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neowinestainedress · 6 months

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𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again. Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask.

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody.

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro.

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside.

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver.

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever.

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him.

What’s on the other side is worse.

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture.

“Surpriiise!!”

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting.

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck.

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.”

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh.

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?”

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.”

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?”

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt.

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle.

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.”

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed.

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.”

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin.

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on.

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up.

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead.

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.”

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose.

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.”

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.”

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens.

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.”

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.”

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.”

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?”

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.”

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be.

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.

“Why?”

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour.

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?”

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?”

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat.

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?”

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.”

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction.

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away.

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?”

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought.

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?”

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow.

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.”

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you.

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.”

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself?

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?”

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again.

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department.

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans.

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?”

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?”

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.”

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.”

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.”

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop.

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.”

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle.

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?”

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again.

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?”

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?”

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not.

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.”

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again.

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair.

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.

You gulp and automatically close your legs.

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.”

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —”

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest.

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.”

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating.

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.”

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.”

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?”

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right?

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.”

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be.

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.”

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving.

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass.

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette.

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down.

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?”

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?”

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.”

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.”

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.”

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.”

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.”

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?”

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.”

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.”

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward.

“We didn’t kill anybody there.”

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?”

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?”

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you.

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.”

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down.

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask.

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly.

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.”

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie.

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.”

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.”

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.”

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky.

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip.

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you.

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.”

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones.

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.”

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly.

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?”

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ”

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person.

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?”

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds.

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.”

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment.

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.”

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.”

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done.

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.”

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly.

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?”

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess.

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words.

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.”

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity.

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?”

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?”

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.”

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.”

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again.

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin.

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust.

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair.

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs.

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly.

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it.

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?”

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation.

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?”

“No,” you mumble.

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.”

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly.

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?”

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.”

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.”

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.”

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it.

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.”

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans.

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?”

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?”

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now.

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.”

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe.

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven.

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.”

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should.

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place.

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.”

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet.

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.”

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note.

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ”

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d10nyx · 4 months

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lipstick

ada wong x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, cheating, oral(f!recieving), fingering

a/n: just a short drabble couldn't get ada out of my mind so here lmaooo.. not great tbh it's just word vomit!! but hope you like it regardless :)

Ada isn't sure how she got here - her face buried deep between Leon's girlfriend's thighs. She had only come to the Gala for the purpose of gathering information, and she hardly expected to see Leon there.

He's checking her out as soon as his eyes find her. She's not surprised in the slightest. Her and Leon have always been a little complicated, to say the least. He flirts with her a little, and she pretends not to notice.

Her nonchalant demeanour crumbles when you approach, sweet as anything. Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as you hook an arm around Leon's and give him these bright doe eyes, peering up at him through those fake lashes of yours.

He doesn't deserve you. Not when he'd been ogling Ada all night. You're not even jealous to see them talking. No, you're instantly complimenting Ada on her outfit, gushing over meeting one of Leon's ‘friends’.

Yeah, you definitely deserve better than him. What an asshole. She can't believe he'd even entertain the thought of hooking up with her when he had you on his arm. Not that she'd agree, but with you? That was a different story.

She waits until she can get you alone. Even watches closely to make sure Leon is fully out of sight and out of mind before she's dragging you off to one of the secluded rooms in this oversized mansion.

She tells you what happens, comforts you as you come to terms with the news, and somehow… ends up pushing you back against the table and eating you out like she'd been starving. You make the prettiest sounds, your perfectly manicured nails carving marks into the wood as you dig your fingers into the surface, chipping your nail polish.

She shifts back to admire her handiwork for a moment. Your pretty thighs are marked up with her lipstick, and she can't help but smirk at the sight. It's not long before her head dips down again, black hair cascading around her as she dives back into your pussy.

Her tongue flicks against your clit eagerly, teasing the swollen bud. You can't help but moan, your hips bucking up into her face. She draws back slightly with a chuckle, pushing your hips back down onto the table.

“Don't be so impatient, baby.” She tuts, kissing her way up your thigh again. “I'll give you what you need.”

She holds you down on the table now, her tongue dipping between your wet folds. She laps up your juices, tongue pushing in and out of your tight hole before she slides it up, flicking the wet muscle against your clit once more.

She flattens her tongue against it before she wraps her lips around the sensitive bud and sucks it into her mouth. You feel her hand sliding up your thigh, two fingers teasingly circling your dripping hole before pushing in. She curls them once they're sheathed inside, finding your sweet spot with ease. You feel her grin against your pussy as you whimper and arch your back, knowing she's got you.

She continues to massage your spongy walls with the tips of her fingers, thrusting them in and out as she suckles greedily on your clit. The more you moan, the more you encourage her. It's not long before you're mewling her name, rocking your hips between her face and her fingers.

“O-oh… Ada! I'm gonna… fuck-” You manage to whine, back arching as you cum all over her face. She keeps going until you're twitching with oversensitivity, pulling her fingers out of you and sucking them clean.

“There we go. Forget about that loser.” She says with a grin, wiping your juices off of her chin with the back of her hand. She looks down at the pinkish red marks, letting out a sigh of mock-exasperation.

“Baby. You messed up my lipstick.”

#ada wong #ada wong x reader #ada wong x you #ada wong smut #resident evil smut

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futureplayboibunnie · 10 months

Text

Mistakes

Miguel O’Hara x spidey!fem! reader

Will Miguel let you in?

Miguel angst is MY thing fr, this is another self serve fic tbh. GOD i love this one, he’s so damaged and broken like fr we can fix him. I’ll probably do a part 2 bc writing this had be squealling

it’s been a hot minute. i’m on holiday for a month and i genuinely used my phone for this one. giggles

Miguel honestly felt like a ghost story as of late. He had been hiding out in his mancave a lot longer than what was deemed usual by the others and no one really had the incentive to find out what the hell he was doing and why the hell he wasn’t leaving.

More like no one wanted to have their spinal chord ripped out and dangling in front of them.

Miguel was as complicated as ever, his aggression seemed to be boundless and his drive a never ending abundance of determination. Though he was admirable as a leader, he was almost impossible to see through. It was his knack. His ge ne sais quois. He was a calloused man, haunted by demons he couldn’t escape- not because he wanted to, but because he would lose the last memory he had when he was genuinely happy. And that was with his daughter. Who he lost. Who he was responsible for losing. It had been almost a month since anyone had seen him. It was most definitely a period of self isolation for him, but it had been too long for the other spiders without a leader. They needed him, so did you.

It was bothering you now, what the hell was he up to? Did brooding really cost this much time? It seemed either ridiculous or…unsettling. You didn’t know which one you prefered. Day after day or constant wondering sent your mind spinning frok fraction to fraction: all you could do was wonder, be slightly irritated and…concerned about him all at once. Miguel was always on time, always prepared and valued hypervigilance and attentiveness…so why wasn’t he following his own moral code?

You told Gwen that you should check on him to make sure he was still fucking alive. She heavily disagreed with the idea but even Jess didn’t know what had gotten into him. Unlucky for them, they didn’t know the secret spot into his lair you find the first day of getting into the Society. The tour of HQ was quite enlightening, the amount of hidey holes were insane. Your heart was racing at the idea of visiting him unannounced, but you hated this and it was getting frustrating. Hell, you weren’t scared of him and you made it very known to him.

You decided to go late at night when no one else was at HQ. Jesus, if he was still here at 3 in the morning then he really was reeling… and no-one was there to pull him back from the unending void. Miguel’s hidey hole was on his ceiling so you quite literally had crawl through his vents which was very humbling and quite a blow to your blossoming ego. After that embarrassment, you were irked and already impatient. He better have a damn good reason for being like this.

Your crawled out of the vent at let your adhesive fingers crawl around the shadows of his cool, airy lair. Your eyes scanned around, it seemed void of any personality, no personal effects or anythint tying him back to his humanity. It wasn’t surprising but…saddening. You crawled further down the wall to get a closer look. It was a mess: broken tech, metal pieces, vials and serums stewn over the floor like it was just collected dust that just happened to land there. You tilted your head even more- there were weights and water bottles everywhere, he must have been extensively working out…or physically pushing himself as punishment. What really caught onto you though was the many monitors that were indented with a fist…his fist. Your mood soured at the latter. Turning your head to his platform, you finally found him, standing snd staring at his orange screens blankly, breathing heavily. His back tense and his gaze weary as he watched the last good memory he had with his daughter play out on his screen. In this light you could see the illumination on his cheeks. He’d been crying. The thought alone made you freeze. The portrait of the Miguel you knew was crumbling between your fingers, as you glanced at the screen you saw him happy, smiling. You weren’t sure if he’s done that ever since then.

You crawled out of the shadows, inching further and further down the wall next to the platform, wanting to make your presence known. When was the last time anyone comforted this man? When was the last time he wasn’t filled with grief and anger?

“Miguel?” You say softly as not to startle him, but with his lack of Spider senses he definitely was startled. He jumped and grabbed a broken monitor and threw it at you, it didn’t take much to dodge him but a look of concern painted your face.

“H-How did you get in?” He bellowed but you just hopped off the wall and onto his platform, not giving him the time of day to adjust himself to the fright you have him.

He definitely was working out again, he was bigger since you last saw him…but face to face, he seemed so deliriously exhausted.

“That’s not important right now.” You responded nonchalantly but oddly seriously at the same time.

