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delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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cherriesfineline · 3 years

Text

savior next door

im on a writing trance so expect a lot of writings from me hehe, here's what i wrote last night, enjoy besties.

- fluff & a tiny little bit of smut (not really lol) | not proofread, sorry

Pairing: HarryxY/N

WC: 3.8k

the one where Harry is Y/N's shy and virgin neighbor.

The constant feeling of uneasiness has been haunting Harry ever since he almost got himself in a car accident almost a year ago.

It hadn’t been his fault – he was crossing a random street in a quiet area of New York when a hand grabbed his upper arm and pushed him out of the crosswalk, where a car speeded through without even slowing down. “Watch where you’re going, you’re going to get yourself killed.” The woman who’d saved his life scolded at him with a worrying look on her face. He remembers her eyes were glowing in such a splendor, something he’d never seen before – it intrigued him to know who his life savior was, but before he could even make a comment, the woman stormed off and got lost between the seas of people around the corner, leaving Harry in an unsuccessful search for her.

Harry has never been a people person. He always avoids big crowds, social events and especially, study groups. His university journey so far has been a lonely and reserved one, having movie marathons when not studying or discovering new kinds of herbal teas. His only form of social interaction is the occasional chat with his across-the-hall neighbor Niall, whom he considered -kind of- a close friend; his only one, in fact.

“Heard someone’s moving in to the flat next to yours.” Niall knows Harry isn’t exactly a social butterfly, and maybe it’s the fact that Harry is younger than him and how he seems like such a harmless human what makes him feel like he needs to help him. Harry just shrugs at his comment, not really interested in any possible intruder to their peaceful hallway (where both their apartments and the currently empty one in the corner were the only three ones on their floor). And maybe it was the fact that it has been almost a month since Niall’s comment what made him furious when he saw the cardboard boxes on their hallway, forgetting about the possibility of having a new neighbor.

The sudden sound of glass crashing and a loud yell snaps Harry out of his frustrated trance, stepping around the huge boxes scattered around the door next to his to knock on the doorway of the open door. Even if he really isn’t very fond of having a new neighbor that doesn’t mean he’s not going to check on them to see if they’ve gotten hurt. “Is everything alright?” He still can’t see whoever is inside, but he decides on waiting if no one replies to step inside. But he doesn’t need to, because as he was about to make his way inside, a head pops up from one side of the entry hallway, assuming that’s where the kitchen is, as he notices the apartment is a replica of his own, but inverted.

“Hey, sorry, just dropped my favorite cup.” His breath gets caught on his throat when her life savior’s face appears in sight, the cutest frown adorning her features and her sweet voice resonating through his brain. Her eyes, exactly like he remembers shine with an unbeatable glow, like a thousand diamonds under a microscope, but the image he had of her on his brain doesn’t make her justice – she is even more beautiful than he remembers. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. You live in this floor?” Harry can’t help but be disappointed at the fact that apparently she doesn’t remember him.

“Y-yes, next door. H-harry.” He stutters. Her presence just makes him so nervous, he can’t help it. She is probably one of, if not the, most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Her eyes are hypnotizing, the softness of them which appears to be constant warms his insides and he thinks he could spend hours upon hours staring right at them.

“Do I know you? I feel like I know you.” Y/N’s thinks out loud, her expression alluding to her thoughts trying to place him somewhere in her memories.

“Uh, I- I don’t think so?” Harry feels embarrassed, so he couldn’t come up with a better answer. He is silently hoping she doesn’t remember the time they met all that time ago – this is his chance, he thinks, to redeem himself, for her to see him as a normal dude instead of this clumsy and shy boy who couldn’t even thank her when she saved him from being ran over by a car.

He wishes he could read her mind. What’s her first impression on him? Does she think he’s cute? She probably doesn’t. He thinks she’s too pretty to even spare a second glance at someone like him; a shy boy with bad posture and still breaking out in his forehead despite being 22. And she, Y/N, a woman who could make anyone her own, a woman who probably makes every head turn her way when entering a room. Harry feels his chest deflate as his thoughts start beating him up.

During the course of her first two months living next door, Y/N and Harry barely interact. He keeps stealing glances her way whenever they run into each other in the hallway, getting shy and cheeks reddening when she catches him every time. He gets jealous whenever he hears her walking down the hallway from inside his apartment, obvious guests coming in and out of her apartment – and if the person (because he recalls hearing both men and women) is good enough, he can even hear her sometimes through the thin wall that divides their bedrooms, her headboard clearly mirroring his. He feels dirty and intrusive during nights like these, so he opts on putting headphones on, music playing in his phone to help him drift off to sleep.

But Y/N is fascinated by him, maybe not as much as he is with her, but enough to wonder how it’d be like to reallyhave him in her life. She knows he’s a very reserved man, her animated chats with Niall more usual than not drift towards Harry and how she wishes he’d just keep looking at her when she catches his eye instead of running away – not because her ego is enormous or anything, but she is aware of the obvious crush Harry has on her. “He’s not going to start conversation, you should just go for it.” She remembers Niall told her one night after having a small chat in his threshold; because all Niall wants is for Harry to put himself out there, but he knows he needs a little extra push.

But it all changes one night. A night Y/N drinks more than usual – shot after shot going down her throat making her feel nothing but dizzy, the sensation of puke going up her throat forcing her to call it a night. Barely making it out of the elevator she stumbles on her way to her door, and Harry hears her. The sound her combat books make is so engraved in Harry’s brain he knows it’s her after just a couple of steps.

“Fuck.” Harry hears the unmistakable sound of her keys, and how she’s clearly struggling to fit them inside the lock. After a loud banging sound and what sounds like her sliding down the door, he starts worrying about her and how she’s probably not going to make it inside her apartment without a little help. So he steps outside after sliding his old white vans on to find her on the floor leaning against her door, legs bent and elbows resting on either knee supporting her head.

“Y/N?” He calls her in a whisper. She shoots her head up immediately making her insides turn, and with unfocused eyes, she looks up at him and smiles fondly.

“Hey, pretty boy.” She greets him with a soft smile, eyes closing and opening again slowly and Harry feels his stomach erupt in a thousand butterflies. Did she just call him pretty boy?

“You need help?”

“Please.” Harry’s red cheeks don’t go unnoticed by her the moment she lifts her hand to give him her keys and she honestly thinks he might explode. He helps her get up and guides her inside her home with such gentle movements she could melt in his hold, and that’s when she decides (drunk out of her mind) she wants him to hold her again, soon. And while sober.

He lays her down in her bed and announces he’s going to take her shoes off, giving her enough time to object. “I always catch you staring, you know?” Her thoughts slip off her lips unannounced, but she doesn’t really care. Harry, on the other hand, freezes in his spot, one of her shoes still in hand and with wide eyes he connects their gazes for the second time that night.

“I- I… I’m sorry- I don’t mean to be c-creepy or anything I j-just-“

“Shh.” She cuts him off, his stuttering making its first appearance of the night. “Didn’t say I don’t like it.” She confesses and wiggles her feet so he can resume his actions. Harry’s brain is betraying him more than usual right now. His thoughts are everywhere, not a single coherent answer coming to mind, so he doesn’t do anything but finish helping her out of her shoes in silence.

“Goodn-night, Y/N.” Harry left her apartment that night after carefully placing a soft blanket over her body and making sure she had a glass of water on her nightstand (he didn’t want to snoop around her apartment for some pills for her hangover, so he just left her with the duty of doing that herself in the morning) and laid in bed with so many thoughts running through his head he barely got an hour of sleep that night.

And that went on for a week. Knowing she was sleeping on the other side of the wall makes him more nervous than before now that he knows Y/N is aware of his constant staring – but who would blame him? She really is a sight for sore eyes. Y/N knocks on his door the following Saturday, and he opens it surprised to find her on the other side, mainly because she’s usually out with her friends by now every Saturday (not that he’s constantly waiting to hear her walk on their hallway, but he truly is always sitting on his living room and the thin walls of their apartment complex don’t provide them much privacy).

“Harry, hi.” She offers him the sweetest smile, but there’s a shy and nervous undertone to it this time. “I just wanted to thank you, for helping me the other night.” She clasps her hands together in front of her and nods with a tight lipped smile. “But I also want to apologize, I know I probably made you uncomfortable with uh, some comments I made.” She slightly scrunches her nose, waiting for his reply.

But Harry is, in simple words, speechless. He can’t believe there’s a sober Y/N who just knocked on his door willingly talking to him. Her voice sounds so melodic and Harry just wants to cuddle her and the giant, soft looking green sweater she’s wearing isn’t helping him ease his thoughts. He wants Y/N to hold him while she talks to him with that sweet voice of hers, he wants to hold her small hands and fill her cheeks and mouth with kisses along with every inch of her body -not that she’d ever let him, Harry thought, but a boy can dream-, but most importantly, he wants to learn every single detail about her. How she likes her coffee in the mornings, or if she prefers tea. In which position she sleeps the most comfortable in and if there’s any TV shows she re-watches just because it brings her comfort. He has so many questions he wants to ask her he completely forgets they’d been standing in his threshold for long minutes, with him just staring at her.

“It’s ok, don’t worry.” He says barely above a whisper, and they stay in their positions for a while, again with no words spoken between them, until he finally gains enough courage to ask, “Do you want to come in?” He opens his door a bit wider with a wary look on his face. Y/N nods, her smile widens and makes her eyes sparkle with that glow Harry is still fascinated by.

They sit in the couch with a long distance between them; farther away from the other than any of them like. Y/N does most of the talking, but she truly doesn’t mind – she talks animatedly about this new show Bridgerton she binge watched last night, Harry making mental notes about most things she says. He wants to remember everything, from the way her voice slightly sharpens when she mentions something she suddenly remembers to the way she moves her hands to accompany her speech; he already loves how expressive she is with her face features, and only confirms how he’d listen to her speak for the rest of his life.

Y/N manages to get more words out of him than she expected, and asks for his opinion or thoughts on most things she mentions. She hates making conversation purely about herself, she wants to know about Harry as much as she can. She wishes he would initiate conversation or switch topics with no shame, but she knows she’s asking for too much. This night alone they interacted more than the last three months combined, and Y/N is grateful for it.

Three chapters of FRIENDS had passed when she finds herself scooting a bit closer to him, carefully trying to read his body language. When he stiffens in his position, she turns her head to look at him. His cheeks are tinted a cute shade of pink, and he’s blinking a lot more than he usually does. He places both hands on his thighs and runs them up and down to get rid of the sweat accumulating on them, and he can’t help but gasp when their thighs touch, meaning she scooted even closer. As if that isn’t enough to kill him, she softly rests her head on his shoulder.

“Is this ok?” Y/N whispers, and he forces himself to turn his head to find her eyes, which are already looking up at him. He slowly nods and makes the dumb mistake of looking down at her lips. He feels the hot embarrassment run up his neck and quickly turns to face his TV again, planning on pretending nothing ever happened.

That is, until he feels the soft skin of her palm and gentle fingers grab his jaw, forcing his gaze back on her. That touch alone makes him feel more than any other human has made him feel in his entire life – but it doesn’t compare to the eruption of jitteriness washing through him when her eyes look down at his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry freezes in his spot. He wonders if he heard her correctly, not believing his senses when around her, the possibility of her wanting to kiss him are too low, he thinks, and when he doesn’t respond, she slowly begins to remove her hand from his face, taking a guess on his unspoken rejection. He, for once, reacts quickly enough; he grabs her by her wrist, placing her hand back again in its spot on his jaw, and works enough courage to just go for it. Harry lowers his face to gently envelope her top lip between his own. It’s quick but sweet (just like she had expected their first kiss to be, if she’d ever got lucky enough to experience it) and when he moves away just enough to separate her lips, she wastes no time in connecting them again. This time, the kiss is longer and with more determination than before, and when Harry feels Y/N melt into him, he gains enough confidence to grab her face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss.

They stay enveloped in each other for a while, mouths molding and moving in sync with so many unspoken emotions it feels overwhelming for both – they barely know each other, they’re very aware of it, but the undeniable infatuation they both feel is stronger than they’d ever admit. Y/N feels on her face the long exhale that leaves through Harry’s nose when she softly traces his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and when he meets her tongue with his, the mood that was settled between them switches drastically – from sweet and innocent to needy and passionate.

Harry isn’t very experienced with kissing, let alone with anything past first base. He’d only made out with a girl all the way back in high school during his senior prom, and the girl was so harsh and desperate Harry knew that moment he wouldn’t ever share an intimate moment with anyone again unless he truly felt something for them. Now, he knows it might seem like he’s rushing things in his heart, but he’d do anything with and for Y/N – but he knows he’s not ready just yet.

His nervousness consumes him again when she moves to straddle his lap, making him whimper at the new position. He shakily places his hands next to her legs on the couch, not sure what is too much and what is ok to do. She runs her hands from his jaw down to his shoulders, and moves them all the way down his arms to his hands, giving them a soft squeeze before placing them on her waist and sliding her own back up again towards his neck, never breaking the kiss.

He unintentionally lets a second whimper leave his mouth when she sits herself down on his lap, creating some friction between their groins. He knows he’s hard – he felt his dick grow in his pants the second she touched his jaw, but knowing Y/N could feel it now put him a tad on edge. He separates their lips; their agitated breathing mixing in between them.

