something leaked from the deer.

“Help me.” Grover said, and when Penny got around the truck she screamed. It alerted the crows which dotted the trees, and Grover slapped a still wet glove against her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. Vince don’t like noise.” He commanded. Penny stared at him with a wide eye, shivering in her unfit-for-weather dress.

“Grab the back.” Grover said, looking over his shoulder into the tree line. Penny squirmed, reaching down to try and carry her half of the weight. It was unfair, Grover had to lean all the way down and walk backwards into the trees with Penny trying to direct him in the dim light. He was pricked by several brambles and stabbed with sticks.

When the pair passed the tree line and entered the clearing, it was like walking into the world’s most terrifying sculpture park. The figures were all in the midst of fleeing. To the untrained eye it would look like wood carvings, but the way that the flies landed on them and how new branches grew from they eye sockets and mouths of these people made it obvious that it wasn’t just sculpture.

Grover and Penny carried the deer, sticks crunching under their shoes. The two approached the center of the field and Grover dropped the deer. He looked around at the stillness, searching for something in the trees. Penny felt uncomfortable, her head on a swivel as she looked through the field. She could have sworn she saw one of the bodies still breathing.

Grover whistled, taking a step away from the dearly departed deer.

“Watch em feast.” He said with a little grin on his face. The crows flooded from tree line, swooping at the carcass. Grover laughed, and Penny turned over her shoulder to see a hunched over figure with dark eyes and an elongated mouth. She screamed, grabbing onto Grover who looked down at her.

When his eyes landed on Vince in the darkness, reaching out to grab Penny, Grover swatted his hand away.

“No, Vince. I get’cher real hungry to have someone new join ya but not her. She’s family.” Grover said, staring at Vince as the cut noose swayed around his neck. They held eye contact. Vince opened his mouth and murmured something in a low, unfamiliar tone that sent chill down Penny’s spine.

“Look, how bout next time I bring one here fer ya I’ll letcha do yer tree thing an’ all that. I like them screams too, gotta admit..” Grover said with a low chuckle. Vince had a raspy laugh, not saying a word but staring at Penny. Grover looked down at her again.

“Her names Penny. I needed an extra set a hands pullin’ the deer. I know ya like a bit of a scaredy-cat, but I got reprimanded by Wally when I had brought Poppy out here. You ‘member her, Vince? Real tall bird broad?” Grover said. Penny had a look of horror plastered on her face as she kept a grip on Grover’s pants. Vince did not respond, reaching out a finger to graze against Penny’s skin. The taller of the scarecrows grabbed at the other, holding his gloved hand tightly.

“I’ll see what I can fix up fer ya. But not her. Not her.” Grover said protectively. The crows behind him cawed as they finished their feast and flew back into the trees. The plot was silent again, save for Vince’s ragged breathing. Penny stared up at Grover, then at Vince.

“D’ya need help spreading the bones across the field?” Grover asked. He gave Penny a little pat, a nonverbal way of telling her to head back to the truck. As she began to walk away, Vince turned his head with an audible creak. Grover kept his attention, talking to him calmly.

It took over an hour for Grover to return to the pickup truck. Penny was asleep, her head against the window. Grover glanced out the driver side window at Vince who stood just beyond the tree line. He waved goodbye, then turned around on the road to drive home.

From just under Penny’s opera glove, a small leaf began to sprout.

#welcome home oc #grover haymaker #penny peaches #vince vineyard #mob au #welcome home au #welcome home mob au #mob grover haymaker #mob penny peaches #mob Vince vineyard #planty stories

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azsazz · 5 months

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Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake.

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on.

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing.

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger.

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns.

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name.

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin.

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good.

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck.

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out.

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff.

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood.

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can.

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at.

He leaves.

#vampire!azriel #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #vampire!az #vampire au

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mkkk12345 · 1 month

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Divus Crewel x Wife Reader How they met

Sorry this took so long to write, I was once again procrastinating lol Feel free to request situations (I write slowly and I’ll be pretty busy for the next while sadly, but please do request if you would like to! I'll do anyone in twst for the most part with your usual restrictions) (side note I got the names for the dogs from the 101 Dalmatians)

1.2K words

------

Oh how Crewel would come to regret what he had done that day, he really should have seen it coming. “Hey! Professor Crewel, tell us how you met your wife!”

This had all started when Crowley had approached him with a challenge. “If you manage to raise the class average of the first years to let's say~ 80 percent? I'll give you a raise! Am I not so incredibly generous? Hahahhahaaaa” He cawed to himself as Crewel walked away absolutely done with the crow mans shenanigans

Rolling his eyes he responds “I guess there is no harm in attempting it”

As an encouragement to study harder he had told his students that if they were able to raise the class average to 80 percent by the next semester he would allow them to ask one question about his personal life. Of course all of the students had jumped at the chance to glance into the oh so mysterious and strict teachers personal life.

And that is why we are here now.

Professor Divus Crewel, now being forced to tell the oh so embarrassing story of how he had met his lovely wife.

“Well it's not the worst question you lot could have asked. I would rather not share this story but if I must I will do so…”

—----

Divus was around 17 when he first met Y/N It was a bright and sunny day, the weather was perfect and it just so happened to be a long weekend, a rare opportunity to visit home in the Queendom of Roses.

It was also a perfect day to take his beloved pet dalmatian Perdita for a nice long walk in the nearby park for some long deserved bonding time.

When Crewel was home from NRC he would often take Perdita to the park. Whether it was actual exercise or for some relaxing time outside to sketch new fashion designs, Perdita never really minded. But today was different, the minute the pair stepped out of the door the spotted dog went bolting in the direction of the park. “Hey! Slow down girl, why on earth are you in such a rush today?!” he said, trying to keep all his sketching supplies from falling to the ground.

Luckily for young Divus, the dalmatian did eventually slow down once they reached the park. “You act as if no one has been bringing you to the park since I left for school.” he said exasperated from the impromptu run.

Soon after catching his breath Divus and his companion walked over to a nearby bench so the boy could start sketching, but right as he put his sketching equipment down there was another sudden tug on the lead and once again they were off “hey! Slow down! What has gotten into you toda-” CRASH he had been cut off suddenly, crashing into another person as Perdita and what seemed to be another dalmatian were running circles around the two very effectively tying the two together.

When he finally pried his eyes away from the dogs he finally realized the full situation he was in, tied up with a very beautiful young lady. “Oh my god I'm so sorry he doesn't usually act like this, Pongo would you stop that already?”

“Don't worry it was neither of our faults really, I guess these two have taken quite the interest in one another” he said as he pulled his arm out of the leashes to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck a blush forming on his face as he looked at a very interesting tree behind her.

“They've actually been like this for weeks!” she laughed as she finally met his eyes, “Oh you must be Divus! Your mother talks about you very often.” He was surprised, not only was this girl absolutely stunning but she already knew him. Although he would never admit it, he practically fell in love with her right then and there, the way she beamed with joy, the slight blush on her cheeks, her laugh even in the strangest of situations.

In an attempt to calm himself he averted his gaze again and began to untie him and his new developing crush from the entanglement of leashes they were trapped in “Oh you must have met mother while she was walking Perdita I do hope she didn't tell you anything embarrassing” a strained smirk appeared on his face, knowing how his mother liked to tell the most embarrassing stories of his childhood.

“Well I cant say she didn't say anything” she laughed softly again drawing Divus’s attention for a moment the blush on his face growing ever brighter.

Snapping out of his short trance he asked “Might I ask for your name then since you already know mine?” With blush remaining on the tips of ears he held out his hand like a gentleman, both with the intention to give her, her dogs leash back but also to lead her over to a bench so they could hopefully continue their conversation.

“Oh my apologies how rude of me, My name is Y/N nice to finally meet you.” She bashfully took both the leash and his hand, walking over to the bench.

“The pleasure is mine”

—-

“And whilst that was all happening I looked over to our dogs, only to find them looking at each other with what seemed to be a grin on their faces like they planned that all out.” Crewel sighed as he recalled how proud those little devils looked. “After quite a long conversation that ended up in me never actually starting a new sketch, we traded contact information and left the park.” he looked up at his students now regretting all his life decisions.

“And that is how I met my wife, now it seems like class is over, please leave quickly so I can question why I ever became a teacher in the first place.”

“But prof how did you ask her out?” “Yeah yeah! Who was the first one to confess!” “How did you propose????”

Frustrated crewel quickly answered “If I recall correctly you were all only given the privilege of asking one question, now if you don't stop pestering me I will be giving you even more homework.” a completely very unnoticable blush began to form on his face.

“Sorry sir!” Everyone shouted in unison, but on their way out the students did not miss the slightest hint of red that dusted their professor's cheeks as he pretended to sort through papers.

Once everyone had left and silence had fallen through the classroom a laughter could be heard coming from the Professors phone. “Awwwww darling, you retell that story so fondly~” Crewel sighed as he finally looked over at his phone

“I honestly can not believe I let you talk me into letting you listen to that.” he said with a hand firmly planted on his face covering any sign of pink that appeared.

“Consider it as repaying me for when I dropped those papers off for you. Now hurry home our two rascals of dogs are looking at me like I should thank them for getting us together.” she laughed nervously

“Yes yes honey see you soon” ending the call with a small smirk as he muttered “I should buy some more dog treats on the way back.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #crewel x reader #divus crewel #divus crewel x reader #divus crewel x yuu #twisted wonderland headcanons

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tadpolesonalgae · 5 months

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Vampire!Rhysand x reader: Mercy, Devil

A/N: I meant to write this for October since it sounded spooky, but honestly I’m happy I didn’t because now I get to write something supernatural in the lead up to Christmas!

Warnings: blood, vampirism, eventual poly relationship

Word Count: 5,064

-Part 2-

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You’ve always had a strange fixation with the phantasmal night of all hallows eve. Something particular about the thought of ghastly apparitions being freed to sew discord and chaos through the monotony of everyday life entices your pulse to spike dangerously. Blood thrumming in your veins.

Clouds seal the full moon to the sky, casting shadows throughout the already dense and dark woodland. Twigs snap and crackle beneath your feet as you continue along the path through the ancient forest. Gnarled branches reach into your way, like talons of some malignant beast stretching to grasp you in its claws. Heart bumps against its cage, pale robes swishing provocatively in your wake, a pale glow of white contained within the darkness of night.

Before you, the abandoned castle looms, cutting a towering silhouette as it’s lit by a crack of lightening, splitting the heavens in two. Ravens caw and crow, taking sudden flight to the stormy skies, wind picking up as it whips the leaves from branches, thunder and rain coming on in an abrupt onslaught, seemingly out of nowhere. The water lashes at your skin, thoroughly soaking your robes, slicking the thin fabric to your skin.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to follow the tug toward the old castle site, a chill running up your spine as you’re lured closer, path quickly muddying beneath your feet as you stumble through the howling wind and screaming rain, reaching the base of the entry way. Hurriedly trample up the carved steps, passing by the large carved gargoyles hunched either side of the case. Lightening crackles again, bursting across the thundery sky and you dive for the cover of the hewn-rock archway, seeking shelter from the torrent of heavy droplets.

Plaster yourself to the looming door, the skull knocker digging into your shoulder as you rest against it. The wood gives way, and you yelp as you stumble back, tripping up over your feet, cloak getting caught as you’re sent falling onto your ass. A stray wind whips through the interior, door slamming shut before your very eyes, locked in darkness. Tendrils of hot breath curl before your face in the low temperature of the castle, and you hurry to your feet.

Flinch as the room comes alight, allowing your eyes to sweep across the grand entrance: rich, polished floorboards bathed with blood-red rugs, a glass chandelier hanging like an abnormal spider above the room, the two sets of large winding staircases, and the dark figure at their peak. Candle light warms the castle hall, and you press back into the locked door, breathing heavily.

“My, my,” the character calls softly, “what has the storm brought in?”

Blink quickly, returning to your senses as reason and rationality are returned. You hadn’t known the castle was occupied… “I’m so sorry, Lord,” you call, hoping your voice carries to his looming perch. “I was out in the forest when the rain came on out of nowhere,” you explain, “I came seeking shelter, but the door wasn’t closed properly, and I fell in.” Heat flushes your cheeks, and you self-consciously step back from the rich rugs, trying to keep the mud from the spotless fabric.