“Why are you here?” Miguel eyes were gleaming red, he had a particularly awful few days, weeks, he didn’t need to see the horror of another face seeing who he really was. His nostrils flared as you acted so careless, who the hell did you think you were?

Your back leaned against his desk as you paused for a moment, not sure if you wanted to be truthful or not. “I wanted to see you.” You say sincerely and Miguel shot you a perplexed look. No one saw him for the sole purpose of just seeing him, not that he can recall anyways. “You aren’t the easiest person to get a hold of right now.” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want to be.” He grunted truthfully, averting his gaze away from you before turning into the snarky Spiderman he’s known to be. “But yeah, adorable. Really, really interesting, very cute. I was going to say fuck off and leave instead but yes, this is worth my time.” He bit back sarcastically. Anger was running through your veins at his response. God, he was such an ass sometime and he needed to know but instead you did the thing you were sure to regret later: being kind to him when he was like this. You took a deep breath to regain a cool and sentient composure.

“Look, I know you’re going through a lot right now so I’m going to disregard that.”

“I don’t want you here.” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back into his chair, completely finished with all of this.

“Well tough shit.” You glared at him, sighing and then offering a sympathetic smile.

Miguel didn’t say anything, he knew a battle with you would pour salt into the wound and prove to be fruitless. So you both sat in silence and observing each other’s purpose. The tension between you both was palpable, so you decided to test the risky waters.

“How old was Gabriella?” You say gently, giving him a trusting look. If only you could get him to open up, the panic and anxiety would start to decrease if he just talked about all of this to someone who cared about him. As much as you hated to admit it, you did.

Miguel’s face froze as you asked him that, he wasn’t sure whether to lunge at you or not by asking him such a thing. He was too tired to argue or fight, he didn’t have it in him anymore. He was breaking and he didn’t want it to be infront of you.

“Nine.” He mumbled, staring away from you as if he was ashamed. “When I lost her…she was nine.” A sliver of sadness fell through you at the sentiment. It’s a new feeling for Miguel, someone actually having the guts to ask him these things. His suspicious look starts to turn into a frown, a mixture of anger and sadness. He didn’t know what to feel.

“I know I don’t matter at all in this situation, but it’s not your fault and you deserve forgiveness.” You say sincerely, surprising both him and yourself.

Miguel felt like he had just seen a ghost, his heart felt slow as the cave of despair started to ache again, he felt like he was being suffocated. Forgiveness? He didn’t deserve any forgiveness. Not after the damage he had done. Not after the pain he inflicted. It clawed at his throat until his breath was perpetually scarce.

“Forgiveness…” He scoffed, completely dismissing the idea. “I don’t- I can’t take your forgiveness. I’m not worthy of it…” He trailed off, the lump in his throat becoming bigger and bigger.

“You work yourself too hard.” You mutter, inching closer to him, staring down at him you raise your hand reaching out for him but he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t pity me.” He grunted and gripped tighter but you snatched your hand away with a scowl.

“I’m not pitying you. You just…You look exhausted. When was the last time you went home? Jesus, when was the last time you slept?” You ask, genuinely curious. Miguel didn’t know how to answer the question without being slightly embarrassed.

“I have nothing there. I’m needed here.” His tone was clipped and all you could do was sigh.

“Miguel…please tell me, tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me so I can help you.” You say a little more firmly than intended but it definitely got the point across. “I want to help you if you let me.”

Miguel looks at you and sighs, seeming to deflate slightly. “My mind is filled with a never ending list of tasks to complete, a never ending list of dangers to face and battles to fight, a never ending list of problems to solve... I... I don't have much peace." He rubs at his temples. “But you've already seen that, I guess.... I'm not sure how you can help me with any of this." He sighed and winced slightly when he thought of Gabriella. “All I ever wanted was a family, to be happy. Meet a nice girl, have a few kids and settle down…but I love being Spiderman and I tampered with something I had no reason to be messing with. I can’t be both. I can’t have both. Shit as for love, I don’t think I can ever get close to another woman again. I can’t lose anyone else. The last thing I need right now is a lecture about love.”

You give him a small wry smile, your hands reach forward and tuck a small tuft of hair behind his ear. Miguel froze at the small gesture of kindess and tenderness, he hadn’t felt that in so long, he hated he way he was reacting to it. You didn’t know what else to do or say, you just knew what you wanted right now. You leaned down and engulfed him in a hug, your face resting on his shoulder and your arms slung around his neck. His eyes shot wide open at the sudden gesture. He was close enough to inhale your hair and feel your skin, he hugged you back and breathed in and out, finding a semblance of peace, a moment where his mind wasn’t filled with static noise and self loathing. Your scent was…sweet and completely intoxicating if he was being honest. ‘’Thank you…” He muttered into your shoulder.

You let go and stand up straight again, offering a hand so he can stand too. You were suprised that be took it and you were more surprised to feel that his hands were…soft. “Let me take you home. I’ll make you some tea, get you to relax, yeah?” You offer gently with a little smile, hoping he would let you do this for him.

Miguel's eyes widened at your suggestion and he stared at you with hope for a moment. “Why? Why are you doing all this?” he asked. He rarely spent time with anyone outside of work. Why would you even do any of this for him?

“Because you’ve done so much for everyone else and no one has ever taken care of you. God forbid someone wants to help you and all of a sudden theres this hidden agenda.”

The realisation dawned on him, when has he let anyone get close to him? Never. Now a pretty girl wanted to take care of him, listen to his problems and make him feel deserving of the forgiveness he dreamed of. Miguel wasn’t sure if it was a delusion or crazy dream or not but he was relieved to take in your sweet scent. Maybe you had an ulterior motive, the thought made him frown. He hated feeling vulnerable and showing any kind of vulnerability was out of the question.

“I’m not leaving you tonight. Okay?” You confirm sweetly, knocking all of the air out of his lungs. He felt a strange sense of security, he felt…safe at the idea. “Come on.” You fiddled with your multiverse watch and opened a portal to his apartment, you grabbed onto his bicep and pulled him in, landing in the living room.

Jesus, it looked like it hasn’t even been lived in. Everything was clean, too clean. “Nice place.” You half joked and Miguel just shot you a smile that he was trying to conceal, it didn’t really work. Miguel felt his neck heat up, when people got to know him he was actually really shy. He sat himself on the edge of the couch, planting his elbows on his knees and raking his hands through his hair. His kitchen was walk in, expensive. As you were brewing his tea, you caught glimpses of his back, he really had been working out. You stop your mindless gawk and find his mugs and place a tea bag in two of them, you also search for his whiskey. As you poured the hot water, you splashed a little bit of whiskey. God knows he deserved it.

You walked around to couch and Miguel’s head shot up as you stood infront of him, offering him the mug. As you stood, he took an opportunity to really look at you. To survey and study you. You were…attractive, that he had no problem admitting but this…This was a new side of you he had never seen. You were showing him kindness when he didn’t even deserve it. Miguel winced slightly at the idea of letting another woman into his life, the last time that happened he lost everything, he was still weary of your intentions.

He grabbed the mug and you sat next to him, curling your feet up and facing him, gawking at him more like as you sipped your tea. This scene felt…very domestic. “Thank you…” He said, not showing any emotion, being stoic as expected.

“God stop thanking me. It’s the least I could do.” You said with a shy smile.

“It’s just…different. No one has really- Well, I haven’t been looking after myself.” He muttered

“When was the last time anyone looked out for you?” You ask, genuinely curious. He had the whole world at his feet, yet it was like he was lonely.

“Years ago, my brother Gabriel…I don’t really see him much…” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he missed his brother, he hadn’t seen him in a while. While you were in the kitchen, you saw a frame of him and his brother when they were about teenagers, playing. It warmed your heart slightly to see that he did actually care.

“You can’t let the mistakes in your past define you. It’s not who you are. Bad people don’t worry about the pain they caused. You are good.” Miguel took a moment to ponder your words, averting his gaze and then turning his head to face you.

“No you’re good.” He said gently. “It’s like being good is all you know…I’ve lost myself beneath violence and blood and chaos-“ Miguel sighed as he put the mug down on the coffee table, losing his cool for a second.

“Hey,” You grabbed onto his bicep and he shot you a startled yet curious look. “Do you trust me?”

Miguel paused, he didn’t trust people easily but after you so patiently listened to him and did all of this for him, he couldn’t say no to you. “Yeah…”

“Turn around.” Miguel did as he was told, a little confused at first, but his back was facing you. You brought your hands to his shoulders and kneaded his tense muscles. God, he was so rigid. It’s like he had never relaxed in his life. “These broad shoulders must be so exhausted.”

“Yeah…” Miguel closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling of your fingers gently caressing him. Jesus, his body was coming undone with just a few touches. Your fingers pressed and massaged his sore muscles, travelling further and further down his back.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Miguel let out a deep sigh, his muscles loosening under your touch. “Yes...keep going please.” Miguel's voice was still quiet but clear, and he even let out a soft groan of relief.

You travel lower, caressing and massaging the pressure points of all his soreness. “God, there’s so many knots in your back…when was the last time anyone did this for you?” You question eagerly.

Miguel closed his eyes. “...never,” he replied, his voice slightly breathy. “No one has ever..." Miguel paused. “These days no one has ever cared enough or been allowed to be so...intimate with me.” He was caught off guard by what he said. He just screwed his eyes shut and let out a deep sigh. Your presence and your soft caresses calmed his mind to his very core and relaxed his body. You noticed that Miguel, who usually always carried himself with professionalism and control...was now like a deer in headlights, unable to comprehend your touch.