“I- I’ve never…” Harry begins, but he’s having a hard time finding the correct words. Y/N understands almost immediately – she’s not proud to admit she had figured he was unexperienced, feeding the stereotype of shy-ergo-virgin, even though she was correct this time.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Y/N gives him a soft peck and continues, “you can say no, but I’d love to make you feel good, if you’d let me. We can keep our clothes on.” Y/N suggests. If she has to be honest, she hasn’t dry-humped anyone since high school, but the thought of doing it with Harry lights her insides in animalistic flames.

When Harry timidly nods, she shakes her head with her eyebrows raised in a disapproving look, “Use your words, H.”

“I- I want you to- to do it. I- I trust you.” His stuttering makes Y/N’s insides warm, the fact that she makes him nervous amuses her – she’s certain she’s never made anyone this nervous before, but it is the fact that Harry admitted he trusts her what sends shivers down her spine. All she does in response is roll her hips against his – and when he closes his eyes with a pleasured groan leaving his lips, she does it again. Harry’s grip on her waist lowers to her hips, squeezing the flesh that was subtly beginning to get exposed from all the movement, and when he throws his head back Y/N takes advantage of his exposed neck to finally attach her lips to it. Her hold on one side of his face moves to grip his jaw, turning his head slightly to the side so she can suck on the sweet spot behind his ear still rolling her hips on his, and when she pokes the spot with her tongue to soothe the pleasuring sting, he unconsciously thrusts his hips up to meet hers; Y/N can’t help but smile and leave a trail of sweet, wet kisses from his new deepening bruise to the place where his neck meets his shoulders, repeating her actions there to leave a second bruise.

Harry feels his cock twitch in his pants when Y/N rolls her hips with more pressure, and they both know he’s close - his inexperience making him not last longer than a couple of minutes. “Are you going to cum for me?” Y/N asks him, holding his jaw tightly to keep his gaze on hers, and when he shyly nods she adds, “I want you to look at me when you do it.”

Harry can’t believe what’s going on – he has the most beautiful woman in the word on top of him about to make him cum, and he’s sure he’s going to come so hard he’ll probably have to throw his briefs into the trash. Her gaze staring so intensely into his eyes is what makes his insides finally explode, his eyes seeing white for a moment – with his mouth open ajar and glossy eyes he feels the large amount of cum spurting from his cock, making a mess inside his pants. The pleasure and fullness he feels during this moment is something he has never experienced before, never thinking he would surrender this fast over someone else’s actions. Y/N slows her movements but doesn’t stop for a while, allowing him to empty his insides until he hisses at the friction. Harry hugs her lower back to pull her closer to him, and Y/N lets her head drop to his shoulder so they can both catch their breaths.

They stay like that for a while, hugging each other with Y/N running her hand softly through his chocolate curls and Harry tracing small circles on the small of her back.

“You saved me from a car accident, a year or so ago.” Harry confesses – the pure bliss he’s feeling makes him dizzy and unaware of his words.

“I know. I remember.” Y/N confesses herself, and when Harry’s soft caresses stop at her back, she removes her head from the warm spot on his neck to look at him in the eyes, finding a confused frown in his eyebrows and lips in a small pout – she kisses him soft and quickly, not being able to contain herself. “I figured you either didn’t remember or didn’t bring it up for a reason, so I chose to not mention it.” She shudders and gives him a soft smile.

“Was embarrassed, still am.” Harry whispers with red cheeks, and Y/N’s laugh resonates through his living room, and if he wasn’t already obsessed with her, her laugh completes his way there.

“So cute.” She pecks his lips. “Can’t believe it took us this long to… talk.” Another peck. A knowing look on her face knowing damn well they did more than talking.

“You are too pretty. And intimidating. Can’t even walk in front of you without tripping over my own feet.” Y/N giggles at his confession, finding him even more amusing.

“Do you want to go on a date tomorrow?” Y/N asked, not being able to wait another day to ask. Harry feels his cheeks hurting from all the smiling, but he is too content in this moment.

“I’d love to.”

As always, feedback is truly appreciated,

love, Joey.

#harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #one direction fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #my writing #harry styles fluff #virgin!harry

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galacticlamps · 3 years

Text

im sorry im sorry im sorry i know it’s been well over a year but i accidentally thought about Short Trips: Deleted Scenes (again) and it’s killing me (again) so i think im just gonna go ahead and post all these stupid thoughts that have been plaguing me about it since i first heard it & maybe that’ll help clear up some space in my head for like, real life things.

Spoilers I guess? It’s like a year and a half old but also high key the most recent 2nd doctor content i believe we’ve gotten which is like, the only negative thing I can say about it

The TLDR version is this:

I literally cant believe how sweet it is? Painful, but sweet. Like. I don’t honestly know what’s more likely - did they set out to write Jamie a nice little straight love interest and just fail miserably at it by constantly likening her to the Doctor AND paralleling the Doctor’s perspective with her ex’s AND putting Jamie’s relationships with both of them in direct tension with each other while constantly letting his with the Doctor win out?

OR - did they do a very 1960s thing and say hey we’re gonna write what’s essentially a story about how much Jamie and the Doctor love each other and release it on Valentine’s Day thinly disguised as a one-off romance with a french lady?

Now, as a general rule, my attitude toward questions like that is usually “don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter” - and while I 100% stand by that, I also have to admit that this particular audio seems to pay enough attention to detail that I’d kind of think I was selling it short if I assumed too many of these things were just meaningless coincidences, you know?

Anyway, that’s the most coherent/overarching thought. And here’s a disorganized list of things I absolutely cannot get over about it (they don’t form any kind of argument, mind, they just all happen to live rent free in my head):

- Celine is first taken in by Jamie being an idiot (specifically him claiming not to speak French, in perfect French); likewise, her entrance in the scene where they actually kiss is marked with a little anecdote about her hat getting stuck on a doornail and her scolding it as she attempts to fix her un-tameable appearance, and the narration says Celine “would often clown for Jamie like this” - all of which, while undeniably adorable, don’t exactly strike me as entirely original traits to have been assigned to Jamie’s love-interest (but also Celine is so cool and her perspective on film/media/time is an excellent addition to the long list of dr who characters)

- When they’re in the present, describing Jamie’s relationship with Celine in 1908, they call him her “companion” and highlight his going nearly everywhere with her, which earns a laugh from the 4th doctor (and me as well, though probably for slightly different reasons - but like, is that really all it takes to have a fling with someone in 60′s era who? bc if so...)

- Celine’s ex-fiance is still in love with her and is jealously watching when she kisses Jamie ... and then the Doctor appears beside him, evidently doing the exact. same. thing. They have the following conversation:

“You know, it’s not prudent to spy on people. But then, people in pain can’t be expected to act prudently.”

“Pain, monsieur? You mistake me.”

“Ah, do I? Good, because I rather thought you’d lost something.”

“What would you know about loss monsieur?”

- I’m sorry doc but who do you think you are, saying stuff like that and smiling sadly at the floor to boot? I 100% had to pause it here the first time I listened, just to not throw my laptop across the room.

- Then when I recovered continued, the Doctor closes the door so they can’t watch anymore and explains “Possessing things comes so terribly easily to some men that losing them can feel cruel, intolerably cruel. In my experience, only the very best of men cannot be tempted to answer that cruelty with more - I do sincerely hope that you are the best of men.” (guess who gets described as the best of men by the end of the audio?)

- Jamie and the Doctor apparently develop a habit of walking along the river in Paris in silence

- During one such walk, Jamie suggests Celine come with them since she already figured out about the Tardis - and when the Doctor’s worried by this, he says he only allowed Jamie & Celine to grow closer “because of Victoria.” Jamie takes offense at the ‘allowing it’ comment and also refuses to admit he knows what the Doctor means about Victoria, which leads the Doctor to say that he knows how fond Jamie was of her - he was too, of course, but with him, “it was different, wasn’t it?” Jamie only says maybe that’s true and maybe that’s not, but his voice catches until he changes the subject

- Jamie doesn’t see Celine for days both times that she’s recovering from the shock and depression of her work being destroyed. In contrast, when the Doctor’s not well, Jamie’s "afraid” and “guilty” and hardly seems to leave his side at all, if his being there “rushing to embrace him” the second he wakes up - after a period Jamie describes as “at least a week” - is anything to go by, anyway. so either bf writers need to learn how to write a committed straight relationship or admit that’s not what they ever intended in the first place

- Oh yeah, and the Doctor spends that week "asleep” in Jamie’s bedroom - no, there’s no explanation as to if that’s where he was when he first collapsed or if it’s where Jamie decided to take him bc why would they feel the need to explain him being there? why was it even relevant to tell us it was Jamie’s room in the first place?

- The Doctor somehow manages to control the Tardis enough to take Celine on one trip to an alien planet and then return to the correct time & place for her to use the footage she recorded there in her new film - and while the audio doesn’t do very much to explain how that was possible, it does treat this as A Pretty Big Deal, and immediately afterward the Doctor has to spend a week communing with his past self (and/or the Tardis?) debating how likely it is that the Time Lords could use this to trace him. When he decides it’s not worth the risk and they have to stop the film from ever being shown to the public, Jamie asks why he agreed to it in the first place, and all he can say is “Because, Jamie, you asked me to!” earning awkward stares from the crowd.

- Oh, but, lest we forget, that little outburst is also immediately followed by him putting his arm around Jamie’s shoulders, and, shockingly, apparently beginning to actually explain the truth about the danger from the Time Lords - until they’re interrupted, of course idk why exactly but the idea of a 60s dr wanting to come clean with a companion but not being allowed to bc the show demands the war games be something of a reveal hurts me in a very good way

- The mental image of “the Doctor and Jamie, resplendent in borrowed evening wear”

- The audio admitting that Jamie’s not very good at subterfuge, and the Doctor asking if he’s going to be alright with them having to steal the film back from Celine - and Jamie’s little “Aye, Doctor” as he feels a ‘glass arrow piercing his chest’ glad to see bf is reading all my letters about exactly how i feel any time something sad happens to james robert mccrimmon

- The Doctor’s anxious to get out of there for obvious reasons, but he hangs around bc Jamie wants to see Celine again - which doesn’t happen, because of her aforementioned shock & depression, but she does leave Jamie a note that ends “you and that Doctor of yours - look after him Jamie, he loves you dearly, as do I.” yeah, if you didn’t want people to draw a parallel there, you could’ve picked, like, any other wording in the world.

- In case you weren’t fully convinced I’ve been reading too much into this whole audio already, consider this: Celine dies in Long Island in 1968, three days before her birthday - 1968 is when this story would’ve taken place in the show’s history (between Fury & Wheel), and dying three days before/after a birthday in America seems a bit... well I had some deja vu from it, anyway

- Four of all people being the one to bring back the film - I know he does it bc Sarah Jane makes him, but personally, I often feel like despite the length of his run, 4 is the Doctor with which we might’ve gotten the fewest glimpses into his interiority, so the fact that it’s him and not one of the more overtly sentimental Doctors makes it feel like it carries even more weight somehow, to me anyway. I think I wrote a post saying roughly the same thing about 4 & Fate of Krelos/Return to Telos but maybe I only did that inside my own head lol. Still, I’m all for any opportunities for Jamie to be one of the few characters to draw some noticeable emotion out of Four, but in fairness I haven’t touched too much of his EU stuff to really be able to compare the frequency with which this happens with other past companions

- Is Four referring to Two or Jamie when he says he got the film from “an old family friend”? Two did the actual stealing, but he probably means Jamie’s involvement - either way, it’s an interesting way of describing old companions - or selves?

- When Jemima goes to call Jamie a thief, Four is “roused” to defend him: “he really was the very best of men” again, any time four freely shows he cares about someone, im over the moon about it

- Oh ha ha, there’s an audio called “Deleted Scenes” featuring the Doctor who’s most affected by junked episodes. And at the end of it, a character who’s spent her life researching and lecturing about a lost film gets to watch it be ‘rediscovered’ after it’s gone unseen for decades. I feel marginally less stupid for reading into the other details of a story like this when it ends up deciding to be to be clever & slightly meta like that

But yeah

all in all, it’s kind of amazing to me that this genuinely reads like they sat down and said okay boys it’s valentines day, let’s write an audio where jamie kisses a girl, since that hasn’t happened except as a plot device in one story in 1967 - but then when they got down to business they accidentally(?) wrote a story all about how important his bond with the Doctor is and how easily that can be compared to a legitimate love interest (even if the love interest in question is a one off character & the extent of the relationship appears to be like one kiss & then having Jamie spend most of his time around the Doctor instead)

I realize there’s something slightly illogical about writing the words “shipping aside” after a post like this but seriously - no matter how many categories you’re able to see two & jamie’s relationship fitting into, this is 40 minutes of big finish just hitting you over the head with how powerful/special/important that relationship is, and with them being two of my favorite characters, i really haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since

#jamie mccrimmon #second doctor #big finish #Short Trips: Deleted Scenes #yes i am gonna tag this #two/jamie #i think it earned it with the line from celine's letter if nothing else #and quite possibly the doctor's so-called imprudent & pain-driven spying #but i'll leave it at that #in case anyone's looking at the tags to decide if they should actually read this rambling monster of a post #also if you for some reason read this but haven't listened to the audio -#a) that's kind of you to care what i have to say but #b) you could probably have listened to half of it by now lol #did i mention it's a stand-alone audio that only costs $3?#and it's more of a traditional audio book format with one narrator who voices all the characters?#sorry i wasn't ready to do a bf pitch in the tags here #i genuinely dont know why someone who hasn't already heard it would bother to read all this #but if anyone has - thanks?#i'll shut up now so you can get on w ur day :)

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

Let Me Touch You Pt 8 | Feysand

High school AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Feyre had never been in detention before. She walked down the corridor behind Rhys, nervously chewing on her nails.