“Fell in?” He echoes, and you could swear you hear the faintest laugh. “There’s been many a grand entrance in these halls, and yet none quite as theatrical as your own.” Suck in a quiet inhale of embarrassment, smoothing down the cloak in attempts to look vaguely presentable for the young aristocrat. “If it’s not too much to ask,” you call out, thankful for the evenness of your voice. “I would like to request shelter until the storm passes, then I promise I will be on my way.”

“Of course,” he replies, “be my guest.” His arm sweeps across the grand hall, encompassing the room with a deliberately relaxed gesture. “What’s mine is yours. Stay as long as it pleases you.”

Almost immediately, your shoulders lose their tension, relieved to not be forced back out into the horrific storm—it really had broken out of nowhere. You dip into a light curtsey, the least you can do to demonstrate your gratitude. “My deepest thanks, lord…?”

“Rhysand,” he calls, voice smooth as velvet, sinful as silk. “You may call me Rhysand.”

————

Strangely, you hadn’t seen another soul since you had arrived, which can’t be right, since the place was clean enough you might have thought it unlived in. Missing the mess of life, a strange deathlessness stalking the flame-lit halls.

Perplexities aside, the lord—Rhysand, as he’d informed you with that strange smile—had been more than welcoming, offering a spare bedroom larger than your home, with clothes to change into. You’d had to fight to keep your mouth from parting in awe from the decadent luxury at his fingertips, the sheer mass of wealth he’s shrouded in. How blasé he is about the display of opulence, immune to the shock and wonder of it all.

“You are free to stay as long as you please,” he’d reminded, glancing over to you from where he stands on the threshold. “Dinner will be served at eight. I’d be delighted if you joined me,” he says, offering the invitation graciously. Brows raise on your forehead, grateful for your stroke of luck. Dip your head in confirmation. “That would be wonderful,” you answer sincerely, “I can’t thank you enough for your generosity, my lord.” He waves his hand dismissively, yet it comes across as charming rather than arrogant. “Rhysand will suffice perfectly,” he replies, sharp eyes cutting to you, lips fashioning themselves into a distinctly feline smile. “Rhys if you feel otherwise inclined.” There’s a suggestive lilt to his honeyed voice that has your hairs standing on end, toes curling in spare slippers.

Dip your head again. “Thank you, Rhysand.”

Something pleasured passes through the darkness of his gaze, but it’s quickly covered as he nods, turning to leave, but pausing. “Feel free to adorn yourself as you please,” he adds on, framing it as an after-thought, despite embodying the antithesis of someone who would speak without thinking. He inclines his head toward the vanity, various sparkling gems strung together, contained within the jewellery armoire. Lips part to politely refuse—he’s already offered so much, it would feel wrong to take advantage of such an opportunity.

But he beats you to it, giving you a smile that suggests he knows exactly what you were about to say. “God turns a blind eye to my castle,” he purrs, lips sinfully curved. “Indulge as you like.”

Then he’s gone, striding away down the blood-red corridors, disappearing out of sight and leaving you alone in the offered room. Completely out of your depth, on unfamiliar ground.

Glance at the grandfather clock—you have a quarter hour to swiftly change into clothes of his taste. You waste no time, hastily closing the door before heading to the armoire provided. He’d told you everything was already prepared, which had initially drawn some questions, but you suppose someone with such a vastness of wealth would always have his doors open to passersby—a different way of displaying opulence.

You settle on the simplest gown you can find, still obscenely intricate, with tiny detailed patches of embroidered lacing the hem and sides. The bodice fits nicely, easy to change into and resting comfortably over your now-dry skin. The skirts are held up by an in-built petty-coat, giving the illusion of shape by flaring out past your waist, grazing your ankles. While the rest of you has been ridden of the lasting effects of rain, your hair remains damp, so you decide to allow it to hang at your back—you’d hate to sleep on the crisp pillows with wet hair.

A single look to the clock reveals you have five minutes before dinner is served, so you decide to peer at the jewellery, making sure to leave time for finding the dining hall. Within the small armoire are a menagerie of necklaces, but you pick out a small string of pearls, the clasps rendered in gold to match with the cream of your gown. Heart beats with infantile excitement at getting to adorn yourself in such expensive clothing, enjoying the cool brush against your skin, the weight of the pearls as they skim your breasts—plumped by the front of the bodice.

The clock ticks, and you turn for the door, leaving no time to change from the slippers that had been offered as you swish out into the hallway, returning the way you had come. Surely the dining hall would be located upon the ground floor…

You head for the swirl of stairs, pausing at their peak—where the sharp-featured lord had stood, surveying his lonely kingdom. The glass pendants suspended from the chandelier glitter and gleam like diamonds, and you span your hands delicately across the polished wood of the banister, taking the time to drink in and admire the antique beauty of his home.

Startle when a palm slides around your waist, spinning fully upon turning to see who’s approached. The banister presses to the base of your spine as you lean to it, his hands lightly holding your sides, resting without squeezing. “I’m glad you were able to find your way,” he says lowly, no need for volume with the proximity you are to one another. “I had worried you might find yourself lost in my halls, and I would have to go searching.”

A polite smile plays on your lips, attempting to calm the flush his silken words inspire beneath your features. “I was admiring your home,” you murmur, one hand pressing atop your breast to calm your heart—maybe also to direct his attention to the softness of cleavage. “The chandelier is wonderful, with how it catches the light. For a moment I thought it was winking at me,” you laugh quietly, demurely ducking your head, casting your gaze away from the sharpness of his own.

Rhysand chuckles lowly, “you have the eyes of a magpie.” Hand lightly raises to the set of shining beads at your throat. “Seemingly the taste of one, too.” He threads his fingers with those atop your breast, bringing your knuckles to the softness of his lips. “May I say, you look positively regal,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your skin. You’re surprisingly relieved at the coolness of his mouth, soothing the fire that’s thrumming wildly in response to the delightful liberties he’s taking.

This time you can’t bring yourself to look away. Enchanted by the swirling depths of violet.

“If I look regal,” you breathe softly, “it is thanks to your exquisite taste in dress.” He raises a single, neatly groomed brow, and you’re rather glad to have the banister to lean back on. “A raw gem is beautiful even before it’s refined,” he purrs, cool lips skimming your knuckles with each word. “The clothing merely enhances what was already there.”

Open your mouth to deny his flattery, but once again he beats you to it, as if able to read minds. “Now,” he says, standing to his full height, “shall we?” He guides your arm to link with his own, hand pressing to the firmness of muscle beneath the fine fabric of his jacket. All you can manage is a dip of your head in acquiescence before he’s gracefully guiding you to the stairs, leading the way to the dining hall.

“In the mean time,” he says casually, “why don’t you tell me what you were doing, traipsing through the woods on such a morbid night?” Clasp your skirts in one hand, descending the case on his arm, quietly enjoying the gentlemanly mannerisms even if you’re undeserving of them. “It’s all hallows eve,” you answer, honestly, “I found myself yearning the company of the forest.”

“So you decided to play at red-riding hood,” he drawls, mirth coating his teasing words. You manage to shoot him what you hope is a playful glance. “There are no wolves in these forests, Rhysand,” you smile, returning your gaze to the steps. “Besides, these robes are white, not red.”

The two of you reach the base, and he moves to escort you through the archway on your right, leading away from the entrance hall. “That’s the lovely thing about white though, isn’t it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So open to change.” Your brow dips in a subtle show of confusion, narrowing. “What do you mean by that?” Lips carve themself into something distinctly vulpine, sharp canines gleaming beneath the warm light. But he shakes his head, murmuring a “never mind” before continuing through the ornamented room.

“Tell me more about this so-called yearning for the forest,” he goads, drawing you through yet another exquisitely decorated hall, rugs a shade darker now you’ve strayed from the entrance. It’s your turn to shake your head, unsure how to describe it without sounding utterly off your rocker. “It’s hard to say really,” you say truthfully. “The temperature was crisp but not biting, and the sky was overcast without promising a storm— well, I had thought not, though I was clearly mistaken,” you smile, though there’s an intensity to his gaze you hadn’t noticed before. You quickly avert your eyes, peering instead at the large banquet table you’re swiftly approaching.

“I think, if I’m being quite plain, the quiet suited me in that moment,” you admit softly. “I didn’t know those forests were capable of being quiet,” he mutters, “they must like you.” You shoot him a questioning look, but he simply smiles, again shaking his head. “I was merely thinking out loud,” he clarifies, pulling out your chair. You politely take the seat, smoothing out your skirts as he tucks you in. “I’d be interested in hearing more of your inner thoughts,” you say, “they sound quite intriguing.”

Rhysand pauses, hands resting atop the back of your chair, “would you now?” Spine stiffens when you feel icy air brush your temple, tilting your head to figure where the stray breeze came from. Freeze when his lips graze the shell of your ear, fingers halting in your lap. “Would you like to know what I’m thinking right now?” He inquires lowly, startling heat simmering in your lower abdomen. Manage a slight dip of your chin in tense confirmation. Lips trail lower, ghosting below your ear, brushing your neck. But then he pulls away, standing straight, offering a charming smile. “I’m thinking it would be a shame to be seated so far apart from you, and that I will have to move to be at your side.” Then he’s striding to the end to retrieve the crockery laid out, cutlery held in his free hand.

While his back is turned, you take the moment to try and calm your racing heart, startled by the vivacious beat being drummed against your ribs. You should be better equipped to face him, yet he’s seamlessly pulling you apart, stitch by stitch. All effortless charm and debonair grace. By the time he’s returned, you’ve managed to reach a state of near relaxation, just an edge of tension still gnawing at your spine.

“So, Rhysand,” you say quietly, nervous to intrude too deeply into the air of the castle. “Does your family live with you?” When he begins taking food to his plate, you follow suit, assuming the dinner has commenced, and that it will be fine for you to now start on the delicious meal laid before you. “Occasionally they fly by,” he answers with that playful smile, its reflection mirrored upon your lips. “I have two brothers who will visit from time to time, though they have their own hunting grounds to preside over.”

He hunts? You would have thought someone dressed as finely as he is would have little interest in such a superficial task. Particularly if there’s no one to converse with during the process. An image of him dressed in hunting leathers flashes through your mind, as if put there by an encouraging hand. “Preside over?” You ask, raising a forkful of food to your mouth.

Rhysand nods, smiling faintly as he watches you. “Indeed. They require a surprising amount of attention. Making sure the game are well-kept so none are driven from the lands,” he elaborates, and you nod along, surprised to find yourself interested in the subject. “What counts as being well-kept?” You ask once done with the food in your mouth, eagerly moving to the next piece. “Making sure they are well-fed,” he answers with a playful smile, “that generally keeps them happy.”

You blink, then smile. It’s nice to know he takes care of the animals on his land. That they’re looked after before their death. More humane than some of the things you’ve seen in your small hamlet. “I take it you hunt for pleasure?” You asks, eager to learn more about the charming lord. But he shakes his head, “not regularly. Or rather, not as regularly as some others I know.” A frown seems to dip his brows, and you wish to change the subject. His knife slices through the meat on his plate, carving it up into neat little squares for polite, bite-sized snacks. “Besides, I fear if my game notices it’s being picked off, it will run for the hills.”

Laughter bubbles across your breast-bone with his little quirks. The idea that his prey would be at all self-aware is rather amusing, while also strangely heart-warming. “If hunting is not a hobby of yours, how do you spend your time?” You ask, relaxing into the pleasantly stimulating conversation. “Welcoming rain-soaked women into my castle, of course,” he drawls, a wide smile spreading across your lips, quickly raising your hand to cover your mirth-filled grin. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt, yet I haven’t laid eyes on a single other soul here,” you reply, peering at him.

Lips quirk, and he reaches for his glass of red wine, thoroughly opaque, darkened in the flame light. “Everyone else has gone home for the night,” he answers, sipping at the thick liquid. “It’s just us, my lady.” Flush at the title, returning to concentrate on the meal. “I am no lady, Rhysand,” you respond softly, cutting into the rich meat on your plate. “And yet if I were to walk through those doors and find you dining alone, I would not think you looked even a spot out of place in my home,” he says, equally hushed.