You stop your actions for a moment to contemplate what he said, he’s so touch starved, he hasn’t felt the warmth of anyone else in so long. It surprised you to an immeasurable degree, women must throw themselves at him. Instead you just wrapped your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your face into his neck to take in his scent once more. Miguel was stunned into silence, you were so surprising, so understanding of how he gets, how he lets himself go. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or not, you slung your arms against his neck and all he could do is grab your hand and kiss your palm. He didn’t know how to thank you. He swore he would never get close to another woman ever again but here he was, broken down and completely at the mercy of you. He could kiss you…but then he would shatter the promise he made to himself. He would be vulnerable all over again, he’d mess it up again. What kind of idiot would he be if he didn’t learn from his past mistakes? His worst mistake? But your scent, your presence, you were just so damn inviting. God, he was a man after all… but would making you his ruin you?

#miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara x fem!reader #atsv miguel #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara imagine

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s0rinsleeps · 9 months

Text

Twit cap: What if I went full TLOU ellie mode to protect my sister and u knew and didn’t tell the cops bcs u think I’m sooo sexy and sooo mysterious

ALOT OF DETAILS IF U WANT THEM UNDER THE CUT

Very very random spontaneous au moment!!

•Vander let’s vi/pow live in a secluded cabin in the woods to get them away from his shady lifestyle (he wants to quit but silco and Co. want him dead) anyway vi does her best to protect them both but unfortunately Powder gets kidnapped. (They want to use her as leverage against Vander) And well,, vi as said above, does what she has to do to get her sis back. Brutally. In her rage she fucks up and leaves incriminating evidence behind, so, desperate, she goes to the only other person she knows.

•Caitlyn learns abt this and decides to protect Vi and fuck up evidence to help vi hide. Vi feels guilty for letting Caitlyn get caught up in her mess but caitlyn tbh doesn’t gaf (we Stan a morally questionable woman) and she just wants silco and co captured./ they r wanted for. A numerous amount of things, drugs, murder, etc.

•(Also vi befriended Caitlyn a bit before this happened. I was thinking that the two met after Cait caught Powder practicing her marksmanship in the woods. Caitlyn is a detective for the local town and is curious abt the two. Although a bit moreso of the scary woman who looks like she’s never seen a bed in her life lol.)

-Was also thinking of giving Vander and vi a unstable/complicated relationship. ?

•Vi loves Vander like a father (classic he took them in at a very young age blah blah) but still hates the fact that her and powder have been dragged into all this, also he kind is bad dad (sorry) and doesn’t know how to give vi the emotional support she needs/she still becomes basically a mom for powder since he’s usually never home.

-Vander is trying his best, very much reflective of how he is in canon. The whole, ‘I’m trying to keep u alive but it’s not enough to keep ur innocence safe’ thing.

Also Vander is worried about the fact Silco now knows of his kiddos, and seems to have shown an interest in powder (while she was kidnapped she offed some guys which showed off her talent with a gun and silco was like wow cool I could use that)

-also silco was present but pow nor Vi saw him/ he was quickly hidden by sevika after VI started going ham on his goons.

•Powder(nickname jinx, she still has a lot of mental issues but she’s getting treated so she’s not ..that bad) takes a liking to caitlyn when she realizes that she wouldn’t rat them out to the cops and also the classic ‘they both can shoot!’ Thing, I’m sucker for caitlyn and pow bonding

(Also potential for powder trying to get vi and cait together because she wants Vi to have someone to rely on that isn’t Vander and also sees VI’s too nervous/self deprecating to make a move on her obvious crush) :p

Anyway that’s all I thought of rn!! Idek if I’ll draw more of this I just got carried away a little with the writing hahaha

#text #my art #vi #arcane #vi lol #vi arcane #caitvi #piltovers finest #caitlyn arcane #violyn #jinx arcane #tw blood

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1d1195 · 1 month

Text

The Balcony Extra I

You can read the rest here: The Balcony

~2.2k words

This is the last update from the last round of voting. I'll have a new round of voting posted soon. I have some really fun ideas for the next set :)

Warnings: vomit/sick (it's not described, more so mentioned. But just to be sure.) I promise it's really not going to continue to be a theme with my writing. I just didn't know what to do with them tbh. I hope you enjoy--particularly this sweet anon who thought about them two years after I first wrote about them 😭💕

It was overwhelming and Harry swallowed watching as she mopped up his mess. He wanted to scoop her up and put tuck her into bed like the day he burst into the very apartment they were in now protecting her from her ex.

The balcony was still their favorite spot. Now that Harry had moved into her apartment officially, they only had one. There was something about having two, the will-they-won’t-they kind of vibe. When they shared Chinese food across the slatted posts or when she straddled the rail to get back into her place when Harry got home late. There were so many pieces that felt like they were missing now that they only had one. They put plants on tall tables (even a small lemon tree) to make a wall for their new neighbors.

They were squished when they were out there, two little seats and their space heater along with all the plants made for very little room. It was cozy and they loved it, but it was different. Working from home was different. Everything was different. Good. Perfect, even. But different.

It had been three years of their routines and schedules. Interrupted by weekend getaways, work trips, girl’s nights out, and family holidays. The sex was incredible as that very first time. She still did chores in an oversized shirt that barely covered her underwear. So, chores took twice as long when Harry noticed because he reminisced and thought back to the days when he was falling for her from afar (even if afar was just one little half wall between them).

Harry returned from the office and found her laptop open on the island while she continued cooking. She had been fighting a stomach bug, so it was good to see her cooking. Soup by the looks of it. Something so as not to upset her further.

“Hey kitten,” he called gently putting his keys on the table by the door and slipping his shoes off.

“Hi, Harry,” she sounded so sweet, so smiley. It was his favorite way to be greeted. “Sorry, guys, it’s dinner time,” she told her laptop. Harry blushed, feeling bad he interrupted her call unbeknownst to him and that he called her kitten in front of her students. “Check out the notes on Blackboard.”

Sorry! He mouthed.

She shook her head easily with a smile. She said her final goodbyes to the people on screen. Once her laptop was shut, he felt relief that he could freely chat with her. “I had extra office hours because I’ve been sick and out for the count,” she explained and turned back to the stove. “I told them I had to make something to eat at the same time or I would die so they also got my cooking show in addition to math help.”

Harry looked at the face of their fridge with a dry erase marker filling the silvery complexion with complicated equations that he didn’t understand. He snorted and she smiled shyly. “Sorry, I’ll clean it.”

“Don’t,” he shook his head. “S’cute,” he assured her. It was. The way her brain worked, even thinking to draw on the fridge was adorable. It was so cute Harry wanted nothing more than to frame the door of the appliance and put it in the living room. He put his lunch Tupperware in the sink and turned back to her stirring the soup. “Y’okay?” He asked.

“Yup, only threw up once since this morning,” she sighed and shook her head. “I hope you don’t get sick.”

Harry didn’t even feel an inkling of feeling unwell. They had eaten the same foods for the last few days, so food poisoning didn’t seem suspicious either. “I think I’ll be alright,” he cupped her face and pressed his lips on her forehead. She didn’t feel warm or clammy. “Y’feel cool,” he murmured turning to the fridge and filled his water bottle from the spout.

She shook her head returning to stir the soothing mixture on the stove. “It’s so weird. I don’t feel sick until I’m actively sick, you know?” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”

It was hard to believe that two heavily educated people didn’t figure it out sooner. But the moment it popped into his head Harry gasped. He dropped his bottle, and the ice and water covered his socked feet. “Shit,” he whispered.

“I got it!” She hurried to the closet with their cleaning supplies. Harry picked up the ice cubes and tossed them into the sink. When she returned with the mop, Harry was staring at her. Like he had never seen her before. It wasn’t earthshattering for her. This moment. The moment he realized. It didn’t matter. He would have it for himself. This perfect, beautiful girl that he was so lucky to know...

So lucky to live with and be with and to have her worry about him.

He tried to refill the bottle, but he nearly overfilled it again, his hand getting wet. “You sure you’re not getting sick?” She asked dragging the mop over his feet playfully at the second, minor spill. He shook his head, swallowed.

“No, sorry. Distracted.”

“I got dinner covered, you can go lounge if you want,” she smiled sweetly. “I was laying down most of the day. I feel like a bum. I was thinking about going to the gym after I eat just to feel productive.”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t want her lifting anything, didn’t want her running on the treadmill, or stepping on the stepper. “Y’don’t need to, kitten. M’jus...” he trailed off. He didn’t know if he was right, it was an assumption. “Jus’ a little tired. But y’should sit,” he suggested. “Y’don’t feel well.”

She shrugged. “I feel alright now. I feel lazy.” Harry didn’t want to tell her that growing another human inside her was the least lazy thing she could do. As far as he was concerned, she could do nothing for the next nine months. His eyes dropped to her stomach briefly, like it would suddenly round with the baby he suspected was forming. She didn’t notice.

He was adamant. “Y’not lazy,” he assured her. “Why don’t—”

“Here taste this,” she held a spoonful of the soup out. “Does it need more salt?” She asked. With his gaze locked on her eyes, he let her feed him.

“S’good,” he promised.

She tilted her head at him. Her eyebrows pinching together. “You sure you’re okay?” She repeated.