"It'll be fine," Rhys said. "You either sit there for an hour staring at the ceiling, or you do chores, depending on which teacher is running detention. Also," he paused at the door and looked at Feyre. "You did a pretty great thing for Mor, back there. Thank you."

Feyre shrugged. "Can't let you have all the fun," she said. Rhys flashed a feline grin. "Oh, but I'm pretty sure I still did," he said, and pushed the door open.

Feyre recognised the teacher from around school but didn't have him in any of her own classes. He just frowned at them, and Feyre followed Rhys' lead and wrote her name on the sign-in sheet. Then she sat down, and looked around her. There were two other kids in there, boys she knew were on the football team and barely knew she existed. Actually, she was pretty sure she saw the blonde one shove a kid in a locker.

"Feyre and Tamlin, you'll be restocking the supply closet," the teacher directed them, already bored. "Rhysand and Lucien, clean out the boys locker room." Rhys started to protest. "Sir, could we actually just switch-" "No switches, just get to work," the teacher said, not even looking up from his desk. "And if anyone comes and bothers me I'll triple your detention time."

The four students trudged out the door and headed down the hall. Feyre snuck a glance at Rhys, expecting to share an eye roll or look of sympathy. But he was talking to Tamlin.

"Hey, swap with me," he said. "What? No," Tamlin said. "I get to be in the closet with the pretty girl and you can muck out the locker room. Besides, teacher said no swaps." "Right," Rhys said. "Thing is, we're swapping. And if you want to go complain and get your time tripled, you can do that. Come on, Feyre." He flung his arm around Feyre's shoulders and walked the off toward the supply closet, leaving Tamlin glowering behind them.

Feyre elbowed him in the ribs once they were out of sight. "Hey," she said. "Maybe I wanted to be paired with the pretty jock." Rhys rolled his eyes. "That guy is a jerk and a bully. You really want to be in a small space with him?" Feyre shook her head. "No," she said. "Although if I recall correctly, things with you and me get real weird when left alone together." Rhys grinned and opened the door to the small janitor's room. "Oh I hope they do."

The door swung closed behind them, and Rhys flicked on the light. On one side of the room was a trolley full of sponges, paper towels and cleaning fluid bottles that needed to be stacked away on the shelves. With said trolley taking up floor space, there was barely any room left for Rhys and Feyre to move around.

Which made it all the more easy for the strange energy between them to fill up the entire confined space and slip slickly over their skin. Feyre's heart pounded in her ears, and like every time, she marvelled at the strength of it.

"It feels like this for you too, doesn't it?" she asked him, resisting the urge to put her hand in front of her face and look for visual clues. "Every time," Rhys murmured. He was leaning back against a shelf, and looking at her through hooded eyes.

"Should we... get stacking?" Feyre asked, mouth suddenly dry. She licked her lips, and watched Rhys' violet eyes track the movement. "Sure," Rhys said conversationally. "Or, we could talk about history class today. That was one hell of a kiss, Feyre." Feyre gave a brittle laugh. "Well, you know. Couldn't let Mor get in trouble again. Her dad would kill her." "The things we do for love," Rhys commented, and Feyre didn't quite feel able to answer. He looked at his nails.

"So that was the only reason, then?" he asked. "You didn't kiss me for... any other reason." "And what other reasons might there be?" Feyre asked, copying Rhys' pose and finding the shelf behind her. Rhys shrugged. "That you wanted to," he said, and this time when he looked up at her, his eyes burned. Feyre's heart lodged in her throat.

"I think... if I wanted to kiss someone," she said slowly, "then I'd hope that he'd make the first move." The flame in Rhys' eyes jumped.

"Oh yeah?" he said, and pushed off the shelf. "And, if he wanted to make a move, how would he know that you wanted it?" By this point, Feyre knew with absolute certainty that she had him, and the thrill of just knowing that gave her confidence.

"Oh," she said casually. "I don't think I'm very subtle with hints. I'd start painting his gorgeous face, and hanging around at his house." Rhys took a step closer. "Would you now," he said. Feyre nodded. "Of course, I wouldn't go full stalker, and say, make a half dozen scale models of them, or anything." And then she flashed him a wicked grin, and Rhys growled at her in his throat before reaching a hand behind her neck and pulling her in to kiss her.

xxxxxxx

Rhys didn't even have time to be embarrassed about his art project, because once he had his mouth on Feyre's, nothing at all even a little bit mattered. He could feel her smile against his lips, and the thunder storm pressure filling the room was filling his veins in a lovely, velvety way.

He kissed her this way for some time, learning the shape of her lips and the taste of her tongue. Then her hands slid up the inside of his shirt, and he grabbed her wrists to still her. "Do you know," he said to her, when she looked up in askance. "Since making sculptures of you in art class, I've wondered every day what it would feel like to have you under my hands for real. To see if I got you right." Feyre tried to grab a hold of him again, and honest to gods with that look in her eye he really might have let her. But there was something he had to do first.

"Wait," he said. Begged. "Would you... would you let me touch you?" Feyre's tilted her head at him, then leaned back against the shelf once more, tugging him forward. She placed his hands on her hips, and then rested her own forearms against his shoulders.

"Go on then," she murmured. Rhys looked down at her, and exhaled. His hands trailed carefully over her hips, up behind her back, then down to squeeze at her waist. He shuddered, the feel of her far more perfect than he had imagined. Then Feyre moved his hands to her ass, and his fingers squeezed automatically. This was actual fucking heaven.

"Well?" Feyre asked. "Did you get me right?" "I did not do you justice," Rhys said hoarsely. And she took a hold of his chin and brought him back down to her lips.

Now it was Feyre's hands, up on the skin of his chest and back. Everywhere her fingers touched the bare flesh on him she left a trail of goosebumps, and if he'd been coherent he might have felt embarrassed about the fact that his boner was now pressing into her. She didn't seem to mind though, stood up on her tiptoes to press closer in fact. Rhys tightened his arms around her little waist, and the shelf rattled where he had unknowingly pushed her into it.

And then Feyre was pushing him away, and throwing random items from the cleaning cart at him.

"Someone's coming," she hissed, and by the time the door opened, both of them were stacking toilet paper with their backs toward each other.

"Hurry up you two," the teacher said, perpetually unamused. "I don't want to be here all night."

Then he closed the door again, and Rhys and Feyre stared at each other, wide-eyes, until laughter burst out of them like a waterfall.

****

Oh horny teenagers, whatever will we do with you. I tell you what though, this was in no way meant to be a 10 part story... maybe I'm the real horny teenager?! lol I am older than most of you

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @teddytdr @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp

#feysand #feysand fic #acomaf #fluff #mine #acotar

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scone-lover · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday to Holding Out For a Hero!!! ❤️

art by @subparselkie

I published the first chapter of my longest and most popular fic just about a year ago! And I bet you always wanted to see some shitty outlines. Right? Just giving the people what they want. My brain is chaos and now you all have to be subject to it. Strap in, boys. 😂 Everything’s below the cut!

Read Holding Out for a Hero on AO3

This fic was born because I saw a tumblr post about a hero and villain who are roommates and I just had to Snowbazzify it. I had so many random ideas in my brain, and I’d been engaging with fan content for the CO fandom for a few months now.

So I started off by opening a blank document and writing the Prologue, featuring Shep. I had a few basic facts in mind: Shepard’s a reporter, Simon’s a hero, Baz is a villain, Mage is an evil mayor. And that’s. Literally it. I made it up as I went along. I actually still do that with fics, even though I do try to outline in more detail now—I have to write a scene or two that’s been bouncing around in my head to get a feel for the story, then I can give it a direction.

The document is 337 pages on google docs, LOL.

Here’s the first ever set of notes I had. I wrote this on March 29, 2020, directly after typing out the Prologue!

Like I said, absolute chaos. The third Simon bullet point originally said something like “also I’m a superhero and only Penny knows,” then the following day I changed it to “but he’s so handsome? what do???”

I didn’t publish the prologue until writing 5-6 additional chapters, but I think the only major change was going from Baz being “The Vampire” to just “Vampire.”

Chapter 1 was originally called “not a bloody avenger” before I decided to do the rhyming thing. I actually decided that because I wrote “counter spray and earl grey” down for chapter 2, unintentionally rhyming it, and then @ashspren-writes was like, “you should make them all rhyme”... so I did. 😂 For 25 more chapters.

I have a section labeled “quickie backgrounds” in which I finally sat down halfway through writing Chapter 2 (the blade/vamp fight) and said to myself, okay, maybe they should have backstories or something. Or like, reasons for being the hero and villain. Right, yeah, those would be good to make this into a coherent story. In the first version of that, Simon was a sports coach on the side, not a baker, and Baz was an English teacher. LOL.

Once I had all that, I literally just wrote for four days. There’s a weird kind of magic to your first-ever fic for a fandom. All your ideas and thoughts and wishes for these characters comes to a head as you suddenly have an outlet for the first time. It’s why I think people’s first works are often their best or most creative or most profound. The first couple chapters took some time and a couple 1am epiphanies, but once I got into a rhythm it was quick going. I wrote a lot of it in a linear manner, but after writing the first Simon/Baz scene (watching the news together in the flat), I doubled back and added Simon going to Penny’s house after meeting the Mage so that I could work her in as a character earlier.

Fast forward to April 5, I had 5-ish chapters written? I thought this fic would have like... 10 total. And be less than 20k. Haha. Ha. I asked @ashspren-writes to beta read for me - I’d been bouncing ideas off her since the beginning - and then I started brainstorming titles.

The list actually started with that second one. It took a whole 24 hours to decide on the final title. 😂 I thought it might be too cheesy. But hey, it worked out -- now I can’t open AO3 without the damn song getting stuck in my head.

I worked a LOT with my friend @ashspren-writes on this fic - we were friends long before fandom, and she was the only person I knew at the time who had read CO and was involved in the fandom. I didn’t even have a tumblr at this point, I interacted mostly through Instagram and AO3!

On April 6, right before I posted, I realized that if I was going to actually put this on AO3 I should probably know where the story was going. So I made sure Chapters 1-6 were complete, then I wrote one bullet point per chapter up until 12 or so -- you can read those below.

Then I texted ashspren THIS mess:

Some silly notes:

Then I have a section that says “Why do they even have roommates?” because it was a few chapters in and I hadn’t justified richboy Baz and superhero Simon... living together. Cool cool cool

I also did this cool little writing experiment I want to share. Remember that line in Fangirl that’s like—“Once Cath wrote what she thought was a swordfight, and Wren turned it into a love scene.” (Or maybe it was the other way around? LOL.) Anyway, there’s swordfights in this, AND love scenes, so I wanted to do a play on that for two alternate ways Simon might figure it out.

I have a huge Deleted Section in which I wrote an alternate version of Simon and Baz finding out about their secret identities. I have one version where Baz figures it out first—it’s a very tropey yet angsty scene where Simon comes home totally wrecked from a fight, and Baz realizes as he’s helping with the wounds that he caused them. I actually like it a lot, but it ended up not quite fitting with the vibe of the fic (and I rather like them finding out through kissing better). :) I also had an idea where Simon figures it out because Vampire smells like cedar and bergamot, but it really just wasn’t interesting enough. 😂

Now onto... Outlines.

I say that hesitantly because I think these are literally a disgrace to outlines everywhere. These are the baby ones I wrote on April 6 right before posting. Some are more detailed than others, clearly...

Gotta live up to my username somehow.

We do love to see it.

I love this next one: 😂 CHAOS, SCONEY.

THEN, I wrote this as a very long text to ashspren, when I realized no sconey, this is not going to be under 20k words. LOL.

And then I did A Dumb Thing and I put it on AO3, having absolutely NO CLUE WHERE THE STORY WAS GOING. 😂

This is my favorite heading on the document.

Another one of my favorite notes in there.

This next part wasn’t even divided into chapters yet, it’s just a word vomit. I’m so sorry you have to read this mess.

Hahaha, once upon a time there was angst in this story. 😂

And then I realized my true calling: bakery fluff.

Then and only then, I actually decided to divide into those things called Chapters. This is the point where I made the admission to mr scone (boyfriend, not husband lol, we just call him that) that I write gay fanfiction, whoops, and can he please help me because he’s a HUGE DC comics fan and knows everything. And of course, he was super chill about it, and he did. He really did. He’s the genius behind Egghead!!! And also the entire Mage-Humdrum-Supercomputer/Politics plot. I’m serious. I did none of that.

I can’t even say I’m trying anymore. “Flort”??? I AM LITERALLY NOT TRYING.

Why yes sconey, so very specific. 😂

This is what qualifies as a “good” outline for me, that heading was just for my betas. Isn’t it fabulous to see that some of this actually made it in and I’m capable of planning in advance? 😂

Get ready for the shock of your life, though -- I actually have a SUUUUPER detailed outline for the two finale chapters. Because, well, it’s the finale. Wrapping up loose ends does actually require planning, WHO KNEW. Also I’d been writing and posting for a couple months at this point and it had been several more weeks in quarantine so maybe I’d regained some sense of reality? It’s like two pages but still shittily written, so I’ll just share a couple tidibits.

