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moamidzyism · 3 months

Text

[8:50pm] (c.sn)

wc. 1174

genre. smut

tags. san x fem!reader, neighbors to lovers (kind of ?), one sided enemies to lovers, college au

a/n. repost; i don't really write for ateez and i don't write for san but i originally wrote this for @skyechild for @/cultofdionysusnet secret santa and i am no longer affiliated with that network so i wasn’t going to post it but i decided to anyways <3

more of my work

with his head nuzzled in between your thighs, your hands tightly gripped san’s hair as your eyes rolled back. “fuck, you’re so good at that.” you moaned out.

earlier that day, you sauntered into the student lounge of your dorm building. the anticipation of a quiet evening alone palpable, you cradled a bag of popcorn and your coziest blanket in your arms. you expected to be the only person in the building, everyone else going home for the holidays. however, as you turned the corner, your joy evaporated into surprise when you spotted someone already occupying the couch.

“seriously?” you muttered under your breath, your smile vanishing as you approached. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” the scowl on your face deepened as you recognized your less-than-friendly next-door neighbor, sprawled on the couch, legs spread wide, engrossed in his phone.

“are you going to be here long?” you asked, tone dripping with rudeness. “because if you’re not using the tv, i would really like to use it.”

his eyes met yours briefly before he rolled them dismissively. “why would i be sitting here if i wasn’t going to use the tv?”

ignoring him, you settled on the couch, snatching the tv remote from the coffee table in front of you. the air crackled with passive-aggressive remarks as you questioned his purpose in lingering in the deserted building during the holiday. “are you going to leave?” you asked him.

“i didn’t know you owned the lounge.”

“ugh,” you groaned in frustration. “i mean don’t you have literally anything else to do?”

his response was delivered with a casual shrug. “there’s no one else in the school, so, not really, no.”

rolling your eyes in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief, you diverted your attention back to the screen. with a swift maneuver, you turned on the tv, the soft glow illuminating the room as your scrolled through the catalog. your fingers danced over the remote, selecting a movie randomly, one you hadn’t seen yet but hoped would serve as a brief escape from the strained atmosphere.

“are you really watching this?” he scoffed.

“is there a problem?” you fired back, your defensiveness betraying your irritation.

“these hallmark movies are so corny,”

“who cares? they’re classics.” you argued back

“corny,” he teased in a singsong voice.

determined to enjoy your morning, you dismissed his commentary with a pointed, “are you going to talk for the entire movie?” the question hung in the air, effectively shutting him up, at least for the moment.

as the rightfully corny yet endearing plotlines unfolded on the screen, you found yourself succumbing to the comfort of the couch, the flicker of the tv lulling you into a state of drowsiness. the feisty banter between the two of you had transitioned into an unexpected truce, and you drifted into a slumber with your head resting against san’s shoulder.

hours later, you stirred from your nap. blinking away the remnants of sleep, you were met with the sight of san under you, now engrossed in texting on his phone. the tv was off now, but he didn’t move you from where you laid, until he realized you were awake.

“hello sleeping beauty.” he greeted you with a lighthearted smile as you woke up.

“sorry about that,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“it’s all good. do you want to get food?” he suggested, breaking the post-nap silence.

the two of you walked to one of the only open dining halls on campus. the warmth and aroma of food greeted you, contrasting the silent lounge you had just left behind. the clatter of dishes and chatter from the food workers enveloped you as you settled into a booth.

you found yourselves engrossed in conversation, the hours slipping away until the workers kindly ushered you out as they prepared to close.

walking side by side, the chilly air of the winter night seemed to thaw the lingering awkwardness between the two of you.

“you know, i thought you hated me.” you confessed to him amidst the laughter as you two walked back to the dorm.

“what?” san’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his strides slowing as he processed your admission.

“when i moved in, i bumped into you in the hallway with my cart.”

“i don’t remember that.”

“yeah, but since then, you would always blast music at night.”

“so, you thought i was getting revenge on you?”

“yeah, it sounds stupid now.”

outside the dorm building now, the night wrapped around you like a comforting shroud. “do you want to hang out in my room?” his invitation broke the silence.

you nodded and followed behind him. as the door creaked open, the room revealed its poster adorned walls and the soft glow of the string lights around his bed. “you can sit wherever,” san offered, gesturing to his neatly made bed.

he settled on the bed beside you.

you’re not sure what shifted, or when it shifted, but the next thing you knew was the feeling of san’s hands cupping your face. “i’ve wanted to do this since you fell asleep on me earlier.” he said before pulling you into a kiss. your hands found the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to your body.

as the kiss deepened, the two of you rushed to undress each other.

“can i eat you out please?” he asked you, placing delicate kisses along your jawline. “please, i just want to make you feel good.”

you nodded eagerly and he took it as a sign to kiss down your neck to your stomach. you gripped onto his hair as he pulled your panties down to your ankles, the light touch of his fingers on you legs sending chills down your spine.

“tell me if you want me to stop.” he looked up at you with his pretty cat eyes.

“san, please,” you breathed out, “just go please,”

he lowered his face and you felt everything as his mouth latched onto your cunt with his tongue flicking over your clit repeatedly. you jerked your hips forward trying to feel every part of him. you wanted him so bad and he was just reveling in how desperate you were for him.

“you taste so good,” his voice was muffled, vibrating against you. you felt the warmth of his breath radiating on your cunt as he re-attached his lips around your engorged bud, sucking onto it and sending shockwaves through your body.

you felt yourself come undone against his wet muscle, your hips twitching with loud moans and whines. in that moment, you thank the universe that you’re probably the only two people in the building.

your chest heaved and you tried to collect yourself. but you didn’t have enough time because before you knew it, you felt his strong hands grip tightly on your thighs, pulling you down and into a kiss.

you pull away from the kiss, cupping his face that is covered in your slick. “are you going to fuck me now?” you ask him.

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#fay's works #san smut #choi san smut #choi san fluff #san fluff #ateez fluff #ateez smut #san x reader #ateez x reader

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ficthots · 8 months

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Tracking

A/N: Wow, just yeah. I know it's been a long while since I posted for Peter, but like I promised, I was working on things for him and here it is! Now, I'll crawl back into my cave until my next writing is ready. As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy!

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 6.4K+

Time is a fucking thief. Really, it is. Waking up with the rising of the sun, getting ready to go to a job you despised, remaining in a windowless cubicle for eight hours, making dinner, then time to sleep again. Watching the clock as each passing minute was taken from you over and over again. Now when you throw being a superhero into the mix, it makes it even worse.

Holding down relationships, careers, any and all of the important things in life were always seemingly snatched away when it came to the personal life of crime fighting vigilante Spider-Man. That’s why when you entered his life it was like getting another opportunity to engage with time he had never experienced before.

Looking forward to coming home and eating dinner, stopping by on patrol nights to give you a goodnight kiss no matter what, to Peter Parker, he would do everything in his power to devote as much time as he possibly could to you.

Perhaps you were the time thief in his life now. Either way he didn’t mind when it came to you.

Were there times when it just simply wasn’t possible to shovel all of his waking energy towards you? Of course! The problems came when it had been that way for months. Yeah, you read that right.

In the span of four months, Peter had become so ravaged with his other entities responsibilities that his time with you was drastically rescinded. Unanswered text messages for days, not a peep from him for a week at a time, no more windowsill kisses. It was like he had vanished into thin air.

You understood at first. Hell, you had been dating the man for three years! What was happening, though, was unlike anything he had ever dealt with before. A group of men, identities undisclosed, were wreaking havoc throughout New York City. For months on end, like clockwork, every other week a crime would occur.

Each more gruesome than the last.

Peter had never really been on a deadline like this. Knowing that with each ticking second it was growing closer to the next attack. Spending all nights on the streets, trying to spot whoever could be responsible for this.

The worst part was that he had no leads. A few locations that were all pointless distractions. No semblance of an inkling as to who was committing all of these atrocities. In the span of time since their starting, over eight lives had been taken. A mind boggling number for such a short span of time.

Police were just as useless and he had decided to not take up any more time than necessary with them in tow simply because they weren’t taking this as seriously as they should have been. Instead of confronting the public, reminding them to be careful and not to wander alone past sunset, they were sweeping it under the rug.

Not wanting to cause a public disturbance. No need to fear monger they had told Spider-Man. Assuring him that all of those victims were tied to a gang in one way or another and it was criminal activity work. Something that he shouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on.

That was not a good enough answer for Peter. He didn’t believe them. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure it was a group behind all of this. It could have been a serial killer that was on one hell of a spree.

There was no pattern with their victims either. Randomly selected from the streets. What you didn’t understand was why Peter was involved with all of this. Of course, you knew he wanted to do all in his power to save as many lives as he could, but you warned him to be careful after the initial police warning.

Sticking his nose in places it didn’t belong was not going to end well. It had been the first time you two had argued to that extent. Shouting at the top of your lungs you weren’t ready to lose him and that’s what you were afraid was in the works.

He called you silly for thinking such things. That you needed to have more faith in him than you were giving. It still didn’t answer why he was so invested in this. You knew there were details he was purposely not giving you. Maybe he didn’t want to frighten you or maybe he thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it, but to you, you were a partnership, a pair.

All you wanted was to have Peter back around. Who knows, you might be able to actually help him if he came to you and showed you what he did and did not have. Instead, he hid it from you. Becoming cold and aloof. Distant and consumed.

If there was something you knew about Peter it was that he did not like being bested. Truly holding himself to a standard that was near impossible. Knowing he was above average intelligence, to put it lightly, when people tried outsmarting him, it was always a humorous effort. No one bested Spider-Man.

This time, they were.

Following that night of your monstrous bickering, you hadn’t seen or heard from Peter in over a week. Honestly, you weren’t making much of an effort yourself. Having no interest in being around him when he was in a head space like this. Knowing that there really was no way to help him if he presented nothing to you.

Peter on the other hand was not okay with you going dark on him. Despite knowing that the clock was dwindling down before their next attack, it was the first time in weeks you had been at the forefront of his mind. The little voice in the back of his head was telling him he needed to smooth this over with you or he would regret it.

Which is why he was climbing into your living room window with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, opting to take the night off even though it could be a crucial turning point. He ended up convincing himself it would be alright because if he didn’t have a direction to go in an hour before arriving at your apartment, then hunting tonight was pointless.

He didn’t have a direction.

Even though you hadn’t spoken to Peter, your thoughts were consumed by him as well. What was the bit of information he wasn’t giving you? Was there even anything he was leaving out? There could be the slim possibility he had actually divulged all he knew to you. But you knew better than that. Peter was hiding something, you just couldn’t figure out what it was.

The notes.

Discovered next to each of the victims he had come across. Given he was the only individual to find them and when he tried bringing it to the attention of the police, they had shrugged him off. They were trying to get to him.

Sheets of white printer paper, the typical horror movie fashion of assembly. Varying letters from magazines, newspapers, old letters, all taped and pasted on the paper in a note. Each one was different, but told in a fashion of a word problem. Some were like riddles.

Either way, with each new victim that appeared, so did a new note. It was one of the things he dreaded the most. Seeing what possibly innocent person had been selected in order to deliver the paper to him. His stomach turned just at the thought of it.

Tonight was not for that, though. Instead he chose to bury it in the back of his brain and spend some much needed time with you. So why weren’t you home?

If there was one thing Peter knew and loved about you was that you were a schedule person. Totally type-a, your day planned to perfection and given it was just after six o’clock that evening, you should’ve been in the kitchen plating your dinner.

Except, there was no you in the kitchen, there was no music or television playing in the background, it looked as though nothing had been touched all day. Until he stepped further into the kitchen.

When his eyes darted over to the corner of your counter, partly covered by your fridge, he froze. There it sat. An uneaten bowl of cereal. The milk on the counter next to it, the cereal box still opened and there.

As he approached it, observing the contents, you hadn’t even gotten a spoon out yet. It was filled to the brim, more so than you would’ve liked, but given it hadn’t been touched some of the cereal had inflated from the milk.

“Bug?” His voice, calm and collected echoed out into the quiet flat. Finally prying his eyes away from the alarming sight he had just seen, he was stumped. Everything else in the living room and kitchen was exactly as it should have been.

Maybe you were running late this morning and didn’t realize until after you had made your breakfast. Yes, of course! That’s exactly what it was.

Peeking into your bedroom, his heart rate decreased, a sense of relief and ease settling over him at the entirely bogus reasoning he had used to calm himself down. Until the most unusual sight of all was spotted.

Your phone sitting soundly on your nightstand, still connected to the charger. His hand rubbed at his closed eyes, trying to will his breathing to return to a normal rate. Tapping the screen, it lit up with dozens of texts. Some from Peter, some from coworkers, a few missed calls from work.

Never would you ever forget your phone. Never would you ever not put the cereal back in its place. Something was wrong.

His trembling hands removed his own phone from his pocket, before entirely losing any semblance of sanity, he dialed your boss’s number. It picked up on the third ring and Peter did his best to sound as normal as he could.

“Hey, Guy! It’s Peter Parker,” he was instantly cut off by his chipper voice on the other end. “Peter! How the heck are you?” He sighed, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Great, great. I just have a quick question for you,” as Peter asked if you had made it into work today, Guy responded fast.

“No, actually she didn’t today or yesterday. Didn’t even call. It’s not like her at all. I think a few of her team members tried texting her and didn’t hear from her either. Everything okay?” It was the worst thing he could have been told at that moment.

Clearing his throat, he tried to remain calm. “Mhm, yeah, yes. She’s just, uh, very sick. It might be a few days before she’s well enough to get back to the office. I didn’t call earlier because I wasn’t sure if she had or not.”