He nodded. Trying to remember everything about the moment. She didn’t know, he did. It was surreal. There was going to be a little one that looked like him, looked like her. They were going to be parents and she didn’t even know. “M’okay.”

She shrugged and grabbed two bowls out of the cabinet and then returned the broom to the closet. Harry grabbed the edges of the island counter and took a deep breath. They would have to abandon the apartment. The balcony. It was going to be hard, but it would be so worth it.

How did she not know?

When she returned, she ladled soup into the bowls and handed Harry his before she situated herself on the stool behind the sink. “Do we have any plans this weekend?”

Making a baby registry? Telling his mum? Finding a house and decorating a nursery? “Nothing comes t’mind, kitten,” he murmured sitting beside her.

“Louis was wondering. He wants to go out and drink or something.”

“Uh...” he swallowed. “M’not really in a drinking mood.”

“You’re not in a drinking mood?” She repeated. “You know you’re not going to be in a drinking mood three days from now?” She asked. “Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He took a deep breath and turned to her. “Do y’think y’might be pregnant?” He asked.

She dropped her spoon back into her soup and spun to face him as well. Their knees bumped together. “Am I what?”

“Well...y’don’t feel well. But only when y’actively don’t feel well. Then...I don’t remember y’having bad cramps since June,” he reminded her. It was over two months ago. “I don’t feel sick,” he told her.

He watched her pretty face and now wild eyes process all Harry’s logical assumptions. She jumped from the stool and ran to the bathroom slamming the door shut. He followed her immediately. Knocked gently. “Kitten?” He asked nervously. “Are y’okay?”

She didn’t answer.

“Kitten?” He repeated knocking again. He hadn’t anticipated a negative reaction. She wanted kids. They both did. They talked about it many times over. “Baby?” He hummed. “Can y’tell me if y’okay? Need something?”

“I just...” she sounded scared. “I just need a minute.”

“Okay, okay,” he nodded; nerves made sense. “Are you alright?”

She didn’t respond for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Can you open the door?” His voice started to hitch, worry plaguing him immediately. Poor thing.

“I’m peeing on a stick, Harry. Please just...” she sighed. Frustration was heavy in her tone. He was surprised she already had a pregnancy test there. He would have to ask about that later.

“Kitten,” he gently tried the door, but it was locked. “What’s—”

“Harry, I just need a minute!”

He stepped back from the door and leaned against the opposite wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited silently. He heard her sigh repeatedly. The shuffle of her perhaps pacing the small bathroom floor. The sound of the toilet flushing. More moments that he would memorize for eternity.

The three minutes felt like hours. He wanted to see her, wanted to know what was wrong. A timer went off from inside the bathroom. He pushed off the wall and she opened the door holding the plastic stick out to him. “I can’t look.”

“Kitten,” he frowned grabbing it from her and sticking it in his pants pocket without looking. “What’s wrong?” Harry was still in his suit pants. No jacket. The sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was so pretty. It was unfair. She kept her eyes at his feet. Still damp from his water spill.

“You have to look,” she whispered.

“I will, but y’have t’tell me what’s wrong, kitten. Y’making me nervous.”

“We’d have to move,” tears welled in her eyes.

“So?”

“So?” She sniffed. “This is where we fell in love. It’s where we had sex for the first time. That balcony is more important to me than the entire square footage of this place in total.”

“Kitten,” he frowned.

“Don’t you care—”

“Baby,” he shook his head. Before she could finish her question, he pulled her toward him. He was gentle as he squeezed her, fearful of the baby being squished between them. “Of course I care ‘bout that.”

“Then—”

“Kitten,” he tutted. “We’ll get a house with a balcony. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure y’have whatever y’want. Y’can’t be sad ‘bout that.”

She sniffled more, only solidifying Harry’s assumption without even looking at the test in his pocket. “But this is...” she sniffled. “I love it here.”

“I love it too, kitten. But we need more room if we have a baby. A lot of babies.”

She frowned, pulled from him slightly. He wiped his thumbs below her eyes to rid her of the wet tears that soaked her cheeks. “You must think I’m ridiculous,” she pressed her forehead against his body again. He wrapped his arms around her again.

“No more than usual,” he chuckled into her hair and reached for the test in his pocket. He looked at it over her shoulder and smirked. Returned it back to his pocket.

“What’s it say?” She mumbled into his shirt.

“I love you,” he kissed the top of her head.

“It definitely doesn’t say that.”

“Y’don’t think your pee could love me?”

“Harry!” she pinched his sides at his silliness.

“Say it back, first.”

“It’s going to be really unfair that you knew I was pregnant before I did,” she grumbled.

He pushed her away again just far enough to meet her gaze. He smiled at her, that lazy smile he had about him that made her blood warm throughout her body. She forgot why she was grumpy with him. Even if it wasn’t that serious. She already knew what the test said in the pit of her stomach. The swing of her mood flipping like a switch. His expression was soft. Like he was holding a crystal vase from the seventeen hundreds and if he looked at it too hard it would break. “Say it,” he whispered.

It was like she wasn’t in control of her own voice or movements. Not that she didn’t want to say it. She did. All the time. So, it was easy to whisper, “I love you.”

For the third time he pulled her back to him and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have t’see if we can find a baby swing for the balcony.”

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#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #⭐️#the balcony

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insertcoolusernamehereee · 6 months

Text

The Wayne Family is a mess

Dick:-

Parental figure is Bruce, but calls Clark ‘dad’ sometimes just piss Bruce off <3 (Ignore Gotham War, Ignore Gotham War)

Favourite sibling is he doesn’t have one :3. Okay, he likes Jason a teeny bit more, but he’s pretty fair to all of them.

He sees Damian as his son, but they both refuse to acknowledge it completely. They’re comfortable with how they are now.

He is SO older sister coded. Feels like he is responsible for everyone, and tries to hide when he’s mad/sad, but most of the time his siblings force him to tell them how he’s feeling.

Him and Cass CONSTANTLY exchange ‘I swear to god, these losers’ looks when everyone is fighting/doing something stupid.

While his favourite is Jason, and views Damian as a son, he spoils Tim and Duke HORRENDOUSLY.

Him and Steph gossip about different celebrities 24/7

Is currently dating Babs :3

Him and Selina have more ‘friendsies’ relationship, than mom-son type relationship. When one of them get into a argument with Bruce they start slandering him SO BADLY.

Jason:-

I can hear you guys from on the other side of my screen, but him and Bruce are not on Father-Son relationship stance right now. Bruce sees him as a son, but he doesn’t view him as a father (anymore). But he can talk to him without fighting now. (Ignore Gotham War, Ignore Gotham War)

Favourite siblings are Duke, Cass and Tim. Because yes. He makes it obvious too lol.

Dislikes Damian, but helps him get away with shit just to give Bruce grey hairs.

Jason ‘I hate modern technology’ Todd

Him and Dick teaming up give people HEADACHES. If Bruce/Alfred want to scold them, they MUST be separated.

Stephanie and him are besties and bully Tim mercilessly, since he luvs to steal everyone’s friends. (Damian ur next)

He gets Alfred presents on both Father’s Day and Grandfathers day, and everything in between.

Spoils Cass tbh. It’s all with Bruce’s card, but what people don’t know won’t hurt them :D

He is constantly like ‘Selina u can do SO much better’ but he does like her. Just not as strong of a relationship.

Cass:-

100% Views Bruce as a father figure. Hates David Cain, and just does not care about Lady Shiva.

Favourite sibling is Tim, and is best friends with Stephanie.

People constantly think that Damian and her are biological siblings, so when they ask, she looks them dead in the eyes and tells them ‘He’s my dad’. It gets the reporters confused every time.

Obnoxiously acts like a little Angel, but everyone knows she’s not. “Cass. We all know you crashed the Batmobile. No, you smiling will not change my mind. Yes, your smile is very pretty, BUT STILL.”

Her and Dick are forced to be the responsible ones when everyone is hanging out. With Cass in charge of Dick, and Dick in charge of Cass. It oddly works out.

Loves spoiling Damian, it’s getting concerning. In turn, Damian’s pets love her.

Stephanie spills tea about EVERYONE to her. Even about her classmates, who Cass has never even met. Fake dating Steph as well so that nobody tries to flirt with her during galas, and to explain why Steph is so close with the family.

Babs is a major role model in her life. When Cass needs advice, Babs is the first number on her phone.

She loves Selina. But sometimes doesn’t trust her. Otherwise, she approves of Batcat :) Not that strong of a mother-daughter relationship, but she buys Selina a gift for Mother’s Day, just because she can.

Tim:-

Yes, he does view Bruce as a father figure. He also still views Jack as a father figure but he’s dead now <333 As for Janet…she’s a complicated situation.

Favourite siblings are Dick and Cass. He’s besties with Stephanie, basically tells her almost everything.

Both him and Damian are petty, so they trade insults a lot, but it’s more bantering than fighting lol. They do go out to places together, but they are always acting like they are forced to, or that they would be anywhere else (even though they like hanging with each other)

He will not stop with the ‘middle child’ jokes. He will purposefully make Bruce ignore him just so he give a long monologue about being the middle child. He will then ask Bruce to give Damian up for adoption to redeem himself. Damian is still here :D

Cass is Tim’s wingman. (Which is why it took so long for TimKon/Timber to get together)

Tim gives the best Christmas gifts, followed by Damian. This is mostly because he’s a STALKER.