That bullet point is extraordinarily cracky BUT actually, Baz shooting up from the cloud like an awesome fucking hot dramatic person was one of the very first scenes I envisioned for this fic :D

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my writing brain! It’s a terrifying place. I love all of you that say Holding Out For a Hero is a well-crafted masterpiece, but respectfully, no ❤️

(Though I swear I AM super, super happy with how it turned out - it’s still my favorite thing I’ve ever written. Read it here!!!)

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Running

A/N: Here is my entry for @obsessedwithrandomthings 500 followers celebrations! Congratulations Dee! You more than deserve this! The prompt I used is in the summary, but I have also bolded it in the text. Thank you so much for letting me take part! The gif doesn't really match the theme of the fic but I searched ‘running’ and it was the best of them lol. I’m also less than 10 followers away from 800 so this is exciting!! As always, I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: “Run away with me,” You plead, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, mentions of death and anxiety, vomit - there is a lot of worry and anxiety in this, so please don't read if you don’t like, but I have tried to wrap it up in a fluffy fashion!!

Word count: 1.5k

Your stomach had been a ball of anxiety all night. Nothing anyone said could dampen the fear that was crawling its way up your throat. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Your fears are proven correct when Sirius lands in the hallway, holding up a drastically bleeding Remus. His blood stains his white button-up shirt and drips steadily onto the floor.

The scream is caught in your throat. You look wildly at Sirius, demanding an explanation. Sirius explains quickly; they had been tailed as they were following their own targets. Remus threw himself in front of Sirius to protect him from the Sectumsempra curse.

“I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s. I don’t know who works there, but I’ve already called for a Healer I can trust,” Sirius shudders, murmuring the levitation charm straight after, following Remus up the stairs in a hurry.

His blood stains the carpet in the hall and would stain the stairs too, but it was the last thing on your mind as you hurry behind Sirius. Remus is laid on the bed; his face contorted in pain, barely conscious but still aware of the pain lancing through his body.

Wordlessly, you conjure clean towels from the airing cupboard, holding them to the cuts across Remus’ chest and arms. Sirius takes a towel from you, holding it to the wound across his stomach.

The Healer arrives in what seems like hours, but it could have been minutes. Your eyes do not leave Remus as you press towel after towel to his cuts, trying to stem the bleeding despite knowing that nothing but magic would help.

Sirius’ hand on your shoulder has you stepping away from the love of your life, letting the Healer complete his work. Your hands are covered in Remus’ blood; your clothes too, are ruined. You barely make it to the toilet to empty your stomach. Sirius is there, holding your hair back, muttering comforting words to you. You press your forehead to the cold porcelain, trying to take everything in now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, but your brain couldn’t comprehend what you had just been witness to.

You force yourself to stand; pushing down the fresh wave of nausea as you make your way back into the bedroom, to Remus. He lies on the bed; his body entirely healed, but deeply asleep.

“I’ve had to give him a strong sleeping draught. He lost a lot of blood and whilst I was able to heal the injuries, there’s going to be some damage internally. He needs to be asleep for it to heal which, with his lycanthropy, will heal in a few days.”

“How long will he be asleep then?” Sirius asks, learning the information to relay to you later. He knows that at the moment, you would not be listening to word being said. That all of your attention would be focused on the man on your bed, asleep and no longer in any pain.

You refuse to leave his side. They all try to coax you from your room. Sirius promises he’ll stay with him so you can shower, but you refuse. Harry tries his hardest to get you to come downstairs to eat, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he leaves for a moment before coming back with a plate of food. You nibble at it, but the nausea soon returns.

The first day blends seamlessly into the second and there’s no change in Remus. He lies on his side of the bed in clean clothes and clean sheets, sleeping peacefully. You admire him from your spot in the armchair across the room; this would the first time in a long time that Remus had managed to get a solid block of sleep without being interrupted by the order or the lunar cycle. You think it every time but in sleep, you see the Marauder in him. You see the teenager you had fallen in love with one afternoon by the Black Lake. The teenager who had stuttered through asking you out but soon found his confidence once you had accepted.

For years it had been you and Remus. The only survivors of the first wizarding war, Remus claimed though it pained him to say it.

On the third day of your vigil beside the bed, Remus groans before blinking against the bright light of the morning. You’re out of your seat in an instant, lurching to the end of the bed with tears in your eyes. “Remus, you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sore, but I’m okay. I don’t need anything right now.”

You sag in relief, “I am so happy you’re awake, dear. That was the most terrifying time of my life.”

“Even more than the time you saw me as a wolf?” Remus tries to joke, but he winces instead.

“This isn’t a joking situation, Remus!” You cry, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being followed and then jumping in front of Sirius and then blinding pain. I passed out then, I think.”

Your hands grip the bedpost at the end of the bed, “Sirius brought you back here and we called in a Healer. You were hit with the Sectumsempra curse and your blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it-” You break off suddenly; your words getting caught in your throat.

The sudden urge to run overwhelms you. Your eyes dart around the room – to the suitcases, to the wardrobes. A plan begins to form in your head; a few more days healing was all that Remus would require before he’s stable enough to apparate. You know of a place where you couldn’t be traced where he could spend a few weeks or so recuperating before you run for real.

The desire to leave it all behind takes over. In that moment, the only thing you could ever want is a longer life with the man lying on the bed in front of you. If this war continued, how long would you have? Optimism in this situation is vitally important but as your eyes return to Remus, running over the war-weary, pale face of the love of your life, all you want is to go.

To go and never look back.

“Run away with me,” You start, rushing to his side, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

“Where would we go?” He asks, his eyes bright with possibilities.

“Anywhere – the country, the coast, abroad. Run away with me Remus, before the war swallows us whole.”

“What about the Order? Darling, we can’t leave them.”

“Fuck that, Remus. Look at yourself! You can barely move.” You stand, gesturing to the four walls in which you stand, “These last few days have been my own personal hell; I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. For the first time in my life, I have had to face a possibility of a life without you and I won’t do it. Not again. Run away with me, Remus.” Your eyes are wild as you plead to him, beg to him to consider doing this.

Remus’ eyes search yours, looking for what, you don’t know. You know the minute you’ve lost the battle, and you would be remaining where you are. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” You ask brokenly.

“You won’t leave Harry, love. You’re his godmother – you won’t let him face this war without you, you simply won’t.”

The tears that were previously lining your eyes now overflow onto your cheeks. You look at Remus through watery eyes, not bothering to stem the flow. “You can’t do this to me again, Remus. I will not live in a world that does not have you in it, do you understand?”

“I understand, darling.” Remus holds his hand out for you. You stumble over to him, desperate to touch some part of him. With a light tug, he has you sat next to him on the bed you share. “I’m here now,” he whispers, “I don’t plan on leaving for a long, long time.”

You sniffle, “Good. I didn’t like the look of my life without you.”

“What have I missed then; in the three days I’ve been asleep?”

You look at him, somewhat sheepishly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t left this room.”

Remus frowns at you. “Darling, please tell me you’ve eaten and taken care of yourself.”

“I’ve eaten a little, but I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to let anyone look after you.”

“I really did scare you, didn’t I?”

You nod, “Beyond scare, Remus. I couldn’t think straight, I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent thought since Sirius appeared with you in the hall.”

He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Remus. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nevertheless. I am sorry, I didn’t think before throwing myself in front of Sirius, and I should have.”

“You were protecting your best friend.”

Remus shrugs, but winces at the stiffness in his joints, “I will not leave you like that again. The minute I’m out of this bed I’m speaking to Dumbledore, demanding lighter missions. I’m too fond of this life to leave it prematurely.”

Tears start anew as you lie next to the man you so dearly love. Gripping his hand in both of yours, you press it your chest, “I’m too fond of you to let you leave it prematurely.”

**************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @bforbroadway @masterofthedarkness @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers @potterverseimagine @figlia--della--luna @angelinathebook @dreamer821

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

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note: so this is my first Nessian. I'm absolute trash for them so I hope y'all like it! let me know what you think. if you'd like to check out my other fics, here's a masterlist.

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Strange Love - Nessian

Between the company galas and his own large social circle, Cassian knew a lot of girls but none held his attention like Nesta.

The eldest Archeron sister was gorgeous—hell, gorgeous was too weak a word to describe what she was. He loved watching her snap to attention when he passed by. He could see her biting her tongue and the numerous profanities directed towards him there when he smiled at her. She smiled back—it would have been rude of her not to, but on her face, it looked mildly terrifying. When Nesta smiled, nothing good could possibly come out of it. He watched her now, her eyebrows furrowed as she sat at the reception desk outside his office, all her attention fixed on the file in her hand.

Cassian decided to test his luck again today, leaning on her desk. "Nesta!"

She looked up at him once, gave him an unimpressed glare, then turned right back to the damned file. When he won't get off the desk by himself, Nesta decided to show him the way out, drop a few hints. "This is a lunch break. Why aren't you having lunch, sir?" Only she could make a respectful word like that sound like an insult.

Cassian grinned at her. "I would, but Rhysand is busy with Feyre and I don't like to eat alone."

"Go eat in the staff lunch room, then. There's a lot of people there," she said.

She didn't even look up once, a stray strand of hair falling out of her messy bun. Cassian's hand twitched, tempted to tuck it behind her ear but he had no wish to die today. Besides, he had learnt the hard way that Nesta's wrath was something that should not be invoked, whatever the reason.

He said, "You see, Nesta, that may be so but the only person I want to have lunch with is not in the staff room."

She didn't even look up from her file once throughout the conversation. "If it's that important to have lunch with Rhys, just join the two of them. I'm sure Feyre won't mind." At this point, he couldn't tell if the woman was just too oblivious or if she was purposely looking for ways to shoo him away from her desk. He had always been subtle in making his moves on her but perhaps she really couldn't tell? But what if she knew and was only pretending to not notice to save him from the embarassment of rejection?

Deciding to throw caution and subtlety to the wind, he said, "Nesta, will you have lunch with me please?"

This time, at least she looked up into his eyes, a groomed eyebrow quirked up. "Are you flirting with me, sir?" She tried to hide her smile with a cough but the corners of her mouth pulled up.

"You finally noticed?" he asked.

Nesta said, "Actually, I noticed it that first day you bought me a coffee."

Cassian couldn't help but gape. "You—but how—um, wait—oh god, Nesta—"

She looked at him with amusement, a small smile on her lips as she waited for him to finish his rant. When she realized he probably won't be able to string together something coherent, Nesta confirmed, "I did. An annoying prick who keeps making up excuses to string his secretary along with him everywhere? You aren't as subtle as you think, sir."

"You think I'm annoying?" he smirked.

Nesta shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "I used to."

Cassian leaned forward, eyebrows raised and all his attention directed towards the stunning female. "And now?" His eyes flitted to her lips, then back to her eyes.

Cassian didn't care they were in office and anyone could walk in on them as he leaned in for a kiss. He couldn't quite believe it when she kissed him back, pressing against him as he slipped a hand around her waist.

When they pulled back, Nesta had a bright, non-threatening smile on her face. "Now, I think I'm starting to come around."

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tags:

@annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @fangirltrash74 // @julemmaes // @pixelatedpebble // @justgiu12 // @lucy617 // @robothevelociraptor // @official-kale // @bestbuddies07 // @soitsgorgeous // @curlyredqueen06 // @ribhinnog // @lordof-bloodshed // @purplerain // @xgetawaycar13 // @purple-rulez // @moondancer-204 // @stardelia // @sjm-things // @just-me-too // @deadlylady12 // @sunsummoner // @infinityandbeyond0503 // @aesthetics-11 // @queen-of-glass // @sannelovesreading // @rocky99 // @awesomelena555 // @that-other-pineapple // @lol-im-obssesed // @peppermint-fae // @thesurielships // @thron3ofbooks // @queenofgreenbriar

let me know if you'd like to be added to the acotar (or any other) taglist.

#nessian #cassian × nesta #Cassian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #fanfiction #fanfic #nessian fanfic #feysand #sarah j maas #sjm fandom

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autumnsart22 · 3 years

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Oikawa x reader ch. 13

Sorry for the late update, but it’s still Sunday so I’m good lol. Hope you enjoy!

As I wandered out of the club, I ignored all of the drunken yells and shouts calling me back to the dancefloor. I kept my eyes forward, barely even able to see straight as I walked with single minded determination towards the exit. I needed to get out of this club.

Right as I reached the door, the dark haired girl from before appeared right in front of me, a sultry look on her face.

“Hey, you’re leaving already?” She wrapped her arms around me, and it took all the strength in my body to not shove her as hard as I could.

Go back to that dumb bitch you were with before if you want to feel better about yourself!

I clenched my jaw, but effortlessly pulled her hands from around my neck, walking away without a word.

When I finally got to my car I sat in numb silence, unable to make myself move. I couldn’t stop seeing the shocked and hurt expression on Y/n’s face right before she walked away from me, telling me she wanted me out of her life forever. I hadn’t meant what I said, not even a little bit. I wanted to tell her that, to chase after her and call her a million times until I got the chance to explain.