Guy’s laugh of relief was palpable. “Whew, thank goodness! Okay, well tell her to rest up and we’ll see her when she’s all better.” Thanking him and quickly ending the call, Peter tore your apartment upside down.

Any clues he could think of, any sign of forced entry, anything at all. But there was nothing. It was all still in the pristine condition it had been left in. Not a single thing out of the ordinary despite the two big red flags. Even going through every app on your phone, just in case, but it was fruitless.

Alarm bells were chiming in his head, he knew something was wrong. He knew you were in some sort of danger. He collapsed on your couch, wracking his brain for anything that could have given him something to work with.

Then he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye. A small piece of white paper stuck to the tongue of a running shoe you never wore. Turned on its side. He couldn’t remember if he had knocked it over during his rushed search of your apartment, but as he picked it up, his blood turned to ice.

Taped to the shoe were the letters he dreaded seeing. Had been haunting him in his sleep for weeks. When he could sleep that was. Unlike the others, it was almost a clue as to where to go next. His eyes quickly saw the time and knew they were going to strike again soon. Far too soon.

One step forward, three steps back, find her quick before she’s the next attack

It was an anger unlike anything he had ever felt before. Not when his parents had died, not when uncle Ben died, it was so overpowering, Peter truly didn’t know how to control it. Darting out of your window, knowing he was on limited time, he began his search.

A near pointless search. A pill that was hard to swallow. Knowing the chances of actually finding you were so slim. He had the list in the back of his mind, places he had scouted previously that he knew they had used at one point or another.

That was the only thing he could think to do. Which is exactly what he did. Searching one by one individually, spending no more than thirty seconds to one minute at each location before going down the list. Did he destroy some of those places during his searches? Absolutely.

He only grew angrier with each location he arrived at that you weren’t in. His hope was running out. Knowing he was at the last two possible places you could be at that he knew about. It was an abandoned warehouse by the river. The first place he had ever tracked them to, but it was far too late when he made his discovery. They had been out of there for over a week by the time he found it.

They were always just a few steps ahead of him and it drove him mad. His masked face searched the premises from what he could see. Through one of the partly shattered windows, there appeared to be a figure on the far end of the building.

A single light shining on them, their back facing where Peter stood. Sitting in a chair, only a wisp of a shadow, no identifying features to be made out. Assuming it was going to be a fight he was about to step into, Peter broke the remainder of the window and launched himself in.

Eerily silent. No noise in the entire building apart from the howling wind outside. It was beginning to become mid-fall in the city and it was always your favorite time of year. No one was enjoying the crisp autumn air that evening.

It was unbearably stuffy in there. No fresh air had swept through the place in years. The stale scents made that abundantly clear. Peter hesitantly approached the figure, the lighting just so he couldn’t make anything out until only a few hundred yards away.

The minute he saw the tied hands behind the back of the chair, his heart soared. “Bu-bug!” His voice shouted, relief flowing off of him in waves, but they came crashing down just as fast.

He wasn’t even sure if it was you. Incredibly deformed from obvious beatings, your face was swollen, bruised, and bloody like he had never seen before. The zip tie around your wrists had cut into the skin, pieces of flesh hanging from it.

As he looked down, the sticky floor was a deep crimson, continuing to pool from your countless open wounds. No shoes were on your feet, they too were cut and dangling from your seated position, totally limp.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was in your mouth as a makeshift gag, but whatever it was had been there so long, your skin was raw and bruised around it. It was the first thing he removed and as he did, your chipped teeth entered his view.

A blanket was draped over you that was covered in things Peter did not even want to begin to imagine. It was the next thing he went to remove, but he halted the moment it was off your body.

There, stapled to your bare chest, was his next note. The same haunting letters, covered in either your own or someone else’s blood. Based on the missing fingernails, he assumed it was a fight you had given which made him silently pray it was someone else’s, yours already spilled too much.

It took him a second longer than he realized to see that your toes were mainly all facing the wrong way. Your arms bruised from newly broken bones, legs in the same condition.

His trembling voice was the first thing you heard as he cut the tie from your hands, whimpers and choked cries trying to escape your hoarse throat. Immediately going limp, Peter caught you. Your body was convulsing in ways he had never seen, unable to open your eyes and see that Peter had found you.

His tears made heavy tracts on his sweat riddled skin. His gloved hands smoothed over the inflamed sections of your face. “I’m-I’m here bug, I got you. I found you, baby. I got you, okay? It’s okay now, baby.” Despite knowing how difficult and incredibly painful his next actions were going to be, he had to get you out of there.

Medical attention was the only way you were going to be able to survive. That meant Peter was going to have to carry you to the hospital. No possibility of emergency services being able to get to you before it was too late.

He was right. Had he waited for emergency services you would have died. You had been in the hospital for three weeks now. Finally in a state where you were fully conscious, despite the pain that never subsided, you were doing better than everyone thought.

It was unclear how long you had been in their “care” before Peter had found you. Based on the little memory you had from the snatching, it was assumed you had been with them for at least forty-eight hours, possibly more.

Peter hadn’t left your side since. Growing tired of hearing the nurses and doctors praise Spider-Man for having found you and saving you when he did. Hardly. He had hardly saved you.

In fact, this was his fault. It was the conclusion he had made. His careless and reckless behaviors had led them straight to you. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week and look what they had done. They thought they had killed you. There hadn’t been another attack yet. It meant nothing though.

No, the note left for him said otherwise. You’ve made it three steps back, how long until the grand final act?

Peter was frightening you. Since you had been awake and aware of what was happening, he had hardly spoken to you. The deep purple bags under his eyes were only growing worse, skin a sickly gray you had never witnessed in a human before, face hollowing out from lack of rest and food.

All he did was write in his notebook.

Curled up in a chair, he stared at the pages for hours on end. Occasionally writing and scribbling in it. His eyes never rested, constantly darting around the pages. It had been weeks of this. Total silence from him, not sure how to talk to him when he was like…this.

It was another late night in the hospital, having drifted in and out of painful sleep all day. Based on the lack of staff and visitors present, you assumed it was the middle of the night. The hospital floor just outside your door was quiet. An easy night for the staff, you thought.

Trying to figure out how to eat a pudding cup, one of the only things you could keep down, was your current task at hand. The tv playing with hardly any sound, it being the only main light in there, Peter silently re-reading whatever was in that book. That was the current mood of your room.

Eating was difficult. Only having three working fingers on your non-dominant hand, luckily one being your thumb, you struggled to pick up the spoon, also knowing you couldn’t move your arm to bring the spoon to you or bend over to get closer to consume anything. Just trying to move to secure the spoon in your mangled fingers had you on the verge of tears, losing your breath along the way.

You could do nothing without help. Not wanting to ask Peter for any assistance because of how poor his mood was. That was where you two currently sat with one another. Scared to speak to him more than absolutely necessary. Hardly speaking since being here.

His eyes briefly glanced at you before realizing what you were trying to do, throwing his notebook onto the side table. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you even trying to do, bug?” His voice was soft, a slight laugh in his voice, exhaustion evident with each word spoken. Taking the spoon from your hand, he pulled his chair closer to the bed, beginning to bring it to your lips.

It was silent until your eyes darted back at the book, deciding to take a leap. “Whatcha writing?” Your cracked, gravelly, and weak voice echoed through the silent room.

It made him want to revert to a blind rage attack. Your voice that was usually so full of life and excitement. Strong and loud that could command an entire room with only a few words. Now, he could hardly hear you, understand you, look at you. Jaw clenching at the question, his teeth grinded together.

When he closed his eyes, he saw visions of you beaten in that warehouse, left for dead. The immense pain you had been suffering through ever since then. Scars that would never fade, both physically and mentally meant he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Not until he found them.

Your face was doing better, still black and blue, but healing. Able to open your eyes and look at him despite the popped blood vessels. Bandages littered every inch of your skin, wrists tightly wrapped with special medicine for the skin loss.

“Notes,” he murmured, eyes darkening as you asked your question, obviously not wanting to speak about it more. Changing the topic as your pudding came to an end, his hand brushed through your hair, knuckles lightly brushing against your cheek. “What do you need? Anything?”

It was silly. A simple question to see if you really did need anything. It didn’t stop the tears from hurriedly falling down your face. “Yo-you, Peter. I need you. I don’t know where you’ve been, but it hasn’t been here with me. I feel like I’m healing on my own. Like you’re not even here. You sit in that chair, staring at that notebook for days on end. You’ve hardly looked at me, spoken to me, listened to me. Please, just come back to me. Please, Pete.” It was borderline begging, but months of pent up frustration had broken the dam.

Peter’s heart continued to crack with each additional word you said. Realization of what he was doing to you, slamming into him all at once. He nodded, chin resting on one of the side rails, sniffling himself. “I’m here, bug. Whatever you need. I’m so sorry.”

Your only non-fully broken hand you extended towards him, wincing in pain from the movement. Scared to touch you, he only placed your hand back down, removing the side rail to get as close as possible to you.

The rest of the night, you two sat chatting ,watching whatever movies you wanted. It was a glimpse at the man you had seemingly lost all those months ago. Peter was back.

You were released from the hospital just shy of a week later. Peter’s plan to nurse you back to health was his moving in with you. While it was just supposed to be while you recovered, you two ended up enjoying it so much, he was now permanently living there.

It felt like your relationship was shooting by leaps and bounds, spending time together like you had never experienced before. Him being there when you went to bed at night and his face being the first thing you spotted when your eyes opened was a treat you didn’t know you needed.

Feeling content, cared for, respected, and loved like never before. Peter admitted, with your confession to him in the hospital about how distant he had become, tore him apart. He had never seen you moved to tears in such a way, especially over him.

He didn’t realize how deep he had been sucked in until that moment. From then on, Peter swore to keep his other persona on the sidelines for a bit whilst you healed and needed him. Did that mean he was going to stop being Spider-Man in the meantime?

Of course not. It meant that side of him was reserved for the span of time from when you fell asleep to about forty minutes before you would wake up in the morning. Absolutely clueless as to the fact that he had been out all night.

Hunting. Stalking. Tracking.

It was the first night in which you didn’t need him to help lay you down in bed. Peter knew his sleep schedule was already fucked, each time his eyes would drift shut all he could see was you strapped to that chair, nearing death.

And the fact that he hadn’t caught them.

Keeping him up at night, when he could sleep it was plagued by nightmares. Peter knew that there was no opportunity for him to rest while these scumbags were still wandering the streets, looking for another prey to select for their sick games.

Which is why he was doing this without you knowing. Not wanting to worry you and cause you further stress. No, Peter could do this. Would do this. Had to do this. He had made amazing moves. Truly spectacular given the place he had been stuck in before.

They had no idea he had found them, watched their every move, plotted what he was going to do to them. Honestly, when he first spotted one of the three he had discovered had been involved in your…incident, it took every ounce of strength he had to not murder the man right then.

He had to remind himself that all he had to do was provide some patience and the reward would be unlike anything he imagined. And imagine he did.

It was what plagued his thoughts every single day as he watched you hobble around such short distances that only offered pain and tiredness from. His eyes would drift over your still bruised skin as he helped you bathe and it was like witnessing it all over again.

Your hand would tip his chin up, forcing him to lock eyes with you. It was nearly impossible to not see the sadness and hurt in his eyes. Disappointed in himself for letting this happen to you. It didn’t matter because what had happened was now in the past and all you were looking forward to was healing.

The emotional and traumatic scars left on you were not easy to mask. Perhaps that was another reason why Peter was so furious as well. If he moved too quickly behind you, you jumped and a small scream would follow. Trembling for upwards of an hour before settling down. Peter would have to tell you small things to gather your thoughts.

Feel my hand? I`m right here, bug. Here, I want you to use the remote and put on whatever you want. You feel the couch under you? You’re home, baby. You’re safe.

If it weren’t for Peter, you weren’t sure what you would do. He was your rock, your other half, offering reason for unreasonable thoughts. He was your Peter.

The rain was pattering against the window, a sort of white noise you weren’t expecting tonight, but were grateful for it nonetheless. It helped you drift off to a dreamless sleep, exhaustion from trying to do some basic things today taking too much out of you.

Peter was already out of the house before he knew you were soundly asleep. He couldn’t risk being late. Tonight was the night.

Weeks of following them, understanding and breaking their odd patterns, he watched as they went according to plan perfectly. A construction sight for a new high rise. This was their new rendezvous sight for the next attack.

There wouldn’t be another attack.

Counting silently in his head, as he saw a flicker of a small light near the top floor, his count was perfect. They entered exactly on schedule. Crawling down the side of the building and using the thunderstorm to his advantage, he shattered a window a few floors up.

There was no other way that he knew of other than how they had entered and that was far too risky as they had all other doors blocked. As he slowly descended the staircase to scout the floor and determine which room they were in, his hair stood on end as a voice hit his ear.

Three of them. All there. The monsters who were behind your attack. Simply waiting for him.

Except, they didn’t know they were waiting for him. No, tonight was a setup night. Preparation for the coming days of their next plan. Peter had determined fairly early on it was not going to be their final act like they had claimed.

The door was kept slightly ajar with a cinder block, no handles on them yet meaning if it closed, there was no way out for them. Which was their plan for their next victim. Leave the poor soul trapped here with no means of getting out alive.

Peter’s skin was crawling, every instinct shouting at him to just do it. End them now. It would be so easy. He shook off those thoughts, knowing his plan was the correct one.

He dropped to the floor behind them, one of them catching him out of the corner of their eye, a smirk taking over his face. “Spidey boy finally found us, boss.” The thick accent made him hard to understand. Peter kept silent. Very silent.

The other two turned to face him, matching looks on their hideous faces. “How’s your girl? You otta be more careful next time or she could get seriously hurt.” A chuckle escaped them. Peter still didn’t move, watching them from a few paces away.