He likes Babs a lot, but acts like a CHILD, because she’s better at hacking than he his and therefore she stops him from doing a few things. He threw a tantrum once when she activated CHILD-LOCK on his computer.

He adores Selina. Sometimes suspicious of her, but mostly trusts her. Selina spoils him, Duke and Damian to no limits.

Stephanie:-

Bruce is NOT her parent figure, but she still views his kids as her siblings. Crystal is her mom, she does not consider Arthur her dad.

Favourite siblings are Damian and Tim, Cass and Jason are her besties.

When Jason is mad at the family and going someplace without telling them, he only tells Steph where he is going.

Once, Tim asked how they were her siblings when Bruce or Selina aren’t her parents, so she declared that Talia was her other mom, and made weird stories connecting each of them :D

Cass knows ALL of Steph secrets, because Steph keeps venting to her 24/7.

When Tim and her are together, they start collectively working on a singular brain cell, making the other person next to them having to be the responsible one. On one memorable occasion, it turned out to be Damian.

Stephanie, Dick and Tim love stalking there siblings when they get a date. Just for fun <333. Stephanie and Dick however are the quote on quote ‘embarrassing parents’ energy when it comes to dates. (Tim and Duke are pretty chill when it comes to dates, Bruce, Damian and Jason are the ones who do the shovel talk, and Cass is just staring at you menacingly during the first family dinner.)

Stephanie and Duke are the ones who sneak off to do underage drinking. Tim and Jason are the ones trying to stop them LMAO.

Stephanie likes Selina a lot. She is constantly pestering her to let her see Harley and Poison Ivy. Selina let her one time, and they caused SO MUCH chaos. (Steph is Selina’s second favourite)

Duke:-

He doesn’t see Bruce as a father figure fully yet, but he does love him. He still considers his parents (minus the weird god dad) as his parents.

Favourite siblings are Damian and Jason. Because, in Tim’s words, he’s weird like that. Him and Damian go to movies every month, and we’re especially excited for the FNAF movie. (They LOVE FNAF.)

Duke is also super younger-sibling coded. If everyone gets super defensive of Damian, then he’s the one who can say ANYTHING and get away with it. As a joke, Jason starts referring to him and Damian as twins because when people ask who they’re ‘youngest sibling’ is, everyone keeps alternating between Duke and Damian.

At first he was downright TERRIFIED of Cass. Like he was scared to be in the same room as her. Now they team up to scare everyone else. (Duke is just recording, Cass does the scaring)

Damian only does ‘puppy eyes’ VERY rarely, and it works effectively every time. Duke? He does it for Every. Little. Thing. And most of the time? He gets it. Tim and Cass are the only one who can resist it. Sometimes.

Dick is Dukes idol. He wants to be like Dick in the future :3

Jason and Duke call each other ‘narrows’ and ‘alley’ respectively. Duke also does a lot of shit, just Bruce never finds out because nobody tells on him, so Jason is JELLY of that.

Stephanie and Duke have the most similar taste in food out of everyone else. VERY, VERY sugary. Nobody listens to them when they suggest to eat something. It’s too sugary.

Selina acts like Duke is her biological son as a joke to the press. The press still thinks it’s true. It’s downright hilarious.

Damian:-

Parental figures are Bruce and Dick, though they don’t acknowledge it :) (Ignore Gotham War, Ignore Gotham War) The relationship with Talia…is messy, to say the least.

Favourite siblings are Stephanie and Duke (because obviously???) They use there gremlin nature to a MAX to prank everyone else.

He is the most younger sibling coded person ever. He’s a little gremlin-demon, but if you mess with him, you’re messing with ALL OF THEM.

Upset that Tim and Stephanie broke up, and started shipping Steph and Cass (for shit and giggles, they are the type of besties who act like there in a relationship, and Damian knows this) and constantly asks Cass when she’s proposing so that Steph can be his sister legally as well <33

Constantly bantering with Tim, but they love each other. They just have weird ways of showing it :3

Dislike-Dislike relationship with Jason, but can and will team up with each other to ruin everyone’s day. They also don’t want each other dead ig :)

Only accepts Babs as Dicks girlfriend. No in between. But he will respect Kori. Begrudgingly.

Respects Jim Gordon so much lmaooo.

Has learned the Alfred eyebrow raise. He is now tormenting everyone with it.

Selina is Bruce’s fiancé, but they have a ‘chaotic aunt, and chaotic nephew’ type of bond. Damian is 100% Selina’s fav.

————————————————————

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its-chelisey-stuff · 2 months

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is this a classic in the making?? Too early too tell but I really miss obsessing over kdramas, so maybe this brings back into it?

finally caught up with Queen of Tears and I must confess I don't know what to make of Kim SooHyun's character yet. I get that the guy is only human, but the fact that his first thought at finding out his wife might die from a rare decease is happiness, it's cold. And wrong.

I mean I guess that's kinda the point, right? This guy thinking he's happy at this terrible news, is clearly an indication that the situation he's been living in since he married has messed up his head, but... I dislike him a lot for it anyway hahaha

And I know that it takes two to tango, and the way their marriage has come to this is definitely something that holds both people responsible. I see that the toxicity, manipulation and constant scrutiny from the Hong family (mixed up with the fact that HyunWoo's family is quite dependant economically on him and his marriage) could drive a guy insane, particularly a guy who seemed so in love with his wife at the start ready to take on everything and everyone, in the name of love.

But of course, now we have the added layer of the miscarriage/baby loss and it definitely complicates a loooot of things while also explaining them in a way. I could say HaeIn just shut off completely and decided to use Elsa's method of conceal don't feel, while the opposite happened to HyunWoo and the guy just couldn't help but feel everything. All the pain, the hurt, shame and stuff caused by the overbearing family in law and even his wife. I get it. But still, you once loved this woman, how can you feel happy at the thought of her death? Sociopath dare I say.

If it wasn't clear enough, at this moment, I'm on HaeIn's side, meaning that I feel more for her and her situation than I do for Hyunwoo, because I can relate a bit to her way of shutting everything out and where she's coming from. It's clear as day that she has experienced a lot of trauma from her early years (the loss of her brother, her mother blaming her for it) and now facing the terrible news that she might die on top of having scary episodes in which she doesn't remember shit. And she doesn't know how to properly deal with any of it. I'm sure that, when she first married, she was happily in love and in the bliss of it all, she forgot all of this unresolved trauma, but now that so much more has piled in, her only way of dealing is becoming ice. And I find that a lot more tragic than Hyunwoo's situation, so don't argue with me lol you won't make me change my mind

but damn, I still do root for them and want them to find a way back to each other...

I know kdramas and I know this writer and eventually, HyunWoo is gonna wake up to the fact that underneath all that resentment and poor communication, he still loves her. A LOT. I roll my eyes at the fact that another man had to come into the picture for him to start feeling dormant emotions and finding his wife attractive and beautiful, but I guess I'll take what I can. I know he will suffer terribly in upcoming eps, cause you don't just cast KimSooHyun to make him happy and silly. NO. You cast him to make him suffer and make him cry and cry and cry. (I still tear up at his breakdown scene from The Moon that Embraces the Sun).

At the end, if I'm to be guided by old dramas from this writer, my guess is that HaeIn will recover and live in the end. I'd be very surprised if she doesn't but tbh I'm preparing for that possibility. What I do know is that my girl is gonna suffer, and for that, I'm not that well prepared, nor do I look forward to it as with HyunWoo's pain and misery.

I mean, look at that face! I will protect and defend her till the end!

#queen of tears #kdrama #kim soo hyun #kim jiwon #does it make sense that I had this drama on my radar bc of ksh but I'm staying for jiwon?#i mean the drama is called queen of tears for a reason

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idontknowreallywhy · 21 days

Text

Resurface 21 - Rely

What went before.

How do you prove you are who you say you are?

With a little dose of DINKY EARTH&SKY STORYTIME.

I agonised over the flashback being from Virgil’s POV rather than Scott who is supposed to be the one telling the story… but Virg very much took front and centre (is about time tbh cos it’s HIS story after all and Scotty keeps muscling in). So yeah it might be a jarring shift, hope you’ll forgive me if so and enjoy the mini earth & sky antics anyway xx

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“Prove it.”

“I… what?”

“Prove you’re not Dad just trying to talk me down off the roof again so Scott has to leave without me.”

Scott’s blood was now red ice-slushie and his heart seemed to be struggling to pump it where it was needed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to let his brother down again. Was it even possible to logic him out of this? Probably not. But, now they were here, he had to try. He had to fix whatever it was that had prompted his brother’s fractured psyche to replace him with… a better version? His mind raced.

“Uh… ok. Ok! How about you ask me something Dad wouldn’t know.”

Virgil silently consulted to his left again, his eyebrows raising with a sudden idea. His head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed on Scott before he raised one finger to his own face and slowly drew a short line along the bottom of his jaw towards his chin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Scott had already unconsciously mimicked the action, tracing the marginally firmer texture of the almost invisible scar he carried there. A slight wash of relief ran through him as he realised he could answer this one very easily but their father could not have.

“Well it certainly wasn’t an argument with a barbed wire fence like we told Mom and Dad��”

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“The math works, Virgil! The lift from the drones will be just enough to support the two of us into a glide then the wings will do the rest.”

Virgil eyed Scott’s pride and joy with a bucketload of awe mixed with a few shovelfuls of suspicion.

