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jinwoosungs · 3 months

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{ 132 }

crush, crush, crush.

megumi fushiguro x fem.reader

no curses | college au.

{ and i'm like, yeah | everything you heard is true | everybody knows i'm hung up on you. }

much like half of the female population of students that attended this university, you had a crush on megumi fushiguro.

something about him was just so appealing to you (and many others). from his deep, emerald green eyes to the way his spiked hair fell across his pale face.

his full lips were often seen set in a permanent scowl, indicating his absolute disdain for something-

and his deep voice was painted in nonchalant tones, as if nothing in the world could ever bother him-

but it was enough to fuel your desire to get closer to him.

being somewhat of a smart cookie, you ended up sharing quite a few classes with the enigmatic megumi. from ethics to advanced calculus, you were honestly just happy enough to be in his presence.

because you knew that the chances of megumi returning your feelings were slim to none, that didn't stop you from doing something a little silly (and quite stupid, really) to get closer to him.

in your advanced calculus class, you purposely failed a sequence of pop quizzes, each and every one of them serving to be like a test drive before the real deal: the first exam worth nearly 20% of your final grade.

your professor, feeling exasperated on your depressingly low averages, finally decided to enlist the help of the student who consistently scored a 100% on every assignment and pop quiz-

megumi.

she calls you to the front of her desk while stopping megumi from leaving the classroom. megumi's eyes were furrowed in confusion, and you did your best to put on a sad face, jutting your lips out in a disappointed pout and all.

"fushiguro, you're one of the best students in my class- actually, you're the only one who has ever had consistently high scores on my homework and quizzes."

your professor gestures over to you, all while saying your name with a disappointed sigh. "she needs your help. her scores have been embarrassingly low, and i'm afraid if this continues, she will not have a chance to pass this class and may need a retake. so please, when it's still early in the semester, can you help her?"

you take this chance to meet with megumi's gaze, seeing them flash with an unknown emotion for a brief moment before returning back to his blank, emotionless gaze. he places a hand within the pocket of his jeans, looking away from you to see each one of your written quizzes spread out against your professor's desk.

you had to fight back the heat against your cheek when his bored, emerald gaze looked at the 0's written in a deep red ink, the anger and disappointment your teacher felt for you seeming to create a harsh dent, with each bold x seen scattered across the problems on the papers, nearly ripping through each sheet.

"so, as you can see, i don't wish for this student to be a hopeless case. if things go well, the highest grade she can make is a 70. but... i'll allow it if you can help her."

without another word needing to be spoken, megumi gives the professor a stiff nod before collecting your quizzes together in a single, neat stack. he meets with your gaze and says a simple "follow me." before walking out of the classroom.

and despite how you could feel your heart pounding from within your chest, you kept your cool and followed megumi from close behind. you continue to walk in silence for several seconds when he turns around to face you, seeing you standing behind him while letting out a sound of annoyance.

"don't walk behind me like i'm better than you." he gently grabs a hold of your wrist so that you were now walking right next to him. "i hate that shit. we're in the same year, so act like it."

the way your heart suddenly jumped into your throat was enough to make you feel dizzy, and the fact that megumi didn't show any hints of letting you go made it all the more overwhelming for you.

with his hand loosely gripping at your wrist, he leads you to your university's library, the silence was once deafening as you thought that your ears were close to ringing-

but the moment several students laid eyes on megumi holding your hand, you felt all eyes turn on you. their studying all but forgotten as whispers and giggles were heard throughout. seemingly unbothered by the sudden change, he keeps holding on to your wrist before going towards one of the hallways that held several study rooms. the first empty room he finds, he enters it while shutting the door.

in the middle of the room was a large, square table with four seats surrounding it. megumi takes an extra seat and settles it on the same side as him, silently gesturing at you to sit to his left. you nod and heed his words, feeling somewhat shy as you took out a fresh notebook along with some pencils and pens from your backpack.

megumi settles himself beside you and takes out his notebook. as you trail your eyes over those meticulous pages, you saw just how much care and detail he put within them, the black ink seeming to bleed through each page as evidence of his dedication.

he takes one of your quizzes and points to each concept you missed within his notes, and you found yourself following along quite well. you end up completely correcting your errors within 20 minutes, and was simply basking in megumi's presence when a deep chuckle was heard.

"heh, i knew you were suspicious..." megumi had placed his lips against the shell of your ear, tone dripping with an uncharacteristic amusement. the feeling of his hot breath against your ear was enough to make you shiver in response, your wary gaze meeting with his.

"ah... i... don't know what you mean?"

he gives you a scoff, telling you that he didn't believe your bluff for a single minute while shutting his notebook. "you know, professor irie has told me to tutor some of her other students in different classes several times. and i can't tell you how we often spent two hours working on a single problem."

"yet you... you corrected each and every one of your mistakes, redoing all 10 problems and giving me the correct answer within a mere 20 minutes."

you were frozen, eyes going wide, as if you were a deer caught in headlights. a smirk was seen gracing megumi's handsome features when you could feel his large hand against your back, pushing you forward so that you could see your past quizzes. he spreads out each and every one of the pages that averaged a 0, taking his signature black pen as he filled them all in with 100's.

"it takes a different type of genius to purposely choose wrong answers, so tell me... why?"

you begin to blush profusely, unable to meet his gaze as you felt your heart pounding faster with anxiety, nearly coming out of your ribcage. you lost all nerve, unable to even look at him when you shakily manage to tell him.

"i-i think you know why."

"i do, but i'd much rather hear it from you."

you could feel his gentle hands rubbing against your cheek, making you sigh as you relented.

"i-i did it so that i could be closer to you...because i know that you wouldn't notice me otherwise."

"and who says i didn't notice you?"

you gasp upon feeling megumi take a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him as his eyes were shining with a look akin to... adoration for you. he allows the pad of his thumb to trace at your bottom lip before admitting to you, "i've seen the truth of your studious nature and your hard work. and those glances you've been sneaking at me when you thought i wasn't looking... so how could i possibly ignore your presence so easily?"

you watch when he slowly narrows his gaze, suddenly inching himself closer to you as you could taste his breath against your lips, giving you little choice but to cave in to your feelings for him as you met with him halfway.

and as his lips perfectly slot themselves against yours in a perfect kiss, you found yourself sighing, thinking to yourself that failing a few quizzes was completely worth it in the end.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro imagine #.stories

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forthelostones · 1 month

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𝚙𝚝.𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ; 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 ─── ⋆

⟡⋆˙୨ᥫ᭡. 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚞 - 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛ᥫ᭡.୧⋆˙⟡

synopsis: abby was a woman whose presence was becoming deeply irresistible to you. in your final year of nursing school, you toil with the idea of pursuing her — ruin what you have or enjoy what’s in front of you?

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!abby, domsub!abby, sexual themes, jealousy, fluff, nickname: dummy, and modern au - pre-established relation.

an: guys. this has been such a crazy ride, thanks for the support on both of my stories. it means so much to me. sorry for the wait... lets get it.

CLICK HERE.

(no y/n)

Abby watched from the row behind you, observing how you chewed on the end of that neon #2 pencil. She could tell by the bobbing of your leg that you were nervous and stuck on a specific question. It was the same during studying — chew, bob, sigh. Almost on cue, a frustrated sigh left your throat. She knew it was her fault that this was happening.

She knew neither of you studied long enough for you to feel confident on this exam. Well, that’s what she kept trying to convince herself, she was already finishing up the last page. Although her pencil glided on the paper effortlessly, she couldn’t help but be distracted by your indecisiveness on the math equations and multiple-choice questions. The once full eraser had been subsided to pure metal scrapping into the pages.

The time on her watch read ten minutes left until the end of the exam and you were only on page two. Studying had become harder for you with Abby around. It wasn’t only the dating component it was mostly the difference in your skills. Her ability to memorize vocabulary and complete math problems without thinking twice about them made you academically insecure. While you averaged low B’s and high C’s, she had a 4.0 and made it look easy. The clock's ticking distracts you from the problem you are trying to solve. It was one you and Abby worked on multiple times, yet you’re frozen, unsure how to solve it. As everyone flicks their pages to finish, you just … froze.

“Okay. Pencils down.” Your professor said just moments after you started a new equation. Your jaw dropped slightly and you squeezed your eyes shut. Abby shook her head, not at you specifically, but herself. You had practically moved in and the nights that would typically be spent studying were now used to learn more about each other beyond your friendship. Realistically, Abby understood that those moments would be worth more than a grade in the long run. But a part of her also resented getting this comfortable, ultimately impacting you. The feelings clashed within her. The heat forming inside of you could only be described as embarrassment. Why was it like your brain suddenly lost all power to its systems? It wasn’t unusual for you to skip a few questions but this was completely unlike you.

You chew on your cuticles and fold the mostly blank pages and pass them down to the front, doing the same for your classmates. Their pages crumbled with computation answers and confidently filled bubbles exposed your shortcomings. You should feel relieved that the test is over but you don’t. A heavy anchor grounded you but you were still floating. Abby met you down in your row where you saw her concealing another A-plus smirk. Once you both exited into the hall Abby’s hand finds the center of your back and she begins to pet it slowly. You shrug her away gently.

“Don’t.” You sigh.

Abby knew it would set you off but she did it anyway to show you she sees you. The blonde’s brain was moving at a rapid pace. She so deeply wanted to ask you about the challenging problems and the scenarios on the quiz. Her translucent lashes tapped frantically as she imagined the sheet of paper behind her eyes.

“I feel good about this one.” She finally says.

“Good. I really did not do well. It’s — whatever. Right?”

Abby looks to you and she couldn’t lie and tell you that it’s not just whatever. It’s your future. Both of your futures — together — it was important to Abby that her partner was just as successful as her.

“You should be happy that you did your best but understand that if you did do as bad as you think, it’s worth asking for a makeup to understand the material.” She suggested.

You hated when she got like this, rigid. Her posture was straight, her mouth set hard, and no softness found anywhere on her face. The regime her father instilled in her stayed and it was evident in moments like this.

“Abby, sometimes I really need you to just listen to me and be rational later.”

A chill followed down her spine following your sharp comment.

“Maybe we shouldn’t study together anymore.” She muttered.

Part of you wanted that to be a joke but knew it wasn’t. The night before proved itself to be deeply uneventful for the both of you.

“You’re distracting me.” You groan as you’re reviewing flashcards on Abby’s bed, the first mistake. She was wearing a thin, white tank top and a pair of loose black sweats, untied, on her hips. Her hair was drying from the shower you two just took and so was her body. The outline of her features was accentuated by the water being absorbed by the cotton. She was so casually beautiful and simply yours. The bed shifted behind you, her weight bending the mattress inwards, as she crawled towards you.

“Am I?” She asks, using the tip of her tongue to playfully lick a stripe of slick up towards your lobe. An instant bubble of relief popped inside of you. “Okay. Okay.”

Abby couldn’t take her eyes away from you. She had seen you in this robe every night now but it was something about how it was gliding with you. As well as your skin's glint from your body oil makes you look regal. You sat at the base of the bed while Abby retreated towards the headboard, leg tucked under her butt. She took off three inches of hair and it looked so fresh, carving out her face perfectly, and highlighting her stiff jawline. “How about we make a deal?” She said brazenly.

“What?”

“For each answer I get right you remove something?”

“Abby,” you chuckle, not denying her advances.

You thumb the index cards in your hand and turn to tie your eyes with hers.

“First question, the section is Anatomy and Physio. What best describes endocrine glands?” You ask.

Abby taps her chin as if she’s searching for the answer. “They secrete chemicals into the blood, growth, metabolism, sexual development and function.”

She raises her eyebrows and shoots her eyes towards your robe. A deal is a deal so you remove the silk, leaving you in your two-piece pajama set. Abby notices the goosebumps lining the outsides of your shoulders and can’t help but desire to rub them warm.