Cutlery stills in your hands, raising your eyes to swirling violet. It strikes you then what a spectacular colour it is. Manage a shy smile, “your flattery is outrageous.” He’s quiet for a short spell, before also lowering his cutlery. “Do I look like I’m lying to you?” You’re surprised by the sincerity of his tone. Throat rolls as you observe him, head still lowered shyly. “I’ve known you for not even a night,” you murmur, unable to quite pull your focus from him. “You could,” he answers lowly, voice pitched down a few keys.

Blink, taken aback. You must be misunderstanding. Swallow thickly, making to return to your plate, but— “Don’t look away,” he instructs softly, coaxing your eyes back to his. Mind swims through heat, the world dimming around him, as if blanketed by a thick fog. “I…I couldn’t say,” you manage, a strange wariness prickling at the nape of your neck. Hairs rising with the intensity of his gaze.

The lord is quiet again, watching you with those strange, wonderful eyes. But then he pulls away, spearing a sectioned piece of meat with his fork. “Forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have been so crass with you. I find myself so rarely with civilised company my manners are often forgotten.”

You shift in your seat, a bout of cold icing your skin in the absence of his attention. “No, it’s fine,” you say, finished with your meal, gently setting down the knife and fork. “I was simply caught off guard. The truth is I would feel as though I was taking advantage of your generosity, Rhysand.” You notice he’s also finished, but are unable to recall at what point. “What’s mine is yours,” he reminds lowly, eyes glinting.

Pulse spikes in response, something dark in that look that has you urging to run. The question is: in what direction?

“You seem tired,” he observes, glancing at the grandfather clock. Brows raise as he reads the time. “Appropriately. It’s nearing midnight,” he drawls. Lips part in surprise, how has it been that long? It feels like you sat down to eat less than an hour ago, yet it’s already beginning the ascent into morning. “Nearly midnight?” You echo, following his gaze. The clock indeed reads twelve, the hour hand raised as if poised to strike down.

Rhysand stands from his chair, refolding the napkin before stretching out his hand. “I would hate for you to sleep poorly because of me. Allow me escort you back to your room,” he asks quietly, all traces of previous heat removed, replaced by well-mannered charm. You manage a nod, arm once again overlapping with his own, making to follow him through the labyrinthine halls.

It hits you then, the vastness of his castle—how desolate the space must be. Especially with how rarely he apparently gets to meet with anyone he cares for. “You know, before tonight I had thought your castle was abandoned,” you say absently, taking in the elaborate decorations with more appreciation. “I’ll admit, it sometimes feels that way,” he replies, deep voice tracing down your spine. Push the heat aside for the moment, turning to glance at him. “Do you ever get lonely?” You ask quietly, aware of the ice you’re treading.

He hesitates, momentarily meeting your gaze before continuing onward, reaching the stairs. “Quite possibly,” he answers, “it would certainly be reason for my appalling lapse in manners earlier tonight.” His lips are lifted at their edges, yet you can’t quite manage to return the smile. It must be difficult, having all this space with only his self to fill it. Then again, with the intensity he’s occasionally pinned you with, that doesn’t seem like a particularly hard task.

“Tell me about your own hobbies,” he requests, breaking from your inner thoughts. “I feel as though I’ve spoken more than enough for tonight.” But you’re shaking your head before you can help it, speaking before you can stop it. “I like the sound of your voice,” you admit quietly. Violet eyes flick to you, weighing on your cheek…your neck. “It’s soothing. Like a lullaby.”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you.

He stares, and heat blossoms beneath your skin. That was incredibly uncalled for on your part.

“I hope not,” he says at last, humiliation burning at your insides as you hastily look away. But then he comes to a stop, hand reaching for your jaw, drawing your helpless gaze to lock with his own. “Because putting you to sleep right now is the last thing on my mind,” he breathes lowly.

Oh.

Chest rises and falls steadily, becoming aware of how breathless you feel, how utterly bare you are beneath that look of his. Tongue flicks out over your lower lip, mouth parched. “Tell me…what’s the first thing on your mind then, Rhys.” Attention pierces to the plushness of your lips, and you’re suddenly in need of that banister from earlier. “You want to know what I’d do with you if you let me?” He asks, voice rougher than it was moments before. Pulse spikes beneath that intensity, breath shallowing, but you manage a nod.

He groans lowly, hand dropping to your waist, lightly resting along the seam of the bodice. Cool fingers stroke away a lock of hair, pads grazing the heat of your cheek as he stares down at you. “I’m not sure such things are for your ears, magpie,” he grits out, applying a light bit of force to your waist. “Tell me anyway,” you breathe, hands raising to the fine lapels of his jacket, more eager to put them in his hair.

A rough sound of conflicted pleasure rumbles in his chest. “Such lovely things,” he promises, violet darkening with desire, swirling and dancing as he drinks you in. “So lovely you wouldn’t be able to pull away once I’d started.”

Heat numbs rationality, mind melting as the words warmly splash over your bones, sinking into marrow as you become soft and supple beneath his touch. Step into the lines of his body, feeling as his fingers press to your sides with tension. “Do it,” you breathe, quietly. “Please.”

Cunning satisfaction releases through the male, pleased with how quickly you changed your mind once he applied himself to the task. He’d gotten a sense of your taste before dinner, when he’d pushed you in, and it had been enough to convince him even though he’d fed not even a week ago, he would have to sample you. Now here you are, head tilted, eyes having fluttered shut, offering yourself to him for an entirely different set of wants. Maybe he will indulge your desires—if you satisfy his, that is.

You’ll be on the floor colder than ice if you fail to do so.

He moves in, hand cupping the nape of your neck as he lowers his mouth to yours. Lamb had been served over dinner, and he finds the taste pleasant on your tongue, stoking the embers of his hunger as he presses himself against the soft shape of you, partially hidden by the blasted dress and pearls. A small sound gets caught in your throat, and he revels in the feeling of your fingers tightening on the lapels of his jacket. As if you’re experiencing even a fraction of the hunger he has for you.

Works his way down your jaw, taking his time as he descends to your neck. Nosing at the pronounced pulse, liking how you tilt your head to one side, freely gifting him access. Lips graze the spot he’s chosen, tongue flicking out to drag along hot skin—so hot it practically burns.

Razor-sharp canines scrape, and he feels the exact moment you go rigid in his arms. But by then it’s too late, his teeth piercing your throat, injecting his philtre-laced venom into your bloodstream. The familiar taste of adrenaline and arousal spills on his tongue, bursting from the small puncture marks he’s made, quick to heal over with the aid of saliva. Drinks you down, savouring the richness of your blood, sealing his lips over the incisions, taking more, and more, and more—

He forcefully drags himself away, vision turning hazy, the scent of your life-force spinning his mind. Breathes heavily, the rich and spicy tang still prominent in his mouth, sapid and hot. Tongue darts out to wet his lips, gathering up faint traces that remain there, and then he’s being pulled back, already so deeply enamoured.

Canines re-pierce that same spot, reopening the incisions as your blood burns his throat, inspiring heat in his long-dead body. It’s as if he’s returning to life, having it shot through his veins, snaring him in the addicting flavour. Lips seal over the puncture marks, drinking deeply, swallowing down more and more.

He should stop.

He knows he should stop—he’ll bleed you dry, and then he’ll never have another taste. Arousal coats his tongue, and heat spreads across his skin, bone-deep aches making themselves apparent, as if forcefully dragging him to you. Your hands have dropped from his jacket, instead weakly rubbing at his shoulder and chest, unable to do much more than hold yourself up.

But the taste—the sheer heaven you’ve put into him again. If he stops drinking, it will pass, and he’ll return to that permanent state of death, cold and solitary. But you’re bleeding sunlight into him, sunlight that’s dappled and controlled instead of the unrestricted blaze that would incinerate him in the blink of an eye.

A quiet gasp slips from your lips, fingers losing their grip on his clothing, beginning to slip, but just a little more…one more gulp…one more sip…

“Mercy, devil,” he breathes onto your neck, as if in pain. “What God-damning angel are you?” He growls, trembling hands cupping your cheeks, sharp violet eyes locked on the small marks to your throat. “You’ve bewitched me. I must…” Then he’s surging forward, slamming you against the wall with inhuman force, hand gripping your jaw as he roughly tilts your head to the side. Groans, hot tongue licking over the soft skin, elongated incisors pricking as they again pierce.

Pulse spikes beneath his grip, growing dizzy as he drinks deeply, hands pressed to your shoulders to pin you still. Vision blurs, lips parting as you raise your arms in attempt to push him away, but end up desperately clinging to the finely spun fabric cloaking his back. Limbs go weak, turning limp in his hold as he feeds, a pleasurable spin overcoming your mind, turning pliable beneath his teeth.

He groans, pulling away only in favour of going lower, suctioning now-hot lips over a new, unmarked patch of skin. Blood bursts on his tongue, rich and spicy, not yet too ripe but void of the sour bite that’s present in the young. Heaven and hell blend together in his mouth, mixing so appetisingly he could never—

“Rhys…” you whisper, pleading. Less than a breath left before you—

Your body slumps, and his is trembling so violently the best he can do is go with you as you slide down the wall, blood trickling down onto the pure, white pearls. He knew they’d get in the way.

He hauls himself away, shocked at the utter lack of control you had subjected him to. How his discipline shudders in your presence, practically brought to its knees for a single drop more.

Earlier he had considered making a bottle or two out of you to send off to his brothers, ready for consumption.

Looking at you now, he can hardly stand the thought.

What’s mine is yours…and what’s yours is mine.

Your blood is his, and his only.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#rhys x reader #vampire!au #vampire!rhys #rhysand x reader #mercy devil #a court of thorns and roses

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leonas-herbivore · 2 months

Text

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Summary: A blooming romance between you and Leona gets cut short when you start having nightmares over the recent overblots. You don't know how you'll be able to move on from it when something unexpected happens.

MC is written in the second POV, gender neutral. 2644 word count

Hi! I'm bad at summaries and titles. But here's an angsty (maybe) fic for ya. Enjoy :)

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The murder of crows flying above, turning the blue sky into an inky abyss, would unnerve the person you used to be. You couldn’t remember when, but a numbness had crept into your heart. A numbness that took away most of the fear and most of the pain. A numbness… that took away most of your happiness, too. The ringing of the school bell drowned out the croaks and caws of the crows. Classes were over for the day.

You tucked your sandwich under your arm and quickened your pace. In a world like this one, you were defenseless. A non-magic person in a magical world. You knew some basic self-defense techniques and could escape a sticky situation. But against magic? As the saying goes, you don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. The students here at Night Raven College weren’t bad people. Well, maybe.

Does controlling a crowd to secure victory by trampling an opposing team make someone bad? Would someone be a terrible person if they tricked others into indentured servitude? If someone used hypnosis to control and betray someone, would that person be evil? Of course, there was much more to it than that. You knew that.

But these weren’t hypothetical scenarios. These were real-life events. They happened. And recently, too. The headmage assured you that you were safe here at the school. He expressed how generous and kind he was to ensure your safety. His words left you with little comfort.

You finally reached your dorm and stumbled inside. With your back against the door, you breathed a sigh of relief. Ramshackle dorm, even though it was a bit dingy, provided a much-needed sense of comfort and relief. I’m safe here, you thought to yourself. A knock at the door made your sense of peace vanish instantly.

“Yuu? You in there?” a voice rang out. Ruggie! Your heart raced. His unique magic, Laugh with Me, allowed him to control people’s bodies like a puppeteer. But instead of puppets…

If he wanted, he could make you do whatever he wished. He could make you open this door, take your lunch, and steal your money. But he wouldn’t do something like that to you, would he? Would he?

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. Just give me a sec.” You took a deep breath. With your thoughts collected, you opened the door. Ruggie stood on the doorstep looking as casual and unbothered as ever.

“Um, did-did you need something?” You hated how timid you sounded. But you couldn’t help it. The idea of magic used to be so cool and, well, magical. But now that you’ve seen how ugly it could be, all the whimsy and wonder in magic no longer existed. Ruggie’s gray eyes betrayed no emotion as he looked you over.

“You’ve got a funny look on your face. Did something happen?” he asked. Did something happen? Ugh, the nerve. Yeah, a lot of things happened.