Quickly deciding they weren’t a fan of the silent treatment, the largest man in the center who Peter knew to be their ringleader drew his gun. In the blink of an eye, web flew towards the gunman, pinning the weapon to the wall behind him.

“Come on now, you didn’t think I knew what you have on you? Just like how I know tweedledee over here is about to throw a knife at me,” Peter ducked out of the way as the blade hurdled towards him. “Now how about we all play nice and introduce ourselves?”

An over exaggerated sigh escaped Peter’s lips as the three men darted towards him, but he acted quickly, webbing them to the surrounding walls, letting one approach him to fight him. “Guess not. Okay, then. I guess I’ll be the one making the rules tonight then.”

Peter grabbed the three chairs from one of the corners of the room before leisurely strolling towards the door and pushing the cinder block from the opening. He whistled a made up tune as he removed them one by one, webbing them to the seats to the point of them not being able to move an inch.

“You know, it’s such a shame sometimes that I wear this mask because I would love you guys to see how big of a smile I have right now. Scouts honor, I am overjoyed that we finally get to do this!” He took his own seat directly across from them.

His head scanned them before pointing at the one on the right. “Let’s start with you bumblebee. What’s your name?” His black and yellow striped shirt was what appointed him his nickname. “You think we’re going to talk? I have nothing to say.”

Peter nodded at his words before looking at the other two. “Same goes for you two then, I assume?” When they didn’t respond, instead only seeing spit hurl towards him, he dropped his head, shaking it. “Such a shame. Alright, last chance. Just give me a name.”

Silence.

A shrug. “It brings me no joy to resort to this, fellas. I’m truly not a violent person. I pride myself on being as gentle as I can be. " He began pacing around, his chair discarded behind him now. “Igor, Viktor, Sasha.” He pointed at each of them individually as he divulged their names.

He gave himself a small satisfactory pump into the air at his success. He could tell he was correct by the little one on the lefts eyes growing slightly wider. It was just the start. As Peter continued on, he got tiny tidbits of information. Only when he presented to them what he knew. Which at this point was everything.

Names, date of births, addresses, spouses, children, education records, dental records, you name it, Peter had it. It still wasn’t enough to get them talking like how he wanted. Instead, Peter fell into the second part of his plan earlier than he had expected.

With seven toes, five fingers, three teeth, many beatings, and an ear, they were beginning to squeal. The leader, Igor, was suspended from the ceiling by his bound hands submerged in webbing. He was entirely nude, body cut up in ways that had blood spilling from him ferociously.

Viktor was webbed entirely to the floor, his entire body covered in fluid despite only one singular nostril. He was the one who cracked first which Peter expected after his reaction to his grandmothers home address in his tiny village in his home country. It was quickly discovered that he was mainly an action man, simply doing what he was told, not a mastermind of any sort.

The other one, Sasha, was who most of the beatings had gone towards once Viktor had divulged it was him who had mainly been the culprit in your beating. Webbed to the wall with no chance of escape, Peter mimicked all the injuries you had sustained on him and then some. Just missing a few fingers and toes now as well.

As the night drew to a close, Peter admired the work he had done. He wiped his gloved hands in a motion to signify he was wrapping up. They were hardly conscious enough at this point to understand what was happening to them. To understand the fate they had drawn themselves to.

There was just one final thing he needed to do. Grabbing the needle and thread he brought with him for tonight and tonight only, he walked slowly towards the nude man. “Did you know that I sew all of my suits? Crazy right! How in the world does he have the time to do this, you might ask. It’s a valid question, but you know what, if I took it to lets say a seamstress, I would be unbelievably broke. Not to mention, how does one drop off the Spider-Man suit without drawing suspicion. First world problems, am I right?”

The man didn’t respond, but as Peter pierced the needle into his skin, his yelp rang in Peter’s ears. “Ah, ah, ah, don’t be moving around now, you’ll make my stitches go all out of wack here.” Peter took his time, but as he finished he admired the handy work.

Sewn into the man chest was a letter of his own. Crafted just for them. A message curated specifically for their enjoyment.

“How time flies, boys. Suns coming up here shortly. Time for me to be heading out.” He smashed a window, ready to crawl out, but he remembered one final thing he needed to do. Walking back over to Igor, he pulled his head back by the hair on his scalp, making him look into the bug eyed mask.

The whimper that fell from the grown man was laughable to Peter. “If you or your dogs come near anyone I love again, our next visit will not be as enjoyable as this one. If you get out of here, I mean.” Tears fell from the corner of his eyes as Peter released his head to fall back into its resting position.

“See you later, guys! Make better choices!” He called out behind himself as he crawled out the window, webbing it shut behind him before making his way home to you.

It was the first time in months that Peter felt like he could breathe. Taking in the fresh morning air, just minutes before the sun began to peak on the horizon, signaling the arrival of a new day. His lungs expanded with the deep breath of air, wanting to sob at the weight removed from his shoulders.

As he made his way back into the apartment, he spotted you in bed. Still curled up in the comforter, sound asleep, none the wiser of his whereabouts the night before. The brusing getting less and less noticeable by the day.

When he crawled into bed next to you, he refused to fall asleep, not tired in the least. No, instead as the sun began to shine through the curtains, he watched you. Watched as your chest rose and fell with each breath, grateful you were taking those breaths.

Because Peter knew that it wasn’t long ago where those breaths weren’t guaranteed. Now, he counted each one, to make sure you were okay. Of course you were okay now. Peter just needed to make sure.

It wasn’t too long after when you began stirring, eyes blinking open to see his golden eyes staring down at you with the softest gaze Peter had ever had. “Morning,” you mumbled, he whispered it back to you.

“You sleep okay?” He asked, to which you nodded, asking him the same. “Of course I did.” You smiled, getting up and ready to start your day.

You just needed to pretended you didn’t see the bruises adorning his knuckles. “What’s for breakfast?”

#ficthots #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #andrewgarfield!spiderman #andrewgarfield!peter parker x reader #tasm fanfiction #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction

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mari-the-bimbo · 2 years

Note

Bro, you got me OBSESSED with dormmate Sukuna (I read it all in one go)! You're so talented, god fucking dammit I love your writing!

I do have a request though but please feel free to say no if you don't like it, but I'm a thirsty bitch for some angst so could you make a dormmate Sukuna where he gets into an argument with the reader and say some mean stuff in the heat of the moment and she leaves? Like, she takes the car as leves, vanishing without saying another word and he doesn't know if she's okay or anything like that, and you can finish with some fluff idk I just had this idea while taking a shower lmao

Dorm mate Sukuna: the storm brewing

A/N: Is it even a series if I don’t randomly add angst before the confessions? 😼Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy! <3

“Oh boy” Yuuji sighed as he exited the dorm. He knew the storm was coming, Yuuji already heard the news about Sukuna beating up one of your male friends and as he watched you make your way over to Sukuna, he knew it was best to stay out of the incoming mess.

“- you can’t just beat people up Sukuna, all he did was talk to me”

The tatted, unbothered dorm mate shakes his head. “Everyone knows he’s a fuckboy y/n, it’s not that deep”

“No he’s not Sukuna. And he wasn’t even flirting with me! He was asking about my day because he’s my frie-“

“Aren’t you the one always complaining those college boys annoy you? Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” He asks dryly as he takes a puff of his cigarette tiredly.

“No Sukuna! I won’t thank you for beating up of friend of mine!” You snap.

Sukuna is stunned into silence. Then a crease formed in his eyebrows, why were you getting so defensive? Can you not just have some trust that he did it for a good reason and leave him alone?

But that was the problem. Sukuna himself knew there was no good reason.

Only a bad reason. The reasoning of him wanting to kill any man that looks your way lately. The reason that repressing his romantic feelings for you was starting to consume whatever pieces of sanity he had left.

“Why did you do it?”

Why did he do it? Because he doesn’t know how to process his feelings for you? It confused him, frustrated him and your insistence was only driving him more mad. He needed to be alone and figure it out. Your questions started to sound like a headache.

But he wasn’t the only one going mad. Rage filled your body as you watched your dorm mate ignore you and groan as he rubbed his head instead. It’s almost as if he saw your feelings as irrelevant. If only you knew the real reason.

“Sukuna hello???”

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to cancel out your voice, it’s the last thing he needed right now. God please just stop-

“Sukuna im asking you a question!”

“AND IM ASKING YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roars, throwing his cigarette on the kitchen floor.

Now it was your turn to be stunned into silence.

“YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING WHORE YOU KNOW THAT? I HELP DRIVE THOSE BASTARDS AWAY FROM YOU AND YOU COME BACK CRYING LIKE A BITCH NOW THAT YOU CANT GET THEIR ATTENTION ANYMORE” he screams.

Silence fell upon the room. All that could be heard is Sukuna heavy panting after his string of vile words. Vile words that he knew weren’t true.

You stare at the man in front of you. You don’t see your loving, manly dorm mate who you have feelings for, just a selfish, violent man. And suddenly you realised you didn’t want to be in a room with such a man.

Before you turned away, you saw the instant guilt in his red eyes as he watched a tear fall from your eyes, but it was too late.

“Y/n-“

“Save it”

And those were the last words Sukuna heard from you as you left the dorm without a word.

Sukuna slumped back into the chair in defeat at the sound of the door. What has he done?

Rough fingers pulled his dishevelled pink hair in frustration as his mind flashed pictures of your teary eyes.

Sure, he’s made you cry before, whether it was pulling your hair, or eating your food, but never heartbreak. Never that. He was supposed to be your hero, not the villain. He was tired of being the villain. For once he was just supposed someone’s beloved. But now he ruined that too.

He wasn’t going to look for you, he’s done enough damage already. He always knew he wasn’t good enough for you. Today he proved it.

To think all of this could’ve been prevented if only Sukuna understood love.

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otomiyaa · 7 months

Text

PSA: Back up your blog, check your tumblr e-mail for copyright strikes

Hi everyone, after suddenly losing my account with main blog + sideblogs last week, I would like to share the following warning with y'all. Not to scare you even though it is shitty, but to raise awareness. If this somehow results in me getting kicked off the platform again, so be it lol.

If you post anything fandom* related on your tumblr blog**, whether that's gifs, screenshots, videos, cosplay pics or even fics (?), you may risk getting a copyright strike (up to 3 in 18 months) or even immediate account termination. The chance is still rather small, but just know that it can happen.

*I say fandom in the broad term, so blogs that post about movies and series, anime/manga, games, celebrities, models, sports/olympics, etc. and it goes for gif and fic creators too. Not just accounts that post music or videos for example.

**I say tumblr blog, but this goes for all of the internet ofc. People have been getting this problem on any platform, from insta to etsy, youtube and twitter.

Disclaimer: I am no legal expert, just an unlucky blogger who lost her silly multifandom fic blog after 7+ years.

This will be a bit long and detailed so I proceed under the cut!

What can you do?

...To make sure you don't suddenly lose days, months, and years of content:

CHECK THE EMAIL LINKED TO YOUR TUMBLR. I know a lot of people don't do it, myself included. Tumblr does send warnings (though not always). It wouldn't have changed anything for me because I wouldn't want to appeal - since I don't want to go into this "fair use" discussion for just a fic & editing blog. I personally don't know the chances of retrieving your blog if you protest against the claims, so can't say much about that.

Back up your Tumblr blog if you can. Also save your Tumblr chats with people dear to you if you can. Account termination seems to work differently than deactivation. I was still able to see chats with people who deactivated long ago. But my blog that got terminated has vanished from everyone's DMs and ask boxes à la Thanos snap. I mourn my years of Tumblr chat with my best friend. It was not as if we even considered exporting/copying it just for the memories of the start of our friendship. But now that it's entirely gone, hehe, well. It is sad.

Save URLs and masterposts outside Tumblr. After losing your account, for I thiiink about 24-48hrs (I didn't clock, but it was temporary) you will be able to access it at least temporarily through cachedpages, if you have the URL. It doesn't seem to work for everything, but most of my Tumblr posts I could still see shortly through this site, even after I got wiped off the platform. I did this by googling my tumblr username + certain keywords, and the posts would pop up and give me the URL.

...To prevent getting copyright strikes and losing your account?

Probably nothing - but like I said, I'm not the expert, just the fool who lost her account. The termination e-mail will give you a numbered URL so it's not easy to see which post resulted in the account loss, but for me the keywords were:

Despite the 7+ years of posts, many followers and a lot of memories, I did not gain anything else from this blog and didn't think it was worth the (legal-) risks and effort to try and get it back. It would require filing an objection against the copyright claims with personal info from home address to name, and consenting to USA legal law stuff.

Even if I don't know the exact details, I'm sure they're not wrong, because whether it's fair or not, most fandom stuff has copyright issues in the end, so I can't protest against the claims with 100% certainty it won't get me in real trouble. Besides, I read about similar cases, lost cases, and admitted defeat right away.

They work with manual reports and most dangerously, bots, who seem to be randomly picking unlucky people to take down their posts and possibly the entire account.

So besides putting an entire halt to fic writing, gif making, video editing and other fandom indulgement, or the inconvenient act of censoring every single word and image, I don't think there is a way to entirely prevent getting targeted.

The one that treated me to the strikes leading to account termination was a certain Mr. Green who seems to have targeted mostly people on Etsy. But apparently now also on Tumblr. More about this I can share here for further information. I also share some other links that can inform you about how far the copyright problem can go. Again, no reason to panic. It's rare and I was unlucky. But it happens.

About Mr. Green, using bots all over the internet to take down fandom related material:

Tumblr post about his attack on fandom.

Long detailed doc from an Etsy user.

Insta post about also loss of Etsy account.

Also Etsy related, but same Mr. Green and his bots taking down something only because it used the NAME of an anime character.

Tweet about him and his company not being officially contracted but getting compensated.