“Question number two. Anaerobic respiration can lead to a burning sensation caused by which molecule?”

“Easy,” she scuffed. “Lactic Acid.”

Her teeth appeared behind her Cheshire grin as your top found its way onto her floor.

“Good job.”

Your words made her cunt pulse.

“The mediastinum is located within which cavity?” You ask.

Abby’s face fell instantly. The outline of your nipples looked delicious and icy, she needed them in her palms immediately. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

You lift yourself off the bed and bend right in front of her to retrieve your shirt, Abby’s shadow overcame you and her hips thrust into your ass in one motion. She spins you around to face her, mouths inches away. “Do you think you’re going to actually put that back on?”

Her index finger traced the outline of your lips with her eyes following. You grip her wrist, halting her movements, “And if I do?”

Abby gently places the index cards neatly on her bedside table and presses you into the wall behind you. Usually, Abby is submissive but the stalking woman imposed her strength on you, like she’s been wanting to do from the first time she saw you in clinicals.

“I’ll just rip it off you.” She giggles.

“Would that be so bad?” You reply, bringing her finger into your mouth, sucking it then adding another. Abby huffed a keen groan as she bent down onto her knees, immediately pressing her mouth into your cunt. She lapped at the fabric separating her from you and didn’t even ask for you to remove them.

You insisted by beginning to take them off but she tore them off you and hoisting up one leg onto her shoulder following the other one.

“Abby.” You gasp.

“I got you, hold onto me.”

She was flexing her skill by fine-tuning your pussy with her tongue while she slowly hoisted you up towards the ceiling. Not only did you feel as if you were floating, you actually were. She was a show off but you fucking loved it.

After that, there was no more studying done.

“Do you think we should cut down on the time we're spending together?” You question, as the night replays in your mind.

Abby’s face scrunched up in immediate disapproval without hesitation at the suggestion. She pulled her bottom lip slightly in her mouth and looked around as if the walls suddenly grew eyes. Abby wanted to tell you no but she knew what had to be done.

“We can.” She grimaced with a shrug.

Despite all the time you spent together the girlfriend conversation had yet to come up. She thought about it the most when you were in her presence. She didn’t comprehend how you liked her so much and yet, you refused to make it official. She truly believed that once you ditched Ellie she’d be over the moon, but right now it’s feeling the same and Abby doesn’t do stagnant.

“Abby, we can still study together, in the library, several feet away from each other.”

She forced a smile. “Fine. Does this mean you’ll still sleepover?”

Before your crush on Abby developed you were denying yourself the fact that it was possible. But during this time, before the dating, your grades had been the best when you were alone, and you know for a fact, that it was because of her. You may not be as smart as Abby but you do want to come out on the other end with a degree too.

“Why don’t we come up with a schedule?” She suggests.

“That would be perfect.” You said.

The schedule consisted of dinners at Abby’s during the week, sleepovers on non-clinical days which were Wednesdays and Fridays, and studying every day at the library. Abby liked the organization but her body had gotten so used to you beside her. A week into implementing the new schedule Abby felt an immense amount of anxiety without you around. She didn’t know how to break down the feeling and why it was so persistent. Although you two were next door to each other, text messages still provided a temporary cushion for her sadness, but it wasn’t enough.

Abby clicked the icon that was the home for your name and called but there was no answer. Dinner was stewing on the stove, and in the middle of mixing a cocktail, Abby called to find out if you could taste what was missing. Another call led to another one and soon Abby was sitting with a candle flickering silently in front of her. Your plate sat untouched and she just picked at the remnants of hers.

Little did she know you were closed off in your room after studying, panicking. You knew yourself more than you wanted to. The schedule was needed for you to clear your brain on the feelings you had for Abby. With upcoming exams and graduation where would that leave you? She'd move across the world while you were huddled up in your small town's hospital circulation? It was coming in so fast and before you could mix in a girlfriend you had to know what you wanted. The pages of your journal turned soft as you tore your pen through the book.

A part of you wanted to hear the rapping of her fist against your door, ready to envelop you and reassure you that you would figure it out. She never came and because of that, a piece of you died. Conversations with her have turned short and passive since the last exam. It wasn’t just the exam it was a culmination of multiple things that either of you were ready to talk about.

Abby put your dinner into a glass container and waited outside your door trying to gain the sense to knock. One of the many nights you spent together gave her a reason to knock instead of sulk in her bed, thinking about all of her shortcomings in the relationship. You were both lying down and Abby lit a candle that night that you bought her. The sweet scent of peaches and cream cut through the bitter smell of her pine products. She loved it. Between the sheets were your naked bodies damp and lazy. Abby had brought a glass of cold ice water and set it on the nightstand beside the candle. You took turns taking sips.

“Thank you for the water.” You smiled.

“Don’t mention it,” She nudged you.

You twist your body onto your stomach and look up to her glimmering, post-sex face.

“Abby?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

“You still make me nervous.”

She cackles and brings her hand to your cheek and massages away your imperfections. With the roll of her eyes she licks her lips before curating a snarky response. But she quickly realizes you’re being serious. “Why?”

“I care so much about you and that’s something I haven’t felt before. With anyone.”

A kind pause swells between you both.

“I care about you too. I don’t want that to make you nervous.” She said.

“I know you see me differently but I am a little insecure.”

She leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly without a breath.

“That’s normal.”

“But I burrow. I distance myself when I get like that and I don’t want to subject you to that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings again. If I do that, get distant, don’t hesitate to just tell me to get out of my own head. It’s not your fault or your responsibility.”

Abby’s fist banged on the door with your words echoing in her mind. The thuds startled you out of the sleepy daze you fell under. You shuffle to the door to see the goofy blonde in her pajamas and slippers holding what was supposed to be tonights shared dinner.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Her voice was more welcoming than usual. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

Shoving her way past you and nearly tossed the container on the kitchen counter. Without hesitation she opened her arms and you couldn’t help but to run into them. Although she didn’t say anything the affirmation from her presence was enough.

“All too much in your head again aren’t you?”

A sob escaped into her chest and she gripped you tighter. These past few days have been a blunder of confusing thoughts. A part of you knew getting together with Abby would make things unclear in your life. But if she was willing to get uncomfortable and support you, you were obligated to do the same to her.

“Abby, I should’ve answered your calls.” You pull away to notice how unswayed she is of your state.

“You should have but that doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk.”

You nod your head shyly and she grips your hand and takes you to your bedroom. Abby pats beside herself to welcome you.

“I’m so scared.” You blurt out.

“Me too,”

Abby was scared for the complete opposite reason. When she was with you it seemed like all the decorative things such as school didn’t matter. She wasn’t familiar with how that felt. To have an identity outside of her accomplishments or care about someone. With you, she could flunk out of nursing school, move back to her home town, and still be satisfied. That scared her — that one person could allow her to have such a paradigm shift.

Hearing Abby say those words made your heart settle.

“I care so much about you. I didn’t think I would, this much. I should’ve known because on orientation when I saw you I thought, ‘I need to know who she is’ and I am grateful for that thought blossoming into my mind.”

You couldn’t muster any other word but her name. She picked up your hands to bring them into her lap. She leaned in to place a soft kiss on your mouth and lingered there with her forehead pressed against yours.

“When you moved next door, I just thought maybe this is the sign I need to do something different. To not let my ambitions lead me but instead my heart. And my heart loves you, Dummy.”

#abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x you #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #lesbian #abby anderson #abby tlou

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nicherayyy · 9 months

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Different anon, but what about bucci gang with a child! South Park! Reader? Abbachio gonna need a lot of wine.

literally Abbachio's personal hell

TW: average South Park experience

Bucci Gang x South Park! Child Reader

Okay so we already know how La Squadra would react

But Bucci Gang? Ohhh, another story

Bless Bruno's heart to be honest

He tries his best just to not lose his shit around you

He's managing

Well, somehow

Bruno just wants you to have a normal childhood :(

And your stories back from South Park

Let's just say he wasn't impressed

More like concerned about your mental health

A cuss word is a big no in this house

(Well, unless Bruno can't hear you)

Your cussing problem is his second biggest issue with you

"SHIT"

"LANGUAGE"

But he's patient with you. As much as he can be.

But Leone is not that patient

First it was type of "why would we take another child into the team" shock, then it was "how are you still alive" shock

Tries to avoid you at some point

Just no. Not today.

Is not impressed with your stories back from South Park either

And how randomly you just say that

Plus your sassiness

He hates it.

Tried to be closer to you especially because Bruno asked him but he just can't manage, for now at least

But it's not like you don't have your special bonding moments

Leone even laughed at your joke once

You're still proud about it

Giorno, just like Bruno, is concerned about your mental health

He knows how some bad treatment can influence a kid

So he really wants to dig deep into your behaviour

It's just no way a kid can be this feral

Talks with you a lot

He just likes to hear your opinion about stuff (even if you find that stuff boring)

"What do you think is a goal of humanity?"

"Ending this stupid philosophy quiz. Seriously dude, I just woke up"

Mista thinks you're hilarious

The way you're behaving is just so funny to him

And of course you get along well

Just don't tell Bruno that he cusses around you sometimes

Likes to hang out with you a lot

Movie nights, car rides, you name it

He enjoys your company that much

His little buddy in crime

He'll get you matching shirts

Fugo can't stand you

Everyone just tries to keep him as far as it's possible from you

They just know better.

And they know the price they will pay if they let you two in the same room

His anger issues is just too much to handle you

Maybe you could find the common ground someday, who knows

Narancia is your other buddy

Of course you sometimes scare him

But meh, he can handle it

Of course he thinks that most of your stories from your life in South Park is a joke

Cause there's just no way that someone would make your friend a part of a human centipede just because he didn't read the rules of usage on his phone

"Oh my god, your imagination don't have limits"

"Imagination???"

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c0ld0utside · 4 months

Text

Yan Werewolf Dad

Boo I'm back.

Let’s ignore the fact that I said I’d try to update every day. Have a yandere werewolf dad.

Thought of Drew’s (from After Dark on Webtoon) werewolf form while writing this.

Warnings (Let me know if I missed any): Possessiveness, blood, loss of teeth, reader gets dragged back home

Your mother left the two of you when you were young. Since then it’s been you and your dad. He’s a hardworking man, trying to make sure the two of you live comfortably and making sure you have a good childhood. Trying to make sure that you’re close to him. He can’t lose you, too. The two of you settled in a forest on a mountain after what happened. To keep you close and make sure you’re happy.

Your average day went like this:

Your Dad wakes you up and makes you breakfast while you get ready for school. He’ll ask you what you have going on today to help you remember. Quiz in your third-period class, you have an assignment due in fifth. Things like that while he takes your lunch out of the fridge and gives it to you. He’ll walk with you to the bus, wish you a good day, kiss you on the forehead, and go back home to head to work in his car.

Usually, you come home first. A few hours later your Dad will come back covered in small twigs and leaves, sometimes with a treat. You help him pull the twigs and leaves out of his hair and he’ll head into his bathroom to rinse. After the two of you make dinner, he’ll help you finish up your homework, and if you have time you’ll watch TV and tell each other how your day went. Once he deems that it’s time for you to go to bed, he sees you to your room, gives your forehead a kiss, and wishes you goodnight while reminding you that his door is always open if something is troubling you.

If something is bothering you, he’s happy when you come to him. Scared? You can sleep over. Nightmare? You can talk about it if you want, or you can skip that and go straight to him reassuring you and comforting you. Just can’t sleep? You’ll talk until you do. By “talk,” it’s actually him reminding you that you’re his #1, his VIP, the most precious thing in his entire world, and that he loves you. That he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he lost you. That he’s sorry if he was short with you earlier. He hates fighting with you. He just wants to make you happy.