The flying machine’s body was the old carbon fibre kayak, consigned to the garage long ago when their attempt to navigate the nearby stream in midsummer left it slightly… holey… in places. The two of them had manhandled it on to the roof via the internal ladder in the middle of the night about three weeks ago. The swarm of eight small tricopter-drones Scott had requested for his birthday were attached (four across the front, one each wing and two to the back) with lots of complicated-looking knots Virgil hadn’t learnt at Rescue Scouts yet but his brother had practised for hours to perfect.

The main event - the wings themselves - were an ingenious combination of fishing poles, some chicken wire fencing Scott had liberated from behind the shed and a patchwork of pieces of an old parachute Mom had stashed away for a rainy (or last minute fancy dress costume) day.

It did look impressive but also maybe a little more… home made… than Virgil had pictured when Scott had explained his Big Idea.

“I’m not sure your math is the same as real life, Scotty…”

“Sure it is! In high school you do real life math - it’s called physics and its all about balancing up forces with down forces. I checked my calculations with my physics teacher last week. She thought it was brilliant. It will work.”

“Did she know you were planning to do it in real life though?”

“Of course not, 11 year olds aren’t meant to be able to fly. It’d cause a fuss.”

“Hmm.” Virgil scratched his head and tried to figure out why the flying machine made him uneasy. It wasn’t just that the stitching of the parachute to the mesh was somewhat wobblier than Virgil had drawn in the neat plan they’d sketched together. nor was it the fact he could see daylight through some of the gashes in the boat.

“Did your sums include using duct tape?” Scotty had for sure used a lot. A lot of a lot.

“It’s really strong. Ever tried to unstick it from something? Impossible! Nothing unsticks what duct tape says should be stuck.”

“Ok.” Virgil’s voice was small because it was being squashed by big feelings. Some excited and proud ones. Quite a lot more scared ones. And some guilty ones.

And some deep misgivings about whatever “physics” was.

Since leaving them to go to High School Scott’s brain had been full of so many clever new things and he was so confident and excited. Virgil felt bad for not trusting him. After all, Scotty always made the crazy ideas work and then his eyes would twinkle with the annoying “told you so”. They always came out ok because Scotty wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt.

His big brother suddenly crouched down to look him in the eye. His eyes were soft behind the sparkle.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared Virgie. 11 years olds aren’t supposed to fly so I guess 9 year olds are even more… uh… not supposed to fly. It won’t matter, you could just watch instead and…” he frowned in thought “I would just need a weight about the same as you to strap to the seat behind… so the math still works. Hmm, maybe a rock or something…”

Scott trailed off and looked around them as if expecting to find a ideal Virgil-sized boulder just waiting there on the rooftop. Virgil hoped he wasn’t going to have to help carry one up the ladder.

Except, no. Of course he wasn’t. Scotty wasn’t going flying with a rock. Not while Virgil was around. His brother could always rely on him to always be right there at his side. He gave himself a little shake, put his hands on his hips and pulled what he thought might be a strong, reliable face:

“You need a wingman. That’s gotta be me. It can’t be a rock, that’s just silly!”

Scott beamed with obvious relief. “Alright short stuff, if you’re sure?”

Virgil was developing a talent for deadly glares and directed his best scowl at the lanky beanpole towering over him. His brother just seemed amused rather than appropriately terrified.

“I’m not that short Scott. I’m nearly as tall as Mom.”

“Yeah well Mom’s teeny. Dad calls her his Li’l Lightning Bolt cos…”

“She’s not! She told me we are the normal ones and you and Dad are secretly Sasquatches hiding from the FBI!”

Scott’s chirpy cackle was loud and long and Virgil glowed with pleasure at making him laugh, even if it hadn’t been his own joke originally. Then a little pang of worry hit him.

“Do you think they are alright?”

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Of course they are, I promise. Baby Gordon just needs a bit of looking after at hospital because he’s even teenier than you...” Virgil gave him his best killer glare “… and Mom and Dad are just keeping him company. She’s alright Virgie.”

“Yeah.” Another squeeze then his brother stood up tall and together they surveyed the view.

Scott checked his new watch then licked his finger and put it up in the air. His very serious and important expression was a bit spoiled by his tongue sticking out to the side as he concentrated on working out the wind direction but Virgil suppressed the giggle. This was Scotty’s big moment.

“Alright, if we are gonna do this it needs to be now. Wind’s good and Grandma and Grandpa will be back with Johnny in about 20 minutes.”

“Aye aye Captain Scott!”

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic #earth&sky #earth and sky #wee!tracys

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atopvisenyashill · 4 months

Note

what if jacaerys velaryon was born a girl, would rhaenyra name her heir of the throne?

That would be up to Viserys at that point and it would be fun bc he’d finally have to clarify what the fuck he’s trying to do with the succession.

If he names a girl Jacaerys his heir before Rhaenyra has even attempted having a second child, there’s gonna be questions like “what are we dornish or something” that he’s going to have to deal with.

If he skips over Jacaerys and names Lucerys as Rhaenyra’s heir, people are probably going to ask “well why did you skip Jacaerys but not Rhaenyra?” and he’s going to have to have an answer besides “shut up.” - and his answer could be a lot of things tbh, bc “the king chooses his heir” is Not precedent you need to be setting while at the same time, “No female line can inherit ever” is an equally terrible and stupid precedent. he’s got free range to craft whatever the fuck rationale he wants and make it sound logical, bc look at jaehaerys & the doctrine of exceptionalism. he rode balerion ffs, these people will probably mostly fall in line if he has a maester draft a technicality rule!

I think especially if he skips Jace, names Luke, and then marries them to each other (huge risk if they’re still obviously harwin’s kids, btw), Alicent is just gonna be sitting there like “now wait a goddamn minute.”

If you’re sitting here thinking “both of those options sound like a mess” that’s because it is a mess :) “No female line can inherit” and Rhaenyra being named over Daemon cannot exist in the same world because according to GC 101, an uncle comes before a cousin and a male cousin comes before a daughter, every single goddamn time. Viserys doesn’t clarify his position here bc his position is “my brother is annoying as shit and i feel guilty that i left my daughter without a mother the way i was left without a mother” and that’s not like, a law, it’s a vibe. he then continues not clarifying after remarrying, having a son, AND naming that fucking son Aegon. But if Rhaenyra also has a firstborn daughter, it's not as easy for Viserys to just kinda "aw shucks" and mumble his way out of the room.

I also genuinely don't know what Rhaenyra would do. She's not fighting for absolute primogeniture (though she would have been in a better position if she had decided to fight for it). What she's fighting for is her father's right to name her as heir and her own right to be named as heir. It's about her situation specifically which was complicated when she was named and became more complicated after her brothers were born; there's precedent in story that someone can just name their heir and bypass the whole ~structure~ if there's not a clear line of inheritance, like Jeyne Arryn bypassing her first cousin (because he attempted to usurp her) for her fourth cousin (because he was loyal) and the Iron Throne backing up Jeyne's decision, and this is clearly how Rhaenyra is treating her own ascension. Rhaenyra is the exception the same way Targaryen incest is the exception to the Faith.

When the question of women inheriting over brothers comes up, she sides against absolute primogeniture because Corlys advises her to do so - and I like him but I am once again saying that Corlys is to blame for almost all of the dumb shit inheritance decisions that Rhaenyra makes, because Rhaenyra defaults to his "wisdom" as her advisor. Obviously Rhaenyra is incredibly short sighted in both placing too many unhatched eggs in Corlys' shit ass basket as well as treating her own ascension as somehow different than women inheriting over men, but you can kinda see the argument she's going for, she's just doing it badly (because she has bad advisors). She's saying her ascension was special because of the lack of heirs at the time and that you can't unname the Crown Princess, and she's very clearly backing away from setting any sort of precedent regarding literally anything else. She's amazingly similar to her father in that way; conflict averse but with a terrifying temper. And like I said up top, a girl Jacaerys forces both Rhaenyra and Viserys to finally look at the mess they, the Hightowers, and Jaehaerys made of the line of succession and fix it.

#viserys the peaceful #rhaenyra targaryen #gender politics in asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jacaerys targaryen #asks #anons #to be clear this is 100% book verse. show rhaenyra is different in many ways chief among them being she's in a worse position politically #AND socially while also having the moral high ground more firmly.#i thought thorugh this one a lot alskjfkldj it really is the ultimate question about her

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newtonsheffield · 10 months

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molly, when you write kate and edwina`s relationship in your fics that is always so sweet and caring it like more based in the books right??? becasue they did such a mess in the show with kate lying to edwina and with edwina not paying attention to kate. In fact, do you belive that edwina should have listened to kate when she command her to not let anthony court her??? that feel bad honestly, kate was like being bossy with edwina.

Okay, I’m going to run through this one more time really quickly because I have like 12 hours of videos on season 2 that you can watch that details all of my opinions on these things but the dynamics at play here are a lot more complicated than we’d like.

It’s below the cut. This post is not tagged for a reason.

First off, I had my characterisation of Mary and Edwina set long before the show came out. Basically: I’m the one writing it so I’m gonna do whatever I want tbh. There are plenty of other people who write the dynamics differently.

Before we discuss Kate lying to Edwina let’s discuss the events of the show up to the point where it would have been best if she had told Edwina.