About copyright claims on Tumblr - they are still rare, no panic, I just call it russian roulette and these are all unlucky people like me :')

Post by user @/marilynjeansiims about claims against users who post about Sims, including a petition against it.

Post by user @/happyheidi about Moomin posts facing issues.

Post by user @/hanyusan about olympic related claims.

Example by user @/koov about what a vague copyright warning looks like.

Good news, post by user @/yunghos about getting their account back after filing a counter notice. It seems to be possible.

Post by user @/iamkatehardy about getting a strike for using a gif.

Post by user @/stxrshxpxd about getting their acc terminated for no 100% clear reasons.

Post by user @/tekweela about getting terminated mercilessly because of a reblog.

Post by user @/fromanotherroom-revived about losing their account with similar advice as I write here.

Post by user @/ladyphasma about gifs and US law

Knowing this won't bring lost accounts back, or change the law, I do hope at least you can be better prepared just in case it happens... Better prepared than I was at least.

#psa #fandom #copyright #no panic but just be careful<3 #signal boost #important

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stateswscarlet · 3 months

Note

hi !I love your blog it has helped me a lot. I have a more certain problem and I don't know how you deal with it anymore(if you have already answered such a question somewhere then sorry to bother you at all) I understand the law and how it works, but I feel like I am still "fighting" with my old version of myself and identifying with my human body. What I mean here is that whenever I get fulfilled in my imagination I can't persevere in it for more than an hour, because my ego keeps reminding me of my circumstances. I'm tired of it and would like to be able to trust myself to be the new version of myself that has my desire but idk how to do it. Thank you !

Who is deciding that thinking of/being reminded of circumstance is bad? Who is deciding youre not in your desired state? Your circumstances and all thoughts and emotions are NEUTRAL, meaning they dont mean ANYTHING unless you decide they do, so how can a simple thought (being reminded of the old story/circumstances) dictate what state youre in? your reaction to it shows your state, not the thought itself. obviously you need to acknowledge your circumstances, you cant lock yourself in a room and hide all day lol, but acknowledging them and dealing w them how you need to will never affect imagination because your desire isn’t in the 3D. It doesn’t come from there. Stop assigning meaning to all these things, just because you randomly got a thought about the circumstances doesn’t mean anything unless you start identifying with it (which would mean you never trusted imagination in the first place bc if you did, that circumstance would not bother you nor would you associate it to your desire because you know you ALREADY experienced it). Theres no reason to get upset, if you know its done in imagination and available WHENEVER you want, it makes no sense to be upset that you remembered your circumstances. Leave the 3D and its associated thoughts completely alone! Also if you randomly remember a bad memory from last year right now and it makes you upset, does that automatically mean your current life and existence is a lie? Does that mean who you are TODAY will completely vanish because you simply thought of something from your past? That sounds silly because it is, so why treat your manifestation (which already happened bc your inner man EXPERIENCED it) be any different?

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collapsedglasshouses · 8 months

Text

An Angel for Noah || Noah Sebastian x OC [Part 4]

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Jules [she/her]

SUMMARY: When Noah started to notice how things changed around him, he thought he might turn insane.

WARNINGS: angst, psychological tension, paranoia, mentions of mental health problems and mysterious occurrences, ...

A/N: Hi! So, here is the next chapter... I feel like this story is becoming really dear to me and I am so excited how you all will react to my ideas for this. If you enjoyed this chapter, please don't hesitate to reblog or comment! I love seeing your reactions!

TAGLIST: @trvshdxddy @blackveilomens @crimson-calligraphyx @measuredingold @cncohshit @signs-of-ill-portent

If you wanna be added to the taglist of this story, please DM me or let me know in the comments!

Keep in mind, this takes place in an alternative universe. Even though I write about real people, the way I write them has nothing to do with how they are in real life.

When Noah woke up the next morning, he felt strange. Everything felt unreal to him. He couldn't stop thinking about how everything had changed over the last four weeks. But something had changed, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around what it was.

He realized there were too many coincidences for him to ignore, and it was driving him insane.

It all started when he would randomly catch the scent of a perfume he didn't recognize. It wasn't the usual cologne his bandmates used. Instead, it carried a flowery fragrance that was both unfamiliar and oddly comforting. At first, he dismissed it as a strange quirk of his senses, chalking it up to fatigue from their hectic schedule on the road.

He even mustered the courage to ask the other band members if they had changed their perfumes or scents, but they all looked at him like he was crazy. They had no idea what he was talking about, and his concerns were met with bewildered shrugs.

After a while, he convinced himself that something was wrong with his nose, and he tried to ignore the mysterious scent. But then, the next strange occurrence began to unfold.

As their tour approached and they began working on their new album, Noah would lock himself in the small recording studio for hours, attempting to channel his creative energies into lyrics and melodies. It was during these solitary sessions that he began to experience something truly bizarre.

Random, brilliant ideas would come to him, seemingly out of nowhere. They were not like anything he had ever composed before, and they felt as if they were whispered directly into his ear. Noah couldn't explain it, but it felt as if someone or something was guiding his creative process.

At first, he dismissed it as a surge of inspiration, but it happened too frequently and felt too surreal to be a mere coincidence. It was as though he had tapped into a wellspring of creativity beyond his own understanding.

One day, he confided in Jolly, one of his closest friends, about these peculiar occurrences. Jolly, with a furrowed brow, listened to the new songs Noah had composed and admitted that they sounded markedly different from Noah's usual style. It was as if Noah's music had been influenced by an external force.

But that wasn't the end of it.

Noah's paranoia about the strange smells and inexplicable creativity began to seep into his daily life. He started to see things—shadows moving out of the corner of his eye, fleeting glimpses of figures that vanished as soon as he turned to look at them.

There were just so many things that were slowly driving him insane. He became increasingly jumpy, always feeling like someone was watching over him. It wasn't unpleasant; in fact, it brought an odd sense of calmness he couldn't describe. But it was still nerve-wracking, a constant reminder that something was amiss.

Slowly but surely, Noah was convinced he was losing his mind. The tipping point that solidified this belief occurred during the car ride. Noah had dozed off in the driver’s seat when he was abruptly awakened by a sharp pain on his cheek. Nick, who he had apologized to last night after a stupid argument, suggested it might have been a surge of adrenaline, but Noah knew the sensation was more than that. It felt like a physical slap, even though there was no one else in the car.

Terrified, he had turned and drove home, unable to shake the feeling that something unseen was with him in that vehicle. And as if to confirm his growing unease, he later felt a soft touch on his cheek just as he was about to drift off to sleep—a gentle, reassuring stroke that sent shivers down his spine.

Noah couldn't blame all of these unsettling experiences on a lack of sleep or stress anymore. There was something inexplicable happening, and it was consuming his thoughts and sanity.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rolling over in bed, and reached for his phone. The display illuminated with the time: 3:46 PM. He had almost slept the entire day away, but the exhaustion that plagued him was far from gone.

Yawning, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. There, he found Nick sitting at the counter, engrossed in his phone.

"Do you feel better?" Nick asked, concern etched across his face.

Noah opened the fridge, hunting for something edible, and replied nonchalantly, "Why shouldn’t I feel good?"

Nick persisted, his concern growing, "You weren’t feeling so well yesterday, after the sleeping-in thing…"

Noah grabbed a small yogurt, closed the fridge, and turned to face his friend. "Talk to me, Davis," Nick said, his voice taking on a warning tone.

"I'm fine," Noah replied, a sense of frustration welling up within him. He quickly retreated, making his way back upstairs to his room, sighing in relief when he closed the door behind him.

The exhaustion that gripped him was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn't just physical; it was as if his mind was weighed down by the inexplicable events that had taken over his life.

Noah lay back down on his bed, absentmindedly eating his yogurt before starting to game a bit, and contemplated the strange turn his life had taken. He had planned to work on editing a song that day, but all he wanted now was to silence the chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. The world around him felt surreal, like a waking dream he couldn't escape.

As he stared at the ceiling, he whispered to himself, "This can't be real." In a final act of surrender, he turned off his game console and closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would wash over him, even though he knew it would provide no escape from the enigma that had consumed him.

When Noah opened his eyes again, he jumped at his surroundings. He found himself standing in a small suburban garden, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. About four meters in front of him, there was an old wooden bench, its weathered appearance suggesting it had seen countless moments of contemplation.

As he surveyed the garden, a sense of peace washed over him. There was a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, and the distant hum of crickets provided a soothing backdrop. But what truly captivated his attention was the figure sitting on the bench.

There, on the bench, was a girl, her silhouette illuminated by the faint starlight. She seemed lost in her own world, gazing up at the stars with a serene expression. Her presence felt like a dream, yet it was all too real to Noah.

His curiosity piqued, Noah decided to approach quietly, his footsteps muffled by the soft grass beneath his feet. However, as he drew closer, a feeling of confusion began to creep over him. He couldn't explain it, but there was something incredibly familiar about this girl.

The mom of the girl suddenly emerged from the nearby house, her footsteps barely audible as she gracefully made her way to the bench. She carried an aura of maternal warmth that was noticeable even from a distance.

"What are you thinking about, Julie?" the mother asked, her voice filled with affection and concern.

Noah's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the girl's name. Julie.

Noah, hidden behind a tree, couldn't tear his gaze away. He strangely wanted to know more about Julie, as if he had known her for a lifetime.

"Nothing," Julie replied, her voice soft and contemplative.

"Jules," the mom said with a gentle smile.

"Mom, it’s okay. I’m just a bit anxious," Jules admitted, her eyes still fixed on the stars above.

"Why?" her mom inquired, her voice laced with maternal concern.

"My life is going to change so drastically from now on," Jules explained, a hint of vulnerability in her words.

"That’s okay, that happens," her mom reassured her, placing a comforting hand on Jules' shoulder.

"I'm scared I’m not good enough," Jules confessed, her voice quivering with doubt.

"Jules… my love… you will be great. It’s always been your dream to go to Juilliard," her mom said, her words filled with unwavering support and love.

Noah's heart ached when he witnessed the tender exchange between mother and daughter. It was a moment that brought back vivid memories of his own family—his parents who had passed away when he was younger.

As he stood there, hidden from view, Noah felt an inexplicable connection to Jules. He wanted to get to know her better, to understand the significance of this dream-like encounter. It was as though fate had brought him to this moment for a reason.

Unable to resist his curiosity any longer, Noah took a tentative step forward. But as he did, leaves crunched under his feet, producing a sound that pierced the quiet night.

Suddenly, the scene around him seemed to blur and waver, like a mirage dissipating in the desert. Within the blink of an eye, the garden, the bench, and the two figures vanished.

He was awake again, back in his own reality, but the memory of the girl named Jules and the emotions that had welled up inside him remained vivid.

"Jules," he whispered to the empty room, his mind filled with questions, a longing to understand the connection he felt, and a burning desire to unravel the mystery of the girl from his dreams.

PART FIVE

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens rpf #collapsedglasshouseswrites

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banzaitaka · 2 years

Text

The one thing he won't ever stop doing

(1) Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto x gn! reader

This just randomly appeared in my head

Ace Trappola won't ever stop mocking and teasing you.

Oddly enough, there are two types of people he just can't stop being an ass to; people he can't stand and people he loves, like friends and family. Now, you are his lover, his partner. There is no way you could ever escape that shit eating grin of his as he pulls out yet another dumb phrase to get your blood boiling.

Beware of his lies: he will promise he will stop if you take away his touch privileges as revenge (hugs, kisses, cuddles, ect.), but it will start all over again once the next day arrives. Until then you can enjoy a well behaved Ace cuddling up to you, as if he's the goodiest goody out there.

Deuce Spade won't ever stop showing how much he improved from his delinquent days to you.

No matter if you knew him when he was a delinquent or not, you know of his former life style, so he wants to prove to you how good of a guy he is either way. A guy who treats his lover with respect, a guy who protects his lover from any danger, a guy who helps out his lover, no matter how small the problem seems to be.

He wants to prove that he is worth your time, attention, your love and affection. It becomes such a habit over time, that he simply cannot stop doing it. Even if he manages not to openly show it, he will continue doing it in his head.

Ruggie Bucchi won't ever stop stealing food from you.

You're not eating faster than usual, he is sneaking little bites from your plate when you're not looking. Sometimes he even does the good old "Hey, look over there!" and takes a bite from the pastry you're holding, while you're busy looking for the not existing something. This isn't even about him being hungry and not having enough food, it's more about annoying you.

He is not above guilt tripping you into giving him your food, but he will pay you back one way or another. To him, this is a kind of fun thing to do. And honestly, he thinks you look gorgeous when you give him that side glare whenever you catch him.

A pretty convincing reason not to stop.

Azul Ashengrotto won't ever stop trying to look the absolute best for you.

You can be the messiest, most unkept person on earth and he will still believe if he regains the tiniest trait similar to his past self, you will think of him differently. He wants to be your number one in every category. Especially in the early stages of your relationship, he was extremely nervous around you. If one strand of his hair wasn't laying right, he was panicking, and kept fixing himself, hoping you wouldn't notice.

It's better now, but he's still anxious whenever he gets ready to meet up with you. He doesn't think it will ever completely go away, and he honestly doesn't want it to just vanish. To him it's one way to prove that he truly cares for you and how you think of him.

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martin-enjoyer · 4 months

Text

in my excitement i randomly remember that the contents of the institute are gone, not destroyed, and i subsequently freak out. like, what do you mean it's not destroyed?? that there's no debris?? what happened to it?? did it just vanish? was it destroyed so completely it no longer exists? was it consumed somehow?? did someone take it? because we have a lot of new problems if someone took it

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp #tmag #the magnus protocol #ALSO WHATS UP WITH ALL THESE SYMBOLS I ONLY JUST GOT INTO THIS STUFF LAST NOVEMBER I DONT KNOW ABOUT THE ARG #this is all my friend's fault they should've got me into everything earlier

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sixofpomegranates · 2 years

Note

"I told you, if i can't fix your problems, I'll just get rid of them."