Today is different.

It started normal. Your Dad shook you awake gently with a smile before heading downstairs to cook you up some breakfast. He asks you what you’re doing in second period today and if you remember what the two of you went over last night—feeling nervous? Don’t worry, he knows you’ll do fine. He hands you lunch, reminds you to put on your coat and tie your shoes, waits while you sling your backpack over your shoulders, and the two of you set off toward your bus stop. After a quick “Love you, bye!”, you board the bus and he watches you leave.

School is a blur. Second period’s quiz freaked you out a little bit but you know your Dad cares more about you than actual grades. Lunch is nice, per usual. A little note from your Dad telling you not to be too hung up over second period and that he hopes the rest of your school day is better. He also added in your favorite treat to cheer you up.

Before you know it you’re back on the bus, riding home. You head inside, kick off your shoes in the mudroom, and laze around for at least an hour or two before starting on your schoolwork. Another hour later, you frown when the clock hits 6:30 PM because your Dad should’ve been home by now. Okay…maybe he got held up with something. You keep at it and another hour goes by. You start to feel like something is wrong.

Pulling out your phone, you’re mid-dial when your dad practically bursts into the home. His breathing is all over the place and his arm-

Is covered in blood. Dripping and getting all over the floor and his clothes. You call out to him and ask him what happened, standing there in shock for a moment before going to find the medkit. As you search through his bathroom you hear a loud thump, followed by the sound of something not human.

“...Dad?”

Uneasy, you slowly make your way out of his room and into the kitchen. You hear his breathing, but you don’t see him. You see blood all over the kitchen island and sink- and there’s some small white thing on it as well.

“Dad? I got the medkit…” You offer, rounding the corner. And then you freeze because what the fuck.

Three teeth are scattered on the floor. Your Dad’s teeth. And hunched over on said floor is some large, fur-covered beast emitting steam and making the most gutwrenching sounds you have ever heard. Where is your dad? What is this thing in front of you? Are you dreaming? Did you fall asleep while doing your homework?

The creature shifts, and you can see the ugly bite mark on its arm. It lets out a loud, drawn-out whine as it rises, arm lazily flopping onto the counter while it tries to pull itself up. It balances itself, breathless and trying to process what’s going on. You take a step back and it turns its head to look at you.

Your Dad’s eyes look into your own. Deep red brown and soft. Scared. Mouth open. Fangs are where his canines used to be. He’s…taller. His skin seems tight on his body, which is covered in fur. His ears are like a wolf’s-

There’s no way.

Werewolves aren’t real. Right?

With the grace of a newborn deer, the beast- your Dad stumbles on shaky legs. He turns around, holding onto the island like his life depended on it. The two of you just stand there, staring at each other. Your Dad tries to speak but all that comes out is some sort of yip. Something in your head clicks, and you take several steps back. He whines and tries to move closer to you, only to fall. When you move further away, his eyes harden and he snarls at you.

You freeze. Your Dad tries to walk over to you, growling, and that’s when instinct takes over.

Leading to where you are now, running through the forest in the middle of the night. You’re trying to find the main road that your bus stop is at. You don’t really know why. Barely anyone takes this road aside from the bus that takes you to school and the few other people who live several miles away from you. The occasional passerby uses the road in their long journey to get from point A to point B.

You must’ve gotten turned around at some point. You’re nowhere near the street. You’re not even on the pathway you and your dad have walked down countless times. Alright. This is fine. You’ll find a way to retrace your steps in the middle of the dark. Totally.

A sound cuts through the air. Some sort of cry, a bark mixed with someone trying to call your name. Part of you wants to respond and go to it, realizing that you just left your Dad even though he needs help. The other half doesn’t recognize him as your Dad anymore. Just a monster that’s hunting you down. You freeze again as your brain fights with itself, self-preservation and emotion currently in a heated argument.

The arguing ceases and turns into panicked screaming when something pounces on you. Oh wait, no- you’re actually screaming. Out loud, not just in your head. The part of you that doesn’t want to die takes over and you start to struggle. In response, the monster snarls at you, claws digging into your skin. It stops when it draws blood and you start to cry, snarls switching into whimpers and whines.

It was an accident. He didn’t mean to. You scared him when you ran off and you won’t come back home. He��s just so scared. He needs you. You’re the only family he has left, and part of you is him, after all. So you need him, too.

Especially now. Even though it’s kind of his fault.

Your Dad tries to pick you up and carry you back home, but you won’t stop thrashing around so it turns into him having to drag you back home. Kicking and screaming while he tries to apologize but can only keep making those odd noises. Begging and calling for help while he starts to feel annoyed because he’s right here, he’ll help you and make it better, he promises internally.

Once you’re back home, it’s a bit odd. You have your Dad, who’s turned into a literal werewolf, dragging you inside after chasing and hurting you. He steers you over to the sink, washing the cuts he gave you with an apologetic look in his eye. It shifts into annoyance when he notices that you're also covered in dirt, scrapes, and other small cuts. This is what happens when you don't sit still. Your Dad bandages you up with shaky hands, still getting used to this new body of his. At this point, you’re too terrified and confused to fight back and cry.

You’re guided into your bedroom and you immediately scramble into your bed. It feels safer there. Your Dad closes the door, flopping down next to you and pulling you close. He needs this. Needs his pup- kid close to him. Needs to know that they’re safe and secure and happy. You can miss a few days of school while the two of you figure this out.

You look beautiful today! Remember to get 9 hours of sleep and drink water.

Everything will be okay <3

#yandere #platonic #platonic yandere #yandere dad #yandere imagines #yandad #yandere imagine #werewolf #yandere werewolf #yandere werewolf dad #is that even a tag #it is now

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piratefalls · 7 months

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another long list, except it's a day early because this is how i give thanks.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five.

No Sense or Sensibility by inexplicablymine

“When and where was your first kiss.” Oh shit. The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened. ____________________ Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

I'm Rememberin' I Promised (to Forget you Now) by Angelwithwingsoffire

It's been six years since Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated law school. And he's made a good life for himself, working with a firm he enjoys and making a difference in the world. Until a part of his past he'd thought he'd gotten over seven years ago walked back into his office asking for his help. To get a divorce. Which Alex has never done before. But he's never been able to say no, and he's willing to put his heart back under the bus for the chance at one more smile.

Rogue's Gallery by OrchidScript

Loathe as Alex was to admit it, Henry Fox was going to be a legend someday. He already was in the bureau depending on who was answering. Tied to art theft, jewel theft, one or two little sweet confidence schemes, and an alleged counterfeit Super Bowl ring, but caught on three counts of art forgery, the blond Brit had run circles around the Art Crimes division for six years. He was quick, smarter than the average bear, and more detail-oriented than a nuclear chemist. He had a penchant for nice suits, silk ties, and gin tonics with lime. He wrote letters to agents in taunting poetry, tucking them under windshield wipers or posting them to the office directly. Once, he managed to drop one directly into the pocket of a plainclothes officer without them seeing his face. _____________________ Henry Fox is a famous art forger, and Alex is the FBI agent who caught him three years ago. When one of Henry's aliases comes up attached to a new case, can the two put aside their cat-and-mouse past to put the copycat away?

Queer little ducks hold a special place in my heart. by anarchyat4am

Henry’s at a local Hispanic Heritage Month event browsing the art stalls when his gaze catches on a kid looking around with both purpose and nervousness. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt with one hand while she bites the nails of the other one, eyes alert and searching. Lost, then. And oh, Henry recognises her. She’s a regular at his bookstore, even at only six years old, and is there at least weekly with her dad—Alex, who she’d introduced to Henry as her papi—or various aunties and uncles, most of whom Henry doesn’t think are actually related to her. Keeping one eye on her, he lets his gaze sweep the vicinity but doesn’t see anyone else he even remotely recognises. Shit. He has to do something. “Sirena?” he calls gently. * Henry... is more than a bit useless around hot guys. So when he finds the lost kid of the gorgeous dad who frequents his bookstore, he pulls himself together until they reunite, only to then be devastated by the revelation that the man thinks Henry hates him. And, well... courage always rises, and all that.

just say you won't let go by viciouslyqueer

After dancing around each other for months, Alex and Henry finally get together. The morning after comes with a slight misunderstanding and comforting words.

We were supposed to find this by kiwiana

Still, half an hour after shaking Prince Henry’s hand for the first time, he finds himself back in his hotel room with one shoe and sock hurriedly tugged off and his right foot resting on his left knee. Just to check. Just in case Alex is somehow, by some miracle, about to become the first documented case of Surprise! You Can Totally Have A Different Soulmate, We Fucked Up And Your One Kind Of Sucks. No such luck. The words are the same as they’ve always been, etched into his skin in a careful, calligraphic font. The kind of handwriting someone might have if, for example, they came from the sort of family that valued tradition and etiquette far higher than letting their children write like normal human beings.

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by politics_and_prose

Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

The Perils of Midsomer Residency by clottedcreamfudge

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that care should be taken, given the Mountchristens' local influence?" Liam nods. "Sir." Luna then turns to Alex. "Do not piss anyone in that family off." Alex throws his hands in the air. "So many aspersions have been cast on my good character this morning that I could start a fucking farm. An aspersions farm." Luna narrows his eyes. "Correction," he says, "have another coffee and then do not piss anyone in that family off. Don't make me regret fast-tracking you through the ICI Development Programme." * After getting shot in the line of duty back in Texas, June forces Alex into a change of scenery. Because how much can really be going on in the quaint little English county of Midsomer?

something that feels like forever by dearestalez

“You’re crying,” she pointed out. Alex choked on a laugh, wiping his eyes. “I’m just-” he sniffed, holding her so delicately Henry felt herself melt into the touch. “I’m so happy for you, baby.” — alex and henry are so in love it makes me want to rip out my heart and stomp on it but slash pos

behind brick walls by weather_stained

After Henry and Alex move in together, it takes quite a while for them to fully adjust to their newfound freedom. Alex very much enjoys watching Henry grow more comfortable in his own skin after a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis

5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess by affectionatelyrs

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” - Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it

baby boy by smc_27

It starts as a joke. Alex taking the piss about how much money Henry has. How he could have anything he wanted, from anyone he wanted, if only he just asked.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper

"How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way." OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

Au Naturel by cmere

The French doors leading to the office are thrown open, so he has a moment to take in the scene in front of him: Alex, lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicked up and crossed at the ankle, surrounded by books, papers, and two open laptops. None of that, however, catches Henry's attention as much as Alex's hair, secured in a small, messy knot on top of his head with nothing but a single wooden chopstick. Henry blinks rapidly several times. "Alex," Henry says, somehow hoarse. Alex's head whirls around. There's a single, perfectly curled tendril over the apple of his cheek; his scruff has hit the mystical, magical point where it's more soft beard than prickly shadow; his reading glasses sit atop his adorable nose; and Henry realizes with sudden gravity that he's not entirely in control of his physical responses anymore—something has to give. Alex hasn't really been bothering with some of his usual upkeep, and Henry is kind of extremely into it.

You deserve my love by whateveridk

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to." Henry had turned towards him, stealing himself, sticking his chin out, and said “leave.” Alex has been picking up the pieces ever since. Two years later, living with Nora and June in NYC, it still haunts him, but it's fine. Whatever, he is fine. And then... Breaking News: Prince Henry comes out as gay So it's not fine, Alex is not fine.

sex ed in 6 steps by coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.“Excuse me?”“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.” Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth. Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

More Than A Makeover by everwitch

The Fab Five—Alex, June, Nora, Liam and Spencer—descend on a New York based shelter for disenfranchised queer youth to give the place a much needed makeover. As the week progresses, sparks start to fly between Alex, the culinary representative of the queertastic quintet, and Henry, the sweetly charming founder of the shelter. It’s a deeply emotional week full of unexpected realizations, and certainly a week that strengthens Henry’s friendship with Pez in ways that neither of them quite knew they needed. As the week comes to a close and the Queer Eye team say their goodbyes, it remains to be seen what will become of the warm connection between Alex and Henry. Will it last, or was it too much of a perfect miracle to ever grow into something real?