I pulled out my phone, dialing her number before I could think, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hi, this is Y/n! Sorry I can’t answer the phone right now, but I’ll call you back as soon as I can…”

My chest ached. Taking a few deep, heaving breaths, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to relax. It would be fine; I would just call her again tomorrow and explain. Everything would go back to normal.

There was a loud tapping on my window, and I jolted. Iwaizumi stood outside, gesturing for me to open the door.

“Get into the passenger seat, Shittykawa,” Iwa snapped, and I decided not to argue, silently moving to the other end of the car. Iwaizumi took my place on the drivers side, starting the car and putting it into reverse.

We drove in silence for a long while, neither of us sure of what to say.

I was the one who ended up speaking first. “She’s never going to forgive me, Iwa.”

My best friend shot a glare at me, looking annoyed. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You don’t understand. The things I said…”

“Oikawa, neither of you handled the situation well at all, ok? That doesn't mean you won’t forgive each other.”

“What do I do?”

He sighed, leaning back. “I have no idea. That’s up to you to decide. For right now, I’d give it a little bit of time for you both to get some space, and then figure out a way to show that you’re sorry.”

Space? Time? I didn’t want either of those things. But I knew that Iwaizumi was right in that regard. Both of us needed to cool off, even though I didn’t want to admit it.

Iwaizumi pulled up in front of my house, face hard even though I could see the glimmer of concern in his eyes. “You going to be ok?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

✨✨✨✨

Y/n POV:

It had been one full week since the horrible night at the club, and I hadn’t spoken to Oikawa once. The Sunday after the party, I cried every hour, and I ended up emailing coach Nobuteru asking for a few days off like a coward. I must have sounded pretty pathetic, because he ended up giving me the whole week.

Avoiding practice didn’t mean I could avoid Oikawa all together, even though Seijoh was pretty big. In fact, I felt like I saw him everywhere throughout the school day. I began to keep my eyes peeled for his familiar tall figure and fluffy hair, turning around whenever I spotted him. It caused me to be late to a few classes, but it was better than the awkward interaction and the pain that would have ensued otherwise.

What hurt the most was the fact that he didn’t seem that upset. Whenever I saw him, he was usually surrounded by people (mostly girls) talking and laughing like there was nothing wrong. Maybe to him, there wasn’t. Did I really matter that little to him?

He also made no attempts to contact me or talk at all. I had received one call at 2am on the night of the party, but after that, contact went dead.

My only form of communication was Iwa, and we both had made a silent pact to not mention HIM. Instead, we spent a few afternoons taking walks, going out to lunch, or eating snacks in his car while listening to angry rap. I was happy that I got to be with Iwaizumi without Oikawa as a constant distraction for once. I felt like we got closer because of it, and it became easy to talk to him about how I was feeling (excluding any mention of HIM). In return, he told me more about his mom, and eventually wanted me to meet her. We ended up visiting her in the hospital after school one day, and I held Iwa’s hand the whole time. She was in a deep sleep, but Iwaizumi told her about his day, and I introduced myself. As we left, I promised that I would take care of her son.

Seeing Iwa’s mom made me realize how ridiculous the fight with Oikawa was, and how pitiful I was being. I refused to be the girl ruining her life over a boy.

I couldn’t stop my chest from hurting though.

Not working as Aoba Josiah's manager freed up a lot of my free time, and I ended up going to most of Karasuno’s practices after school. Being with the team lifted my spirits, especially when I noticed Hinata and Kageyama holding hands.

They had noticeably improved, better than I had ever seen them. They worked as a coherent team, picking up each other's slack when one of the team members fell short, to the point where I was blown away. I wished I could be wholeheartedly happy for them, but all I could think about was how Aoba Johsai would have to face Karasuno in the finals. When had I become so loyal to Seijoh?

Oikawa POV:

The week after the party was hell.

The first day back at school I had a plan to corner Y/n after practice, but she ended up not showing. When I questioned Iwaizumi about it, he told me that she had decided not to come for the rest of the week, but if I wanted a reason, I would have to talk to her myself. I tried pressing him for more, but he was like a concrete (iron) wall. I clearly wasn’t going to get any help from him.

After that, I looked for her everywhere in the halls, hoping to get a moment alone to talk. I spotted flashes of her a few times, but she always seemed to be moving away from me and I was always with people, so I couldn’t run after her. I considered calling her a few times, but chickened out, not sure if I would be able to handle her declining my calls. Iwaizumi had said to give her space anyway, so maybe I should wait.

But I couldn’t get the image of her tear stained face out of my head though. Every moment, even as I faked smiles and laughs, my chest physically ached. I felt like I was being torn up inside, watching her slide farther away.

On Friday after school, I headed to the office to get some permission slips signed for an away practice game coming up. My headphones blasted the 1975 into my ears, drowning out anyone trying to talk to me as I strode down the hall. A few girls stepped in my way, but I gave them apologetic smiles and kept moving. I was already late for practice, and I knew coach Nobuteru was going to make me run extra laps as punishment.

I stepped into the cool office, breathing in the smell of copy paper and air freshener. My entire body froze as I spotted Y/n standing by the front desk, speaking to the woman behind the counter.

As I approached, the woman paused in her conversation with Y/n. “Oikawa-san, it’s wonderful to see you!” I watched Y/n visibly stiffen, turning slowly to face me. I watched her face twist with some emotion I couldn’t name when she saw me, and I attempted a bright smile.

“You as well, Ms. Suzuki. I was just here to get these papers signed.” I held them out, and the registrar smiled.

“Of course,” she said, before turning back to Y/n. “I’ll get those copies you wanted if you just wait here a moment.”

Y/n gave a strained smile, pulling out her phone as the woman disappeared into the back office. I noticed her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through instagram.

WhatdoIsaywhatdoIsaywhatdoIsay…

“Why haven’t you been at practice?” I blurted, my voice coming out all wrong. I sounded like I didn’t care.

She swallowed twice, not looking at me. “I needed some more time to focus on my homework.”

Liar, she was such a dirty liar. She had never struggled with homework before, and she was one of smartest people I knew.

“You--”

Ms. Suzuki emerged from the back office, smiling brightly as she handed Y/n and I back our papers. The second my manager got her hands on the copies, she turned and practically sprinted from the office.

“Y/n wait--!”

The door slammed and she was gone.

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Y/n POV:

I sat on my bed, trying to finish the math packet I had gotten in class today. The work wasn’t very hard, it just took a long time, and my brain felt dead.

I was also majorly distracted. I couldn’t stop replaying the encounter with Oikawa over in my head, the horrible awkwardness and the sickening feeling when he smiled at me like everything was normal. I felt like a coward, unable to face him. I was sure he thought I was deranged after I had quite literally sprinted from the building.

My pencil broke on the page, and I cursed, throwing the useless thing aside in frustration. As I reached for another on my bedside table, I heard a knock from downstairs on the front door. My mom was out at a business conference in Osaka, and my father was in his office working, so he wouldn’t be able to get the door.

I groaned rolling to my feet. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

I padded down the stairs, rubbing my eyes and stretching as I walked to the door. When I opened it, I felt my stomach explode and fly right out of my mouth as I blinked up at Oikawa standing on my porch.

“Hey,” he shifted awkwardly, looking a little shy. He wore adidas pants and a regular white t-shirt, a black beanie covering his hair, and I was suddenly overly aware of my disgusting yellow pajama shirt and pink shorts I wore.

I didn’t respond, my brain unable to catch up.

He cleared his throat and stepped towards me, eyes on my face. “Y/n… I came here to apologize.”

I let out a slow breath. “W-why?” I could feel tears already coming, but I clenched my fists. No crying.

“Why what?”

“Why are you here to apologize? I thought you didn’t care, and wanted nothing to do with me.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You keep saying that...why do you think I don’t care about you? I do, a lot.”

My hands were shaking. “I--”

He stepped closer, towering over me, and I had to lean my head back to see his face. “Y/n, I wish I could take back what I said. I didn’t mean it, and I never want to make you sad again.”

“It was my fault though. I shouldn’t have…” I trailed off, unable to look at him.

“You-you had no obligation not to kiss Ushiwaka.” His jaw clenched but he continued. “I overreacted and blamed you. Please accept my apology? I don’t want to lose you.”

My lower lip trembled. “You’re so…” I sniffled and looked away. “You don’t need to apologize. We both reacted badly.”

“But you’ll forgive me? I can’t take not having you around. This week has been hell.”

I blinked, my face growing hot. “But I thought...”

“What? That I didn’t care about our fight?”

“I-I mean, you didn’t look that upset…”

Oikawa let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t know anything.” “Then tell me.”

His eyes were dark, his breath washing across my face as he leaned towards me. “I missed having you around, Chibi-chan, so much I could barely breathe. I don’t ever want to be the one to make you cry again, ok? I do care about you. Don’t forget it.”

I let out a half sob, half laugh, and my head fell forward to hit his chest. “Ok,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for walking away from you, and for kissing that dibshit. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.”

I gasped in surprise when he crushed me in a hug, his face buried in my neck. “I forgive you,” he murmured in my ear, and I relaxed, breathing in his familiar smell.

After a long moment, he pulled away and I shuffled awkwardly. “Um, do you want to come in?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Sure.”

He trailed behind me, kicking off his shoes and following me up the stairs to my bedroom. I flicked on the light, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious. My room was pretty simple, but it suddenly felt way too childish. I bit my lip, blushing furiously, but Oikawa looked delighted.

“Is this you as a baby?” He grinned down at a picture of me dressed in a pumpkin costume when I was two. “You were so cute!”

I smiled shyly, pulling him away and flopping on my bed. It was big enough to fit both of us shoulder to shoulder, and I opened my computer and pulled up Netflix. “Do you wanna watch something?”

He nodded, scrolling through the list of movies available. “Horror?” He grinned wickedly.

I rolled my eyes. “You hate horror movies, and so do I!”

He shrugged. “So? Let’s just give it a try.”

We ended up starting to watch the Grudge, which was about a cursed house and a ghost haunting and murdering everyone who entered said house.

It was not the right decision. Oikawa hid his face for most of the movie and screamed like a child at the jump scares, and I was so freaked out I clutched his arm in a death grip, so hard he probably lost circulation.

We stopped halfway, unable to continue, and Oikawa whined that he was too scared to go home alone now. I laughed, not arguing, because I didn’t want him to leave either.

“I have ice cream downstairs, so I’m going to go grab it,” I said, rolling off the bed and heading to the door. The second I saw the dark, creepy hall, I insisted Oikawa come with me. Especially since it was his fault we had watched the movie in the first place.

We held onto each other's arms as we slowly crept down the stairs, listening for any sign of ghosts or serial killers. I almost had a heart attack when my cat crept past us, which made Oikawa laugh his head off.

In the kitchen, I snatched two spoons and sat on the floor, leaning my back up against the cupboard. Oikawa sat next to me, his long legs stretching way farther than mine. The ice cream tub was massive, easily shared between two people, and we munched on it in comfortable silence. I thought it was weird that I could be so happy sitting on the kitchen floor eating ice cream at 3am with Oikawa, more happy than I was during most other exciting moments. How did he do this to me?

“I’m glad you’re here, Tooru.” I turned to look at him, watching his face redden. Did he not want me using his first name? Shit, maybe I’d gone too far…

He cleared his throat before staring at me earnestly. “Me too.”

I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

#oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fic #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyū!!#fanfiction #fandom #fanfic

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

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you’re screwed up and brilliant and look like a million dollar man

summary: murder gloves.

warnings: S M U T. sex everywhere. it’s violent sometimes. what’s a safe word? lol ransom wouldn’t know. (seriously, reader tells him to stop a few times and he doesn’t, so pls do not read if that is upsetting to you) and they’re annoying, legit can’t talk without fighting. and that daddy kink because y’all know me. a lot of choking. very vanilla bondage. spanking. fluffy feelings about sweaters.

word count: a bit over 8,000

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

a/n: lol and nearly THREE FUCKING MONTHS LATER 🙄🙄🙄🙄 truly, i am sorry. i hope that you picture a raccoon with creepy evil little hands when you think of me bc i am trash. and i have creepy evil little hands. you guys know how excited i got when i thought of this title, right?

It was your anniversary even though it hardly felt like one at all.

Six years today. Somehow, you had put up with all the shit. His horrid behavior at times. The family drama. The extravagant events Harlan planned that your high maintenance boyfriend never let you miss. Whenever you tried it, he either pouted or just fucked you until you wouldn’t dream of ever saying the word ‘no’ to him. At least not for a few days.

Six years.

Yet, you were sure he was still nowhere near proposing. That was a battle for the next anniversary, you had decided. This anniversary required much more pressing topics to be discussed.

You heard Ransom pull up in the driveway and come inside, but you kept your place at the counter. When he found you in the kitchen, you were in a thin robe, making him an Old Fashioned while your coffee brewed.

You glanced at him over your shoulder as he sat at the dining table. His eyes lingered on you for a moment but then he turned down to his phone, so you took your chance to stare. After all these years, you would think that the sight of him in a sweater wouldn’t matter to you, but it still did.

You’d met him in a sweater, several December’s ago at a ski lodge where you had bonded over unfathomable resentment toward your respective families and an inability to ski—something he still wouldn’t admit. I can ski, I just wanted to fuck you. You were practically begging me. Was I supposed to say no? That wasn’t exactly how it happened but when Ransom pouted, that often meant no sex, so you let him lie. Regardless, he was beautiful then and you swore he got more beautiful by the day.