A shiver ran down your spine. The memories were still so vivid. Ruggie was Leona's vice dorm leader. Was he close by? Memories swirled in your mind. Leona and his overblot. An inky silhouette emerged from his body, a former shadow of himself. The ink spilled over him, threatening to swallow him whole. His rage, his pain, and his sadness all seemed to manifest into something truly horrifying. He was so big and strong; it was a miracle he was defeated. There were injuries but no casualties, thank the Great Seven.

After that, things returned to normal, and Leona seemed to change for the better. Sort of. He and Ruggie were back to being buds, not that there was any bad blood to begin with. But it was still a relief that they sorted things out.

You and Leona worked things out between the two of you, too. You grew closer and closer as friends until something unspoken began to bloom between you. Longing glances and knowing smiles became a common occurrence. Things were going well until-

“Uh, helloooo? Anybody home?” Ruggie waved his hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. I spaced out for a second there. But I’m fine. What’s up?”

“We’re having a barbecue later at Savanaclaw—Leona’s idea. I caught Grim after class, and he said he was going. Almost started drooling and everything. I was surprised you weren’t with him.”

You gave Ruggie a sheepish smile.ou skipped the last class of the day. Nothing wrong with being rebellious now and then. Technically, it wasn’t even a class. It was a boring seminar. You didn’t need to be there, especially since Leona AND Jamil were there. Facing two former overblot boys at once? No thanks.

“Thanks for the invite, but can I take a raincheck? I’m super busy with homework and stuff. You know how it is. But tell Leona I said thanks for the invite.” you forced a smile. You started to backpedal into the hallway. “Anyway, see you later. Bye!” You slammed the door shut before Ruggie could open his mouth again.

Back against the door, you closed your eyes and took slow, deep breaths. Ruggie was pretty smart, so he probably knew you were lying. Hopefully, he was smart enough to take the hint, too. You weren’t interested in stepping foot in Savanaclaw at the moment. Not after last time.

You unwrapped your sandwich and took a bite. There's nothing like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich to help calm your nerves. The overblots were such haunting memories. But there was no point in dwelling on the past. What was done was done. The best thing for everyone would be to move on.

You weren’t alone either. You had friends that would help you in a time of need. Even good old Grimmy would come to the rescue if needed. You chuckled to yourself, imagining your friends as a rescue squad. Everything that could go wrong would probably happen. They would fight amongst themselves, deciding on a strategy for rescue. Grim would set things on fire. Deuce would summon a legion of cauldrons. They’re all thickheaded, but they were good guys. Things would work out in the end. You felt comforted thinking of your friends. Speaking of, where was Grim, anyway?

Ruggie said he ran into him after class. He should’ve been back by now. You shrugged. He would be fine. You yawned and rubbed your eyes. While you were waiting for him, a nap would be good. You stumbled to your bed and plopped onto it.

Another yawn escaped your mouth. All of these sleepless nights were catching up to you. Staring at the ceiling, you thought of Leona. It was kind of him to invite you to the dorm barbecue. If things were different, you would have loved to go. The two of you could’ve walked around together, holding hands. Maybe you could’ve found the courage to voice your feelings to him. Handsome Leona, I have a crush on you! Please be my boyfriend. I’ll be the Nap Queen to your Nap King, haha. Ugh. That is so cringe. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would it be wild and passionate or gentle and soft?

For now, none of those things could happen. Your fear was getting the better of you. It was still painful to look at Leona, let alone be near him. He wouldn’t hurt you on purpose. You knew he wouldn’t. He liked you. At least, you thought he did… Your thoughts trailed off as their eyes closed.

A loud knock made them jolt upright. You rubbed your eyes. What time is it? You rubbed your eyes again and stumbled towards the door. The obnoxious knocking continued.

“Hang on! “I’m coming, I’m coming! Geez,” you grumbled. You reached the door and pulled it open. “What’s your- huh?”

Instead of the front yard to the Ramshackle dorm, an endless savanna stretched out in front of you. Trees and shrubs dotted the horizon. There wasn’t a building or a soul in sight. The sky was the bluest and brightest you had ever seen.

“How did I… get here?” you turned around and yelped in surprise. The dorm was gone. Nothing but savanna stood in its place. Lush green scenery spread out for miles. Maybe you were still sleeping. Ok, deep breaths. You closed their eyes and rubbed them so hard that colorful dots swam behind your eyelids.

You felt a sinking feeling in your feet. Wait. Your feet? Your eyes flew open. Quicksand! Your heart began to beat faster. You were sinking at an alarming rate, and no one was around to hear your cries for help. You struggled against your might against the sand but to no avail.

A growl ripped through the air and shook the earth. As if on cue, a sandstorm formed before your eyes. You spotted a figure through the sand. A figure that looked all too familiar.

A strangled scream escaped your throat. Leona Kingscholar. In all of his overblot glory. Black ink swirled in the air, threatening to swallow everything whole. His eyes, oh, his eyes. His green eyes glowed with unrelenting rage and pain. He reached out his hand, a claw covered in black goo. Slowly, he made his way to you, sinking into the sand.

You squeezed your eyes shut. No! No! No! Someone, please help me! I’m going to die! Help! Please-

“Oi! Wake up!” a deep voice called to you.

Your eyes shot open. You came face to face with the last person you wanted to see. You pushed him away with all your might.

“No! Get away from me!” you shouted. You whipped your head around to take in your surroundings. The savanna was gone, and you were back in your bedroom. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Cold sweat covered your body. Another nightmare. When will it end?

“Hey.” a deep voice pulled you from your daze. You snapped your head in the direction of the doorway. Leona was standing there, hand on his hip. He looked so cool and relaxed, as usual. But the shadow clouding his face said otherwise.

“What do you want?” you snapped at him. You winced. It wasn’t his fault. But you were so tired. Honestly, things were going well after the last overblot. Everyone was friends again. It was as if nothing happened until that fateful night.

The first nightmare was almost identical to the one you had just awakened. It felt so real. The sounds, the sands, and that dreadful, all-consuming ink. You couldn’t get it out of your mind. If you felt so terrible about it, you couldn’t even imagine how Leona felt. Maybe he was having nightmares, too. Leona furrowed his brow.

“You declined my gracious invitation. I came to set things straight. But, I wasn’t expectin’ to find you like this.” he said in a low voice. Were your eyes deceiving you, or did he look… worried?

“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m a little busy. I got lots going on,” you said.

“Heh, you’re real bold for an herbivore. Lyin’ to my face like that.” Leona said. He sighed as you avoided his gaze. His shoes clicked on the ground as he walked over to your bed. The old mattress creaked under his weight as he sat next to you. You scooted away from him and crossed your arms. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke up.

“How long?” he asked. You glanced at him.

“How long what?”

“The nightmares. How long have you had them?”

You thought for a moment before answering with a whisper. “I can’t remember.”

Leona nodded. Silence fell over them again. You glanced in his direction. For the first time, you noticed dark circles under his eyes. Oh no. Poor Leona. Your heart ached for him. But what could you do? You sighed.

Fatigue was starting to set in. You wondered what to say to Leona. He was hurting just as much as you were. Probably worse. What could you say? He came to see why you didn’t go to the barbecue. But you couldn’t tell him the truth. It would hurt him if you told the truth. I didn’t want to see you. I’m not ready. Being around you hurts. It scares me. Even though I know it wasn’t your fault, a part of me still blames you. And it makes me feel so horrible. I don’t-

You stifled a gasp as a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and squeezed you tight. Leona rested his head on top of yours.

“L-Leona?” you whispered. Silence. You heard him take a shaky breath before answering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

At first, you were too stunned to speak. And then the floodgates opened. Hot tears streamed down your face as you sobbed into Leona’s shoulder. He tightened his grip around your shuddering body. You cried for what felt like an eternity.

Leona didn’t loosen his grip even after your tears stopped. You could feel his slow and steady heartbeat like ocean waves coursing through your body. You wondered if he fell asleep.

“Leona?” your voice cracked.

“Mmm?” he mumbled. You pulled away from him, far enough to see his face. His eyes were red, and his ears were down. A sullen expression darkened his face. You had never seen him like this. Your chest tightened.

“Leona, I-”

Leona put a finger on your lips. “I know what you’re gonna say, but you don’t have to say it. Just-” he sighed. “If you need me, let me know. Alright?”

“What if I need you in the middle of the night?”

“Whenever. I’ll show up. For you,” Leona said. He reached up to your face and stroked your cheek.

“What if I need you first thing in the morning?”

“I’ll show up.”

“What about- hey!” you whined as Leona pinched your cheek.

“I told you whenever, so quit askin’,” he grumbled. You smiled at him. Same old Leona. It was so good to see his scowl again. You hugged him tight and nuzzled his shoulder. Leona hugged you back.

“Are we good, Leo?”

Leona hesitated before answering. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

“Well, I asked you first.”

Leona pressed his forehead against yours and looked deeply into your eyes. Heat rose to your cheeks under his gaze. He ran his thumb along your chin before tilting it upward.

“This may not be the right time, but can I kiss you?” he asked. Without hesitating, you whispered, “Yes.” Your lips met, setting off fireworks in your heart. Leona wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair as the kiss deepened. So many words you’d left unsaid passed between you, spilling over your lips, dancing on your tongues. You kissed each other like your lives depended on it. Like you would never be able to do it again.

You peppered Leona’s face with kisses before finally pulling away. A small smile graced his face. That moment made you realize that everything was going to be ok. You would be there for him, and he would be there for you. Together, you could overcome the past, no matter how much it scared you both. “So, how about that barbecue, hmm?” you winked at him. Your heart skipped a beat as his usual smug smile crossed his lips.

“Nah. Let’s stay here. We’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”

“But what about-” your words were interrupted as Leona kissed you.

“You talk too much, herbivore.”

You smiled against his lips as he kissed you again and again. Oh, my sweet carnivore. How lovely your kisses are. I will walk with you on this healing journey together. No matter where our lives take us.

#leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #this is my first fanfiction #please be nice :(#i actually like how this turned about #ok byeeee

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demonslayedher · 11 months

Text

Low-Key Married AU fluff

Kochou said that I was disliked, so I asked her if she disliked me too. For someone so quick to have a smiling response to everything, she struggled to reply. She was the one who proposed marriage and swayed me, so I had thought that meant she had feelings for me. There would be no other way to read it. However, with as unbothered as she is by my absence, I have to wonder.

It’s been ten days since I had last contact with her. I went home to the Butterfly Mansion, but she had just departed for a mission, so I didn��t stay long so as not to trouble the girls. It may still be a few days before I can return again, but it’s always likely she’ll be busy. She’s incredible in that way, taking on all the care of our injured Corp members in addition to her Pillar missions. It must be in her personality to keep adding to what keeps her busy, like taking me in as though I looked like I needed the care. Although the times we’ve spent together have been nice, I don’t require it. My duties call for me to always be ready for battle, and I’ve always kept my heart steady.

So has she. We are Pillars first, and no amount of affection can sway us—whether an abundance or a lack.

I’m not bothered by lacking something I didn’t deserve in the first place.

Last night again, I was too late to prevent a family from being slaughtered. There were no survivors this time, aside from the eldest child who was still ravenous with a recent transformation. Having to chase him down and keep him from harming anyone else kept me off the trail of the progenitor of demons, who had to have been close by. For centuries, he’s evaded us this way over and over, sacrificing entire families to throw us off his trail. If I were to chide myself over every failure, I would have lost the ability to do anything ages ago. Each time, the anger is something I carry with me, to push myself harder the next time, and the next. Any extent more that I can push myself may be the difference to someone’s survival, no one can afford to lose their life over any of my own lost confidence.

“CAW!! TOMIOKA GIYUUUU! NEWS FOR TOMIOKA GIYUUUU!”

Each time it's a crow I think I recognize, my stomach drops. My mind is already playing the words I dread to hear, as though trying to protect my mind once I someday hear them.

"Kochou Shinobu has died."

Even if I hear them, I'm a Pillar first. That was what we promised each other. I'll always do as I must.

The crow says nothing as it delivers a letter.

YES, YES, I KNOW, THIS FANDOM HAS TURNED ME INTO SHIPPER TRASH. For this pairing, it was more specifically my own joke AU which later bit me in the back and made me start really, really enjoying GiyuShino (which, for the record, I do not consider canon). Was throwing ideas back and forth with @reicchel again the other day and so here we are with ship content!