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course. Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's parents. The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace.

A Toast to the Night by allmylovesatonce

Henry looks up from his drink and swears his jaw drops. Standing in front of him is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. From his dark brown curls to the way his deep eyes gleam as he stands there, an awkward smile on his face. Henry is nearly sure this man is going to ask for his seat. He probably has some woman with him, scouring for a place to sit. “Uh, hi,” the man says. “Hi.” “Look, this is really awkward,” he says and Henry feels the confirmation in his gut — also maybe disappointment. “My ex-boyfriend just walked in and I really don’t want to talk to him. I was wondering if I could sit here with you so that he won’t talk to me.”

That's What You Get For Waking Up in Vegas by bleedingballroomfloor

The bartender slides Alex the whiskey and shot of water before turning her attention to the person behind him. He turns around at the same time as the person speaks, “Gin and tonic” in all rounded vowels, a distinct English accent shining through, and he swears his heart stops. “Holy shit,” Alex says before he can stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “Henry?” When Alex is celebrating June and Nora's bachelorette party in Vegas, the last person he expects to see is his ex-boyfriend Henry, who moved back to London nearly a year ago. Waking up next to him the following morning, naked and sated with a marriage certificate poking out of his pocket, he starts to wonder if he's truly over Henry.

hang on 'til the chaos is through by ShyAudacity

David is lounging on his spot at the foot of the bed when Alex comes in. He opts not to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb Henry, but then quickly finds that the light is on in their bathroom. Henry must still be getting cleaned up before bed; Alex can say hello and check on Henry when he steps out. It’s weird that he’s still up. Henry was awake well before Alex was this morning and… come to think of it, Alex can’t remember him ever coming to bed last night. Alex has only made it through the top three buttons on his dress shirt when he hears a terrifying crash come from the bathroom. Clutching his chest, he steps towards their shared bathroom, afraid to see what’s on the other side. “Henry? …H, what was-.” Alex stops short in the doorway, startled to find the love of his life in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

Sad Again (Don't Tell My Boyfriend) by lucy_in_the_sky

After proposing to Alex, Henry writes a letter to his father reflecting on all the moments he’ll never get to share with him. AKA Alex comforts a mourning Henry and promises to be there for him, forever and always.

monster mash by matherine

None of Henry’s answers to “Who are you supposed to be?” are particularly funny to anyone but him, especially in his inebriated state, so he’s completely given up on making any sense when the latest person asks him, someone who he assumes is yet another sorority girl in a skimpy costume from the glimpse of a cheerleading skirt he gets while they brush past him to open the fridge. “George Villiers,” he offers. “Deep cut, England,” a decidedly male voice snorts, and Henry can’t help the way his head snaps up, eyes wide.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“Henry,” Alex rasps wonderingly, sounding almost entranced, “I want to eat your ass.” Henry’s train of thought screeches to a halt with such force that for a moment, he thinks he might’ve had a stroke.

how did a middle-class divorcé do it? by Time_Sequence

Not really concerned, Alex watched the typing bubble appear – disappear – appear again, like Henry couldn’t quite find the words to say what it was he was thinking. Most likely, he was trying to find the perfect sarcastic quip in response. What came through made him genuinely pause. HRH Prince Dickhead💩: You complete and utter moron Then, HRH Prince Dickhead💩: Royalty can’t marry divorcees If Alex had been having a good time before, he definitely wasn’t now. - When a joking interview reveals that Alex and Nora drunkenly married ten years ago, suddenly Alex's upcoming wedding to Prince Henry is jeopardised.

discreet packaging by demigodbeautiies

“Please, please, please explain to me,” Zahra says, finally, sounding more than a little bit long-suffering. “Why I had to have the head of the Secret Service sit me down and tell me to give you a talk about avoiding bomb scares with unidentifiable packaging.”

the world watched (and the world smiled) by fangirl6202

"Oh,” Alex says finally, faintly, touching one hand to his lips. Then: “Shit.” His mind catches up then, realizing that Henry is walking away and he doesn't even think twice. He begins to quite literally chase after him, trying to get to him before he can get away or, God forbid, try to fly back to England and ghost him. Henry is very pointedly not looking at him, stuttering apology over apology until Alex has to quite literally throw himself in front of him to get him to stop. Alex doesn’t know what to do. But the answer is simple, isn’t it? So fucking simple. He takes Prince Fucking Charming’s lapels into his hand and kisses him back. Or; it's New Years, and Henry stays.

Rabbit Hole by TuppingLiberty

Some sort of non-famous au, don't worry, there's not really a plot. Alex has been going down a research rabbit hole for hours and Henry comes to rescue him.

Let Loose Your Glow by athousandrooms

“Seems like my liege was caught in a situation where he’d rather the ground swallow him whole.” Pez nods towards a spot to the side, and Alex follows his gaze. He spots Henry easily – a tall lighthouse of tousled blond hair – talking to a girl who is clearly into him. His expression looks perfectly polite, but he’s subtly leaning away, and he looks tense. So, Alex makes an impulsive decision. Whatever happens, this is going to be fun. *** Or: Alex is so very definitely straight, so pretending to be Henry’s boyfriend to get him out of an awkward situation should just be a fun little pastime - except that he doesn't really want to stop, and he has no idea why. But maybe it's okay to not think too hard and let himself go with the flow, for once.

Things I Cannot Accept by SprigsofViolets

In 2016, Ellen Claremont lost the presidential election. In 2019, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not the first son of the United States, so he’s shocked when his path crosses with Prince Henry for the first time in almost four years.

How well you play...that's up to you by happinessofthepursuit

Treacherous (adjective) guilty of or involving betrayal or deception; (of ground, water, conditions, etc.) hazardous because of presenting hidden or unpredictable dangers. Or, how to describe surgical residency in a single word. A Grey's Anatomy inspired AU.

In Accord by absoluteaudacity

Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

A Heart Even More Your Own by chaa_kiao

“Guess you’ll be writing those poems after all.” He swallows. "I should go." Henry’s mind— every part of him, really— his heart, his body, his fucking soul— is screaming at him to take it all back. To hell with the monarchy, the American presidency, damn it all. This is the man he’s spent his entire life loving and he’s throwing it away for a legacy he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He forces out a rough “I think so,” but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. “I love you.” “Alex—” “I know,” Alex says. “I just had to say it.” _______ Or: Alex and Henry getting back together takes a little bit longer this time.

you are my mountain (you are my sea) by alasse

Five times Alex and Henry have important conversations in houses, and one time they have a very important conversation in a castle.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all. Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems? OR Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

Let Them Eat Cake by rohruh

“I wanna eat you out,” Alex’s voice comes out raspy and intrepid through the phone pressed against Henry’s ear. Henry lets out a soft whine at the admission, his breath up-ticking in synchrony with his hips as he thrusts up into his hand. “I’d like that,” he tells Alex eagerly, cradling the phone in his palm as though he could materialize Alex right there in front of him if he presses it against his ear firmly enough. “I’ve never done it to a guy before,” Alex confesses. “Is it… different from eating out a girl? I bet you’d taste so good, baby. Fuck.”

A Thousand Words by Thunder_Cakes

After that Han/Leia mural both their accounts go silent for a while. For months, actually. They’re both in therapy after Alex tried to post a selfie with June after election night and had a panic attack before he could hit “Share.” Suddenly the thought of sharing the details of his life and loved ones with the world is paralyzing. Wonder why. or: Alex, Henry and what they choose to share of their life

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel

“So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually. “No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.” Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?” (Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

in the mood for... by carzla

Henry knows that he’s the one who said “casual”, and it had been a reminder to himself that that was all it could ever be between him and Alex. So, telling Alex that they should “make love” is probably a mistake in syntax bigger than he could safely afford. But they’re in Paris and Henry is feeling terribly, terribly maudlin.

something good and right and real by HypnosTheory

“This is pretty expensive for a high school trinket.” “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Alex jokes. Henry looks up at Alex, who’s standing with his shoulders relaxed for the first time since October. The relief of his mother’s victory has made him loose-limbed and calm, his smile easy and lovely. Henry looks down at the crown in his hands and back at Alex. He imagines the gold half-buried in Alex’s hair, heavy on the man’s brow, decadent and royal. Henry swallows, face heating, and holds the crown out to Alex. “Put it on.” -- After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

In His Wildest Dreams by myheartalive

Once Alex has pulled out, Henry turns over to face him. He strokes the hair softly away from his face and Alex smiles at him. “So… that happened again.” Henry leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. “Indeed.” There’s a sort of thoughtful pause, where Henry can see Alex working to pull together the right words. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you that… thirsty?” “Oh, bugger off,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. It’s a fair description. “No, but I mean it. You were like… urgent. It was hot.” “It felt hot. I liked waking up like that. With you up against me, trying to have your way with me.” — Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process — Mind the tags, y'all. That particular tag features prominently and it’s a major plot point, so if that’s not your jam, just hit the back button.

until next time!

#rwrb rec list #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex and henry #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #alex x henry #fic rec #rwrb fic rec #rwrb fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Prerequisite

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You attempt to move on from your time with Professor Hansen, but can't seem to shake the past.. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, some Lloyd Hansen

A note on reader characters:

For clarity, each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Flora, previously featured in Below Average. This fic also features characters from various installments.

Note: Finally got this on paper.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at the front of the lecture hall. It's your last choice in elective but the only one you could get to pad out your schedule. Law. Hardly riveting stuff.

What's more intriguing is the professor. No, no, you haven't acquired a taste for them, if anything Hansen taught you to be wary of them. The very lesson that has you glaring down at Professor Barber, waiting for his first slip.

You're not clever by any means, you're just the only one looking for the signs. The same ones you saw in Tweed at your first meeting, those that you catch in yourself, and the other girls who won't say the truth aloud.

Brownie, that's the one. You see the way he looks at her and you note how she stays after class, every week. Only three weeks so far but a pattern is a pattern.

You twist your pen, the nib poking out, then do it again, retracting it. The clicking noise forms a tempo at your listless fidgeting. You have a study date tonight with the girls, what’s one more? You’re forming a habit of taking on lost souls, yourself just another wisp floating in the void.

You scribble down the date for your next quiz, your mind hardly processing the words as you guide the pen. You’re trying to plot your approach. You think you have an idea.

As Professor Barber dismisses class, you slide your notebook into your bag and hike it up onto your shoulder. At the edge of the row, as usual, you quickly descend as Brownie stays in her seat, waiting and watching her feet. You catch the small glances aimed in her direction from the man behind the podium.

You take out your phone and quickly text Cookie; ‘you got room for one more?’

You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind, it’s a warning, not a question.

“Hey,” you come around the front row. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Or she’s ignoring you, “um, Brownie?”

She looks up, startled. She sends a look towards Barber but you ignore him. You cross your arms and sway, your skirt stirring around your legs.

“Remember me?” You ask, “you lent me your pen?”

“Oh, uh, I remember,” she squeaks, her voice thin and raw, as if she never uses it, “hi.”

“Um, so,” you try to sound casual, “I’m not really a law student. English,” you touch your chest and smile, “and I think I could use a study buddy, if you’re interested?”

“Er, oh?” Her brows draw together, “I don’t know…” she scratches her neck, another peek at the professor, “I–”

“Do you have plans? Or maybe you already have someone to study with,” you look away and frown, “sorry, I just figured I’d ask. I need someone to help me make sense of all this. I’m totally lost.”