He lifted both hands onto the tabletop in front of him, phone set against his palm, showing off those stupid leather gloves that were starting to make you question your sanity. You thought about those gloves too much and in the most depraved ways.

“Did you get the house?” you asked, a distraction for yourself. No sex, not until he gave you an answer. Hell, he was gone most of the day with Marta, so he damn well better have some success to report.

He narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze from his phone screen. “Why are you so dressed?”

Normally, he liked you walking around the house in nothing. A bodysuit, maybe. A bra, panties, and thigh-high socks. He liked you as naked as you could get. You liked it as well, it reminded him that even though, most of the time, he was in control, there were times when it was you. You who had final say, you who would withhold sex as some deranged power play. Sure, you needed Ransom like you needed oxygen or money, but he needed you just as much.

The robes were for occasional visitors. He knew that, he was just trying to prolong this conversation. He was trying to bait you, actually. If you were feeling…playful, you would have lied or refused to tell him. Then, long story short, you wouldn’t have been able to walk or sit right for a week. It wasn’t that he even needed such an elaborate reason to start this game, this time he was just trying to distract you.

“Joni stopped by.”

He gave you a flat look. Nothing confused him more than you sincerely getting along with Joni.

“She brought some crystals for us.”

“Rocks,” he corrected. “And they’re damn ugly and they’re not staying in my house.”

“Tiger’s eye for mental clarity,” you explained, voice level. It was your house too, and if he wanted to play this game, well, you had no problem throwing a chair through the window. Again. “Amethyst, for protection and stress—and intuition! It’s great for the third eye chakra—”

“Don’t start all that bullshit with me—”

“You’re just mad that I’m psychic—”

“No, you are not,” he snapped.

“Scared I’m going to find out about whoever else you’re fucking?” Okay, he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. If you truly thought that, you would have been so far out the door the second you had a suspicion. Ransom was good. Even though he liked to pretend he wasn’t.

He glared. “It’s a god damn scam—”

“Your family specializes in those.”

“She’s not family.”

“Meg is,” you pointed out. It was left unstated but blatantly clear that that did, in fact, mean that Joni was family also.

“Joni thinks you have money, she’s trying to play you.”

“They don’t need to play me, Ransom. I like Meg, she’s nice…and she’s finishing her degree. I’ll make sure of that, with or without your help. And I like Joni, you know, she was the first one who was nice to me. Other than Walt, I guess—”

“Yeah, he was nice because he wants to fuck you.”

“You think everyone wants to fuck me.”

“Joni does, too.”

“Oh yeah, your whole family?”

“My grandfather included.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can you not be so…you, right now? Please, he’s fucking dead, Ransom.”

“He was a fucking perverted bastard. He always stared at you, tried to get you alone as much as possible. And don’t even get me started on that time he had you on his lap—”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued.

He arched an eyebrow.

So, you were sitting on Harlan’s “lap”. It was Christmas, Harlan had dressed up as Santa. Ransom liked to pretend that Meg and Marta weren’t in the picture with you. Okay, maybe it was that you were trying to make him mad. You remembered that to be around the time you discovered that angry sex with Ransom was something else, something you truly weren’t sure how you had lived without.

You walked his drink to him and you watched as he downed the entire glass.

“Make me another. Please.”

You returned to the counter to oblige. You weren’t much of a cook, neither was Ransom, but he had the strongest desire to see you acting domestic for him. Sometimes, that just meant you making him drinks or bringing him a beer. You didn’t mind, so long as he watched you the entire time.

You once again set the glass in front of him. “So, your mother wants to fuck me?”

He eyed you, lifted the glass to his lips, took a small drink, set it down, then he nodded once. Instead of speaking, he went back to texting on his phone.

“Donna?”

“Not family, but yes.”

“Jacob?”

He scoffed. “Yes, he would fuck you. Also, possibly tie you up and dismember you after that—”

“Nana?”

Again, his eyes narrowed at you. He knew you were up to something now. He lifted one of his hands, smirking when he saw how intently your eyes were following it. He pulled at the tie of your robe; it was such slinky material that it slipped off your shoulders just after it was loose enough.

Your bodysuit was lace because Ransom loved you in lace. It was a tiny white scrap with thin straps and cups that your breasts spilled out of when you bent over. You were never one for modesty, but there was always something that made you want to cover up whenever Ransom was looking at you—even though his eyes were always full of lust and appreciation.

He let his hand return to the table and he looked at his phone.

Seriously? That was it? You shoved his phone away, it clattered to the table a few inches over, and you sat down on top of him. Your arms around his neck, your knees pressed to his hips, hovering over his soon-to-be hard cock. “And what about your dad?”

“Excuse me?” he demanded.

“Does he wanna fuck me? Because maybe I should ask him to get me that house and maybe fucking him would be all the motivation he needs, motivation you clearly are not feeling—”

You heard his arm brush across the table and then his glasses were shattering to the floor. Before you could scold him, his hand tangled tightly in your hair and he jerked you down flat to the table. He abruptly stood, leaning over you, his face mere inches away from yours.

You should have been scared; you knew that. He was so strong and he rarely ever stopped to think, he was fast actions and apologies later. But this was Ransom and you couldn’t be scared of Ransom.

“Wanna try that again?” he challenged. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“I would love to sit on his face,” you stated. “And I would love to feel his m—”

He gripped your jaw with his free hand and you utterly melted. You couldn’t explain coherently how much you needed that cold leather against your skin. Despite what you knew he had done with those gloves. Hell, maybe that was why you liked them so much. All of his scheming and malice, the killing. But then he would come home to you and he was so soft and so sweet, until he wasn’t, until he was fucking you, spanking you, choking you.

“You. Little. Brat. I got the fucking house for you—”

“You did?” you blurted out.

You suddenly realized, of course. That was why he hadn’t answered you. He knew you were getting impatient and he knew you would act out. Now, he would get to punish you. You would have been mad but the Thrombey house was the most beautiful house you had ever laid eyes on. The idea of building an actual life with Ransom there, in a house that he loved even though he wouldn’t admit it to his parents, only made you happy.

“I did,” he promised. “And now, you have to earn it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Brats don’t get houses.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you accused. “I’m not earning anything. Every day I fucking put up with you, I earn that fucking house.”

“You just made a comment about wanting to fuck my dad—”

“No, I said I wanted your dad to eat me out. There’s a difference.”

He pressed his fingers into your jaw harder and yanked a little on your hair. “Say you’re sorry, baby doll.”

“Fuck. You.”

He narrowed his eyes, hand snapping from your face down to the clasp of your bodysuit that lay between your legs. He yanked it open, settling his hips against your knees to hold you open for him.

He never moved his eyes from yours and you, if only to meet his challenge, did the same. “I swear, you better not be wet.”

He was in a fucking sweater, what did he expect? You figured voicing that question would do nothing for you, probably only make him even more conceited. No, silence could damn you if that meant Ransom was knocked down a little.

“Or you’ll have to be my father’s latest mistress because I will fucking throw you out.”

“Well, maybe he’s better than you,” you pointed out.

Instead of a verbal response, his leather-clad fingers smacked your cunt.

Pleasure was right on the tail of pain, so close that you weren’t sure what you were feeling. Yes, it hurt, but wow—it fucking hurt. Half of you wanted to retract from the pain but as it settled, you immediately wanted more. If you weren’t wet before… Your body was vibrating with your undeniable need for him, but still, fuck him. He’d been an ass since he walked in and you didn’t feel like just giving in.

“Ow! What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demanded, only because he was smirking at you and staring with knowing eyes. “Get the fuck off of me.”

He snorted at what you both knew was a sad attempt on your part.

You began to struggle against him, attempting to push him back with your knees. “Ransom, let me go.”

He forced you into a sitting position with the hand still in your hair and let go just to grab your wrists. His other hand grabbed quickly at the scarf around his neck.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you warned.

He shoved you back down, forcing your arms above your head.

“Ransom, I swear—”

He cut you off with a rough kiss as he wound his scarf around you in some complex way that he probably wouldn’t even be able to get you out of when this was all over.

You turned your head away, and he moved his mouth to your neck. “If you do not untie me, I am going to leave and never come back!”

He bit you hard enough to leave a mark before pulling back to set himself onto his forearms. “And live where? The street? Or you wanna go crawling back to your fucked-up parents?”

“Tell them I finally came to my senses; they’d take me back.” Long story short, your parents fucking hated Ransom. They thought he would never do anything for you or give you anything.

It didn’t help that you sort of cut back on work once you’d met Ransom. He was possessive, he just didn’t want you flying all over the world if you couldn’t take him with you. And you couldn’t because his family was beyond demanding and Ransom still had to show up now and then at whatever theatric event Harlan could think up. And as a model…taking pictures with men sometimes, or other women, wearing very little? Well, Ransom would never ask you to quit but he was always so insecure afterward. You still had your campaigns, a few projects you did with friends, but you were hardly a model anymore.

But well, your parents were obviously fucking wrong. He got you the house. The first time he had taken you there was to meet his grandfather—which was huge because it was the first time Ransom was letting you get that close to him. He hadn’t anticipated Joni and Meg being there but you hadn’t complained. He had, non-stop. Still, it was something…special. He’d shown you his old room and fucked you. Took you out to the woods and fucked you against every awful statue out there. Then took you to his parents’ room and, of course, fucked you there.

They were meant to show the next week, you’d left before that. Much to his pleasure, his mother left him a screaming voicemail or two or seven once she’d realized what had been done on those silk sheets.

You’d fallen in love with the house and you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it to an outsider. At the will reading, when it was announced that it belonged to Marta, you nearly fainted. Ransom had been so damn calm though, up until he was laughing like the god damn psychopath that you’d always suspected he was.

That was five days ago and things between the two of you had been…unconventional. When he had shown up that night—after ditching you, no less, to do whatever he was doing with Marta—you immediately started fighting. You had to get a fucking Uber! And he refused to apologize because, according to him, you were “having an attitude”. Things were thrown, insults were traded, and it was the longest night of your whole relationship.

It was only two days ago that you admitted to the root of your hostility. The house. He couldn’t lose the house. It wasn’t like you thought you were going to be living in it any time soon, but when he did finally propose, maybe things would work out that way. The following morning, he apologized with a diamond necklace and the promise that he would get the house back from Marta.

“Or you could just apologize,” he pointed out.

See, he never did, and in all your time with him, you decided you never would either. It was a good relationship. The sex was amazing, you guys never lied, never cheated, but there were a few communication barriers that neither one of you wanted to mend. Who really needed the word ‘sorry’?

“Seriously, Ransom, fuck you.”

He sighed, but that did little to hide how thrilled he was that you wanted to fight today. “I try to be nice to you, you know. But you don’t want nice, do you?” He jerked you up higher on the table by your arms and crawled his way over you. His forearms were on either side of your head and his leg was coming up to settle between yours.

The table had been freezing, but with him over you, and his heavy coat caging you in, you were just hot. Too hot. The snow-covered back yard seemed the better option at that moment. Anything to get away from him.

“Ransom,” you sighed. “Enough, stop—”

He pressed his knee against you and you shuddered. It hadn’t been long at all, so why you were so desperate was beyond you. Since Harlan, Ransom truly had a new outlook on life. He was impulsive and selfish before, but after the death of his beloved grandfather, there was nothing that could stand in the way of what he wanted. And what he often wanted was you, not that you were complaining.

“Get yourself off, baby.”

You glared up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Yes, you heard, but what the fuck?! You didn’t get yourself off. He was controlling enough to need to dictate every single one of your god damn orgasms and if it wasn’t because of his mouth, his fingers, or his cock, it wasn’t happening. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to let you finish at all,” he explained. “I suggest you do it yourself.”

You theorized that if you complied now, then maybe he would forget he was so angry and just fuck you. That had happened a few times before, he did always tend to pout when he remembered, though.

Despite your pride and the burning you felt on the tip of your tongue because you sincerely wanted to yell at him, you rolled your hips. It was tentative almost, which made him scoff. The material of his pants was too soft and with no assistance from him and your awkward angle… You figured he was enjoying making you work for this so much.

After what you said about Richard? There was no way you were going to be able to convince him to help you. You supposed he didn’t need to. Hell, you didn’t even need to finish. He just had to think you did. You turned down to watch, moved your hips faster, started making just a little more noise—

“You’re faking.”

You stopped altogether with a huff. “I am not!”

“You are. You wanna know how I know? Because for the past few years, every orgasm in your life has been because of me. You don’t know how to get off without me.”

“You are such an ass.”

“You don’t just want to ask for some help?” He looked down, one hand lowering slowly. “You know I can be very helpful when I need to be.”

You watched, gasping just when he pulled his hand away. “Ransom.”

“Let me just take the gloves off—”

You whined an incoherent protest. You knew that he knew.

He pretended to be confused, eyebrows pulled together. “You want me to keep them on?”

You frowned at him.

“Why?”

“Fuck off, Ransom.” You didn’t know why! Your only theory was that you were just as messed up as him and that you needed to make an appointment with a mental healthcare professional!

He smiled widely, and you hated how that made your heart skip a little. He always smirked, rarely ever smiled, so when he did, you were screwed. “You want to hear about it again? About how I murdered my grandfather?”