Part of the reason I love the Low-Key Married AU (in which it's mostly canon as usual, except that Shinobu and Giyuu have been married for over a year or so, and it's not a secret but they make such little deal about it that many people don't even know they're married) is that it's a frame through which to see every interaction and either make it really, really funny, or very, very, sad. Everything was supposed to be funny, but it keeps hurting, hahaha... aaahhhh.

For instance, in a regular romcom situation, it should be funny that Kanzaburo doesn't deliver all of Giyuu's letters. Knowing these two, who might had started this whole "well, we'll be a couple when we have time" thing by actively writing regular letters, this could had simply given the impression that the other person wasn't writing as much, so they both naturally decreased frequency to match. It's a little lonely, but neither one is going to push the other for more attention.

No!! I refuse to let this post end with angst! Time for omake!!!

#I spent a few days enjoying high-brow Noh and now I'm back to shipper trash #giyushino #giyuu x shinobu #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #kocho shinobu #kochou shinobu #my art #too bad for you Tanjiro your karma in this AU had to even out somehow #also that is the happiest Giyuu I have ever drawn and it's adorable #GiyuShino Low Key Married AU

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biancadjarin · 11 months

Text

Looked up at me

with honor and truth

pairing: knight!eddie x princess!reader

18+! Smut and adult language.

a/n: I started reading @allthingsjoeq ‘s knight!eddie story and my mind immediately took a turn down a horny side street. Art by @mcbeanzontoast 🗡️

As you and your royal escort reach the end of a particularly long stretch of forest, the soft sound of lapping water tickles your ears. The setting Sun has casted a coral pink hue over the cloudless sky and the moon is starting to become visible.

“I think we should set up here for the night, trying to keep you alive all day is exhausting.” Eddie mumbles at you curtly. He begins to lay out a blanket and drop his satchel and sword on it, spreading out to take a sip of water from his canteen. You watch as a drop misses his lips and trails down his chin onto his shiny chainmail. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tosses the canteen, laying back onto the soft blanket and with a content sigh.

As the sky turns darker, the ombré of colors fading from pink to purple to blue, stars beginning to twinkle in the distance. A soft breeze blows your hair around your shoulders, the first breeze you’ve felt after a long, hot day. You’re feeling sticky and uncomfortable, wanting to bathe before you retire for the night.

While Eddie rests his eyes you wander off toward the water you heard earlier. Not having to walk far before you come to a small ravine, a jagged short cliff above it pouring water into the mouth of the stream. The winding crystal clear, blue water stretches far past your line of sight, tall trees lining each side. You see a deer in the distance lapping a drink out of it’s edge. You bend down and touch the water and it’s a comfortable warm temperature. You head back to your makeshift camp and grab your things for your bath.

Eddie opens his eyes at the sound of a crow cawing in the distance. He looks around and his heart starts beating faster when he doesn’t see any sign of you. The looming threat of being beheaded nags at him as he starts to panic. He shimmies off his heavy armor and grabs his sword as he begins to search for you.

You’re sitting waist deep in the little river holding your apothecary jar of rose scented oils. The soft lapping around your hips and splashing spray against your back has you feeling relaxed. The early night sky smiles down on you, the full moon casting an ethereal glow over your naked body. You close your eyes and breath in the sweet scent of your oils as you rub them all over your body.

Eddie stumbles out of the trees and finally his heart rate steadies when he sees you. Until he sees your nude breasts and his heart starts hammering twice as fast. His round doe eyes grow wider and you squint your eyes when you see his silhouette.

“Uhhh..” he turns his back to you “Forgive me, princess. I got worried.” You giggle at his sudden manners. And his boyish shyness. “Tis not safe for you to be out here alone.” He chastises.

“But I needed to bathe Sir Edward.” “And you couldn’t wait until the morning?” He asks with his back still to you. “I like to bathe under the moon. Mother always says the most beautiful creatures come out at night.” Eddie shakes his head at your lighthearted tone. “I usually have Rosalind or one of my ladies in waiting help me. But since you’re all that’s here, you’ll do.”

Eddie peeks over his shoulder with raised brows and you smile at him, finger beckoning him to you. He walks towards you, bare feet crunching the grass beneath them. “Princess I don’t think it would be appropriate…” You shush him and toss the sea sponge at him. It lands in his hands with a wet plop.

Eddie takes a deep breath, he’s never seen someone so beautiful. You look like one of the mermaids or sirens he’s read about in his fantasy novels. The moon and stars are sparkling against the water that surrounds you and reflects in your eyes. He wades into the water and walks up to you with a grin that’s impossible for him to hide.

You wordlessly hand him the small glass bottle as you watch his eyes trail over your body. He pours the thick oil onto the sponge and begins to rub your shoulders with it respectfully. Of course you’re capable of washing yourself. Did a pretty good job of it before Eddie showed up. But this opportunity is too good to pass up. You feel your head lull back and let the waterfall cascade over your hair and shoulders. Your chest heaves up towards Eddie’s face and he forgets about the sponge, dropping it and using his hands to massage the oil into your breasts. A few rose petals cling to your skin as his fingertips squeeze the soft flesh. His thumbs settle over the perked curve of your nipples, teasing and tweaking them.

You moan as you feel his hands trail down your sides with a featherlight touch, caressing and squeezing every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory.

“Sir Edward?” He hums in acknowledgment as you pull his attention away from your curves. “When was the last time you had a bath?” You ask knowing full well most knights only bathe once a week, even royal ones. He looks up at you with a devilish grin, knowing where you’re going with this question.

He pulls off his thin cloth top and tosses it into the grass. He is toned and tanned, the body of a man who grew up doing farm labor and then began training and fighting with the royal guard when he hit maturity. The smooth planes of his chest lead to a softly toned stomach, the taut skin pulled over his flexing muscles. He looks down at his pants and hesitates for a moment. “Princess, I don’t want to offend you. But my body has a mind of it’s own. And I’ve had this” he grabs at the bulge in his crotch, “since I first saw you naked.”

You softly swat his hand away and pull his pants fully off, throwing them toward his shirt. His hardened length slaps up against his lower stomach and you bite your lip. His eyes are worried as they wait for your reaction, his cheeks tinted the same soft shade of pink as the head of his cock. Your warm, soapy fingers trail down his chest and stomach and grasp his length, you curl your fingers and begin to pump him.

“Fuck, prin-princess.” His voice strains. His eyes squeeze shut as he focuses on not cumming immediately. Your free hand gets lost in his curls, nails scratching at the base of his skull making him preen and purr like a kitten. You place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, his soft lips parting and chasing after yours.

You moan into his kiss while his hands pull your waist towards his, his strong hands squeezing your hips and ass. You feel the waterfall around you as he pushes you behind it, your bodies hidden behind the curtain of water.

“I could be killed for doing this.” He smiles against your lips. “If you want to stop?” You suggest. He laughs, “I’d rather die than stop.” His hand slips down between your wet bodies and settles between your thighs, where you’re wettest. Your forehead rests on his shoulder as his fingers slip around your folds and begin to circle around your delicate nub. The splashing sounds muffle your cries of pleasure.

Eddie’s mind is racing with thoughts. The feeling of your tight heat around his fingers, your soft body pressed against his, your breasts pressed up against his chest so close he can feel your heartbeat. He hasn’t bedded a maiden in a fortnight, being busy with his knight duties. But the maidens he’s used to are a pale comparison to you. Especially your lack of body hair. Only royalty can afford hair removal.

“Want you to take me Eddie. Deflower me.” You moan into his ear. He shakes his head, “Princess you know I can’t do that. Your husband must deflower you.” He whines. “I don’t care. I want you. Only you.” You say as you lean against the smooth, curved rock and wrap your thighs around his hips. You guide the long, curved length of him into your heat and you both shudder at the slight resistance.

Eddie holds you close as he rocks his hips gently, easing in inch by inch, feeling your tight spongey walls hug his cock like you were made for him. He kisses your neck as you whimper softly, pleasure taking over the stretching feeling. Eddie bottoms out and holds there for a moment, his balls pulsing against your asscheeks. He sets a fast pace as your walls pull him in with every grind of your hips. Every delicious ridge of him hitting all the spots deep within you that you never knew were there, his fingertips dig bruises into your waist while he holds you in place.

His grunts and moans sound like the wolf that almost killed you earlier and you smile as you watch him lose control. Your brave, daring knight, protective and kind, even behind the veil of indignant indifference he’s been showing you all day. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth as your legs start to shake around his waist, the force of your orgasm hitting you suddenly. You squeeze his cock tightly with each roll of your hips as you ride out your high and his movements become sloppy until he presses his hips flush to yours. You feel his hot seed shoot deep inside you and you hope he plants a beautiful flower there. He looks up at you through his wet bangs and smiles, the first real showing of emotion he’s shown you all day.

🗡️

MASTERLIST HERE

#knight!eddie #knight!eddiemunson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #Eddie x princess!reader #fantasy Eddie munson

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inkykeiji · 6 months

Text

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut | dark academia au

notes: this was technically supposed to be for the ‘ravens and crows’ prompt but it grew and it grew and it grew and so!!! here it is! set in my dark academia au!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationship, rough and messy facefucking, semi-public, dubcon, dacryphilia, cum swallowing

words: 2.7k

The air in the library is sticky, humid and heavy with the heat of late summer. The casement windows, made of crystal and wire, are opened wide, letting streams of setting sunlight paint the aisles unhindered. It turns the library a hazy gold, highlighting the dust motes wandering aimlessly between the shelves, dislodged from their cozy homes of old paper and rotting canvas by curious hands.

The wind howls gently, gathering stray leaves in its gusts and hurling them in swirls at the bricks, disturbing the tap of the ravens and the caw of the crows; a warning.

Summer will be dead soon.

A breeze meanders through the window, cool on your damp neck, and you hum softly, fingertips trailing along the spines, looking for the gaping space to wedge this recently returned book back where it belongs.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him; don’t hear his Balenciaga boots or his soft breath, don’t see his shadow creeping up behind you, slow and steady as it engulfs you, don’t realize anything until it’s too late, until one arm is wrapping around your hips and the other is slapping a hand over your mouth.

The sudden action startles you, a jolt of surprise coursing through your entire body and yanking a yelp from your throat, only to be muffled by the palm clasped tightly over your lips.

He’s laughing in your ear, low and smooth, dark and decadent, a sound that pours over your body like a slow, thick syrup, leaving trails of chills in its wake.

Bigger than you, stronger than you, smarter, faster, better than you, he spins you around with ease, trapping your body between his and the bookshelves, the sharp wooden edges cutting into your back.

“Surprise,” his breath wafts across your face, stained with cedarwood and smoke, word drifting through a lopsided smirk.

“Jesus, Touya,” you’re nearly panting out, chest heaving against his. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Why not?” he asks, a slight pout to his voice. “You’re so cute when you’re scared.”

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes, attempting to push past him and back to your book trolley.

“Hey, where you going?” his hips shove forward, forcing your legs to part, the jutting bones carving into your inner thighs, effectively keeping you pinned. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

And although his voice is amicable enough, the glint in his eye is sharp, shimmering as it catches on the setting sun, the ghost of a shiver climbing the notches of your spine, leaving each vertebra icy with dread.

“I don’t care whether you’re finished with me or not, I have to get back to work.”

“Aw, come on, you can hang out with me for a little longer.”

“Touya, I need this job. My father doesn’t own a tech company like yours does. If I’m caught—”

“Then I will pay for whatever you need, simple as that.”

“Yeah, right,” you snort. “And con me into being indebted to you for eternity? I don’t think so.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“I can think of worse.”

“I don’t think I want to know what goes on in that head of yours.”

That gets him to crack a smile; genuine, terrifying. Sapphire sweeps your face, slow and scrutinizing, gears of his brilliant brain beginning to shift in thought. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“Gimme a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“God, could you be any more cliche?” you struggle against him again, trying to worm your way free, and he pushes back hard, forcing a short, high pitched cry from your throat.

“I didn’t say on my lips.”

“Oh, fuck off—”

“You’re brave, talking to me like that.”