There’s a subtle rumble, a noise you likely wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know to listen for it. You don’t even glance back at Barber as you hear him packing up. You sit in the chair next to Brownie and smile.

“I just figured you’re like, the smartest person in the class, and I need this grade to bring my average up. Please?”

She chews her lip and plays with the high collar of her turtleneck. She hides beneath her lashes, shrugging before she manages a tiny nod. Her fingers flutter and she shivers nervously.

“I can help,” she presses her fingers to the ribbed fabric of her shirt, “sure, I…”

“Me and my friends are meeting tonight, we’re getting pizza,” you chirp, “wanna tag along?”

“Friends?” She bats her eyes at you frightfully.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re all super friendly and they’ll love you.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not very…” she speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say much,” you assure her, “Cookie always bakes way too many brownies. You could help us finish them, huh?”

She looks terrified. Her mouth scrunches and shifts back and forth as she measures her options. You know exactly what she’s thinking. That man will be disappointed. Well, let him be. Unless he wants to step forward and admit that he’s fucking a goddamn student.

“Hm, okay, but… just for a little. I can’t stay very long.”

“Just until I figure out what actus reus means, alright?” You stand and send a sharp look towards the professor. He quickly dips his chin down in feigned concentration as he looks over his notes. Not today, fucker.

“Okay,” she gets up and lifts a crochet bag, her hand shaking as she tucks away her laptop in the slouchy purse, “um, I’m sorry, but… I forgot your name.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you wait for her to pass you before walking at her side towards the door. She’s still hesitant and reluctant as she looks over her shoulder, “Flora.”

💮

“This is Brownie,” you introduce the mousy addition to the girls as she tries to fade into the blue wall, “she’s in my law class.”

She doesn’t move. She just looks up with round eyes as the others cheerily call out their welcome, already clustered around the table amid coffee cups, laptops, and a few baked goods. The scent of cinnamon mingles with the stale caffeine.

“Welcome, Brownie,” Muse gives both of you a start as she appears at the girl’s other shoulder, “I’m Muse! Oh, you have wise eyes.” She flutters around the girl, a boa around her shoulders, “you would look wonderful in jade. Yes, it would highlight your undertones.”

Brownie frowns and mutters, but you can’t tell if it's a thank you or just a whimper.

“She says I’m a sapphire type,” you remark as you wave her away from the door, “you can toss your coat with ours,” you motion to the bench bench piled with outerwear, “then I’ll introduce you to the rest… they’re not as bouncy as Muse.”

Brownie gives up her dark gray coat and steps out of her plain boots. She dresses in a very simple way. Turtle necks, corduroys, nothing with much shape or structure. Her style can be best described as part of the wall.

“So,” you walk just ahead of her. She stays behind you as if trying to hide, “Tweed, Foxy, Sunny,” you point out the three girls at the table, “you met Muse,” you look at the artsy wraith fluttering around the counter, “and Cookie, our host.”

The woman in question puts down a plate of sugar cookies, “hi, nice to meet you! I’ll find an extra chair.”

Brownie doesn’t say a word. You realise it might be a bit overwhelming. She reminds you of Tweed in that way. You point her to a chair and assure her you’ll take whatever Cookie comes up with. She sits, hugging her bag in her lap as she stares at the table.

Foxy gets up as you head for the counter, you pause and look back at Brownie, “you want some tea? Something to drink?”

She chews her lip before she answers, “water, please, if that’s okay.”

You nod and go to the cupboard. Foxy comes up next to you and leans on the counter as you shift to pull out the water jug from the fridge. You come back to her as she keeps her voice low.

“What’s up with that one?”

“Law professor, I think,” you mutter, “could barely get her here.”

“Fuck, another one, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, you know, shitty men everywhere,” you fill the glass, “I brought her here to try to forget all that. Like the rest of us.”

“Sure thing,” she taps the countertop with her nails and pushes off.

You put the jug back and take the water over to Brownie as Cookie emerges with a small white stool. You accept it, the seat lower than the rest so that you feel like a kid at the table. You pull out your laptop and open it up. Your phone slides out with it and you catch it as notifications flash on the screen.

You tap your thumb to expand the preview; Insta, emails, and a text that neither surprises or interests you. Professor Dillhole’s message is swiped away without reading a single word. You got your grade and now you’re done with him. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“So, Brownie, you’re in law? Are you going to be a lawyer?” Foxy asks.

Brownie shrugs and nods. You wonder for a moment how she’ll manage a courtroom when she can barely give a vocal answer. Well, she has lots of time to figure that out.

“That’s really cool,” you say, “you know, I don’t have the mind for all that. I can’t really sort out one act from the rest. I’m more into bigger narratives than the tiny details.”

She looks at you, still hugging her bag. She’s ready to leave at any moment.

“Why don’t you stay a while?” You poke her bag, “how about we compare notes? I’m sure I missed all the important stuff. This tort gibberish is doing my head in.”

She puts her chin down and slowly lifts the flap of her bag. She slides out her laptop and gently lowers the bag between her feet. She opens the lid, almost reluctant, and her desktop comes to life. You see the email in the corner right before the notif flicks away. A.Barber… Mmm.

For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your impromptu invitation doesn’t cost her anything. That he doesn’t hold it against her. You should’ve thought of that sooner.

“Let me find…” she trails off, her finger running over the trackpad.

You wait patiently. No, you don’t feel bad. She deserves this. Like the rest of you, she needs a place to get away. Just a single space where she doesn’t have to be crushed under his thumb.

💮

You sit outside of Dean Drysdale’s office. His secretary types away at her keyboard and you twirl your phone in your grip. It’s mostly a paperweight these days as you ignore almost every message that comes in. Blocking didn’t work on that jag off.

You jiggle your foot anxiously. This meeting is important. You really need this scholarship and through the grace of your hard work, and the regrettable cooperation of a particular professor, you’ve met all the requirements. The last piece, an interview with the dean.

The clock ticks, drawing your attention in the stagnant office. It’s five after. The dean is running late. That doesn’t really matter, he can do whatever he wants. But you’re early and that can only help in his consideration.

You hear muffled voices near the other side of the door. Shadows darken the frosted glass emblazoned with the dean’s name and credentials. You sit up straight but try not to look too eager. The door opens and your heart falls into your ass. Fuck, not this guy.

“Friday,” Dean Drysdale claps Lloyd’s back as they emerge from the office.

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd returns but his eyes are on you, “ah, sorry,” he says to you, “didn’t mean to keep him so late.”

“No problem, professor,” you stand and grip the strap of your bag, masking your disgust with a smile, “Dean Drysdale,” you greet the other man, “nice to meet you. I’m Flora.”

“The one and only,” he doesn’t offer his hand, “looks like you’re running behind so better get started.” He points you into his office, “later, Hansen.”

He tosses the last remark over his shoulder as he turns to follow you through the door. You enter and hover across from his desk. You hate to be presumptuous. He shuts the door with a click.

“Sit,” he orders tersely as he rounds the desk and falls heavy into the leather chair.

You lower yourself. Your nerves are wily, especially after seeing Professor Hansen. You had no idea he was close with the dean.

“Hansen speaks highly of you,” he begins, “as do the rest of your professors.”

“Oh, I, that’s great.”

“So, I have thirty candidates. Why should I choose you?” He leans back, elbow on the armrest, posture nonchalant as he swivels.

“Um, well, I work hard. I keep my average up where it needs to be. I have gotten involved in quite a few extracurriculars, I helped with the library bakesale and–”

“Boring. Got it. That’s all in your application,” he dismisses, “just like all the other ones. Bunch of filler. But why you?”

You’re speechless. You prepared for this but you feel as if you fell into this from thin air. You don’t know what he wants to hear.

“How many parties have you been to?” He asks suddenly.

“What?” You can’t help your surprise.

“Come on. You’re a young coed. I know how it is. So, let’s narrow it down. Fall term, how many?”

You squint and look at the wall, thinking. You’re not much of a partier. You twiddle your fingers and count in your head.

“Four, maybe,” you push your shoulders up. “I don’t really… I mostly just spend my spare time with my friends–”

“Are they hot?” He chuckles and sits up, your mouth falling open. “Relax, I hate these things. So uptight,” he rolls his shoulders as he wheels closer to the desk and plants his elbows, “at least you're honest. The last six freshmen that sat there insisted on a big O. Think they would see the plaque and realise I’m not stupid.”

“Well, I… yeah,” you chew on the tip of your tongue. You really don’t know how to proceed. “I brought a portfolio of my essays–”

“No time for that,” he waves his hand at you, “think I got the picture.”

“Oh,” you frown.

He stares at you, poking his cheek with his tongue as his brows draw together. He hums and sits back, once more swiveling back and forth. He tilts his head and clucks.

“You’ll hear from my secretary,” he declares at last.

“That’s it?” You gulp.

“Yeah, whatever, I got about five more of these today and I need a fucking coffee,” he lifts his feet onto his desk. “Be a doll and send in Sienna when you leave.”

“Um, okay,” you stand slowly, “thanks for your time.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes out his phone. You hide your unease and leave. As you emerge you see the name card on the secretary’s desk. Sienna.

“Er, he told me to send you in,” you approach.

She looks up at you and snaps her gum, “great.”

She gets up as she rolls her eyes and you swiftly march past the desk. You don’t understand what just happened. Did you fuck it up? What did Hansen say? Oh my fucking good, you swear if he–

Your thoughts race ahead of your feet as they carry you without intention. You find yourself in the stairwell, stunned and confused. You turn down the first flight only to dodge out of the way of a figure coming up. You yipe as you find yourself shoved into the corner, Lloyd’s arms outstretched to pen you in.

His hands brace the painted brick as he smirks down at you, “hey, sweet cheeks, long time, no suck.”

You curl your lip at him and snarl, “get away from me.”

You shove on his chest and he retracts his hands, grabbing your wrists. You struggle with him but he easily pushes your hands up, pinning them to the wall. He leers as looms in front of you, his eyes scanning down your body.

“Damn, I forgot how good you look in those skirts. Panties or nah?”

“Fuck off–”

“Always looked better around your waist–”

“I said get the fuck off of me. I’ll scream–”

“I’d love to hear it,” he snickers, “what happened to us, flower? We were doing great. Living life, fucking hard.”

“You’re an animal–”

“We had a good thing, the whole professor-with-benefits gig worked for us, didn’t it? It sure as hell loosened you up. Look at you, all wound tight–”

You snap your teeth at him and he recoils, barely saving his nose from the chomp. He cackles and keeps you trapped, squeezing your wrists tighter. His laughter rolls out to a growl.

“You know, if you get that scholarship, they need two professor’s to sign off on it… but you know, I don’t just put my name on anything–”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I fucking am when I got blue balls, honey,” he scoffs, “just touch em. A little bit.”

You grit your teeth and throw your knee up. You yank your hands free and shoulder past Lloyd as he bends and grips his crotch. He chokes on his breath as he leans against the wall. You bluster away as quickly as you can.

“Not like that,” he gurgles as you charge down the stairs, dizzy as you turn down the next flight.

So much for that scholarship.

💮

You stare at the C circled in red on your last quiz. Law isn’t your forte, that’s clear. Your GPA and hopes for that scholarship are dwindling in that simple little letter. You look up at the front of the lecture hall as Professor Barber reclaims the podium, preparing to take up the answers as he does every other week.

You sit closer than before. You’re always sure to take the seat next to Brownie and she has yet to tell you to stop. Something about her though suggests that she won’t ever do that. No has been erased from her vocabulary.

You don’t miss the Professor’s eyes as they flit up to your study buddy but quickly meet your own. He darts them away, caught. You wonder, however, if your middling grade has something to do with that. Oh well, you won’t regret doing the right thing.