You snorted. “Oh, is that what happened? I thought Marta murdered Harlan—”

“She didn’t.”

“She’s the one who gave him the medicine,” you pointed out. “You didn’t have to do anything except switch a vial.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“Are you going to kill me, too? Oh, correction, are you going to get the help to kill me, too?”

“I might.”

“God, you are disgusting.”

He finally released your wrists to grab your jaw again. “Keep your arms up, I won’t tell you a second time.”

You were already moving them down, stopping right when you heard his threat. With a soft sight, you settled back against the table.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to hit him.

His thumb and forefinger pressed hard against your cheeks until you opened your mouth. He took that as his chance to slide two fingers inside your mouth until you gagged. You closed your mouth anyway, refusing not to meet one of his challenges.

They tasted even worse than you had imagined but you weren’t going to stop. You started to grind against his thigh again. It was better now, like maybe this was going to be enough to get you off.

He set his forehead to your temple, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “You don’t want to hear what happened after we left the party, after I fucked you in the car so good you couldn’t stand?”

Oh, that night. Where to begin with that night. It was Harlan’s birthday party, you’d been to all the ones before that and they’d gone off without…okay, well, there were definitely hitches, but nothing you hadn’t come to expect. Nothing that lasted too long. Yes, this family was all kinds of fucked up, but they never stayed away from one another for too long.

You had assumed Ransom’s argument with Harlan was going to be just another one of those cases. You’d been talking to Walt and Linda, the latter trying to ignore her husband’s attempts at pulling her into an argument he was having with Joni. Walt was talking about the company again; it didn’t bore you or Linda like it did everyone else.

Ransom’s voice carrying out from Harlan’s office startled everyone silent. He stormed out just to grab you and drag you outside, all while his family watched from windows at the front of the house. You told him to stop, which he didn’t. You told him your heels were a hazard, which he ignored.

When he started driving, you were honestly scared. Ransom was hardly a cautious driver generally, so when he was angry? And god, he was angry. You were sure you had never seen someone else get to him the way that Harlan had.

And he was ignoring you. He wouldn’t tell you what they fought about, but he always told you. It was, very simply, too much, and you were not going to put up with it. It was dark, cold, and Ransom had been drinking. You directed him to stop the car, and as firm as you hoped you were being, you were stunned when he listened.

The way he looked at you was so unlike any way he had ever done it before. You were more than just confused and you were a little worried, there was realization in his eyes. You could see that his mind was moving and you had known him long enough to know that that never meant anything good.

He demanded that you get out of the car and you did, even though part of you was worried he was going to leave you there. He followed, coming around to lead you into the of the car. He wrapped one hand around your throat and pinned you against the car door with his body, his chest to your back. His free hand was working his clothing out of the way, then fumbling to open the door.

He wordlessly shoved you against the seat, shoving your dress out of the way. Before you could say a word, he was inside you, his body covering yours. His hold around your throat was tight, and you knew that meant that he didn’t want to talk. That didn’t shut him up, however.

He just kept saying he was going to take care of you, and he didn’t loosen his hand until he asked you if you wanted him to take care of you. You said you did. He asked if he had taken care of you up to that point. You said that he had. He asked you if you trusted him. You said you did.

He left you in the backseat, covered in his cum and reddening marks on your neck, hips, and breasts, wrapped in his coat. He turned the car off and you echoed with just about 100 questions, none of which he directly answered. He said you couldn’t come with him because well, you honestly couldn’t walk.

The following morning, you woke up in bed while Ransom was making breakfast. Well, okay, you hadn’t actually seen him make anything, but since you didn’t find any restaurant containers, you couldn’t throw that accusation at him. He brought you pancakes to eat in bed and you guys had an amazing morning together.

By noon, the family was calling both of you with news of Harlan’s death.

He pressed his free hand over your face, covering your nose, and shoved his fingers deeper down your throat. You were choking and that didn’t frighten you like it should have. Some of the best orgasms you’d gotten from Ransom were when you were choking on his fingers or his cock.

You didn’t stop rocking your hips until you were finishing and you never once looked away from him. He stared into your eyes the entire time because it was undeniable at this point, Ransom had a kink for murder, and this was as close as he was going to get to it with you—some minor breath play.

He pulled away from you completely, stepping back onto the floor. He glanced down with a self-satisfied smirk, admiring the mess you had made on his pant leg. His amusement only grew as he watched you try to catch your breath.

You were still coming down when you felt Ransom leave the space between your legs. Glancing around the room, you found him at the counter. His back to you, you heard him pour some bourbon in a glass. You weren’t much of a bourbon person but whenever you tasted it on Ransom’s tongue, you never minded it too much.

When he returned to you, it was with a knife from the block on the counter. A large knife, you wondered what he would do if you made a comment about him compensating for something. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He smirked. “You scared?”

You snorted. “No.”

Arching an eyebrow, he pressed the blade down just barely against your thigh, dragging it upward toward your soaking center.

You had to bite your lip as he touched you there, just a tease because he didn’t truly want to cut you. The cool surface made goosebumps rise on your legs and your heart began to pound with excitement. You often wondered if you would be this fucked up if you had never found Ransom.

He lifted it to your chest, eyes bright as they followed the knife. He pressed down just slightly harder and led the knife to your shoulder. Your heart dropped the second you realized what he was doing.

“Ransom—”

“Shut up.”

“This is a piece from Megan Fox’s collaboration with Fredrick’s—” You felt the snap of your bodysuit’s strap and your jaw dropped.

He smirked down at you, proceeding to the next side to do the same.

“You fucking psycho!” you reprimanded. You thought dating a man with too much money and a narcissistic concern for his appearance would have given him at least some respect for clothing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? You’re the one so wet over a god damn knife.”

“You can’t just destroy my clothes!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “just did. The fuck are you going to do about it? And consider your answer carefully, you know, if you want that house so badly.”

“It’s already my house,” you declared. “You got it for me. Stop pretending—”

“Pretending what? That I couldn’t find someone to replace you in a second? I bet Marta would be up for it.”

You shut up immediately, just staring at him. You knew Ransom liked it when your anger was quick. And truly, the last thing you wanted was to give him anything he wanted. You weren’t trying to be jealous in any way, but you’d always wondered how he felt about Marta.

He seemed to like talking to her—albeit, he also liked talking to Meg…just to get a rise. But he also liked getting a rise out of you, clearly. You just wanted to know. And he wouldn’t answer you, any time you asked him how he felt about someone else, he just fucked you.

“Now, don’t pout—”

“Fuck you—”

“Don’t be such a baby—it was a joke.”

“I don’t care,” you proclaimed. “You know, you can fuck her if you want.”

“Oh?”

You nodded, humming. “Please do. Then I’ll follow up with your dad.”

He snorted. “That’s getting weak.”

“You think he wants me to call him daddy?”

He took your neck in his hand. “If you say that again, I’ll fucking…”

“What?” you demanded. “What the fuck are you going to do, Ransom?”

Suddenly, he was kissing you. You’d blinked, then he was over you, hand tearing down your bodysuit as he held you by the throat. He stood to toss the bodysuit out of his way, eyes tracing your body.

He didn’t seem to care that you were completely out of breath by the time he’d pulled away, you didn’t either. This was something you both had in common. In moments like these, nothing mattered. You both did and said whatever you wanted, but by the time he was inside you, it was all forgotten.

“I’m moving out,” you announced.

He snorted. “You’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going back home; I can’t stand another day with you.”

“You ever try to leave me and I will drag you back. Every fucking time, Y/N.”

You scoffed weakly. “Learn to hear the word no. You’ll need to. Now that you’re poor, especially.”

“You think that’s what this is?” He still wasn’t looking at your face, just your naked body as if he’d never seen it before. “You think it’s because I’ve never been told no?”

“What else would it be?”

He snorted. “Try to be less transparent. Is this your way of asking what we are?”

You knew what you were. To an extent. It was just that sometimes, Ransom wasn’t the most traditional, and you were okay with that. But well, it had been 6 years. You were waiting on the future to start, the engagement, the ring, changing your last name, possibly starting a family. But well, Ransom hadn’t even told you he loved you. You knew he did, love wasn’t just words, and he definitely showed you, but it would be nice to hear. Still, that was not what you had been asking… okay, maybe it kind of was what you were asking.

“No, I couldn’t care less. I won’t have to stay with you much longer anyway… I would never date anyone poor.”

“Baby, call me poor one more time and your ass is going to be so sore.”

He was in such an odd mood. You didn’t know exactly what he wanted. It had sounded like he’d wanted to fight, then he started getting…well, sappy for him. Now, he was threatening to spank you for stating fact?

“Look at that,” he taunted, smirking at your silence. “You can be such a good girl when you try.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I should give you incentive to shut your mouth more.”

“Excuse—”

He shushed you as his free hand pressed to your pussy.

You quieted only because you forced your mouth shut. You hadn’t been sure how the leather gloves were going to feel, if you should like them… But well, you did. And maybe you didn’t want him to know that.

But he did, that much you could tell from the arrogant look in his eye. You closed your eyes, letting your head roll back against the table. Whatever, you might as well get an orgasm for all this trouble he’d given you.

He traced small, gentle circles around your clit and you couldn’t even remember what you’d been arguing about. You knew he was watching you; you knew you shouldn’t be giving in so easy. That was why he was a dick; he knew you would let him be because he knew how to fuck you well. Two fingers easily slipped inside you—at least you thought it was two, you couldn’t tell.

You were caught off guard. It had been years since you’d felt something inside you other than Ransom*.

Was it supposed to feel good? What you liked was that these gloves were not supposed to be inside you, yet there they were. Ransom didn’t seem to care that they were close to a thousand dollars. You remembered glaring at him when he showed them to you, sent to him by one of his few friends, a designer (🙄) You had lectured him. They were real leather! You did not believe in killing animals for fashion. It was your one rule. You’d never participated in a campaign or contract if there was an animal harmed in the making.

But now, here you were, rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers as he wore those sickening gloves. It was a strange sensation, maybe not good, but not bad. He started to crook his fingers against that spot that he could now locate in record time, and so it didn’t matter what it felt like anyway.

He leaned over you, grabbing one of your arms to pull you into a sitting position. “Watch, baby girl. Watch your pussy take my fingers.”

You turned down and at an agonizing speed, his fingers disappeared inside you. He crooked them twice before pulling them out almost completely. The gloves were embarrassingly wet and you could feel your cheeks heating because of it.

“Can you take another?” he inquired.

You weren’t capable of forming thoughts. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to want an answer. He pulled his fingers back, pushing three back in.

Your head dropped back and you closed your eyes. “Fuck, Ransom, please—”

“Keep watching, baby—I’m only going to tell you once.”

You hurriedly turned back; struggling to keep your eyes open and your hips still. Watching made you anxious because you knew exactly when you were going to feel what and you were simply not patient enough for your tease of a boyfriend.

“You hear how wet you are? Your pussy is so desperate…I bet it could take all four of my fingers. What do you think?” He took your jaw, turning your gaze up to him. “Hmm?”

You began to eagerly nod. “Yes.”

He pulled his arm back and let his pinky join as he moved it forward—once more, you felt yourself blushing at how easily they all slipped inside. It was a delicious stretch that was already driving you crazy. He rarely ever got to four fingers, by the time he was three in, that usually meant he was ready to fuck you. He always tried though, mindful of his size and how difficult it was to take him sometimes.

You sighed his name and whimpered a plea, you did not know what for, but he did. His free hand wrapped around your neck and he leaned in to kiss you, the fingers inside you still curling skillfully. His lips were soft against yours, a notable contrast to everything else he was doing.

“What is it about these gloves that get you so wet? he pressed. “Huh? Let me tell you, my love, about all the bad things I’ve done in them.” He seemed completely detached as he recounted all those events that you had missed because he’d wanted you to miss them, you wondered if he’d decided to that just so he could bring it up while he was fucking you.

Everything was calm and slow. Then he said Fran’s name and his hold on your neck tightened, and he started fucking you with his fingers, relentless in pressure and pace. His stare was locked on yours and you noticed how he brightened when tears finally filled your eyes. You would start turning a terrible red soon, you knew because he’d choked you enough times in the mirror. He always liked it so much so you never complained.

You had run out of air several long seconds ago and that was why your finish was coming so harshly. You just hoped he couldn’t tell because he would undoubtedly make you wait.

“I liked killing her,” he told you. “I would do it again. She was standing in the way—our way of the future I want to give to you. I’d fucking kill anyone for you, baby, you know that?”

“Yes,” you coughed. You didn’t think he killed Fran for you. Maybe, maybe on some low level, but it was ultimately for him. You didn’t mind that, though.

He smirked. “Say my name.”

He loved it when you were choking but still so desperate for him that you wasted what little oxygen you did have on saying his name, letting him know that he was pleasing you. You obliged and his hand instantly fell away from your neck. You took a deep breath in, coughing as you tried to blink away your tears.

He grabbed your hands and put them over his pants. “You feel how hard you’re making me, baby?”

Your pussy clenched around his fingers in anticipation, you couldn’t wait for him to be inside you. You hurriedly searched for the button on his pants until he shoved your hands away.

“No, not yet.” He grabbed your neck again and then crouched down, immediately burying his lips in your pussy.

A strangled yell came from your parted mouth, pure nonsense. You grabbed his forearm, a pathetic attempt to keep yourself sitting up, not that he would have let you fall if he didn’t want you to.