“Touya,” you say, and although it’s supposed to be a warning, firm and sharp, the name trembles on your tongue, wavering with fear. “If we get caught—”

“Look around you,” he says, eyes gleaming as he raises his brows in question. “Do you see anyone else?”

No. You don’t.

You don’t, because you’re in one of the furthest, deepest corners of the library; secluded, hidden, and utterly trapped.

He’s been waiting for this.

It dawns on you then, that he must’ve been following you, tracking you, stalking his prey and biding his time until the opportune moment to strike—when you were alone, unassuming, and entirely unarmed.

His smirk has grown into a grin, stretched unnaturally wide across his handsome face, tinged with a deranged sort of glee. His eyes are soaking it all up, every little micro-expression that morphs your features as you realize the full weight of the situation.

“C’mon,” he breathes, hips rutting against your inner thigh in barely there gyrations. “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“You have?”

And you hate the sheer desperation in your voice, the question breathed out in a single breath, quick and airy on your tongue.

“Of course I have,” he knocks his forehead against yours, malicious smile still in place, the words said like a slap to the face, like you’re so fucking stupid to think otherwise, but it’s so fucking precious how eager you are for the confirmation. “Don’t you want to be good for me and give my cock just a teensy tiny little kiss? It misses you, you know, can’t you feel how much?”

And he sounds so fucking genuine as he shifts his hips between your thighs and presses his cock, now hot and hard, into your core, grinding up against your clit. It forces a moan from your chest, soft and pitchy, lips pressing together firmly in a pathetic attempt to silence it.

“Don’t let me down now, sweetheart.” No, not after all the trouble he’s been through, all the watching and waiting.

Oh, you would never, could never, even if you wanted to—no matter how badly you wanted to.

Glowing sapphire watches as you slide down his body and sink to the floor, kneecaps on his toes, delicate fingers making quick work of his belt, picking at the heavy chrome buckle and tugging at the strap. It clinks together as you undo the zipper of his jeans, the weight of the buckle pulling his pants open further, denim folding over.

And God, his cock is so fucking pretty, dusty pink and smooth as velvet, save for that one big, thick vein that runs, almost perfectly straight, along the bottom of his shaft.

Your mind is already beginning to evaporate into a dense fog of lust, starved for his praise and eager to please, torrents of saliva beginning to collect in the cavities of your cheeks and pool beneath your tongue.

A thick bout of shame surges through your veins, but it isn’t nearly enough to dispel the hedonistic haze Touya casts over your brain.

He holds it steady for you, a slender hand wrapped around the base, pupils gaping and unhindered as he watches you inch forward, puckered lips pressing a sweet, sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock.

It’s open-mouthed, tongue swiping over the slit in a swift caress and collecting a weeping bead of precum, bitter and salty as it seeps into your tastebuds.

Pulling back, you stare up at him with desperate desire slapped across your face, lips parted with panting little breaths, a glimmering thread of precum keeping your mouth connected to him, and holy Christ, he’s breathing as he smears the sticky substance across your chin and your jaw with the steadily leaking head of his cock, painting you in stringy webs of him, that’s so fucking hot.

It’s being shoved past your lips and down your throat without warning—there never is any, not with Touya—and you sputter around the unexpected intrusion, a film of reflexive tears shielding your eyes.

“Good girl,” Touya breathes, and your jaw automatically stretches wider, peering up at him with a sort of insatiable devoutness. “Take it all for me.”

And so, you do.

Because he’s hypnotic, his presence an instant, addictive, irresistible pull, his praise and respect even more so. They’re drugs you gorge yourself on, drugs you vie and scratch and scream and claw for, drugs that make you feel pathetic, but drugs you can’t stop using nonetheless.

Because praise from Touya makes you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Praise from Touya is a hard, precious, valuable resource to come by, rare and not easily doled out. You have to earn it, he had once told you. You have to really deserve it.

“Yeah, yeah, s’it,” he encourages as you endeavour to swallow him more, to suck him down further. “S’a good girl for me. Go on, make me proud.”

It’s always speckled with a hefty dose of sugared degradation, cooed yet condescending. But the praise that falls from his mouth, cracking with sincerity as his head tilts back, strong jaw on display, the lines and ridges of his neck moving with his voice, soothes any sting his insults could bring. They make it all so worth it.

Because Touya has what you wish you had, what you want to have, what you will have, according to him, if you stay his good little girl. Touya has executive access to that exclusive, elusive upper class world; a place you’ve always been able to worm your way into with pretty smiles and batting eyelashes, but a place you’re consistently pushed out of.

Touya can make it permanent. Touya can find a spot where you belong, where you snap perfectly into place, cozy and comfortable as if you were always meant to be there—easy, effortless, effaced.

And, really, that’s all you want. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Acceptance, belonging, community.

So you take him down your throat with ardency, wretch your jaw open further, hinges straining with a dull, dense ache, doing anything and everything he says in an effort to make him proud, just like he asked you to.

You’re barely able to get a few good pumps in before lithe fingers are curling around your skull, palms pressed to your temples and thumbs digging bruises into your cheekbones as he grips your head tightly, holding you in place and wedging his cock down your throat.

The pace is brutal right from the start, the pounding of his hips so powerful that it has the tip of your nose repeatedly slamming against his pubic bone, swollen lips leaving crude kisses of saliva streaked across his skin.

The slap of your face against his groin is grotesque, paired with the sick squelching each thrust procures and the pathetic, embarrassing sounds oozing from the corners of your lips—choked off gags and snuffed out whimpers and those pitiful little sniffles, hiccuped with each hitch of your chest.

But they all feel so good around him, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good, so you don’t try to stifle them, borderline weeping around him, unbridled and unreserved.

Your fingers curl in the waistband of his jeans and briefs—a small comfort to hold onto as he fucks your mouth raw, hips snapping rough and fast and downright ruthless.

A condescending coo slips from between his lips, as if it’s precious that you need something to ground you while he ravages your throat, knuckles pressed firmly against flexing thighs as you cling to him, and he takes it as an invitation to speed up, movements turned vicious.

Your head thwacks off the edge of the shelf behind you, sending thorns of pain searing through your skull. A loud whine vibrates around Touya’s cock, the sound rammed back down your throat by the head, and he groans, deep and guttural, Adams apple quivering with the sound.

The sharp agony radiates, a deep ache that burrows into your neck, and you can feel the sore spot beginning to swell. It knocks against the wood again, your eyes snapping shut with a wince, tight enough to crinkle your lids, the motion dislodging tears from the corners, cascading down your face in fat, sticky streams.

“No, no, no,” he’s panting. “Keep those pretty eyes open for me.”

Your lids spring open again, an involuntary reflex, a zealous attempt to appease their master, lashes heavy and weighted with tears, sparkling crystal drops clinging perilously to clumped spikes.

Anything, anything, anything for him.

And, oh, how those eyes shine for him. Such pathetic, pious dedication.

“Fu-Fuck,” he nearly whines, the curse hoarse as it splinters in his throat, eyes voracious as they drink you in, soak you up, swallow you down. “Yeah, yeah, jus’like that.”

It hurts, but it’s over quick; only three more pistons of his hips before he’s holding you flush to his gut, his whole cock jammed down your throat as it spurts hot, thick cum, that one vein throbbing on your tongue.

You’re absolutely sobbing around him, strings of snot infused drool dribbling from your lips as you suffocate on his flesh, lungs beginning to burn, shriveling to ash in your chest. Instinctively, your head wrenches, desperate for oxygen, but he growls, the sound so deep, so dark you swear it rattles his ribcage.

“Hold it, hold it,” he keens, hips twitching a little as his fingers strengthen their grip, stamping bruises into the already puffy contusion, blunt nails carving deep crescent indents into the back of your scalp. Your struggling stops almost instantly, coughing harshly around his cock, and his hips jerk, a moan shattering on his tongue.

You can do nothing but take it, take it all for him, just like you were told to. What a good little girl he’s caught himself.

It’s only after he’s emptied his balls into your stomach, forced all his cum into your tummy, full and bloated, that his grasp finally lets up, tugging you off of him with knuckles rooted in your hair, groaning a little at the thick ropes of milky saliva tethering your mouth to his cock.

You’re sputtering the very moment he lets up, whole body shuddering as you gulp down razored air.

“You look so fucking perfect on your knees for me, baby,” he’s rasping out, collarbone shimmering with perspiration as it heaves. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier sight.”

A whine slips from your lips, and he takes a moment to admire you, sapphire sweeping across your face in slow, deliberate motions, almost as if he’s cataloguing your expression, outlining it all—the tear-stained cheeks and the spit-slicked chin and the sheer devotion spilling from your lashes—and searing it into the fabric of his memory.

“You’re a piece of art all on your own, aren’t you?”

Maybe you are, with streaks of glittering salt soiling your bruised cheeks and crystal dewdrops suspended in your spiky lashes and his cum, ivory and pearlescent, oozing from the corner of your lips to roll down your chin in thick dollops of cream.

His pupils are cavernous, carnivorous, ragged little pants exhaled through parted lips, stare unblinking as he watches drops of his cum drip off the line of your jaw in sticky, viscous cords, mixed with your saliva, drizzling onto your bosom and soaking the unbuttoned collar of your shirt.

“What a fucking mess you are,” he breathes, thumb and forefinger grasping your chin and yanking, forcing you to look up at him. “What a fucking mess I’ve made of you.”

All you can do is whimper and nod, fingers clinging to his waistband as you paw at him, a pitiful attempt to get closer.

A masterpiece. His masterpiece.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Did I fuck the brains from your skull?” he tuts his tongue, mouth fashioned in a mocking pout, eyes shining with amusement. “Where’s that smart, snarky little girl now?”

“Wanna be good for you,” you drool out, looking up at him with lidded, bleary eyes, glistening with admiration, with awe, as if he’s the most magnificent sight you’ve ever seen, as if he’s a fucking god. “S’all, Touya, s’all.”

“Oh, precious,” he murmurs, thumb caressing a rapidly developing bruise, gaze following his movement for a moment before connecting with your own again. “I know. And you will be.”

He promises, you will be.

Outside, as the light dims, sun devoured by the rapidly encroaching darkness, the ravens and crows pick at carcasses and caw into the night.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #weeeeeee yay

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fallencrowkarma · 2 years

Note

Update on that were actually getting to vocabulary words now lMAO-

My teacher is funny bro 😭😭

He said "does anyone have the will to learn?" I go "but can I say I don't have the will to lIVE?" "I will have to report that the guidance so don't say that-"

That threw like 3 different kids into a philosophical debate lmao

LMAO Halo 😭😭😭😭

Those vocab sheets are taking me Back to elementary school. We had the same ones Like that for english dbfbbff

#back then it wasnt normal in every school to have english from first grade on so i was very lucky #but it became standard after a few years i think #the crow caws into the void #murder of crows💜#ask #centuriantalevevo

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rustedhearts · 9 months

Text

trouble (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: the morning after a fight brings comfort and longing to you and steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1989) ✶ main masterlist

tags: angry!steve again :); violence; verbal argument; angst; hurt/comfort; I did not edit this so ignore any mistakes.

hawkins, indiana. september 1990.

The dawn was quiet. Soft: a blended stroke of amber through pale blue across the sky. The interruption of tree limbs came with bright yellow leaves, changed by the cool breeze and autumnal warning. Somewhere beyond the glass you peered through, a crow cawed. In the parking lot below, a car engine shuddered alive.

The dawn was quiet, but the dusk was deafening.

The hiss and click of Steve’s lighter caused you to turn your head. And there he was: rolling into a seated position on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress with shifted weight. In the swirl of blended lights, his bare back still held the tint of a late summer bronze. Speckled with beauty spots and the indigo, spiderwebbed haloes of burst blood vessels. Bruises from fights he never lost, but fights you wished he wouldn’t pick. The familiar haze of cigarette smoke settled into the room, paired with the potent tobacco sent you’d come to know all too well.

“What do you expect of me, huh? I’m not some fuckin’ punk, Libby, I won’t put up with that shit.”

“I’m not asking you to! But you didn’t need to do that—you don’t need to fight everyone!”