As you open your laptop, an email pops up in the corner. ‘On Behalf of Dean R. Drysdale’. You click on it before you can stop yourself. You’re holding your breath. You read it slowly.

‘Schedule a follow up for the dean’s decision’.

What? That’s not an answer. Fuck. Why can’t they just put it right there? Yes or no. You have to stop yourself from slamming your laptop shut. You grab your quiz and rest it over your keyboard. You look over at Brownie, she stares at the paper in her hand. She got an A, as always.

“Good job,” you whisper.

“Mmm, yeah,” she returns as she drops the quiz onto her folding desk. “He’s a good teacher…”

“Sure,” you accept dryly.

She glances at you but says nothing. You hate to be sharp with her but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. You’re just smart enough to know to be cautious. You can only be there for her when she needs you. It would be too risky to do anything else. And not fair to Brownie, that man could destroy her career. You’ve been her, you just hope she finds her way out.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Barber calls out, quieting the class, “it seems we need a lot of review on case law.”

💮

The hour is unexpected but you don’t think much of it. A dean is busier than most and you can’t help but imagine that Drysdale is even less elated to be meeting at such an off-time. Seven in the evening on a Friday is prime time, even for those outside the coed population.

You show up to an empty office. Sienna is gone, the place desolate. The vibe is off. Something about it reminds you of another meeting. No, this isn’t Hansen. Still, you’re on edge, vigilant as you approach the dean’s door, an amber glow through the frosted glass.

You knock and cross one arm over your chest, clutching your upper arm. You sway as you wait. Deja vu paralyses you on the spot. It can’t be. It can’t happen twice. This is about the scholarship.

The door opens and Drysdale steps back as he gives a flippant greeting, “come in.”

He has a glass in hand, a dark brown liquid in marbled crystal. He sips as the door falls open. You step inside and look around the office, the framed degree behind his chair and the several photographs placed around them; a previous dean with his imperious features, and a large house with a rustic landscape crowded around it. You hover at the threshold.

“Close the door,” he sits heavily, “these old buildings are drafty as–” he stops himself and smirks.

He drains the last of his drink, liquor by your measure, and puts it on the marble coaster. You shut the door and sit, just like last time. You can’t help but be slightly irked to think he brought you all the way here to issue you a rejection.

“So, top three,” he points a finger gun at you as he slumps in the same lackadaisical way, “Flora… you’re a star. Shining reviews. Can’t say my professors ever said anything nice about me but you… you even got Hansen singing your praises.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“I’ve known him a while. We were in the same frat, you know? He was a senior when I was a freshman, hazed me real good but look how things turned out,” he leans an elbow on the armrest and cradles his chin. He watches you. “All these years and I never heard him say anything nice about a fucking student.”

You’re put off by the obscenity. Further, upended by his history with Lloyd. What does that have to do with anything?

“You know, he’s all about self-discipline but you get a few scotches down his gullet and he’s like an open book. Also…” he raises a finger, “leaves his phone unlocked.”

You try not to let that suspicion turn to panic. He can’t know. Even if he did, it’s not your fault. He should be talking with Hansen, not you. He’s the one abusing his position.

“You let him fuck you in his car,” he sits up and laughs, his hand on his stomach, “looking at you, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? How–”

“I mean, he was hitting it from quite the angle so I don’t blame you for not noticing the phone in his front pocket…”

“No.”

“Yes,” he cackles. “Listen, sweetie, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Some girls just don’t have anything else to offer, so who am I to be mad if they use what they got.”

“I’m not– I’m not like that. He made me–”

“Oh, I’m sure the promise of an A plus helped,” he scoffs as he lets his hand drift down his stomach, “so what can a scholarship get me?”

He gropes himself through his russet coloured pants. Your throat constricts as you clutch your purse tight in your lap. You’re rigid, alight in horror and shame. Of course Lloyd didn’t walk away without something.

“I’ve waited twenty years for this,” he plants his feet.

“No, I’m not– I’m not doing this again.”

You stand and Drysdale rips his hand away from his crotch, snapping his fingers, “with that video, I could take you to the review board and have you kicked out. Not only that, all your credits would be invalidated.”

You swallow and wince. No, this can’t be happening. Again. You’re stronger than this. You’re worth more than these men’s dicks.

“So, sweetie pie,” he reaches forward and takes his phone off his desk, “we’re gonna make a nice little video for Hansen and show him how it’s really done.”

You shudder and hug yourself, “I…” your throat is dry, your heart hollow. What other choice do you have? You’ll lose everything. “I’ll do it, but no video. Please.”

“My rules. I am the dean and you are… the slutty coed.” He tuts, “mmm, classic Pornhub fodder.” He taps the screen of his phone, “let’s go. Get your clothes off.”

He aims the lens at you. You look at the floor. You can’t move.

“Please, turn it off.”

“Get your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, “I want to remind that fuckface what he’s missing out on.”

You dig your nails into the back of your arms then let go. You keep your head down as you lift the strap of your purse over your head and throw it in the chair behind you. You unzip your coat and shrug it off. The room rings in your ear and blurs in your vision. Your breaths are shallow and painful. Your skin is buzzing.

Your coat falls and you pull down the straps of the denim dress you wear over a flowered blouse. You shimmy it past your waist and peek up for just a minute. Drysdale bites his thumb as he records you.

You quickly tear away your gaze and continue. You unbutton the blouse and turn as you fight to free your wrists from the cuffs. Goosebumps speckle over your skin. You close your eyes and ball your hands before pushing your fingers wide. You touch the top of your stockings.

“You can leave those on, cheeks.”

You gulp and retract your hands. You pause and turn back to face the desk.

“Tits out, ass out, go on.”

No wonder he’s tight with Lloyd. Birds of a feather. You reach back to undo your bra and sling it onto the chair. You hook your thumbs in your panties and step out of them.

“I always liked an extra helping,” Drysdale taunts, “her cups overfloweth… is that Shakespeare?”

You don’t answer. You fight the urge to hide behind your arms. You raise your head. You have a morsel of dignity left in you.

“Come here,” he demands, “I wanna fuck those tits.”

You cringe but obey. If Lloyd taught you anything it was to just get it over with. You round the desk as he opens his fly. He pulls himself out above the zipper, playing with himself, rolling his thumb over his tip as he growls.

“Knees, baby, I’m sure you know the drill,” he snickers. You get down as he wiggles his dick in your direction, “push those things together.” You grab your chest and smush it together. He taps your tits with his tip and laughs, enjoying his mocking.

He guides himself down under your tits and slides between. He cups a hand around yours as he refocuses the phone on you. He rocks the chair back, moving his pelvis as he slowly starts to thrust. He groans at the friction. You clench your jaw tight, dreaming of biting off the end of his overinflated worm.

His breath hitches as he fucks faster, the bottom of his wolly sweater rolling up his muscles stomach. You could just punch him right there. You could grab him by his balls and twist. No, that would only assure you of your scholarly doom.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You snap your eyes open as he shoves the phone in your face. You shy away but he keeps fucking, turning the lens down towards your tits. He gives a breathy laugh and it trickles into a moan. Weak and pathetic.

“Shit, yeah, that’s good,” he groans, “give it a kiss, baby.”

You grit back your disgust. You bend your neck and kiss his tip as it pokes through.

“With tongue.”

You force your tongue out as his tip pops up again and you swirl around it, planting a sloppy kiss on the salty flesh. He twitches and hisses. He pulls his hand away from yours and grips the chair.

“That’s good, get up,” he snarls, “turn around.”

You suck in a chestful of air and do as he says. You get to your feet and turn away. He grabs your hips and rolls closer.

“Bend over.”

You bend and rest your elbows on the edge of the desk. He angles you down into his lap, your body stretched between the two. He rubs his dick against your ass, once more tapping. He kneads the flesh. You shake your head as he tilts you further down.

He prods at your cunt and you can’t help but clench. He pushes against your entrance, tight and burning as he grunts, bulling his way past the resistance with a slap against your thigh. He latches onto your hip and pulls you down another inch.

“It’s all you. You just gotta fuck that scholarship outta me.”

You bite your lip and force yourself to take him. You hip down until you reach your limit but before you can pull back up, he grabs on and holds you in place.

“More.”

You sink your teeth in deeper, urging yourself lower until it’s unbearable. You take him in fully and let out a shaky breath through your nose. You raise your ass as he lets you go. He lets out a raspy noise and you repeat the motion. You keep your motion mechanical and slow, trying to adjust.

“Faster. I wanna see you jiggle.”

You roll your eyes and claw at your arm, arms crossed over the desk as you rock your weight over him. The flesh claps loudly as his chair squeaks with each descent. He groans and gulps, hand wandering over your flesh, along your thighs, across your ass, up your back.

“Fuck, look at her go,” he snarks, “you work that dick. Just like that.”

You close your eyes and let the scowl mar your features. You speed up. He’s almost there. You can feel the tension, you can hear it in his voice.

“Ah,” he pinches you meanly, “stop!”

You try to keep going but he pushes you off of him. He growls and the chair jars as he sits up. You puff and peek around your shoulder at him.

“I’m cumming in your fucking mouth,” he cradles his balls, half-keeled over. “Open the fuck up before I blow–”

You get back to your knees and glare at him. You won’t falter. You have nothing over these men but that. You lean your head back and open your mouth. He lets himself go and holds the camera over you.

“Well, not gonna finish itself.”

You grab him, roughly, and he grunts. A warning. You ease up and stroke him, placing your mouth by his tip.

“Look into the camera, cheeks.”

You glare at the camera, you hope it can catch the sheer loathing radiating from you. You stroke him, squeezing harder and harder until he spasms and mewls. He spurts all over, missing your mouth and streaking up the bridge of your noises and across your brow, a few strings over your cheek.

He gasps and clings to the chair as if he might slip out of it, the camera drooping with his arm. You let him go and wipe your slimy hand. You stand and snatch a tissue from the box on his desk and wipe the mess from your face. His heavy breaths fill the silence.

“Can I go?” You ask flatly.

“I got nothing else for you,” he spits out.

You refuse to look at him as you dress. He chuckles. You fight not to turn around and throw every single thing on his desk at him. You hate him. You hate Lloyd. But more, you hate yourself.

“Congratulations,” he says as you pick up your purse, “did I mention, paperwork went through yesterday.”

You whip around and stare at him. You quake with anger, eyes hot with unspent tears.

“Hey, even I got deadlines. Had to make the call last week.”

You take a step back. What the fuck? You stumble away, ready to scream, ready to strangle this man. For now, you’ll settle for never having to see him again.

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #campus au #multifandom #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #knives out

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lisbeth-kk · 14 days

Text

May Prompts (21) Fire

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 21)

Summary: Rosie muses about her peculiar family, and gets invited/ordered to come to the pub.

Twenty-One Years Old

My family wasn’t exactly what you would call average or normal, but as Dad and Papa constantly pointed out: who wants normal. Certainly, none of us. Being an only child and without any cousins, I was mostly exposed to adults outside school. By now, I think you can agree that that wasn’t as boring as it sounded.

Uncle Myc made sure that our small family was extended when he and uncle Greg finally realised that what they had was too precious to ignore.

Papa tried to warn the DI in his normally dramatic flair.

“You know this is playing with fire, Gavin? Falling for a Holmes, means there’s no escape. You’ll be trapped for life, and our love is fierce and protective. A bit like that dragon. John, which film was it?”

“The Hobbit,” Dad answered and reassured uncle Greg that he had nothing to fear. “Deep down, they’re as fluffy as new-born kittens.”

This got him glares that brave men would’ve flinched under, but Dad only laughed and gave Papa a kiss on the forehead and uncle Myc a pat on the shoulder. No one knew how to deal with the Holmes brothers like my Dad.