♜𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠♖— 𝚂.𝚁.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Fem!Reader

A/N: !Skin Color & Ethnicity Neutral! Inspired by a book idea I have.

CW: angst 18+ | Mentions of Spencer's canon TRAUMA/Cat Adams/Murder/Crime Scenes, PTSD, GORE, failing justice system, very vague Sex Scenes,

I'd often found myself in helpless situations. I was kidnapped, tortured, drugged, held hostage, almost sacrificed... The thing that always got me through was my fundamental belief in justice.

I never did bad, always played by the rules. I helped the helpless, I caught the bad guys, and I hated myself for every ounce of harm I had to cause to survive.

I am a good person, and yet it seems to bring me nothing.

She'll be out. In a couple of days, Cat Adams is going to be out of prison.

An error of the court.

The lawyer had been high on heavy pain medication during her trial.

There will be a new court trial, according to everyone involved, but I know better than to believe in it.

The minute Cat Adams is free, she will vanish into thin air. All my suffering, all the statements of myself and my therapist, and all the times I had to stand before court and explain the torture I went through due to her have been for nothing.

I'd held back the urge to scream, cry, and vomit as I was informed about it, and by the time I am home that evening, I solely feel tired.

How much do I have to endure?

How did I always be a good person, following the rules, and yet I'm still getting fucked over?

How do the people, molding their morals as they seem fit and simply doing as they please no matter the harm they cause, always win?

I need a calm minute.

Darkness is clouding my mind; a depressive state starting to numb my bones. If I can't rely on justice, then what do I have left?

As I open the door to my apartment, I'm struck with dread.

The light in my bedroom is on, the half-opened door allowing it to illuminate the dark living room, and soft jazz music comes from my record player.

Somebody is here.

Cat isn't out yet.

It can't be her.

No.

Oxygen becomes a luxury as my body falls into a state of panic.

I grab my gun and slowly walk forward toward the bedroom. I can't hear a thing going inside, can't make out who is in there.

Pressing my eyes shut for a second, I take a deep breath and then storm inside.

"Freeze," I exclaim, taking in the scene before me.

It isn't Cat, yet there sits a barely dressed woman on my bed. A woman I know all too well.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, having her not even look up from what she is reading. She hadn't even flinched as I'd thundered in with my gun pointed at her.

"Put the gun down, Spencer. You're going to hurt yourself," she states, relaxed, going through one of the FBI files I keep locked away in my safe.

"How did you get in here?" I question her, and she finally looks at me.

"You need better locks, baby," she lectures me more than disinterested.

She has never been in my home before... at least not that I know. She usually keeps her distance, keeps it more accessible for herself to vanish before the morning, leaving me to wake up alone in a hotel bed.

"You picked my locks?"

She scrunches her nose, feigning disappointment. "Every novice is capable of getting in here. I almost feel insulted that you're surprised I managed to get in."

I finally lower my gun. This woman is a menace, but my messed up sense of self refuses to let me feel threatened by her.

She is like a dark shadow following me for over a year now, yet, I don't fear her, detest her, or want to get rid of her. Somehow I feel a connection between us – something not only coming from the nights we spent together in hotels across America.

She is almost always where I am. In the beginning, I seriously thought we would just randomly meet every other month, but she is always there.

When I am out there, hunting an unsub, my dark, little shadow follows me; when the unsub threatens to get away or harm me, my shadow devours the threat, leaving them served on a silver platter – more times than not, this happens literally.

Sitting down on my bed, I don't worry about turning my back to her. The fright of might getting stabbed by her eased after the first eight months of our... relationship. I sigh deeply while kicking off my shoes, slumping together like a sack of potatoes.

As I rest my elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands, I feel hers on my back, softly rubbing circles into my skin.

"Where were you today?" she asks, something close to concern in her voice. "You weren't at the headquarters."

I stopped questioning how she knows information like this a while ago.

"Court," I reply as she hugs me from behind, her legs on either of my sides.

"Why?"

I chuckle weakly as she pulls me back, having me rest with my back against her chest. "You can't bare it not to know everything, am I right?"

"Pains me," she admits, wrapping one arm around me, the other running through my curls. "Diana's doing fine, by the way. They have her on this new medication that is very well-spoken of in Europe, and it appears that there are almost no side effects and just positives. They also have this new home-movie system somebody so graciously donated, and now there are many, many movie nights with James Dean, Frank Sinatra, and Fred Astaire for her to enjoy."

Relaxing into her, I smile at the knowledge that at least one Reid is doing well. My shadow had me suspicious of her as I met her as a nurse at my mom's care facility four months into our thing.

That was when I started counting one and one together:

She was at the crime scenes.

She was at my hotels.

She was everywhere.

Wigs, contacts, accents, different languages (I've counted four until now, spoken without any accent, flawlessly), different handwriting, different body languages, different walks, different names and IDs.

My shadow is smart, but somehow I intrigued her enough to come out and play. Meeting me in hotel bars, keeping up her disguises, both of us knowing it is her – me, still not exactly knowing who she is.

"Thank you, love," I tell her, and she kisses my temple.

"Now, why court?"

"Cat Adams," I tell her, triggering one of her almost medically clean information dumps.

"Catherine Adams. Alias's Cat, Miss .45, and The Black Widow Killer. Convicted for murder – over 204 – two attempted murders, one murder by proxy, 2009 attempted murders by proxy, two abductions by proxy, taking hostages, assault with an unlicensed gun, drugging, conspiring against the federal bureau of investigation–"

I interrupt her, "I was in prison because of her. She is obsessed with me."

I feel her tense up but continue her sentence, "Found guilty and to be executed by–"

I interrupt her again. "Court Error. She'll be free to go by the end of next week."

"No," my shadow says, no readable emotion in her voice.

"Just found out about it today. The system fucked up, and she'll be out to roam the streets again."

The woman behind me exhales sharply. I search for her gaze and am met with the cold stare of a predator. "She will come for you again," she states.

I nod, smiling through the tears pooling in my eyes. "I don't think I have a chance of escaping her. Don't even think the justice system is able to fix this mess once they let her out."

Getting up, I start stripping out of my clothes and walk into my bathroom. I step into my shower and wash off the signs of me crying. It has been a while since I last cried due to a helpless situation.

I feel my shadow get behind me into the shower, her arms wrapping around my naked body, her body pressing against my back.

"It's going to be okay," she vows softly, her cheek pressed against my back.

"You can't promise that," I answer croaky.

She turns me around, the warm water now running down my back. I stare at her beautiful face and naked form. I'd like to say I love every single imperfection on her body, but the feelings I have for my shadow are running so much deeper than that.

Rationally, I should avoid her, should inform the team about how deeply we are involved.

I should think of the one time we caught her at a crime scene. How she was standing there between crucified men, who'd been wanted for sex trafficking children. How impassive she was as I put my handcuffs on her, telling her her Miranda Rights.

"We're fixing this, Spencer. I promise I'll help you," she coos softly, brushing my wet hair out of my face. "I'm very good at fixing problems. I swear if push comes to shove, I'll make it go away."

My shadow has an astonishing thrive for justice. She is a dangerous weapon, yet, I am able to feel safe in her presence.

She cups my face and brings my lips to hers. I let it happen, deepen the kiss, and I counter every touch. It's dark and animalistic when we are together; it seems brutal, downright unholy, when I press her face first against the shower tiles and take what I need.

I always considered myself a gentle person, a gentle lover. I always held back, always made sure my partner came first in every instance, but my shadow thrives on seeing every part of me, no matter how depraved and selfish. She provides me with an outlet for all my pent-up feelings. She sees my ugliest, most unlovable self and still looks at me as though I am the most beautiful piece of art she ever laid her pretty eyes upon.

The darkness enveloping me when I am with my shadow is the only time I feel safe without seeing the light. It's the only time I ever consider their to be grey in the term justice.

How often does justice fail to happen, even when brought to court?

How often does a victim do everything right, and yet the perpetrator walks free?

Is my shadow truly a bad person? She never hurt anybody who didn't deserve it. The only thing speaking against her actions is the laws against vigilantism.

Maybe I should've killed Cat Adams when I had the chance; should've ignored all reason and common sense and strangled her.

My hand between her shoulder blades, I press my shadow harder against the tiles. She groans in a mixture of pleasure and pain as I glance at the scar on her trapezius muscle between her lower neck and shoulder blade.

Under the scar is a tattooed number: 1.007

Once she was taken into custody, the team and I came to many realizations:

She had no fingerprints (the skin from her fingers had been professionally and cleanly removed when she was relatively young, leaving her with now healed but fingerprint-less hands), she had no real identity, was in no system, and she was an intelligent and well-trained soldier of whatever kind.

Within two hours after her arrest, Linda Barnes, followed by men dressed in black working under the President himself, had come to get my shadow and every ounce of information we had on her.

Number 1.007 has immunity.

Number 1.007 has many names and identities, but to the nation, she's a number.

Number 1.007 is a weapon that was once chipped like a dog.

I don't know what happened to her, what organization trained her, how old she was when taken in, if she had family, or how she ended up hunting on her own without supervision.

All I know is that my shadow found me, and something within me let her let her guard down. The trained weapon considers me hers, and I welcome her claim on me.

*****

Sent home from a case two hours earlier, I exit the cab I have taken to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

Emily had gotten a call from Barnes. That is all I know.

I enter the FBI's Assistant Director of National Security's office, being met by her cold gaze and two police officers.

They all greet me professionally. I shake their hands, although everything within me finds it revolting.

I sit down, and they offer me coffee. I decline and question their reason for bringing me away from a case—all three exchange uncomfortable glances.

Linda Barnes speaks first, insisting that she ordered it since she found it imported I'd come here and hear it first from the officers instead of the news. Her cold gaze looks more sympathetic than I ever thought her able to be.

Then one of the officers informs me: Cat Adams is dead.

I don't know how to feel. For a moment, it just feels like somebody pulled the carpet away right under my feet. I am glad I am sitting.

Dead.

They inform me about Barnes having given them my alibi (being in a different state, working on a case). They ask me if I want to see photos of the crime scene, thinking I'd recognize something – anything – as they appear to have nothing.

I agree. Barnes assures me that I do not need to feel obligated to do so, but I agree.

Somehow I don't feel like Cat is actually dead (that the nightmare is over) until I see her body.

Symbolism.

Cat Adams was murdered in an unidentified location but presented on a silver platter in the very courthouse she gained her freedom in.

The scene presents itself right in the grand entrance hall. Right in front of the statue of Lady Justice.

The Lady's scale holds Cat Adams's heart on one side and a stag of papers (her charges) on the other.

Her lifeless body has been gutted and placed kneeling in front of the statue; with a brush in her hands, she (or rather somebody, as she was already dead for a couple of hours at this point) used her blood as ink to write "Summum ius, summa iniuria." Latin for "More law, less justice." on the ground between them.

This is my shadow's work. I can feel her energy radiating from every detail of the crime scene. I don't mention her with any word, though I should. This should scare me. I should feel more than I do.

I can't help the cops with their investigation. Cat Adams had many enemies. She hurt plenty of people. Many were angered as the verdict was revoked due to the court's errors. People had called for justice, but the law had to let her go.

This could be the work of anybody she wronged. Just not me. I have an alibi.

Barns wraps the questioning up, sending me home for a few days.

*****

I already lie in bed when I hear my apartment door opening. My brand-new home-security system goes off, but somebody enters the code and it falls silent.

The door closes, gets locked, and the security system gets activated again.

There are no sounds, and I consider the possibility of her having left again until the mattress behind me sinks in, and she snuggles up behind me.

"What the fuck have you done?" I ask her calmly, making her giggle. "Oh, big boy words."

I turn on the lamp on my bedside table, sitting up. Just now noticing the missing one on her side. How does my shadow manage to smile and be happy although she murdered somebody no 24 hours ago?

"I am serious," I say, angrier than I thought I was. "You killed Cat."

"I told you I'd help you," she says, her smile leaving her face. "Why are you angry with me?"

Pressing the heel of my palm against my eyes, I try to be calm, but my past trauma shows itself in pure anger, annoyance, and confusion. "You realize that this is not a normal conversation I should have with you, right? I should not have to explain to you why killing somebody isn't okay. D-Do I have to worry that one day you'll snap, and then I am next?"

I speak my last sentence without thinking about it. I don't fear my little shadow; I love this mystery of a woman I barely know.

Her face pulls into a hurt expression. "That's bullshit. You know I'd never hurt you, Spencer."

"Do I know? Fuck, I don't even know your name."

"That's because I don't have one," my dark shadow hisses at me, tears in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and then explains, "I told you, if I can't fix your problem, I'll just get rid of it."

She did. She had told me the – for her so logical – plan.

"I didn't think you would go that far... Or do anything at all," I admit.

A sob escapes her. "I- I didn't want to do it." She clears her throat and starts again. "I wanted to do it for what she did to you, but I was willing to simply keep an eye on her until her trial because you like your justice to be legal."

"And yet she wound up dead."

"Because she showed up here. The minute she was out, she came here, and let herself in like she owned the place," my shadow says, adding, "I told you you need better locks."

"So you killed her?"

She looks at me, irritated. "No, Spencer. I tried to talk to her. I made clear that you're mine and that I don't want her anywhere near you. She was the one attacking me. I'm not letting myself get attacked by a psychotic bitch, so I whacked her with the lamp from my bedside."

So that was why the lamp was missing.