Steve’s shoulders hunched with exhaustion, hands slow to pull the cigarette away. A steady plume of smoke exhumed from his lips toward the bedroom door. His sheets were soft around your body, recently washed this past weekend. You’d spent those two days tangled together in the confines of this tiny apartment, enraptured with each other. The past few months felt like a lifetime. You latched onto each other like magnets, and now you couldn’t let go.

Not even when he broke your heart.

“Jesus, you need to stop pretending you’re such a fuckin' saint.

“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy for calling you out.”

Steve’s legs swished over the sheets, cotton rustling with the strained shift of his body in an attempt to straighten his posture. The flex of muscles came with a visible wince, a quiet hiss he hoped you were too unconscious to hear. Even with your alertness unbeknownst to him, he did his best to hide his sounds. Always the tough guy, always the man. He could never be soft, never gentle or real. Pain was weakness.

His hand came to cradle the welt festering on his ribs, but it twitched away to rub his eyes. You knew a migraine must’ve been collecting behind them and pounding in his head. He took another drag of his Marlboro and sighed it out.

“Because it’s me, right? I’m the bad guy? If you’re so embarrassed to be with me, why are you?”

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you, Steve. God, don’t you know how much I care about you?”

“Don’t you see that’s what this is all about? I mean—fuck’s sake, never-mind.”

Gently stirring, you turned onto your side away from the window, toward Steve. His profile appeared when he moved his head an inch; the bridge of his nose swollen and pink. His lashes fluttered in acknowledgement for your consciousness. His cheeks hollowed around the cigarette again, and the smoke streamed out of his nose. You tucked your hand beneath your cheek and watched him quietly.

Neither speaking a word, but both waiting.

“No, talk to me. Say what you actually fucking mean for once, please! But don’t you dare say you did this for me.”

“Then who the fuck do you think I did it for? All I want is to protect you. It’s—“

“All you do is fight! You can protect me without being so violent.”

“That’s who I am, honey. If you don’t like it, then fucking leave.”

You knew somewhere in the parking lot lied the contents of your purse, burst open by the impact of it hitting Steve’s back in a moment of blind rage when he just wouldn’t listen. Steve only ever saw things his way. He couldn’t understand that maybe you just wanted him to be okay. Maybe you just didn’t want to see him lose himself to the rush of another beating, or more blood and bruises and broken bones.

The coolness blowing outside settled into the room, seeping through the windows and cracks. You slid a little closer to the warmth of his body. Reaching out, letting your finger skate down his spine. His skin was soft, sprinkled with dark hair. His breathing stopped for just a minute at the delicacy of your touch.

“So that’s it? You’d rather throw this away than actually hear what I’m saying; than actually talk to me? Sometimes I wonder if you really wanna be with me, Steve, or if I’m just a pastime until your career takes off.”

“Are you—Jesus, it’s like you’re fuckin' blind. Don’t you see? Don’t you see that—“

“What? What? All I see is you getting into fights!”

“For you! I’m fighting for you, for fuck’s sake! To know you’re okay, to know you’re safe, to know you’re mine.”

Before Steve, you’d never known violence like this. You’ve been audience to few fights in your life, most childish and broken apart by school faculty. Boys rumbled behind the football field, shoved each other into lockers on the way back from gym. Once, a girl slapped another girl for stealing her boyfriend, but by the next week they were over it. It wasn’t until Steve came into your life that you knew how badly someone could bleed; how heavy hits could feel from the sidelines. How loud an uppercut was. How bad a rib could bruise, how much a nose could gush. How easily skin ripped apart.

Bottles shattered on the sidewalk, bar stools splintered by the weight of a grown man’s body. The gurgle of liquor spilling over the floor. The sputter of a mouth against a windpipe being squeezed. What it sounded like for someone to lose their two front teeth in the time it took to blink.

“This is the only way I know how to tell you how much I—that I—that I want—“

“Why can’t you say it, Steve? Hmm? Just look at me and say it.”

You could still see his face, eye swollen by a tattooed fist from the corner of the bar twenty minutes prior. Eyes welling, cheeks flushed pink, hands still balled together at his sides, black cotton tee soaked in beer and sweat. The night was cool and dark and everything blurred around Steve.

Even with your heart still racing from the fight he started, it wept only for Steve. It ached for him entirely.

“Don’t you know, angel?”

Pressing up on your palm, you closed the gap between your bodies on the bed. The sheets went with you, twisting around your thighs and waist as you pressed against his back. The smooth firmness of it was a welcome feeling. The warmth eased the stiffness in your limbs, arms circling around his middle to rid of any distance. Cheek against his shoulder, lip buried in his flesh, inhaling the musk of his bareness.

Steve sighed another stuttered breath.

“Know what, Steve?”

“That you’re mine. It’s me and you, and that’s how I want it to always be. Do you…don’t you want that?”

With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lip, Steve slid his hand over your yours against his chest. Grateful for your touch, delighted by your smell. He let his head press back against your shoulder, and his eyes sink shut. He breathed in the sweetness of your recent slumber. He felt the warmth of your thighs, squeezing around his hips. Your lips left the softest wet ring on his skin, cooled by the breeze.

“I’m scared.”

You nuzzled your nose against his shoulder, exhaling a deep breath into his skin. You never wanted to be further from him than this, and you could’ve stayed there forever. Listening to each other’s heartbeats, containing each other’s bodies.

“Scared o’ what, baby? Don’t be scared.”

The crow cawed again. Another engine grumbled and faded into its morning route. A door slammed down the hall. The acidic stench of someone’s coffee seeped through the wall. Marlboro smoke tickled your nose, settled into your hair. His hand was rough around yours, skin callused and tough.

“M’ scared I’ll lose you. Trouble follows you wherever you go, and I…I’m worried it’ll get the best of you.”

His thumb rubbed gentle, mindless shapes into the back of your hand. You brought your chin to rest on his back, nose brushing the dark hair at the nape of his neck. It smelled like sweat, pillow-case-laundry-soap, and Steve.

And Steve always smelled like blood.

"You won't. You won't, baby—c'mon, don't cry."

Cigarette perched between his lips, held steady by that strong jaw, Steve raised a hand and searched behind him. His fingers grazed your hair, sweeping in a downward motion to stroke the back of your head and hold you close. He cupped your skull, pressed until your forehead met his own. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and inhaled.

He never wanted to forget this feeling.

You drove home in silence last night. The rumble of his Harley deafening, your grip around his torso tight and unrelenting. The argument found second life in the complex parking lot, where more than one neighbor threatened to call the cops if you didn't keep it down. Steve directed the screaming toward them. You just wanted him to talk to you, to listen to you; to stop letting his fists do all the explaining.

Steve was quick to knock someone out for wolf-whistling, swift to blacken eyes for glancing your way too long—but when it came to telling you how he truly felt, he shut down. When it came to reassuring your worries, he became a stoic statue.

You crawled into bed heavy with exhaustion, peeled free of clothes and begrudgingly covered in your favorite of Steve's t-shirts: big, crisp white cotton, patterned with his favorite football team. It smelled like his cologne and a cigarette smoked on the balcony.

Turned separate ways, staring at opposite spaces of darkness, feeling anger and regret fizzle in your chests.

"I hate fighting with you."

"Me, too."

But something curdled around that raging, guilty fizzle. Something tender and achey, weepy like an open wound pulsing life. Something sweet and sweeping. Something unlike either of you had ever felt before.

Something like...love.

"We don't have t' fight."

Love bruised. Love sliced. Love terrified the pair of you equally; chilled you right down to the bone.

One of you terrified to love something so gentle and beautiful, so bright and wonderful.

The other terrified to love something so cruel, so boorish and cold.

"Yes we do."

Lifting your chin, you tipped your head aside to get a peek at Steve's face. Blank, but peaceful, he fell still with steady breath. You ran the side of your finger down his cheek gently, stroking the skin where stubble collected. His eyes peeped open, lashes brushing his brows where they furrowed contemplatively.

He gave you a moment to continue your stroking ministrations before turning his head aside. You passed him a lazy smile, noses brushing. His hand traveled to your thigh, rubbing the pudgy flesh appreciatively. You squeezed around him a little tighter. He inched his head a little closer. His breath tickled your lips. His cigarette was the size of a half-bitten stick of gum in his other hand. The ashes collected on the shag carpet, a few decades old. At this proximity, you could see all the different flecks of colors in his eyes.

There was nothing scary about him, or that weepy feeling in your chest.

"Eggs or pancakes?" you asked.

Steve inhaled, bringing the butt of the cigarette to his mouth for one last drag. It burned against your mouth. "Pancakes."

He smoked his second cigarette at the table, tapping his ashes into a porcelain mug and watching you flip pancakes in his shirt with a silent brood. He took his stack of pancakes with a kiss, deep and tender and full of tongue. He tugged you into his lap and fed you bites off his fork.

He spent the afternoon alternating his hand and head between your legs.

And when the sun went down, he took you to the Harley with his arm around your waist. He collected your strewn items from the asphalt and shoved them back into your purse, leaving the broken zipper open with a promise to replace. You swung your leg over the Harley seat and wound your arms around his waist.

You waited for the next moment he'd turn his words into fists.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #joe keery #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #boxer!steve #steve harrington fic #joe keery fanfiction #joe keery fic

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makncheese12 · 1 year

Note

Omg

Fallen Angel R x Wednesday and she sees R literally fall from the sky

That’s actually a good idea omg.

Masterlist

A/N: I actually like this omg(bare with me English is not my first language🥲 I’m getting help from my friend to edit it)

Warnings: my writing, slight language, falling

Wednesday Addams x fallen!angel Reader

High risk

“Welcome to the quad!” Wednesday’s blonde new roommate stares, arms open as they step outside.

“It’s a pentagon.” The brunette states matter-of-factly as she looks through the open area of students.

The area full of hormonal teenagers only souring her mood further as some notice her presence and stare in interest as they both step out.

Enid rolls her eyes before turning to the girl. “The whole snarky, goth girl thing might have worked at normie school, but here things are different.” The blonde says with a smile before turning to walk.

“Let me give you a wiki on Nevermore’s social scene.” Wednesday huffs out, keeping her face straight.

“I’m not interested in participating in tribal adolescent cliches.” She replies following after the girl. “Well, then use it to fill your obviously bottomless pit of disdain.”

“There are many flavors of outcast here, but the four main cliques are the Fangs, Furs, Stoners and Scales.” Enid continues as they both continue down the turning hall way.

“Those are the Fangs, AKA vampires.” She gestures to a table full of pale students with sunglasses on, some drinking out of small bags full of red liquid.

They turn their heads at the mention of vampire, a few hissing quietly making Wednesday subtly cringe back at the horrible attempt of a threat.

“Some of them have literally been here for decades.” She finishes making some smirk and nudge at a girl in the middle who rolls her eyes.

“That bunch of knuckle heads are the Furs, AKA werewolves. Like me!” A series out howls are let out at the mention of their name. One jumping on the table in the process.

The boy then jumps off the table and pushes his friend playfully.

Wednesday watches the boy catch himself from falling and let out a loud laugh before he pushes his friend back making him stumble into a nearby table where you sat. The table full of crows on top as you pull crumbs out of a small brown paper bag, dark wings sprawled out as you do so. He slightly trips over your wings and your body stiffens up

A loud hiss like snarl is heard making the boy turn quickly to defend himself from its source.

“And that is Y/N L/N,” the blonde says watching you stand quickly. “What the hell! Are you trying to break some bones?” You ask, teeth bared at the bushy haired boy who too lets out his own growl.

“Maybe you should pick them up from off the floor.” He says baring his teeth at you. “Or maybe you should just watch where you step.” You say angrily, practically hissing at the boy making some of your feathers fluff around.

“I wouldn’t need to watch my step if you kept them where they belong.” He says in an insulting tone which only causes the crows around you to flap their wings and caw around.

Wednesday watched with amusement as you both continued your argument. “Y/N’s clique is.. well, her own. She’s the only one of her kind here, she does tend to hover around the scales though.” The blonde mumbles watching as you step closer toward the boy.

He also takes a step forward, coming nose to nose with you as some of his pack members step up while the others decide to stay down.

At least some of them know better than most not to get in the way of a former angel.

“Back off.” You growl, eyes quite literally darkening to a darker shade of crimson as you glare up at him. His features are a mix of anger and fear as he stares down at you, not knowing what to do or say next at your angry state.