Of course, this didn’t stop Papa’s attempts to abuse uncle Greg’s name but probably increased it. From that day, every name in the book was put to good use. Dad told him he was being childish, but Dad’s poker face in such matters was laughable at best, so he fooled no one. My uncles just rolled their eyes, knowing that arguing with Papa would accomplish absolutely nothing.

The less said about my aunts, the better, but I’m not exactly one who’s able to keep my mouth shut, am I...

Aunt Harry, the one who was still alive, just barely, by the state of her liver, according to Dad, another one playing with fire, had never been a part of my life. Just like Papa’s deranged and murderous sister, thank God. Dad gave Harry an ultimatum after we moved to Baker Street; get help to get sober or stay away. It sounds harsh, doesn’t it? I had started school when I learned of her existence. We got an assignment to make a family tree.

“Extended and chosen family can also be included,” our teacher told us.

I had no idea what she was talking about, and neither did my friends, so I turned to my main source of information, my parents.

When Dad told me he had a sister, dozens of questions were instantly on the tip of my tongue, but he cut me off before I could utter any of them.

“She’s only my sister by biology, not by heart. You can put her name on the family tree if you like, but she’s sadly not interested in switching the bottle for family.”

“What Dad means, is that the biological part doesn’t always matter. Chosen and extended family can be just as good, sometimes even better,” Papa explained.

***

I found it comforting when uncle Greg moved in with uncle Myc, because the older I got, the more I worried about uncle Myc’s solitary life. He deserved to be loved by others, not just his family.

The pair were even more peculiar than Dad and Papa. Dad and uncle Greg were much more similar, coming from the same upbringing and social class, while uncle Myc and Papa were posh gits. (Dad and uncle Greg’s words.) But still, they fitted together, just like Dad and Papa.

And where did that leave me? Somewhere in the middle, I guess. I wasn’t really that exposed to the upper classes. That was uncle Myc’s area. At least in the connection with his job. I had the advantage of being raised by people of both societies, though, so I coped better at posh events than Dad for example. Granny and Pops were quite down-to-earth people, who obviously rose to the occasion if need be.

***

Uncle Myc was unable to deny the love of his life anything, but he drew the line when it came to pub quiz nights. He didn’t budge a millimetre when uncle Greg tried to flatter him into participating.

“Myc, love. You would ensure that my team won the whole shebang. At least when the questions are about politics, language, history, mathematics et cetera.”

“Gregory, mon cher,” uncle Myc said softly and arched an eyebrow.

Uncle Greg admitted defeat and turned to me. I was twenty-one, drank alcohol on occasion, and was above average intelligence. Three good reasons to join the team apparently.

***

“So, do I call you uncle, Greg, or Lestrade?” I inquired before we entered the pub.

“Just avoid Gaylord and Grimmwolf,” he deadpanned.

“Those are his latest then?” I giggled.

“John said he looked up obscure ones online when he’d used up all the names in the book he found among Mary’s things.”

“Sounds like Papa,” I replied.

I had seen the book now and again, but I never knew it once belonged to my mother.

Luckily for everyone involved, Philip Anderson was no longer a part of uncle’s team Division. Sally Donovan was, but she and Papa had long since buried the hatchet, and she welcomed me quite civilly.

Uncle Greg mocked me the entire evening for my choice of drink.

“Sour beer has nothing to do with beer in my opinion,” he scolded looking disgusted at my pink brew.

“I don’t mind what you call it. Your Guinness looks more like tar than beer to me, so I guess we have to agree to disagree,” I retorted. “Now, do you know the answer to the fifth question or not?”

“You’re a good mix of Watson, Holmes, and yourself,” Sally told me after that.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That was the intention. They’re…um…good men and are evidently skilled at parenting. I’ll obviously deny it if I’m ever confronted with this,” she murmured.

Uncle Greg placed another glass of the “undrinkable” beer in front of me and gave Sally’s shoulder a pat.

“Getting sentimental on my, Sally?” he inquired with a smile.

“Hardly,” she scoffed and headed for the bar, but her soft expression gave her game away.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

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#mayprompts2024 #may 21: fire #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #sally donovan #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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otrtbs · 9 months

Text

if y'all wanna read something so unserious rn i have 1.3k words of bartylus under the cut with nowhere else to put them so

“Tell me how you did it.”

“What?” Barty looked up from his desk in the back of the classroom, momentarily stopping himself from carving his initials into the wood.

When he finally looked up, he was met with an annoyed-looking Regulus Black. His dark eyebrows were pulled together as he frowned down at Barty’s carving. Barty has spent his entire life convinced that Regulus was a vampire. Pale skin (even in the brutal summer), strikingly dark green eyes, and raven-colored hair. He always spoke in a calm and measured cadence, dressed like he was from a different time, looked perpetually cold, and ignored everyone besides his brother Sirius- who was in the year above them and was also most likely a vampire. Barty swore that even Regulus’ canines were sharper than the average person’s were.

Regulus slammed a white sheet of paper down on the desk and Barty couldn’t help the slight smirk pulling at his lips as he looked down at it.

A cumulative summary for every class that Regulus Black has taken with every grade recorded in neat, black, ink. At the very bottom, circled in red pen, and where Regulus was pointing to with his bony-ass finger, read:

Rank: 2

Barty knew what he was implying but he enjoyed seeing Regulus so wound up. “Your middle name is Arcturus? What kind of name–”

“How did you do it?” Regulus repeated, interrupting Barty as his frown deepened. “It has to be you, right? I saw your last test and you made a perfect score, so. What did you do? Did you steal an answer key for every quiz and test? Blackmail? Bribery?”

Barty blinked at his bluntness before he recovered. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m just really fucking smart? Maybe that’s how I got to the top of the class. You know, with my brain.”

“You never take notes, you spend half of the class time carving penises into the desks with your pen and then the other half of the time asleep, I’ve never seen you open a book to study. I call bullshit. I spend all of my time studying and reviewing and–”

“Like a loser,” Barty coughed under his breath.

“And you sit in the back like some burnout. High and above it all,” Regulus finished with a glare.

“Maybe if you lived a little like me instead of shutting yourself up in a Millionaire Mile Mansion, you’d score higher on your tests,” Barty smirked, returning to his carving.

“You also live in a Millionaire Mile Mansion,” Regulus deadpanned. “And your definition of fun is setting fire to abandoned buildings so forgive me if I don’t–”

“That wasn’t me. You can’t prove that,” Barty cut in quickly. It was an accident. There had been a burn ban in the summer that Barty had taken a little too lightly and before he could stop it, the entire abandoned pharmacy had gone up in flames along with the field surrounding it. It was still an unsolved arson as far as Sheriff Lupin was concerned, and it was going to stay that way.

“Relax, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Regulus softened after a moment. “Just, tell me what you did. Do you have flashcards or something?”

“Flashcards?” Barty snorted.

“Fuck you,” Regulus shot back before he turned to leave. The classroom was empty apart from the two of them and when he made it to the door, he looked back at Barty once more. “What you’re not coming? School is over.”

Barty shrugged. “I have detention.”

“For what?”

“My wonderful art skills,” Barty grinned gesturing to the desk littered with his handiwork. “And hey, Regulus?”

Regulus stopped once more, one foot already out of the room and a scowl back on his face.

“Good talk,” Barty finished.

Regulus left without another word.

The next day, Barty slipped into the back of class just before the bell and he counted down the seconds until the day was over. Mainly, he watched Regulus because he wanted to talk to him. Ever since their previous conversation the day before, Barty thought about speaking to him again. It was nice, when Regulus was talking he couldn’t scowl, and his features softened just enough that made his uncanny beauty more human. Besides, Barty enjoyed eliciting some emotion out of a boy who seemed so unreachable.

“I hope you’re ready for my Valedictorian speech in May,” Barty taunted as Regulus gathered his things to leave at the end of the day.

“It’ll be shit. You couldn’t give a motivational speech to save your life,” Regulus muttered under his breath.

Barty slammed a hand dramatically against his heart. “You wound me. I was planning on telling everyone to go fuck themselves but we’ll see what I feel like on the day. Either way, you’ll be watching me from the second-place spot.”

Regulus attempted to push past him but Barty began walking alongside him, keeping in step.

“What, no detention today?” Regulus scoffed.

Barty shook his head as they pushed through the crowds of students gathering in hallways and chattering about their days.

“Why don’t you walk home with Sirius?”

“Why are you still talking to me?”

“Rude.”

Regulus pushed through the heavy metal doors out into the sunlight. It was still too hot to be comfortable. Unbearably stifling heat that wouldn’t leave until late October. Barty followed closely behind Regulus.

“What are you doing?” Regulus continued, shoes slapping against the pavement.

Barty shrugged. “Making a friend or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend,” Regulus shot back quickly.

“Oh come on,” Barty sighed. “Us Millionaire Mile kids have to stick together or the proletariat children of the town will rise up and kill us or something.”

“Shut up,” Regulus scoffed, and then after a moment he added, “I’m surprised you even know the word proletariat.”

“If we’re going to be friends then you’ll have to stop insulting me so often,” Barty returned, struggling to keep up with Regulus’ quick walking pace.

“We’re not friends. I spoke to you once and instantly regretted it.”

“See another insult. You’ll have to get better about that.”

They continued their walk home, past the center of town with the single grocery store, past the church and the creek and the railroad, and past the burned lot of land- that Barty had absolutely nothing to do with- until they reached Clairmont Street, more commonly known as Millionaire Mile.

Clairemont Street contained all of the houses with wrap-around porches and antique glass windows that scattered sunlight in stained-glass brilliance on the hardwood floors. Houses with porch swings and neat trimmings and large yards with gardens that bloomed no matter how dead and withered everything else was. Houses straight out of a Southern Gothic novel. The Millionaire Mile Houses were houses for judges and politicians and their sons, for families who founded the town- or, like in Regulus’ case, houses for oil heirs staying out here because that’s where the oil was.

As they walked, Barty managed to wear Regulus down with his quick remarks and little jabs. He could tell that Regulus didn’t mind his presence as much as they walked under trees and shop awnings– anything to keep them in the shade and out of the direct sunlight.

“Look,” Barty began as they were about to part ways. Regulus lived in the middle of Millionaire Mile, right where Walburga liked to be. She could see everything and know everything that happened on her street. Nothing escaped her scrutiny. But Barty and his father lived in the very last house on the street. Shoved into the corner and tucked away out of sight. “I know it kills you that the burn-out kid in the back of the class is smarter than you, but I’d be happy to tutor you some time. Since I'm so much better than you without even trying.”

Barty couldn't help the smile he gave at Regulus' look of indignation.

Regulus shook his head as he bounded up the steps to his house. “If we’re going to be friends, Barty, you’ll have to stop insulting me so often.”

#idk what this is don't ask me what this is #this was originally a sandlot-esque baseball player james idea (which it still kinda is) and jegulus #but then it ballooned into bartylus w endgame jegulus and it got so out of control that i abandoned her so #kinda fun vibes tho ig #nat writes

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xxmrs-waynexx · 5 months

Text

Gloss & Glasses: Chapter Two (1091 words)

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader

Warnings: none for this chapter

---

The clack of your keyboard was drowned out by your playlist. You were so focused on finishing this personality quiz for your magazine that you hadn’t heard the knock on your office door.

Figuring this was the case, Lois opened the door and spoke over your music, “(Y/N)! Hello!”

With a quick look her way, you smiled and paused your music. This did not deter you from continuing your work, “Hey! Do you think people’s favorite cat breed says something about their personality? I wrote this whole article about Catwoman and what cat breed she is and-”

“Love it. I really do, but I need your help. Johnny got this picture of Superman and as someone who knows everyone, can you tell me if he looks familiar at all?” After shutting your door, she walked over to your incredibly messy yet, to you, incredibly organized desk and showed you the picture on her phone.