Kate Sharna meets a handsome man in the woods. He was cute, and charming, and sure they flirted a little and Kate liked Anthony a little. We see this because-

She sees Anthony again at Lady Danbury’s ball and she confirms that she thinks he’s handsome (Mary’s look to Kate in this moment is so sweet, don’t even get me started). She then seeks out Anthony’s company again after she sees him dancing (poorly) and sees him talking about how he’s not interested in getting to know the woman he’s marrying. Worse, he talks about them as though they’re all the same, interchangeable and only really good for one thing: Having children so you can fulfil an obligation and move on with your life. Anthony immediately tries to flirt with her again and Kate feels honestly stupid. She came to London thinking she was prepared for the task ahead and at the first hurdle she’s found out that she wasn’t. She feels awkward and uncomfortable and upset and she needs to regroup.

Anthony has now set his sights on Edwina. There’s no interaction here.

Anthony makes an idiot out of her by essentially organising someone to spend time with her. It’s insulting and disrespectful. Edwina then has her moment of teenage rebellion

They go to Aubrey Hall and this is where the shift starts to happen. They play Pall Mall and they have a moment of shared sameness where Kate starts to realise that maybe the version of him she saw at first is the real Anthony. They then have that moment with the bee but this is only the beginning of Kate recognising what she;s actually feeling for Anthony. She’s still not very sure.

They have their moment in the library they go hunting, they actually spend time together, learn about each other and they dance together and this is when Kate begins to be sure that she;s having actual feelings for Anthony. Here. Following the fact that Edwina already wants him to propose. So she’s already in a difficult position. This was the perfect time to tell Edwina and get I think some blowback but it would have been minimal.

Anthony has already proposed out of his own fear.

The window was minimal because of the fact that Anthony acted out of his own fear for what he felt. He was so sure that if he just proposed to Edwina all of this would stop. It was more than expected of him at this stage. To the outside world, Mary is right, he has shown her every attention in the world. He took her and her family to his home privately, if he had withdrawn even then there would have been questions about what was wrong with her. Bare in mind, that Kate has no confirmation from Anthony that he has feelings past lust for her so even if she told Edwina she was in love with Anthony: What could come of it? She feels it would be selfish to ruin it for Edwina, to ruin it for Anthony because if what she feels.

This is further complicated by the fact that Kate is used to sacrificing what she wants for what Edwina needs. This started because it was made clear to Kate when Edwina was about 10 that she needed to marry nobility for them to have any hope. Kate couldn’t marry because she herself would have then been expected to look after her husband’s family and there was no guarantee that they would allow her to have the same amount of contact with Mary and Edwina so I think this just seemed best at this point. Because Kate, in a way, feels that she owes Mary the life she gave up in Marrying her father. In choosing Kate and her father Mary gave up her life in England and Kate wants to give it back. This is misguided because Mary doesn’t actually want it back but alas, Kate hasn’t asked. So Kate’s entire life focuses on Edwina’s education now. Mary is obviously deeply depressed and I think when they were in India was probably less distant with the girls than we see. Being in England has likely brought up a lot of shit with her husband and family and the ton in general so I think we’re seeing Mary struggling more than she has for a while. Somewhere along the line Kate has likely stopped only doing what Edwina needs and has started giving Edwina what she wants. Frankly, we need to stop viewing their relationship as sisters and start seeing it as an unequally mother daughter relationship. Edwina is also, very used to getting what she wants, and she’s 18. So I think when she learns that there’s more going on with Kate and Anthony and even with Mary to a certain degree: She’s surprised because she is used to being at the centre of their family unit. So that shatters as well. Do I think this was managed perfectly in the show? No, I have my own ideas about how to fix that but Netflix isn’t paying me so I’m not gonna hand them out.

So we’re now in a situation where really: Everyone feels betrayed

Edwina feels betrayed by Kate.

Kate feels betrayed by Anthony but more importantly she feels betrayed by herself. Because she should have put aside her own needs she shouldn’t have been there in the way.

And Mary feels betrayed by herself as well. And here’s where most people get this wrong (in my opinion) Mary does not feel betrayed by Kate. Mary feels guilty. Because the second she saw Anthony kneel in front of Kate she realises exactly how much she has let slide. Exactly how much Kate took on herself. Because I think until that point she genuinely thought she still had the kind of relationship with Kate where Kate would have told her this. Kate was telling her the truth. Kate is her daughter, who she has never known hide sections of herself away. Why would she now? Thus isn’t even to mention the fact that Anthony gets a lot of praise for defending Kate to the Sheffields but Mary did it first. Mary stood up to her parents and said: That is my child, take it or leave it.

So no. I don’t think Kate was bossy with Edwina. She was very hurt at what she’d done and she was trying to make Edwina see that Anthony wasn’t going to love her. Which she was right about. Edwina probably should have listened. Would have saved everyone a lot of time but I also think she was a young girl who got swept up in the romance of being in a Different place and being so sought after. I’m not saying she’s vain, I’m not saying she’s frivolous, there are plenty of signs that she too was under a lot of pressure. But she got swept up in the moment. It’s easy to do.

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o-uncle-newt · 5 months

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Cabin Pressure Advent Day 4: Douz

DOUZZZZZ!!!

OK so after my previous posts, where I was like "well these episodes aren't fully baked yet but soon we'll get to Douz which is where it gets really good," I kind of knew that I'd have to describe WHY I think that once I got here. So here's my attempt.

First of all, that's not to say that this is fully matured Cabin Pressure. The show builds and builds on itself and in my opinion consistently gets better. But I do think that Douz has some things that the prior episodes don't:

The obvious one is that we first see the cracks in MJN Air. Carolyn is vulnerable for the first time on the show (and TBH probably the first time ever? lol) and we now know not only that Carolyn's a bit of a tartar about money, but that she has to be to keep the company going.

Plus, Douglas now knows what the real stakes are, because now HIS job is on the line too- so he can't just mess around as easily with Martin anymore to sabotage him in revenge, like he did here by planting the idea in Martin's head that Jutteau was trying to scam him and sitting back to await the disaster. There's a boundary now- his revenge or hijinks can't risk the operation of the airline. We also now know that it's not just that there's a general power struggle and Douglas tends to be pretty sneaky- we know that Douglas is the guy who always has a plan, and that's a role he's going to stay in for the rest of the show.

A lot of this does end up coming down to Yves Jutteau just being kind of an amazing cartoon villain, and that's one of the great things that allows the zaniness of the plot to work. Not to ruminate excessively over Cremona, but that one fell flat to me plot wise, partly because it felt just a bit too complicated and contrived. The Douz plot is less complicated (it also doesn't have a B plot, besides for Arthur taking the airline photo, but everything has more space to breathe), and I think it's paced a bit better so that it feels like a relatively natural setup, but in some ways the ending is equally unlikely, if not more so- why is it a massive legality problem to take off but not to DRIVE AN AIRPLANE ON A HIGHWAY?! (After looking on Google Maps, Douz to Qibili is moving AWAY from the desert TOWARD more populated areas, so it seems kind of risky.) That's where Jutteau is so brilliant, and Hester Macaulay fell short- she was just an unpleasant woman, and Jutteau is a cackling adversary- and incidentally also played HILARIOUSLY by John Sessions. When you're dealing with the fallout for a situation involving a normal-scale unpleasant woman, you expect that fallout to feel normal-scaled; when your adversary is a veritable comic book baddie, the big daring escape can feel more cartoonish in scope.

So basically what we have now is- the show's still growing and changing, but now we know that the existence of this airline is going to be the thing that drives them forward. (Well, not Martin, exactly, because as of two episodes ago he was looking for other jobs- but he's always going to do his best anyway, and we don't know yet that he's not being paid here.) Douglas and Carolyn, both VERY strong personalities, know that they will sometimes have to sublimate themselves for the sake of the airline- which is basically doing that for each other and for the other members of the team. (Arthur, of course, benefits from this because we already kind of know that this is the sort of guy who's living his best life and that shouldn't be fucked up for him.)

Which means that something really important has had ground laid here- the idea that they all need each other, rely on each other, and are all identified with this airline/airdot. And where would the rest of the show be without that?

Also, at some point this will stop being the kind of thing that's specifically noticeable to point out, but Benedict Cumberbatch by now has gotten veritably enthusiastic in the credits! It's very fun.

#cabin pressure #cabin pressure advent 2023 #cabin pressure advent #douz #john finnemore

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avatarmerida · 1 year

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I demand huntlow fluff IMMEDIATELY after that angst post!!!! aghhhh it was so good but illegal to make them so saaaad whyyyyyy

This is exact opposite of angst, I promise. This might be too fluffy, tbh. It's honestly a little embarrassing.

---

Willow was simply minding her own business, tending to her flower beds on her balcony when out of nowhere, she turned and found Hunter crash landing beside her. Before she could ask if he was okay or what was going on, he rose dramatically to his feet. His cape wrapped around him making it difficult for him to regain balance, his eyes were locked on her, with a vexation and intensity she was unfamiliar with outside the flyer derby field.

“You know love potions are illegal, right?!” Hunter exclaimed very unceremoniously, clearly flustered and disheveled.

“Um... hi?” said a very confused Willow, not expecting company, especially not from such a loud and upset Hunter.

“They’re ill-e-gal!” Hunter said loudly, stretching the word as though it would help her understand. “Like, against the law!”

“Okay... I already knew that, but thanks for telling me I guess?” she said, setting down her watering can.

“Well, if you knew then why did you give me one?” Hunter demanded, breathing heavily.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know!” he scoffed dramatically, becoming more unhinged by the second. “After practice t-t-that alleged ‘blue sport drink’ you gave me? It was clearly a love potion!”