“Why don’t you just go back to hell, it’s where you clearly belong.” He throws another insult making your eyes narrow and dark fist clench.

“Hell is where your going, I’ll make sure of it once I’m done with you.” You say before a gasp from enid could be heard.

Everyone knew angels kept their promises, even if they were banished to the depths of hell.

You were playing a dangerous game, werewolf against angel would leave most of the area destroyed if you decided to play around with him before decided to take the victory.

The silent threat in your eyes is enough to send the group of wolves gathered behind him back to their table, tails between their legs by the sudden change of atmosphere and sudden eerie quietness the crows have.

The boy stares down at you, searching for something even he didn’t know before rolling his eyes and turning on his heels. “I’m starting to see why they kicked you out of heaven.” He throws one last insult before going back to his table, quickening his pace at the sound of your hiss.

Werewolves, always needed to last word or hit. It made your eye twitch and your clenched hand to puncture your palm, drawing a small amount of blood.

Your eyes then suddenly look around the quad, watching as the eyes that were once on you snap away at the sudden eye contact.

Your eyes then land on Wednesday, noticing the way she doesn’t flinch nor look away. Just simply stare back.

You stare for another moment, eyes scanning her over before they slowly go back to their normal color and your feathers lay down from their frenzied state.

“Y/N L/N!” A voice booms through the quad making you flinch and roll your eyes before they land on a teacher in the main doorway. “My classroom, now.” He calls before turning around.

You scoff before marching off after him, the pathway already clearing as students move out of the way.

“She’s not that bad,” Wednesday hears enid says making her eyes snap from the door way to the blonde. “She’s actually really cool once you meet her non-angry side.” She says, a smile on her face at the memories you two had shared.

Wednesday doesn’t react as she continues her way through the hall, the blonde quickly on her heels as she does so.

“Im assuming scales are sirens?” She asks, eager to get this whole interaction over with.

————

The sound of howls echo through the school hallways and any surrounding area keeping most of Nevermore’s residents awake.

Some watching their favorite shows, others having friends over, hell they were even walking around at the late hour. Anything to drown out the consistent sound.

You scowl at the sound yourself and push your wings to flap harder as the air pressure begins to drop making your lungs burn, craving the regular air that it was so used to.

You take another deep breath before passing the cloud line.

You wish you could say you were used to it but that’d just be a lie. The only reason the burn grew was because you were going higher, closer to the place you were specifically locked out of.

It was like a barrier, or rather a cage made by god himself to keep you inside and trapped for eternity.

You wish you could break the barrier and see what it was like. What the feeling would be like in your lungs when you got inside. Would you be able to breath or would your lungs explode like any normal human?

You wished you could find out.

Not that you didn’t try, you did. And you passed out in the process, you were forced to regenerate in hell for a few years after.

Once the burning truly began to hurt you stop, flapping your wings to keep you in your position. The sound of the howls now faded into the back ground.

You look down to see Nevermore through the dense clouds, light barely breaking through them as they pass.

You let out a sigh of relief, the cool air whipping across your face enough to feel like you had just been slapped.

A feeling you liked and were fond of.

It showed the moments before you got to feel the pure bliss of the air blowing past your wings at an alarming rate.

It’s what you craved.

Right before you could let go, you heard another sound.

It was almost louder than the manically barks and howls running through the woods, it sounded far better too.

You crane your ears a little more to hear it better.

Music. You had decided. The sound of different chords getting louder then softer then louder again as it continued on through the song.

It piqued your interest. Yes there were plenty of musically instrument players around the large school but none were quite that good let alone played the Cello.

After making the decision to find the owner, you allow your wings to stop before leaning your head back with a smile on your face.

Your wings — now fully relaxed — float above your body, flapping around mindlessly as the wind blows past you. Clothes ruffling about, hair coming undone and flowing all over the place.

It was peaceful, knowing you would be able to catch yourself and avoid your demise. You could do it all day and never falter.

Wednesday watches thing turn to the last page, he strikes becoming stronger. Encouraged by the thought of finished strong when something catches her eye in the moon and faint light from the school.

She doesn’t allow herself to falter as she finish the piece before looking into the sky.

She sees a figure, falling at an alarming rate from high in the sky. Large wing flying around before straightening out and twisted their owner through the air

They dive into the tree line before she could see anymore and she could only assume who it was. The angry bird she had yet to meet throughout her day in Nevermore, never even getting a glimpse of them.

What a strange sight to see. Not everyone can just fly up and allow themselves to fall. Who in their right mind would?

She would if she could, it seemed like a enjoyable thing to do.

She lets out a sigh before closing her eyes and breathing in the cool air and howling once again echoes through the school once again.

Her brows crease at the noise, it was worse than Enid’s loud pop music she has yet to get used to. Her grip on her Cello tightens slightly when another round of bowls rang through the air.

This is where she found her peace, or was at least before she stopped and the wolves could be heard again.

When she had to clear her mind she would play her Cello, the lines and chords being the only thing on her mind.

After todays events, it’s what she needed.

She lets out another breath when the air suddenly picks up making her shiver very slightly, the cold feeling uncomfortable yet bearable.

The sudden movement of paper and tapping causes Wednesday’s eyes to snap open to be met with a still dark figure hunched over and pirched on her dorm patio railing.

Blood colored eyes piercing into her own.

It was like two Gargoyles staring at each other, both unmoving and unblinking. The other refusing to falter while waiting for the other to.

She took the chance to look at your features more clearly up close in her peripheral view.

Your wings black as night yet sprinkled with white fading feather like stars, blackened skin leading up your forearm before fading into the natural skin color, skin littered with scars in different areas. Hair, wild and untamed while your clothes did the same.

She would have kept inspecting if it weren’t for Thing who slowly crawls from behind her music holder.

You’re eyes snap to him and he almost shrinks back behind it.

“What is that?” You ask, head tilting slightly. The resemblance to a bird being quite exact, Wednesday thought to herself as her eyes shifted between you and Thing.

“That is Thing.” She says, taking offense for him as he sits on her nub and waves.

Your eyes open slightly more as you wave back, clawed fingers wiggling at the him. Your eyes quickly go to a lighter shade of red in the process.

“Cool,” you say watching him jump off and climb up the railing.

You had never seen anything like him, in all your years you had seen every creature created yet nothing like him.

You wondered if the devil himself was the one who created him instead of god.

“A pleasure to meet you, Thing.” You say, reaching out with an open palm. He inspects your hand for a moment, hesitating when seeing your long nails making you chuckle.

You force your nails into the flat ones that humans have and he jumps slightly.

He taps around excitedly turning to Wednesdays then back to you, taking your hand firmly making you laugh.

“Quite the handshake you’ve got.” You say and him tap, unknown to what he was saying before you look back to Wednesday.

“This isn’t your dorm.” She tells you as if it weren’t obvious with the large window to Ophelia hall.

“I know,” you say throwing your legs over the side and allowing yourself to plop down on the railing. “I was just taking a little stroll when I heard you playing.”

“If falling from the sky and almost to your demise is consider a ‘little stroll’ I think I would enjoy that.” Wednesday says, your smile grows giving her the sight of your top fangs.

“Trust me, you would. So,” You start before glancing up to their large window. “The loud and open girl roomed with the new dark and mysterious girl, how unfortunate.” You say, referring to Enid who forced her way into being friends with you.

“Yes it’s insulting, really.” She replies crossing her arms. “The colors burn my eyes, I sometime wish to gauge them out with a spoon every time I enter our room.” She says, remembering how only hours ago she almost strangled the girl and destroyed her music.

You chuckle lightly before looking to your right to see Thing, poking at one of your wings. “I see it now, ‘fallen angel’.” She says referring to what she had witnessed a few moments ago.

“Who would have thought being damned by god himself would be so fun.” You laugh at the irony of the situation, being a fallen angel and enjoying the feeling of falling from the sky.

“You must have done something horrible to do so.” She says and your smile fades.

Your face contorts, subtly. From anger and then to sadness. You didn’t know how to feel about your odd situation.

Your father was the one to do something, you were just a tag along.

“Perhaps,” your head tilts up toward the sky allowing the moon the kiss your skin. “Or maybe someone did it before I could.”

You mumble the last part but Wednesday catches it along with the sadness in your voice as a crow lands next to you.

“Caw!” It screams out making your head look down once again, your smile returning in process.

He perched next to you , head tilting almost upside down as you pull out something wrapped in a brown bag.

“Why were you falling from the sky?” She asks, the question blunt yet not blunt at the same time.

You pull out a lump of bread before breaking a small piece off and hand it to the Crow. He quickly snatches it before jumping a few feet away to eat it.

You chuckle at the sight before humming in response to her question. “I just like a little high risk.” You reply and her heart skips a beat for a moment, too quick for her to question yet doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You must not be fully sane then.” She says and you snort. “You don’t seem like you are either, nor your family from what I’ve heard.” You state before your face falls. “No offense.” You apologize with a small grimace at your own comment.

“None taken, I like to think that a compliment.” If your smile could grow even more than before, it definitely did just now.

You look back down at the bird who jumps back toward you, hopping up and down in excitement. Your eyebrows knit together for a moment, clearly deep in thought before you speak up again.

“I never caught your name.” You say as you take your index and middle finger and rub it down the back of the crow.

“Me or the bird?” She asks seriously making you bark out a laugh. “Crow.” You correct her before he could grow loud in offense by being called a bird. “But you, this is Atticus.” You say and the crow caws out multiple times before settling down again.

“Wednesday.” She says and you nod, humming to yourself before looking toward her away. “How unique for a unique person.” You say, head tilting like the crow next to you.

Wednesday suddenly feels her heart racing at the the sight. Strange.

“I don’t think I caught yours either.” She says watching as Thing and the bird come hand to face on the railing, inspecting each other.

“Y/N.” You say head tilting back once again to look at the sky. “It’s for some reason modern to the year.” You say, eyes full of question as you continue to stare up.

“Tell me, Wednesday,” your eyes once again meeting hers. “Have you ever met an angel?” You ask and she knits her eyebrows together.

“No.” She replies and you nod. “Good, their horrible creatures who should be damned to their own personal cages.” Your voice is suddenly tense and full of hatred as you look up again.

The question confused her, why would you ask that just out of the blue? The question was a random one but you also seemed to be with your sudden appearance.

Before she could ask what you meant the window opens and her bright roommate steps out.

“Oh, hi Y/N! What are you doing here? It’s not Thursday.” She questions as she quickly skips toward you in excitement. “And hello to you too, Atticus!”

The crow caws and hops closer, allowing the girl to scratch under his beak.

You smile at the reference to your weekly manicures the girl gives you. She insisted your long nails were too creepy without any polish and you agreed to allow her to paint them black.

“I was taking a stroll and met your new roommate here.” You tell her and your eyes travel to to Wednesday who continues to sit in her chair.

“Or did you just try and scare her like the rest?” Enid eyes you suspiciously and you raise your hands in defense.

“I would do no such thing.” You smile as the girl rolls her eyes. “You’d be shocked at how unfazed she was, I was sure I would get her.” You grumble, further proving the blondes point.

“I highly doubt that.” Wednesday mutters as she begins collecting her things. You chuckle, glancing toward the woods noticing the sudden silence.

“Well, sounds like your little furry mongrel friends have finally quieted down.” You state standing up in your spot, glaring towards the woods. “I think I’m gonna go up one more time before bed.”

“Okay, have a good night! Don’t fly too high.” She replies with much enthusiasm about your nightly routine and you smile. “I will. Goodnight,” your eyes then travel to Wednesday and you smile even bigger. “Goodnight, Wednesday.”

Her heart continues to race, the feeling very different from beating of fear. That she enjoyed, this feeling she did not.

Quick, angry sounding taps are heard next to you and you chuckle. “Goodnight to you too, Thing.” You laugh before leaning back and letting yourself fall.

Atticus caws a few times before following after you into the air.

A/N: definitely imagined this song while falling in your circumstance of being a fallen angel

#Wednesday Addams #Wednesday Addams x reader #fallen angel #Jenna Ortega #enid sinclair #x reader #Wednesday Addams imagine #nevermore academy #Jenna Ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #Wednesday Addams x you

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