“Lois, I have no idea who he is. If I did, don’t you think I would’ve said something by now?” You didn’t even look at the picture. Your eyes were glued to your computer screen.

While yes, you and Lois were friends, she didn’t always take your work seriously. You couldn’t really blame her, though. She had a sense of adventure. The city and its problems called her name. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content attending galas, and parties, interviewing celebrities, and any scandals that popped up. She was very much “Let’s go see what that giant alien robot wants.”

She sighed, more groaned, “Will you please at least look?”

You took your hands off your keyboard and looked at her phone. You couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s literally every white guy in America. Handsome, sure, but come on. Do you expect anyone to identify him? Like seventy men could win a look-alike contest for that guy. Be so serious.”

Lois groaned and turned off her phone, “That’s exactly why this is difficult.”

“Why are you so obsessed with figuring out who he is? Him being the average guy is what makes him an inspiration. I mean, think about it. Anyone could be Superman. That’s what gives people hope,” you went right back to typing. “Besides, obsessing over heroes’ identity is such a Gotham move. You don’t wanna be like Gotham, ew.”

— In the lounge, you made your second coffee of the day. You were stirring in the creamer in your bejeweled cup when a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Hey,” Clark smiled that shy smile at you. It had been about a month since he started here and the two of you had become fast friends. In fact, the days he was out sick or out with Lois and Johnny were some of your most boring days. You always looked forward to talking to him.

“Clark!” you turned quickly, knocking over your cup which did not have a lid on it just yet.

With a speed you couldn’t quite comprehend, he managed to save it before anything spilled. He chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his glasses and giving you another crooked smile, “Uh… be careful.”

“Heh… thanks…” you gasped out a laugh. “You’re so fast.”

“Uh, yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Helped my pa out on the farm so… I guess that’s why?” he seemed like he wasn’t quite convinced himself.

You smiled at him and shook your head. Giggling, you asked, “How do you take your coffee? I’ll make you some for saving my life.”

“Saving your life? I’ve never-” he spoke so quickly, you thought he might beat Trisha Paytas at her speedreading.

“My coffee,” you corrected. “I meant the coffee, ‘cause you… saved my coffee.”

“Right, sorry. Uh, just make me whatever you’ve got and I’ll drink it,” he smiled. He always seemed to be smiling. So were you every time you saw him.

“Caramel latte?”

With slight hesitation, he nodded, “Yes?”

“Order for Clark coming right up,” you winked, screwing on the lid to your cup before starting on his. He didn’t bring his own cup so you resorted to the cheap paper ones the lounge provided.

He sat at the table closest to the counter you were at, positioning himself sideways on the chair to face you. “So, what are you working on today?”

You chuckled softly, waiting for the water to heat up in the coffeemaker, “Oh it’s nothing serious.”

“I wanna hear about it anyway,” Clark leaned into the back of the chair.

You faced him, darting your eyes across his frame before looking back into his eyes, “Um- Okay!” you were more than happy to tell anyone about your work, though no one in this office building seemed to care. Clark always cared, though. That was something you were going to have to get used to. “I finished my Catwoman article and now I’m trying to come up with a bunch of questions and how they’ll relate to cat breeds. Sounds kind of dumb but-”

“That’s not dumb. That sounds fun. I personally like Maine Coons. What does that say about me?” he crossed his arms and by god, you could see the shirt struggling not to rip on his massive arms- have they always been so big?

You admired him for no more than a second before you came to your senses. The water had heated up and you focused back on his coffee to hide your blush. “It means you’re a really kind person and you’re a bit of a gentle giant.”

“Sounds about right,” he laughed softly. “I’ll take your quiz when you’re done if you want.”

You almost verbally squeaked as you poured in the flavoring and creamer. “You really don’t have to, Clark.”

“I know, but I want to,” he assured you.

—

After you finished your quiz, you clapped your hands together, “Perfect- no, purrfect.” you laughed at your own joke before realizing how dumb that sounded.

When you opened your office door, you were expecting to see Clark sitting at his desk which was positioned right outside your door. However, you were met with an empty seat. He wasn’t supposed to go home yet. You frowned and shifted your gaze to Lois’ desk next to his. When you realized she was gone too, you sighed. The two of them seemed to do stories together more and more often. They worked well together.

You then went to put everything back in your purse. Knocking on your dad’s doorframe you smiled softly, “I’m headed home for the day.”

#dc imagine #dc #dc comics #dc fanfic #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman #superman x reader #gloss & glasses #series

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spoonmagister · 1 month

Text

Behind the Scrib

The Tavern is a cornerstone of society. All adventures, mysteries, quests, jobs, observations, the passage of information, the meetings of heroes, the plotting of conspiracies, the purchase and subsequent consumption of bread and sujamma, the act of suddenly becoming silent when a Foreigner walks in… it all occurs here. This is just How It Is.

With this critical importance in mind, I found myself at the door of a tavern. This tavern, tucked away within the corner of the Foreign Canton in Vivec, is no secret to the locals, traders, and pilgrims who pass through those halls, yet it blatantly and plainly obfuscates its nature on its very doorstep.

A cursory glance at the scrib-emblazoned banner by the door revealed the name of Black Shalk Cornerclub. Even the casual entomologist or adventurer would understand that a Shalk is not a Scrib, and yet the sign to the establishment casually and confidently proclaims otherwise. This was not the first time I had seen an inn or tavern signified via a scrib banner, and it was a curious lie indeed.

The immediate atmosphere of the Cornerclub was one of a wretched hive, full of scum and villainy. It was absolutely crawling with spies, assassins, Fighter’s Guild enthusiasts, and coin-addled Hlaalu agents. A lizard by the bar watched newcomers as they entered, as though he were expecting someone specific, and upon seeing me did not appear to find what he sought.

I chose to sit — and I must stress that I sat down, rather than stand idly as folks here are keen to do — at a table close to the wall on the upper floor. I sat here for some time, pondering the nature of calling a Shalk a Scrib while levitating roasted ash yams and saltrice bread into my mouth.

It is always a scrib. Why IS it always a scrib?

At this time, two particularly ashy dunmer entered the tavern, visited the bar, and proceeded to shamble over to an adjacent table against the wall. Drinks in hand, they subtly nodded to each other and quietly exclaimed “The Sixth House is risen and lord Dagoth is its glory” before indulging. They did not sit down, of course, but continued standing rather distressingly close to two empty chairs.

The appearance of the average dunmer may already give one cause to be wary, but these two were notably horrid. They possessed eyes which seemed to singularly focus on a distant and invisible object, and their limbs and facial muscles were experiencing bursts of frequent and unnerving spasms. Hideous and gelatinous growths dotted their skin and bulged beneath their clothing. Appearing as if they were slowly being replaced by another material, I could only surmise this was the ultimate fate of those who remain in the Simulacrum for too long.

“It is unfortunate that you were chased out of that house so easily,” one of them said to the other.

“IT WAS A DECENT HOUSE. NOT MY FAVORITE HOUSE.”

“Our initiative is to spread awareness, not find temporary housing.”

Why is it always scribs? For what reason would the importance and prominence of the tavern be represented by the common, lowly, diminutive scrib? Does the scrib possess hidden qualities which would elevate its role in society? Is the scrib meant for more? IS the scrib MORE?

“I LIKE TO SURPRISE THEM WHEN THEY ARE BUSY. THEY DON’T SENSE MY APPROACH WHEN THEY ARE DISTRACTED BY THEIR ADVENTURER NONSENSE.”

“They might listen more enthusiastically if you approached with a bit more tact.”

“YOU CANNOT LET THEM GET A WORD IN OR THEY WILL QUIZ YOU ON ALL MANNER OF INANE AND UNRELATED MATTERS. RUMORS, MY TRADE, SOLSTHEIM…WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?”

Their words trailed off again, and in their place crept the reassuring yet alarmingly ever-present voice of the CHIME. Like a tinny static, it permeated the spaces in my thoughts and dug into my copious brain matter like the roots of Tel Uvirith, my new home, fortress, and thinking-space. Its MESSAGE was not wholly clear, but the Spoons already in my possession began to hone and tune it into words.

[Altmer… ~~~…HEED…~~~…a grand purpose…~~~…celestial emissary…~~~…~~~ PROTECT…~~~…~~~scrib…~~~…~~~…~~~prophecy disregard…~~~…~~~…COSMIC DEALINGS….~~~…~~~gesture]

Cosmic dealings? You want me to make contact again? With the gesture?

[…~~~…AFFIRM…~~~provide angles….~~~…]

It is well-known that Cosmic entities are strict adherents of angles. They do not even consider the notion of making Contact with beings who cannot demonstrate angles. But what unknowable and indescribable dealings was I going to make with such a being?

[Altmer…~~~…~~~…bring (10) Cats…~~~…(14) Time…~~~…(400) scribs GET…]

What am I going to do with 400 scribs?

“It was a shameful display. That a native would so quickly seek out the aid of an outlander just to remove a peaceful missionary.”

“A SHAMEFUL DISPLAY. THAT OUTLANDER ENTERED WITH NARY A KNOCK OR A SHOUT, YET I AM THE RUDE ONE?”

“Outlanders don’t knock. If they did, they would be turned away, and then we would not be in this predicament in the first place.”

“THE ONLY GOOD OUTLANDER IS AN OUTLANDER DENIED ENTRY.”

One of them, the more agitated and fanatical of the two, produced a pouch from his robes and removed from it a substance that looked strikingly similar to the growths which marked the two dunmer. He frantically searched the area, seemingly unable to find what he was looking for. He glanced to the adjacent table where I sat, for I had foolishly made eye contact.

“SAY, OUTLANDER, DO YOU HAVE A SPOON YOU ARE NOT USING?”

“I am using all of the spoons currently in my possession, all of the time,” I replied, unable to hide my disgust at the question.

The more diplomatic dunmer blinked at me as he seemed to mull over what I had said. “Ah, we understand, outlander.”

The Fanatic, clearly not understanding, began to shake.

“YOUR POSSESSION? TAKE WHAT YOU CAN, AND LEAVE OUR PLACE, FOR WHEN LORD DAGOTH COMES, THIS WILL BE NO PLACE FOR YOU.”

I could only silently agree that this was not the place for me, though I said nothing as my Sanctuary aura subtly deflected his aggression.

“IT IS TIME WE RETURNED HOME. TO THE HOUSE. THE TRUE HOUSE. THE SLEEPING HOUSE. HOUSE DAGOTH.”

“We are already at the House, brother. It is metaphorical in nature. I am sure you know this. Have you read the pamphlets?”

“WE ARE ONE AMONG THOUSANDS. WE MUST BRING THE MESSAGE.”

The cursed and decrepit dunmer simultaneously rose and began heading for the exit. Plumes of ash swirled and settled in their wake, and the table beside mine was completely coated in a fine layer of the gray sediment. On the table, and in a trail towards the door, were scattered bits of strange and hardened organic material. I would later notice that my skin developed a persistent itch which Divayth Fyr promptly addressed for me in exchange for my promise to stop stealing from him.

Of all the curiosities of the Reality Hallucination I had encountered thus far, the events within the Black Shalk were perhaps the most curious.

A day later, upon my arrival back to Tel Uvirith, I would deliver an important missive to my Mouth, Fast Eddie. It contained instructions to deliver the following message to Raril Giral, publican of the Black Shalk Cornerclub and pawn of the Reality Hallucination. It read as follows:

Black Shalk Cornerclub — 3/5 Spoons. Food was good. Service was okay. I got the Divine disease from one of the other patrons. Not very sanitary. Person at table next to me was a loud and dirty cultist. Misleading signage — no Scribs present. But there will be.

#fiction #gaming #humor #morrowind #house telvanni #the elder scrolls #vivec city #fine dining #curse #health concerns #cultist

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