“Why would I give you a love potion?”

“I dunno, hazing? A mistake? Curiosity? I don’t have the time to try and decipher the inner workings of your beautiful, complicated mind, I just need the antidote! The ones at the marketplace haven’t been working, so obviously you added something strong to the batch.”

“Hunter, I’m not on the potions track, I don’t even know what ingredients I’d need for that,” Willow said with a small smile, unable to help but be amused. “Besides, it definitely wasn’t a love potion.”

“Well then how do you explain... this?” He gestured vaguely to himself as his voice became more distraught. “I’m a mess! I can't eat, i can't sleep, I-I start thinking about you and all of I sudden I feel sweaty and stupid and- why are you smiling?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Willow, covering her mouth though she couldn’t hide her clear delight at his cluelessness.

“It’s not funny!” he insisted.

“I know, I know,” she said, unable to sound convincing. “Keep going, I’m sorry.”

“Agh! Even looking at you right now I feel like I’m gonna pass out!” He said, exacerbated, not sure where he was supposed to look. “I can’t focus on patrol because I’m staring at your penstagram account or wondering what you’re doing and my distractions are gonna end up putting people in danger!”

“You’re right; this is serious,” said Willow, trying to sound convincing. She herself was in no rush to cure or resolve the ailment. “And you think you’re feeling this way because you drank a love potion?”

“Yes! What other explanation is there?”

“Well, I think I might have an idea but I don’t wanna embarrass you.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he pleaded desperately. “Clearly, distance does nothing to dilute the effects. Willow, my pockets are full of leaves!” He declared, taking her shoulders and shaking her.

“Why?”

“Because they’re green like your eyes and I wanted to find one the same shade!” He explained as he bashfully removed her from his grasp and began to pace, talking faster and fidgeting with his hands. Willow tried with all her might to suppress her joy at his concern for the symptoms and not the sickness. “It's actually a fairly difficult shade to find organically in the arboreal section of nature, it’s more of peridot color which led me to search for matching gemstones and now my pockets are full of rocks and leaves and it’s getting very messy and heavy!”

“Wait, why did you keep all the leaves?” Willow laughed.

“Because you’re a plant witch! You love leaves!” Hunter practically screamed, tossing his collection from his pockets into the air in frustration as he panted, running out of breath from his rant.

“Awh, I do love leaves,” she giggled as she picked one out of his hair and twirled it between her fingers, admiring the coloring. Upon her closeness, Hunter’s face quickly became beet red. Willow made a mental note to grow a tree later with leaves the same shade. “How long does a love potion take to wear off?”

“Usually 48 hours for a standard one, but this has been going on for over a week now,” he said helplessly, burying his head in his hands as he leaned his back to the rail and sank to the ground. “And it’s only been getting worse! I wrote you a poem, Willow. A poem!”

“Wow, that is serious,” Willow asked, taking a seat on the ground beside him and placing her hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I thought I could get rid of it on my own,” he said with a sigh. “I told Darius what was happening. But he just laughed at me! Can you believe it? Then I told him everything I tried and he told me to try going to the source but you clearly didn’t do this so I just…I feel like my chest is gonna explode.”

“Hunter...” Willow didn’t know where to start. How were you supposed to inform your crush that they had a crush on you? “You know the drink I gave you... I just bought it from the store.”

“Oh! Which store? I’ll go back there and ask them if they have a-.”

“I bought a pack of four, everyone at practice had one,” she said softly.

“Has... everyone else been having similar side effects?”

She shook her head.

“Oh,” said Hunter, suddenly uncertain. He folded his hands and brought them to his face and Willow could tell he was thinking intently of what to do next. Willow made herself comfortable on the ground beside him, watching the calculations fly behind his burgundy eyes. She knew he was smart, he was bright, but he truly was the stupidest boy she had ever met. “Hmm.”

“I can go get a bottle from the kitchen if you wanna read the ingredients-.”

“Wait! They came in a pack of four!” Hunter recalled excitedly.

“Yeah?”

“I remember you offered me one but I didn’t want to take one if that meant you couldn’t have one-.”

“You told me it was because you had never had a liquid that was so oddly colored,” Willow interjected, finding the real reason even sweeter.

“-well, yes that too,” confirmed Hunter as he continued. “So I was skeptical and then you assured me there was nothing wrong with it so you took a sip of it to show me. And of course I trust you completely so I drank the rest without questioning it.”

“Okay…?”

“It was an indirect kiss!” he said with delight as though that explained anything.

“I… guess so?”

“If an indirect kiss is what caused this to happen….”

“Hunter, I don’t think that’s actually what-.”

“... then a direct one must be the way to reverse it!”

“Ya know what actually maybe,” said Willow, placing her hand beneath her chin. Now she was the one unable to catch her breath. They needed to say they tried everything, right? What kind of friend would she be if she didn’t help him anyway she could?

“Oh, but I could never ask that of you,” groaned Hunter, defeated.

“Well, I dunno, I think you could,” Willow said, trying to seem nonchalant and casual, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Do you… think it will work?”

Oh it definitely wouldn’t, Willow was counting on it.

“Guess we’ll find out,” she said with a seemingly innocent shrug as she leaned in closer, and Hunter jumped back when he realized just how close she was.

“Oh my Titan, are you trying to kill me??” he exclaimed, falling over himself. Willow just laughed. “This is great, this is just great,” said Hunter, removing his cape and throwing it in front of him, trying anything to help him breathe again. “You’re laughing. I’m basically dying and you’re laughing!

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying but failing to subdue her laughter. “It’s just kind of cute.”

“‘I’m cute?’” he turned to her, as though disgusted by the thought. “No, you’re cute, that’s the problem! Ahh! I don’t know what I was thinking, I can't even look at you without freaking out, why would I ever think I’d be able to… titan, I can’t even say it now.”

“It’s okay, we’ll figure this out together," she assured him, rising back up to her feet. She offered her hand to help him up and he took a deep breath before he mustered up the courage to take it. Progress, right? He stood in front of her and she took his other hand, and prompted him to do the breathing exercise. Progress. “Try closing your eyes, okay?”

He obliged, squeezing them shut tight and Willow’s heart skipped at how winsome he looked, putty in her hands. She delicately stepped onto her tiptoes to press a gentle but meaningful kiss to his lips. Closing her eyes as she leaned into the contact, her chest warm and buzzing like a fire bee hive. She waited there for a moment, waiting for him to pull away but he stood there stunned and when he realized the moment as real he removed his hands from hers and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. Willow was a little surprised but did not object as she brought her arms around his neck. She could feel him smiling, delighted that this was a remedy he approved of. As she went to pull away, he followed after, not ready to let the moment end.

She opened her eyes first and saw the talkative anxious boy who had crashed on her balcony, now totally speechless. His eyes slowly opened as she eagerly awaited to hear his thoughts.

“It didn’t work,” he said breathlessly, forgetting why he was supposed to be disappointed. “You’re still cute.”

“Darn it,” she said, equally as breathlessly and even less disappointed as she did not loosen her grip on him. “Sorry.”

It was even worse now. Everything seemed like it was in slow motion and there was a rose colored frame around her and music was playing and Hunter felt like he would float up into the sun if she let go of him now.

“It’s okay, it's not your fault,” he said, their position finally registering as he slowly removed her arms from her waist, hyper aware of how sweaty his hands were and how hot his face was. “I’m sorry to have bothered you with this. Thanks for trying to help.”

“Anytime,” said Willow softly, never meaning anything more.as she tried to figure out what to do with her hands now that they weren’t anchored around his neck.

“I should… probably go…” he said timidly as he picked up his cape from the floor, quiet for the first time and Willow worried that he was embarrassed and that was the last thing she wanted him to associate with kissing her. She wanted to tell him what was really happening, but that hardly seemed like a way to lessen his embarrassment.

“Wait!” she said, and he looked up to her with wide eyes. “Um, actually… what if I took a love potion too?”

“No, I couldn’t let you do that,” said Hunter, shaking his head. “It’s so scary. But actually kind of incredible? But then scary again, and I couldn’t let you feel this way about me. That would be less like a potion and more like a curse.”

“What if I told you… I already took one?”

“What? Willow, why would you-?”

“What’s done is done,” she said innocently, as though it was out of her hands. “Right? And... the kiss didn't reverse mine either so I guess… we’re in this mess together.”

Hunter nodded slowly. “This constitutes an investigation,” he declared, slamming his fist into his palm. “Someone’s going around distributing illegal love potions! But who? And why?”

It was a start, Willow would take what she could get.

“Who knows?” she said with a grand shrug. “But um, until we do… are you okay feeling this way for a little bit longer?”

“I mean, it’s a little less scary knowing that you’re feeling the same way,” he admitted, rubbing his neck and giving her a shy grin .

“That’s usually how it goes,” she said with a bright smile that made him feel like he was melting. “And… what if the effects turn out to be permanent? Would you… be okay with that too?”

“Well,” Hunter took a deep breath as he carefully took Willow’s hand, the rush still there but not quite as overwhelming. Maybe it was because they shared that now. “I’m okay with it i-if you are.”

“Well,” she interlaced their fingers and gave his hand a gentle squeeze and looked up at him with shining eyes even the most precious peridot would envy. “I’ve got a gut feeling it’s incurable.”

#huntlow #winter toh #toh #willow park #hunter toh #huntlow fanfiction #the owl house #fluff #I EMBARASSED MYSELF WRITING THIS #ask #anon

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