"So it was self-defense?" I ask, tracing the deeply dark, bruised skin of her shoulder as she pulls my cardigan (the one I thought I lost) over her shoulder.

"Don't know if I'd call it self-defense since she didn't exactly have the military training advantages I have, but yeah. Sure. But it's not exactly like I could just call the cops, you know?" My shadow lifts her hand as to hint at the fact that she legally doesn't exist, then drops it again. "I didn't kill her with the lamp, but, like, it's not like there was a way to step back from the situation, so I just continued as I usually would."

"And that was the scene before Lady Justice?"

She nodded, stating, "If you can't live as a good example, you'll die as a warning for others following down your path. I tried to do it your way, and it didn't work. I don't regret having done what needed to be done to keep you safe."

Cat Adams broke me. She had me rot in prison for months; she let me live years of believing she raped me; she made me a murderer, let me think my mother was dead, that I'd caused her miscarriage...

Cat ridiculed the trauma she caused me and did what she could to convince me I was just as much of a monster as she was, so I'd let her lay her claim on me.

The woman beside me sobs, a tear running down her face. "You hate me now, don't you?"

"I don't. Could never," I answer. I delight in the knowledge that Cat finally got what she deserved.

The monster haunting my nightmares and messing with my head for so long is gone.

She underestimated my little, dark shadow and put herself in a cage with a monster just as big and scary but way more efficient than herself.

In the end, Cat Adams chose her ending herself. She could've left but refused to let go of the chance to have me. She chose her fate by challenging my shadow's claim on me and forcing her hand to keep me safe.

"I can't believe that it's over," I finally say, realizing I am crying like a child as the woman beside me cups my face in her hands. "It's over."

People say to forgive and forget. They insist on never holding a grudge and moving on, being the bigger person. Forgiveness is a cute idea, but it doesn't change that you suffer the consequences of another person's evil doings.

I laugh through the tears, savoring the relief of justice.

Cat will never again be able to hurt me.

I can move on and heal without fear.

I wrap my arms around my shadow, pulling her into the pillows with me. She cries too. Fair enough, I cry harder, but she clearly sheds tears of compassion, of love.

Who would've thought that the most real form of raw, unapologetic love I'd ever experience would come from someone that officially doesn't even exist?

"[y/n]," she whispers, making me look at her. "I don't have a real name, but I like [y/n]. That- That's all that I can give to you."

"It's more than enough," I whisper back, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

She freed me from the specter haunting me in the only way she seems to have learned how to, and although our future is uncertain, I doubt she even knows who she is herself, and one day my shadow will have to step into the light: I have laid my claim onto her just as much as she has laid hers on me.

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the-bird-and-the-flute · 2 months

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Napoleon - ikevamp - come to my bedchamber

Ahhhhhhh the event is over. It was such a nice and cute story.

I thought we'd get more spicy moments in this event, but no, it was actually fluffy.

Before reading the story, I thought that Napoleon would invite MC to be his consort or sth, but it was the other way around! A nice change of pace considering other Napoleon events. Although there was another one that MC was more powerful than Napoleon. I think it was that event she was a pureblood

But anyways, in the first two chapters we learned that MC is a shogun \o/

And that vassals and other leaders are forcing her to give an heir to the shogunate. She randomly chose Napoleon - Sumeragi no Kata - as the guy for the job lol

In their first 'attempt', they didn't have sex. MC was too tense, she was a virgin and was really embarrassed. So Napoleon just suggested they should sleep in the same bed that night to avoid people's suspicion that nothing happened.

Days passed by and we saw them interacting as good friends/ acquaintances. She learned a bit more about his past and also told him a bit about her life as a shogun.

Btw, the reason why he was in this situation was because his samurai family was facing financial problems and he was called to serve the shogun to help his family. He was not from a famous samurai family.

At the end of chapter 2, MC's attendant tells her that she will have to get married to a guy from a prestigious family. Technically, she will have to ditch Napoleon as she didn't get pregnant. And Napoleon was just her lover.

TRUE LOVE ENDING

One night, in MC's chamber, Napoleon confesses his feelings, saying that he loves her and all he had done so far was because he loved her as a woman, not a shogun

He knows a prestigious family is forcing MC to get married to their son.

MC tells Napoleon she will later tell him what she feels and talk more about that.

A few days later, she calls Napoleon to her office and there, he learns she decided to get married to him.

SECRET LOVE ENDING

Here, they do have sex \o/. Napoleon told her he was not going to touch her unless she ordered him to, but he couldn't wait now knowing another man would marry her.

They confess their feelings and a few days later, they decide to run away.

I think I liked this end more than the other.

After they vanished, we see them restarting their life somewhere else as normal people. Napoleon is teaching swordsmanship to local kids. They also mention they will get married soon and that they are not interested in the shogunate or politics at all.

Napoleon teaching the kids at the dojo was soo cute <3

EXTRA

Napoleon teasing MC as usual :D

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #napoleon #otome #cybird

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fandomnsfw · 1 year

Text

Changes pt 2 - Scott McCall x Reader

Pairing: Scott x Reader

Prompt: None!~ Just came to me brahh pt 2

Warning: NONE!

ENJOY!!

*****

Morning came and Derek was in the kitchen with Stiles, Scott, Erica and Lydia. The rest of the pack was still asleep. However he pack mates that were quietly waking up in the kitchen suddenly heard a loud bang, which made them stand up, ready to run to the problem if need be, however they were quickly sat back down when you ran into the kitchen looking destressed.

“Can I still get my acrylic nails done!? OR are my claws going to fuck them up when they come out!?” You screamed quite clearly distressed about the thought of never getting your nails done again.

“Seriously that’s the first question you ask when you realise you’re a werewolf?” Stiles snorted sarcastically.

“It is an important question!” You, Lydia and Erica screamed at the same time making the guys shut up.

“I never had problems with nail polish but I’m not sure about acrylics…I guess the only way would be to bring out your claws now and see if they’re still there when you put them back…” Erica muttered sadly, like the loss of your acrylics would be hell.

“Shit okay Scott you owe me 40 dollars if my acrylic vanish or rip off!” You snarled making his eyes widen.

“40 DOLLARS FOR SOME FAKE NAILS SLAPPED ON!?” He screamed but everyone in the room froze knowing he was about to get some serious words of abuse.

“OH AND SPENDING 40 DOLLARS ON VIDEO GAMES IS BETTER HOW?!” You screamed angrily making everyone flinch. Scott shot out his seat and put his hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N calm down your new at this and you mi-”

“Ooo claws…My eyes are goldish yellow yeah?” You asked excitedly, like you hadn’t just yelled five second prior.

“Ermm yeah bu-” You took a deep breath and looked down at your hands to see your claws gone and your acrylic stiletto nails still intact.

“Yay! Okay now someone feed me I’m hungry!” You rambled as Scott stared at you like you’d gone crazy.

“Did she just…And then she just…But she’s…Am I the only one confused by what just happened?” Scott asked, obviously feeling very bewildered by the events that just happened.

“She’s seen how you trained Liam so it’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Plus she probably already has an anchor.” Derek muttered as he fed Stiles a piece of toast.

“Oh yeah my anchor is Scott.” You smiled happily as you poured yourself some coffee.

“Is she aware she just confessed to Scott or nah?” Erica whispered making Scott drop his coffee cup which was thankfully caught by Derek who was mumbling something about kids.

“Don’t so shocked Scotty boy I know you smelt me yesterday just before you bit me.” You muttered like he was the most stupid person alive. You inhaled but felt your eyes widen.

“Eww what is that smell!” You blurted out randomly making every sniff the air.

“That would be the sweet smell of Jethan sex.” Jackson muttered with a smirk as he walked into the kitchen with Ethan following.

“You’re so gross.” You commented, as you made fake gagging noises.

“You’ll smell stuff like that a lot, though it’s probably better you don’t mention it every time.” Derek laughed as you scrunched your nose again.

The morning continued like this you’d smell things and ask the other members but when you sat next to Scott when the pack put on a movie you smelt something sweet. It’s was a smell that for some reason warmed you to the core making your heart flutter softly.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Scott snorted as you sniffed at his neck.

“You smell sweet.” You giggled but everyone stopped and stared as you pulled away from Scott’s neck.

“No he doesn’t…” Isaac frowned but looked at you like you’d gone crazy.

“Yes he does.” You retaliated childishly.

“No Scott smells like pine trees.” Aiden added making all the wolves nod in agreement.

“Hmm that’s cool you kinda smell sweet too.” Scott ignored the comments of the other members and chose to sniff you instead.

“Y/N smells like cinnamon and medicine. Though the medical smell is fading.” Erica muttered making everyone frown at the pair of wolfs who were confused to why it was such a big deal.

You both chose to ignore them as the movie started. Occasionally you’d sniff at Scott which would cause him to let out an unmanly giggle which would end with the other pack mates telling you to shush.

By 5 pm after the movie and a late lunch, Scott deemed it a good time to go and see Deaton. He would give you a thorough check up, to make sure all your changes had been made and there were no unexpected situations again. Like a kanima.

You walked into the vets work space with Scott and scrunched you nose at all the new smells causing Deaton laugh at your expression.

“So I see your nose works perfectly fine.” He commented, earning a sarcastically nod from you.

However as he was checking you over you got a slight whiff of something that smelled familiar. You looked around the room and spotted a few jars. You moved away from Deaton and lifted the tray onto the bench and started opening the jars that were sat on it neatly.

“Y/N what are you doing?” Deaton asked concerned by your frown but also probably very agitated with the fact that you didn’t even ask.

“I can smell something sweet…It smells familiar.” Deaton frowned as he opened a jar that contained a baby pink flower that looked like it was made out of tissue paper it was beyond beautiful but you still had no idea what the flower was so you didn’t touch it when Deaton brought it to your nose.

“Yeah that’s it!” You giggled as he passed you the flower. You took it knowing Deaton would never pass you something harmful.

“Where have you smelt it? Because from my knowledge they rarely grow around here unless planted by someone.” Deaton asked his frown making Scott look at you with concern.

“Hmm where did I smell it…” You put the flower back in the jar as you thought about it why it smelt familiar, but when Scott moved you smelt it again.

“Oh yeah! Scott smells like this flower!” You giggled which made Scott shoot you a sweet lopsided smile.

“Hmm you know what now you mention it…You smell a lot like this too!” Scott said as he smelt the flower with a dopey smile.

“Well that’s an unexpected development.” Deaton muttered more to himself than anyone else.

“Is that bad!?” You panicked making Deaton shake his head to stop your break down from going any further.

“No not bad just…rare.” Deaton replied sceptically making you roll your eyes.

“Please don’t beat around the bush I may die of anticipation.” You groaned loudly earning a snort from Deaton.

“Well in most places of the world this flower, which is commonly known by the name Camellia. Has a meaning and that meaning is something that never changes no matter where in the world it is or what name it is given. It means Destiny or Fate sometimes known as ‘my destiny is in your hands’. To humans this flower doesn’t have a smell but to werewolves it holds a very soft yet sweet scent. The fact you can smell it on each other is something I’ve only ever heard in myths.” He murmured as you glanced at Scott with a frown which he returned with a shrug of the shoulders.

“It means your fated mates.” You dropped the jar containing the flower which thankfully Scott caught even though he was just as shocked.

“Fated mates? I thought mates only existed in shitty fanfictions and fairy tales!?” You exclaimed, waving your arms around like a maniac.

“Well usually however from what I can gather that is only because most mates never get turned or at least one party doesn’t. Just like how if Scott never turned you, you would have never known. There could be thousands of mates surrounding us or even in the pack but unless both parties are wolfs they won’t even know.” Deaton smiled as you and Scott glanced at each other awkwardly.

“It doesn’t feel…like how it sounds in stories…” You muttered embarrassed that you’d even read werewolf romance while in pack of werewolves.

“That’s because you haven’t bonded yet. To bond you have to…Hmm I think I’d prefer if you asked Derek. He should know.” Deaton responded awkwardly.

“If you decide to bond, come to be after you’ve done it. I’d like to document the changes since I’ve never witnessed this and it could be useful information for other packs.” You both gave a nod, even though both your heads were thoroughly in the clouds.

After a few more bit of information and Deaton stating you were perfectly healthy, you and Scott left. The drive back was silent though thankfully Scott had taken Stiles’ Jeep otherwise you’d have to cling onto Scott. Which right now would feel undeniably awkward. The things you’d just learnt sped through your head, as you thought about everything this could change.

You didn’t know whether this was something you wanted to talk about yet. It was a lot to take in for you considering you only became a werewolf less than 24 hours ago. You hadn’t even had chance to explore your lycanthropy yet, so having all this new information about being fated to Scott wasn’t something you had expected.

Scott got out the Jeep silently after parking next to Derek’s car, but the pack soon ran out the house shoot questions at you both like they had been waiting for the past hour at the front door. You sighed before walking past the pack ignoring every question sent your way.

“What happened?” Derek asked softly but you still heard him as you walked up to your room.

“She’s fine, some stuff happened and I think its best I talk to her before I inform you of what happened.” Scott replied gently making everyone grunt in approval.

You made it to your room knowing you had all of 30 seconds before Scott would be here so you took that time to tug on your hair as you stood near the end of your bed. Before long there was a knock at your door and in walked Scott who shot you a sympathetic smile. You threw yourself back onto your bed with a sigh but spoke up as Scott laid next to you.

“This isn’t because I’m unhappy you’re my mate…” You muttered a blush forming on your face.

“I know. You just turned into a werewolf and this was the last thing you expected. It was the last thing I expected…” Scott replied, his voice soft making you smile as you turned to the side curling up into a loose fetal position which he quickly mirrored so you were facing one another.

He brushed your H/C out your face before tucking it behind your ear. It was sweet gesture yet you were unsure whether it was platonic or meant something more. You still sent him a soft smile that he quickly returned.

“Are you unhappy I’m your mate?” You whispered, very much fearing his response.

“No. I liked you before this happened so knowing your my forever is kind of…exciting. Knowing that someone in this world was created just for me feels good. I’m actually very glad it was you.” Scott replied gently, his confession bring slightly tears to your eyes as you sent him the most heart-warming smile you could.

“Me too. Though I liked you before I even knew about the supernatural but I came to like you even more once I knew you fully. Though I buried that because you were with Kira at the time.” You muttered the last part quietly but Scott didn’t miss the wave of sadness that radiated off you as you spoke.

“One of the reason we broke up was because I was confused about my feelings…I’d not long since broke up with Allison when I got with Kira and then you joined us and my heart felt like it had a hole in it. Every time I kissed her it felt like something was missing…it felt wrong then after we broke up I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. That’s when you started entering every thought I had.” He paused to send you a dopey smile before continuing.

“I’d wake up and the first thing I’d think was ‘Did Y/N get enough sleep’. I’d be working with Deaton and the only thing I could think was ‘Has Y/N eaten dinner yet’. You took over every moment of my life and it should have worried me but the only emotion I felt was pure happiness. Just being near you was enough to make me feel complete which is why I never told you my feelings. I didn’t want to lose you so I stayed quiet. Though smelling your arousal yesterday gave me hope that it wasn’t one side.” Scott chuckled as he said the last bit, causing you to blush.

“I cannot believe you brought that up!” You whined making his chuckles turn to laughs.

“Hey if you’d of been a werewolf you’d of smelt mine when you took off your top.” Scott snorted but the blush on his face made you coo.

“Good to know my body had that effect on you.” You giggled softly.

“Good to know having me on my knees has that effect on you.” Scott retaliated childishly making you blush tenfold.

You and Scott spoke for another hour about anything and everything and somehow by the end of it you were cuddling into his chest. Unsure of how you ended up there but clearly not complaining. Your sweet conversation was quickly interrupted when Liam burst into the room.

“Scott! Aiden is hogging the controller agai- oops” Liam muttered as he ducked his head.

“Liam you can’t just burst into a girl’s bedroom it’s disrespectful. You have to knock.” Scott scolded making me giggle.

“You sound like a Dad.” You snorted as you stood up off the bed.

“Come on kiddo. I’ll kick Aiden’s ass for you!” You exclaimed dramatically as you stormed out the room, followed by Liam who wad giggling to himself.

You got to the front room and dived on Aiden who was in the middle of a game. He cussed and tried to throw you off but you quickly got him into a head lock. You dragged him to the kitchen still in the one armed head lock. You gripped yourself a drink of water as Aiden tried to get out the head lock.

“What the hell why are you so fucking strong!” Aiden choked out as you squeezed tighter.

“Hmm not sure but I’m not gonna complain if I can drag down and ex Alpha.” You muttered sarcastically as Derek snorted from behind you.

Scott walked into the kitchen and spooned himself some homemade stew Stiles had made, before sitting next to Derek to eat the food. You pouted and dragged Aiden over to Scott who smirked at you.

“Ahhh.” You said as you opened your mouth, causing Scott to chuckle but fed you a spoonful of gravy and meat. You chewed the food and swallowed it before you spoke.

“Thank you.” Scott nodded and went back to eating unaware Derek and Aiden had been sharing a smirk.

“Can I go now?” Aiden said still in a head lock.

“Yes but leave my little puppy alone!” You growled playfully, unaware that Derek’s eyes had widened along with Aiden’s.

Everyone in the kitchen remained silent but Scott ignored it and fed you another spoonful satisfying you before you skipped off to the living room with a smile. Derek glanced at Aiden who both glanced at Scott.

“Do you have a question or are you staring because I suddenly became 10 x more attractive?” Scott chuckled as he finished his stew.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” Aiden commented making Derek nod in agreement.

“Yeah did she even register she just called Liam her pup?” Derek grumbled making Scott smile softly.

“I’ll explain later and no she probably didn’t realise but give it a second.” He chuckled and no more than 10 seconds later you burst through the kitchen door which Derek was praying did fly off its hinges with the amount of times you’d burst through it.

“Did I just call Liam my pup!?” You screamed making Scott laugh.

“Are you sure you’re not Stiles’ sister?” Derek groaned making everyone chuckle.

Part 1 <- -> Part 3

#scott mccall #scott mccal x reader #scott mccall x you #reader insert #reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #scott x you #scott x reader #tw #fluff #alpha!scott #imagine

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arthropod-concoctions · 10 months

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(AO3 - prev)

About an hour later, Grian was done checking on everyone that had ended up on Hermitcraft; and sure enough, the same thing had happened to everyone. Even the people that weren't whitelisted on the server had ended up here now. A few non-Lifers had inevitably already heard about what had happened-- Grian had wasted a lot of time convincing Zedaph that Jimmy was, in fact, Jimmy, and not Tango with some mystery illness-- but Xisuma had just logged in, and he was now on his way to ask him for advice on how to reverse the situation.

He flew into the mouth of the giant skull Xisuma made. X looked up, and waved at him.

“Hello, Scar,” he said as Grian touched down. “How are you doing?”

“I'm- well, I'm doing alright, but I'm not Scar. I'm Grian, and Scar is currently in control of my body. We all somehow switched bodies when we got out of Double Life, and... I... was hoping you had some advice on how to fix that?”

“...Huh,” Xisuma said after a long moment of silence. “I've got to be honest, I've never heard of a glitch like that.” Faintly, Grian saw some screens lighting up on the inside of his helmet. “I guess I'll go check the server logs... were you all swapped randomly?”

“No. In the server, we all had a soulbond-- someone we shared health with. Everyone got swapped with theirs.” Now, Grian was ready to admit there were probably more conventional ways to code this than via souls, which he'd done; but in his defense, learning to code normally was much harder than just using watcher methods, and sounded like a lot of effort.

“Huh,” Xisuma said again. “Strange. Well, I don't see anything here-- I can just see you all logged out, and then logged in again. Maybe I can help if I take a look at your admin logs...?”

Grian sighed. He wasn't particularly inclined to show his spaghetti code to X, but he would probably have to if he wanted to get his advice. He pulled up his chat-

And stared at the orange-and-cyan device for a few seconds as the realisation dawned on him. Scar's chat. Which had Scar's files, and none of his own. More importantly, he hadn't even been able to use his Sight earlier, which meant even if he had his code, he wouldn't be able to read most of it. The only person that could, was...

“I think I have to go talk to Scar,” he told Xisuma, and slowly turned towards the exit.

---

He found Scar swimming in a river between their two bases. He clambered out of the water as Grian touched down.

“Dude, your swimming stamina is terrible,” Scar said, panting.

“Do you even know how to dry those wings?”

“No, but I'm sure I'll figure it out. It can't be that hard,” Scar said, and he shook the wings, spraying water all over Grian; and then he winced, having stretched a muscle weirdly.

“Yeah, that isn't the way to do it,” Grian replied. “Anyways, I just talked to X, and... I have bad news.”

“Really? What's that?” Scar asked. Annoyingly, what he'd said earlier wasn't wrong; Grian's voice did sound very strange talking with an American accent.

“Well, X can't see anything wrong with us, so we have to solve the problem on our own. Now usually this would be my responsibility as admin, but because I'm you and you're me, I can't access any of my own files, so...”

Grian trailed off, and looked at Scar's expression; after a few seconds, he gasped, his smile vanished, and he staggered backwards.

“No, no, wait, I... Grian, you can't do this to me! You KNOW I can't code!” He continued walking backwards, almost falling into the river again.

“Luckily, neither can I, so you won't have to learn much. I just want to walk you through accessing the files, and I think it'll mostly be easy from there?” Grian responded.

Scar laughed-- his 'I need to talk myself out of this situation and fast' laugh, which, again, sounded very jarring coming from Grian's mouth. “I mean, there's no rush, right? Honestly, I think you're not taking advantage of the situation enough, trying to reverse it immediately. You should go visit Cub, he'll show you how to have a fun time with my body.”

Grian opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated, deciding it was probably better not to acknowledge that trainwreck of an innuendo. “Well, getting you into my code will probably not be anything close to immediate, so don't worry about that. Let's just start with... okay, do you know what a watcher is?”

“Watcher? I'm a Mandalorian watcher.”

“No- alright, that's a no. Great. Well, I'm a watcher, it's a whole thing, and it comes with a bunch of tricks that relate to coding a server-- but first of all, you need to activate your Sight.”

Grian noticed Scar slowly stepping to the side, away from him. He stuck out his cane and tripped him. Scar fell over, and Grian nearly did too- he immediately set down the cane to lean on it again. It was strange. He often saw Scar swinging the cane around as if it was a conductor's baton, but he found himself needing to lean on it increasingly more. It was probably a matter of experience, he decided.

Scar groaned, and sat up on the ground. “Fine. I need to activate my science. How do I do that?”

Grian sat down opposite him. “Close your eyes, and then look at me.”

Scar closed his eyes, then opened them again immediately. “...What?”

Grian sighed. How was he going to explain this? “Alright, it's like... you use the replay mod, right? It's kind of like that. Close your eyes, then imagine you're using replay to look at me.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” Scar said, and closed his eyes again. He sat there for a few seconds...

And then he vanished.

Uh-oh. That wasn't supposed to happen yet. “...Scar?” Grian tentatively called out. Nothing happened.

“Scar, I hope you're still around here... you weren't supposed to do that yet. Can you try and reverse that?” he continued talking into the air.

No response. Grian counted to ten, and still no response. “Oh, this is bad...” he muttered to himself. He considered his options. There weren't very many of them-

Then he heard a high-pitched yell from above him. He jumped away just in time to avoid Scar crashing down on top of him.

Grian began laughing, and couldn't stop. He sank back down onto the ground as Scar laid there, looking into the sky. “Grian,” he said, “that was horrifying!”

Grian was still laughing, and eventually his laugh morphed into a long groan. He was going to be here quite a while.

(next)

#arthropod writes #double life fic #hermitcraft fic #grian #goodtimeswithscar #xisuma #desert duo #the swap au

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kustas · 5 months

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can you talk about your issues with blue eye samurai

I can! warning: i will spoil the show here.

This show has an incredible issue with consistency, among other problems which make it one of the worst series i've watched in a long time. It has a basic plot thread it wants to follow and everything it does is malleable for the sake of said plot beats. The main character's personality can change from one scene to the other depending on if they want the moment to be funny or sad. Battle wounds, established personality traits and other Deus ex machinas vanish randomly when they become irrelevant. The show also has no idea of the tone it's going for. It wants to be everything at once, funny, tragic, epic; and does so by lazily copying better media of reference down to at times remaking shots nearly 1:1. It does nothing it attempts well.

The historical setting is a mess. For a show who's premise is entrenched in a particular historical period you'd expect it to be a major part of the story, but Japan is mostly used as a cliché set dressing. Each episode pulls out a few cultural setpieces in a shallow way that felt ridiculous if not borderline offensive. It's Japan right? Oh we gotta reference the Sakura. The sumo ring. The matcha tea. And I say Japan and not historical Japan because I have doubts about the veracity of every cultural element and how well researched it is. Keep in mind I am no expert, I know very little of either the country and the time period but even with that every episode made me go huh? This is not true. There is little to no effort spent on accurately representing a foreign culture's history and it is very visible in how the characters act - aka like modern american TV characters. The worst part? The cultural things its cast casually goes against are referenced...as jokes or as set dressing for each episode's look we are in Japan;););) scene. So, they know. They just don't care.

When it comes to...a bit more troubling topics, the show sucks too. The first episode reveals its main character is crossdressing to make her way across the world and the show has many secondary female characters in female social roles to contrast her to. This premise is a great one: watching a woman evolve in a sexist society by disguising herself into something she's not. Is it well done? Lol, nope! Gender remains explored in a very surface level way. The thing is, if the characters indeed acted like their time period would imply, I would be fine with much more, as this is a society with very strict gender roles. But given most of the times they act like modern american TV show characters, it stings that despite the MC's position, said gender roles are not much explored. Notable examples that made me facepalm damn hard: a side character who's established as a rich brat trying to work her way out of an arranged marriages ending up finding satisfaction in said arranged marriage; and the main character herself who i will repeat spends her whole life passing as male and fighting dudes, getting found out by the villain mid-fight because of her "fragile female bones". What the fuck?

Additionally, the show has two disabled characters, a blind man and a man born without hands. The former is written okay, the latter is not. He is treated like a comic relief and spends his time on screen (where he's not being a buffoon) sucking up to the other characters. It feels frankly insulting to have your fat guy with a deformity be this archetype and he is not allowed much growth or serious moments.

I'm not a woman, I'm not japanese and I am not disabled so all of what I say here should be taken with the grain of salt of: it's my impression, as someone who's not been on the recieving end of things. Seeing this show being celebrated for being progressive is a fucking joke.

#partially copied from my anilist post on it #i also have beef with the animation but thats less important #i AM physically deformed and i gotta say: inuoh having its deformed guy be a literal monster with a curse still felt kinder #ask #blue eye samurai

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spidergrotto · 6 months

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for context i have a really bad day dreaming problem, won’t stop it because how else would one cope? but yeah it’s bad but i’m okay and i don’t care !!

but i was half asleep all day and just really tired, couldn’t sleep though and i came up with the most confusing storyline for a hunger games marvel au?

i spent the entire day just, thinking about such a shitty hunger games au set approx 20? years after the capital fell and the games ended, for some reason someone decided to wipe out ALL information about anything related to the hunger games and the capital, so information about it slowly slowly slowly sort of just vanished right.

and okay here is where it just stops making any sense fyi, but somehow peter was apart of one of the last games as a child prior to the revolution but he’s never mentioned it to anyone because

a) why would he randomly tell people he was apart of something that doesn’t exist?

b) who the hell would believe him?

c) he’s got major survivors guilt

anyways idk it’s so foggy but i’m pretty sure ben was killed in the revolution or something there was one where he volunteered for peter and died ( little bro got picked twice ) but he’s GONE and may just refuses to speak about anything related to it, she’s great otherwise but bringing it up is a death sentence.

and i guess? someone decided it would be fun to bring the games back and have a quarter quell where tributes were reaped from an existing pool of victors and peter gets picked and somehow it’s projected EVERYWHERE and suddenly everyone knows about the hunger games? and i think instead of an arena they said “ lol yolo all of new york is your arena ” and threatened people’s families or whatever

i don’t remember the rest i think it was irondad and manor bucky barnes sam wilson and peter parker found family with the avengers being all familial and whatever but once i was ‘rested’ i realized how ODD my line of thinking was WHAT WAS I ON ABOUT?

and i’m pretty sure peter was like, 100% down to get rid of the other victors because may was on the line and it took everyone a fat minute to stop him and get him to trust them.

#this is barley coherent #but so am i #doesn’t make sense #daydreaming is wild when i’m exhausted #peter parker vs the world #marvel mcu #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #peter parker and tony stark #tony stark #found family #irondad and spiderson #sam wilson #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #the hunger games

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drarrypotterrenaissance · 10 months

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Locked Out, Let In

Harry's locked himself out of his floo, and can't apparate home. Draco has a house full of wet paint, drop cloths, and only one bed. Pansy is a scheming matchmaker. For @harryjamespotterweek 2023, Day 2 (Mishaps, One Bed) Rated T, 2.6k words. Read on ao3 here

Harry was fairly confident, although not entirely, that the floor of the Leaky Cauldron hadn’t always been slanted at quite such a steep angle. In fact, he had a fuzzy-edged memory of walking into the pub earlier that evening without any trouble at all, yet now the floor had become treacherous to navigate, tipping over randomly and making his steps clumsy. As he staggered over to give a similarly-listing Ron a slap on the back, and to kiss a sober, pregnant, upright Hermione on the cheek in farewell, he considered the possibility that perhaps the drinking game he and Ron had lost at may have had something to do with the change in the stability of the floor. Whatever it was, he was sure it would be fine in the morning. He watched Ron and Hermione manage the floo just fine, so even if there was a problem with the Leaky, he should still be able to get home safely.

Blaise managed to go through fine as well, and Harry tossed a wave over his shoulder to Pansy and Draco as he grabbed up his own handful of floo powder and stepped into the flames, leaning back into the fire and shouting, “Grimmauld Place-OW!”

His head connected with the brick of the chimney, and the flames died out around him. Over the ringing in his ears, he could just make out the sound of Draco’s laughter. Emerging from the fireplace, rubbing what was sure to be an impressive lump on his head, he could see both Draco and Pansy taking delight in his suffering.

“Did you lock yourself out, Potter?” Pansy called, looking absolutely gleeful at the prospect.

“I apparated here,” Harry mumbled. “Wasn’t planning on getting pissed. Locked the floo before I left.”

Draco laughed even harder, and Harry did his level best to glower in his general direction. Pansy also seemed to be pleased with this outcome, if her slightly menacing smile was any indication, although Harry couldn’t figure out why. He’d sort it out in the morning, once everything had stopped spinning.

“How terrible for you! Locked out and no way to get home. Well, I’m sure Draco will be able to help you out. Ta, love!” And with that, she blew a smirking kiss to Draco, stepped into the fire, and whirled away before anyone could say anything else.

He turned to Draco, feeling a little lost for what to do and hoping that Draco, as the winner of the drinking game, and therefore the least-tipsy member of their party, would have some idea of where he should go. “’m a little too drunk to apparate,” he said, looking up hopefully for a plan. Draco, however, had gone very still, and all the laughter had vanished from his face, leaving only two small slashes of pink across his cheeks in its wake.

When Draco didn’t immediately respond, Harry tried again.

“Draco? I can’t get home, do you think I could come through with you?”

Draco said nothing for another moment, then, turning even pinker, said in a scathing tone, “I don’t care if she’s my best friend, I’m going to murder her,” before stomping towards the fire and grabbing his own fistful of floo powder. When Harry didn’t immediately follow, he turned around, irritation etched into every line of his body. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry was a little wary to go anywhere with a Draco who looked that tightly wound, but since his only other option was to wander the streets of Diagon in search of an empty room (some blasted concert the next day was taking up all the available rooms, some part of Harry’s brain remembered), he followed Draco into the fire and tumbled out a second later onto the floor of Draco’s posh new flat.

Harry had only been to Draco’s new flat once, a few weeks ago when all their friends helped him move in. It had been empty and shiny then, lots of open spaces and a long wall of gleaming windows looking out onto the city. It still seemed like an open and airy space, although a lot duller than Harry remembered. There were cloths over all the furniture and the random chrome pieces of art that Draco had insisted on installing, despite the fact that no one could figure out what they were meant to depict.

“Ugh,” Draco said, stepping out gracefully beside Harry. “I had forgotten about the painters, but I’m so glad that Pansy remembered, the cow.” He spit her name like it was poison.

“Right, Potter, are you going to be sick?”

Harry took stock of himself. While the room was still spinning a bit, he didn’t think it had turned his stomach; if anything, the shock of floo travel seemed to have cleared his head a bit. He shook his head no.

“Good. Then here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to sleep off your inebriation in my bed, while I attempt to sleep comfortably on the floor of my room, because I am such a gracious host. You will not disturb anything in any of the other rooms, as there is wet paint everywhere and I do not want to prolong my time spent among dropcloths because you can’t keep your handprints off of the walls. Do you understand that?”

A strand of Draco’s hair had fallen out his ponytail and was curling around the side of his face, which Harry found a bit distracting, but he promptly nodded and let Draco lead the way to the bedroom. The rest of Draco’s hair moved slightly from side to side as he walked, and Harry found himself swaying along with it, until Draco turned around and thrust a bundle of clothes at him.

“You can change in the en suite, I’m going to attempt to transfigure something into a cot.”

Very slowly, Harry felt the gears of thought turning in his mind.

“Wait, Draco… why don’t you take the bed?”

Draco turned around from where he had been surveying a pillow with a speculative look.

“Because you’re a guest and my mother would disinherit me if she were to learn that I made a guest sleep on the floor.”

“Oh.” Harry stood there for a few more seconds, slowly trying to finish the next thought in his brain. “Draco? Why don’t we just share the bed? ‘t’s big enough.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open slightly, and the pink color was back on his cheeks. After a few silent seconds, Harry nodded decisively.

“We’ll share the bed.”

And he headed into the bathroom to change.

While completing his ablutions, Harry poked around Draco’s shiny new bathroom. He found a new toothbrush in a drawer, and proceeded to commandeer it for his own use while investigating what amenities the other cabinets might hold. The airing cupboard had neatly folded linens, along with a small bottle of peppermint oil. There were a few cleaners under the sink, and loo roll in the bottom-most drawer. As he opened his mouth wider to brush his molars, Harry pulled at the vanity mirror until it popped open to reveal a medicine cabinet, stocked with extra toothpaste, a few potions, and – most delightful of all – reading glasses. He’d had no idea that Draco wore glasses, but the prospect of teasing him about them delighted him, and Harry pointedly ignored the little curl of heat in his stomach when he imagined Draco wearing them.

Once he had finished brushing his teeth, Harry grabbed one of the vials of Sobriety Solution on impulse, reasoning that it would be better to avoid a hangover in the first place than to deal with asking for a hangover potion in the morning. He downed it in one gulp, then wandered out to the bedroom and curled up on one side of the bed, bemused at the way Draco was pointedly ignoring him as he swept into the en suite and spelled the door shut.

Harry was almost fully asleep by the time he felt the mattress dip and the covers rustle, lulled into tranquility by a comforting, citrusy scent that he had only recently realized he associated with Draco. He thought that he’d be able to fall asleep in another minute or two, even with the disruption of Draco in the bed beside him, but it was clear that Draco did not feel quite as relaxed. Harry could practically feel the waves of discomfort radiating off of him, and the third time Draco inhaled as if to speak before cutting himself off, Harry finally spoke up, his words muffled into the pillow.

“Draco. What’s wrong? I’m not going to steal the covers or kick, just go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence, and Harry thought that maybe that was enough, but no, Draco always had to have the last word.

“I’m sure you’ll snore loud enough to make up for your other courtesies.”

If Harry was inclined to be the bigger person, he would have let Malfoy’s comment go, rolling his eyes and ignoring it in favour of going to sleep. But, it was Malfoy, and he was Harry, and he still hadn't worked out how not to let him under his skin, even if they were friends now, so he shot back, "I don't snore, Malfoy."

"Oh right, and how would you know?"

"I shared a dorm with four other boys for the entirety of my Hogwarts career, same as you. One of them would have told me if I snored." More like teased him endlessly for it, as they had for Ron, but the point was the same either way.

"As if anyone would be able to hear you over Weasley. From what I understand, it's a miracle we couldn't hear him down in the dungeons."

First of all, Harry thought, that was entirely fair. Ron was his best friend, and that would never change, but he became even more likable once they'd all learned how to cast silencing charms in the direction of his snores. Harry could even do the spell wandless at this point. But, and this seemed even more important, Draco had always been a tetchy git, and he was in a strange mood tonight, and Harry wanted to poke at him until he was as agitated as Harry felt around him half the time.

"Oh, piss off. Why'd you even invite me back here if you're so put out by it?"

"Because Pansy is a horrible human being," Draco responded, far more darkly than he usually sounded when defaming his dearest friend.

"And since when have you ever done something you didn't want to, just because Pansy suggested it?" Harry shot back.

"I…" Draco’s mouth opened and shut for a moment, and Harry could just make out a pink tinge to his cheeks from the streetlamp filtering through the curtains. "I… I don't know." His voice was a lot less proud than Harry was used to, and after another moment he rolled over on his side, blocking Harry out entirely.

Despite the sniping, Harry had actually been enjoying the comfortable routine of sparring with Draco, especially while wrapped up in soft, familiar-smelling blankets, warmed from shared body heat. It had been so nice, even while combative, that the sudden change in Draco’s attitude left Harry feeling cold, the soothing scent of citrus suddenly burning his nose.

"Do you… do you want me to leave?"

Harry made to throw back the sheets and get up, but Draco sat up so quickly that Harry startled back into the pillows.

"You'll splinch yourself, don't be an imbecile."

And, well, this was awkward, even more so than he initially realized, but Draco was upset, so…

"Erm, I won't, actually. I shouldn't, at least. I took one of your Sobriety Solutions," Harry admitted, adding quickly, "But I'll replace it once the shops open tomorrow, I promise."

Draco’s eyes were wide, his face a strange cross between scandalized and terrified, and it was a good thing, or else Harry probably would have laughed at the way his hair was sticking up all staticky around his head, making him look like a dandelion puff in the moonlight.

"You're sober?"

Harry nodded.

"Then why on earth did you get into the bed?"

Harry had to admit that was a fair question. Unfortunately, he didn't have a good answer. It seemed like the right thing to do or You said I could or I wanted to didn't seem like things he could just say. But then, as the silence dragged on a moment too long, he realized something. And then he realized something else.

"Probably for the same reason you didn't offer me the Sobriety Solution in the first place. And the same reason why you didn't offer to side-along me home from the Leaky. And, I would bet, the same reason that Pansy was so keen to leave me to you when I needed a place to go."

Draco had begun shaking his head part way through Harry’s revelation, and by the end he was doing a decent impression of indignation, but Harry hadn't spent nearly half of his life watching Draco Malfoy just to be fooled by his best attempt at hiding his true feelings when it mattered most.

"I got in this bed because I wanted to be here, same as you, no matter how prickly and slanderous you are." Draco's face had gone from red to pale, and Harry knew that he was only a moment away from being thrown out, from their friendship being ruined forever, and so it was now or never for his Gryffindor bravery and recklessness. "I'm here because I like you, and because you like me, and because we've been right gits about the whole thing for months now."

If given time to consider, Harry probably would have worded it slightly differently, but it seemed to do the trick.

"Pansy really is the worst friend," Draco said through a shaky exhale, after another moment had passed. Then he looked up at Harry, and Harry could feel the wave of released tension leaving both of them. "She's been trying to set us up for months, and she's been so embarrassingly obvious about it, I was worried I would end up having to obliviate you just to preserve my dignity. But I had no idea that you… well, that you…" He looked up at Harry again, and Harry was overwhelmed by the look of shy entreaty, so foreign on Draco’s face, and all the more endearing in that moment because of it.

"I like you," Harry said, unable to leave Draco in anxious doubt for a moment.

"Good." Draco gave a tight little nod, a small smile on his face. "Me too," he offered, and Harry almost laughed with relief, and with the absurdity of the whole situation.

"Good," Harry echoed, and then, suddenly unable to wait a moment more, "Can I kiss you now?"

Draco didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. His cheeks were a little pink, and his mouth was turned up at the corners, and his eyes were issuing an invitation. Harry kissed him.

The next morning, after waking to another round of kissing, Harry was thrilled to learn that teasing Draco about his glasses was just as delightful as he had hoped it would be. Of course, when Draco eventually put the glasses on, Harry realized he had been wrong - seeing Draco actually wearing the glasses was a million times better than he could have imagined. They were still snogging when Pansy let herself in, calling, "You're welcome, by the way!"

#hjpweek2023 #drarry #drarry fic #there was only one bed #can you lock yourself out of your floo? i think you can #my fic #my writing

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