He tilted his head back to look up at you as his fingers kept working you. “Keep saying my name, baby.”

You did so three times before he finally placed his mouth back on you. You were shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly. Your end had built up to this impossibly high place, you were sure it was because your last orgasm was so unsatisfying.

Regardless, he’d barely been on his knees long at all when you knew you would come soon. And fuck, you needed to come. “Ransom—I—I’m—”

“You’re close?” he spoke against your hot, wet flesh, humming as he started sucking your clit gently. “Hm, baby?”

“Yes!” you sobbed.

And you couldn’t so much as blink before he was standing, pulling you off the table by your hips. You came crashing down hard, collapsing onto the table as you realized what was happening. You had been confused for only a second, but then, this was Ransom—why would you expect anything else?

That fucking piece of shit.

You were leaned over the edge of the table, legs shaking so much that he had to hold you up. Your bound arms were in front of you, unable to offer you any assistance. You wanted to push him away or kick him but you worried about your physical safety if you tried. The only thing that could make this situation worse was falling on your ass in front of Ransom.

The dick probably wouldn’t help you up.

You rested your forehead against the table, that was when you realized you were crying. Your cheeks were hot and lined with trails of tears. “I fucking hate you.”

His hand came down on your exposed ass with no warning at all.

You yelped, attempting to pull away from him.

He held you right where he wanted you with one hand closed around your hip bone.

“You’ve been acting like a brat this whole time, what the fuck did you expect?”

“Absolutely nothing from you!” you hissed. “You can’t fucking do anything right!”

And that rewarded you another slap on the opposite side of your ass.

You grit your teeth until your skin stopped stinging. “If you hit me again, I’m going to kill you!”

But hell, even you knew that was only going to get you another one. “You’re going to apologize.”

“For what?!”

“Everything—your attitude, talking about my father, and hanging out with Joni—”

“Oh, fuck you, Ransom! You’re a fucking psychopath with serious possession issues. I’m not a god damn object—”

His hand cracked across your ass, maybe a little more forceful than he intended but he hadn’t expected you to put up so much fight today.

Your mouth was clamped shut and more tears had gathered in your eyes. You weren’t sure what you were crying about anymore, sheer frustration or because he was hitting you so hard.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“No!” Was he out of his mind? He had never made you apologize like this. He let you suck him off or he just tied you up and you were “sweet” enough that he just forgave you. He had never tried to force you to say those words.

“Do it, now—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you decided.

“I will give you one more chance,” he informed. “Then I’m done talking.”

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had all day.”

He smacked you again. And again, you were finally starting to realize that the leather hurt more than his bare hand. Again, and your legs buckled. He quickly scooped you up, setting you atop the table.

“Ransom,” you pleaded.

Instead of responding verbally, he spanked you again. You only took three more before you blurted out those dreaded words. He paused but you knew he wasn’t going to give you more opportunities to make it right, you would have to do that on your own.

“I’m sorry for my attitude.”

He hummed and you were stupid enough to think he was going to let the rest go. Not a blink of an eye later, he smacked you again.

“And I’m sorry for what I said about your dad!”

Yet again, he struck you without a word.

“Ransom, please, I’m sorry! I’m really sorry—”

“Sorry…what?”

“What?” you breathed back. He didn’t say ‘for what’ because that much he knew; you’d said that much. Then what the fuck did he mean?

He tsked and you knew what was coming.

You flinched before he even touched you. “S-sir? I’m sorry, sir!” He’d tried to start that but it was awkward at best. Sir did nothing for either one of you. You were running out of logic though and seemed the best bet.

He snorted. “No, baby. Not ‘sir’.”

“Daddy!” you realized, nearly crying tears of joy. Of course, after that joke you made about Richard, Ransom just needed to assert his dominance. Then his temper tantrum would be over. “Daddy, I’m sorry—”

“Now I don’t think you’re being sincere; you’re just telling me what I want to hear—”

“No, daddy, I’m so sorry—”

But he hit you again.

And okay, fuck him—you had just been telling him what he wanted to hear. You were done. “Stop!”

“Or what?”

“Ransom, I swear—”

He wrapped his arm around you, grasping your neck so he could yank you up. His forearm was pressed hard between your breasts, his elbow digging into your side where he held you tight against his chest. “You made a mess of my gloves, clean them.”

Before you could argue, he shoved his hand into your mouth. You were refusing to obey, however, which he realized when your mouth was completely still. His solution was to force his fingers down your throat until you were gagging violently.

When you realized he wasn’t going to give, you started sucking. You could feel his sweater against your back. It shouldn’t have been able to calm you down, but fuck…this was Ransom. This sweater-wearing asshole was apparently the man you loved—how fucking stupid could you be?

He began dragging you to the sliding door. Ransom’s house was pretty secluded and the only other people that regularly showed up was the help. Three weeks prior, you had pointed out that there was no point in having a sliding glass door if you didn’t have a dog. That was your subtle hint that that was what you wanted.

He flat out refused and you guys had ended up screaming at each other until he held you against the glass and fucked you silent. He had enjoyed it, but you couldn’t relate.

Once more, he pressed you into the glass, lifting your arms over your head. You tried to recoil the second you felt the cold surface against your breasts but he just pushed you back harder. You began turning your head pointedly, his fingers were still in your mouth but you knew he would take the hint.

Finally, he pulled them free and began brushing your hair away from your face. “What do you need, baby?”

“You are such a fucking asshole, Ransom!”

“And you are disrespectful.”

“Why the hell should I respect you?”

“Keep it up, baby, we already have a long night ahead of us. You really wanna let this go on tomorrow, too?”

You couldn’t, you knew that with total certainty. Your body was worn out, the only thing that was keeping you going was the anger you felt. You dreaded imagining how sore your muscles would be when you woke up the next morning.

“Now,” he sighed, feigning patience, “Try not to make a mess of my gloves again, or I’ll make you clean them again.” He reached between your legs and began rubbing his fingers quickly over your clit.

“Ransom!” you cried, attempting to push your body back against his. You could not keep doing this. “Stop, please!”

“No.”

That was all he said, the last thing, in fact, even though you didn’t stop talking the whole time. The whole nine almost-finishes he gave you, that he would stop in the middle of because you kept “making a mess”.

He had to know when you were truly almost spent because that was when he tore his pants out of his way and without even a teasing remark, thrust into you. It took a mere two thrusts before you fell apart.

The glass was stained with streaks from your skin, sweat, tears, and probably other bodily fluids, and you hated that the housekeeper would know why. God, he was the fucking worst person on the planet.

He never gave you a moment, he just kept fucking you through your orgasm and then after because now he needed to finish. “Tell me you’re not going to leave me,” he ordered.

You were more than just confused, wondering briefly if you’d even heard him correctly. “What?”

He let both hands grasp your hips and he pushed into you harder. “Tell me that you’re never going to leave me.”

You turned your head back, attempting to be coherent through the whining and mewling. “What—the fuck—are you talking about?”

“Even if this shit all goes wrong,” he explained. “Even if I get caught. Right now, tell me that you’re not gonna fucking leave. Say you won’t leave me.”

“Of course, I’m never—going to leave, you fucking idiot.” You turned forward, eyes shutting because you didn’t want to be looking at him when you said this. “I love you.”

His hips stuttered and he froze buried inside you, but you weren’t going to acknowledge what you’d just said. He pulled out just to turn you to him, lifting you so he could properly fuck you against the door.

Your legs hung loose around him but your tied arms could successfully hold around his neck. And just like that, the fight was over. Neither of you would probably ever bring up a single thing said during this disastrous night. He just kissed the side of your face as he told you how good your pussy felt.

#ransom drysdale x reader #l o l but those murder gloves #for real #my writing

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lordeasriel · 4 years

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hdm theory: dust is actually harmful

Dust is actually harmful. Not in the sense of being sin, but it is ultimately what damages people from different universes to stay where they don’t belong. Stay tuned for what I consider to be wildest, craziest, most senseless theory I’ve ever written. Keep in mind this isn’t super serious, I’m aware there are gaps in this theory (because I accidentally countered my own arguments as I was writing lmao) and beware spoilers for both trilogies. Under the cut because it’s long-ish.

Mrs. Coulter’s research.

We know Mrs. Coulter created the General Oblation Board to research and examine the readings of Dust in children and how to stop it from settling on them. Outside her other personal goals, which included being in the good graces of the Magisterium, she had an interest in Dust as a scholar, and while she has a lot of dubious actions, it’s fair to say she, at the very least, believed that Dust did something to people. While personally I do not consider Mrs. Coulter a woman of faith, she was raised in a society controlled by the Church - and she has personal dealings with them - so it’s safe to assume she was raised in the dogma that “Dust is Bad” and she believes in it, because why not? I mean, there is a lot of reasoning behind this claim, but none of it is important for this specific theory.

The Magisterium has the narrative, after Dust was discovered and studied by Boris Rusakov, that the particles are a representation of Sin. A lot of the discoveries surrounding Dust connected it to the fact adults seemed more connected with it than children, which only served to help the story that Dust affected children less - especially before puberty - because they were innocent. Once puberty hit, and the daemon settled, a stronger connection with the particles was established and the role of puberty in the “Dust is Evil” story is very big, especially because puberty and sexuality go hand-in-hand for the most part and the Church admonishes the idea of sexuality as a whole (it’s a bit more complicated than just this, but I hope you get what I mean). All of these things contributed to how ingrained the idea of Dust as something bad was perpetuated across Lyra’s world.

It is also rather convenient for the Church to demonise Dust, as they themselves seem to believe it is a bad thing - considering how they are influenced by the Kingdom of Heaven - but their role in making the situation even more suitable for themselves is understandable. If you were to tell an average person about Dust, they simply would acknowledge it as Something or even worse, not know about it, but to associate Dust with Sin - in a world inherently Christian, where people understand that Sin = Bad - makes it a lot easier to spread fear and control the populace. It’s as ingenious as it is evil, truth be told.

With all this in mind, we know that canonically Dust is Not Evil, it doesn’t represent the idea of Sin - or at least, it doesn’t convey Sin as something evil, but rather something the Church is afraid of - but it’s far more complicated and far reaching than that. Dust is everywhere, it shapes everything that has any value, being consciousness or angels or the whole fabric of the universe. However, they are not wrong in claiming that children attract less Dust for a reason or that the daemon settling is the connection one should look for when looking for Dust. In fact, while absolutely unethical, Mrs. Coulter’s research was very close to what makes Dust special, except she turned it to serve the Magisterium’s truth instead of actually looking into it with an impartial mindset.

Dust is everywhere, like I said, including in other universes. It doesn’t just linger in space, it lingers across dimensions and it composes the very fabric of the multiverse. In Will’s world it is known by many names, including shadows and dark matter, and for the mulefa it was known as sraf. I’m not tackling the mulefa’s world here for now, so keep in mind the Shadows and dark matter, because this is more important for this theory.

Even now dark matter is rather elusive as things go in science of our world, but ultimately it is a great part of the composition of the universe, and within the nature of His Dark Materials, it is a parallel to what Dust is.

One of the biggest differences between our world and Lyra’s, is the existence of a daemon. While daemons are representative of a person’s soul and another half of a being, they are not exposed in our world like they are in Lyra’s. In fact, they live within, which is why despite the fear Lyra has when meeting Will for the first time, she quickly calms down because she realises he isn’t missing his daemon, like Tony Makarios was, for example.

It is somewhere within him, and because a person can feel the vibes of someone daemonless (which I talked about in my visible daemon theory), she knows he isn’t separated or completely devoid of a soul, which immediately makes him “human” in her eyes. But the question is, why? Why does Lyra’s world have people with their daemon exposed, taking a physical shape? From the three worlds we visit (Cittagazze, the Mulefa world and Will’s) none of them have their souls exposed like the daemons, despite the mulefa having a bit of a different relationship with Dust with their wheels, and the seed pod oil and all that.

Having a physical soul is anything but practical. You’re exposed, your daemon betrays your feelings most of the time, and sometimes you don’t even get along, which creates conflicts that can lead to your separation, which then again creates even more conflicts, because you become an outcast in a society that thinks being daemonless makes you inhuman.

What if the daemons, exposed like they are and in tune with Dust - as it has been proved by scholars in Lyra’s world - are a lightning rod for Dust and its effects?

Marcel’s Truth

Before we go into the lightning rod theory, we need to discuss Marcel’s hunt for the truth and how it ties to this whole shenanigan.

As I mentioned, Mrs. Coulter’s research was focused on just fixing the problem of Dust in the name of the Church, that is, fixing how Sin was spread through people. Also like I said, I don’t think she believed Dust was really Sin, but she knew something happened when Dust settled on children who were going through puberty, and adults. There was a lot of debate, especially in the academic and scientific field, about the nature of Dust, not everyone believed the Sin theory without question, although speaking openly about it was not possible.

She knew there was something going on - many other scholars knew that too - and her choice was to try and cut off the Dust connection. That is a reasonable response, when you consider how they were taught that Dust was bad and sinful and it damaged humans; you cut the source, technically Dust stops interacting. However, as it is shown, once the daemon bond is absolutely severed, even if the person survives, they are nothing but whole. They feel dead, they act dead, for all accounts; devoid of will and curiosity, essentially sick and incoherent, pretty much the opposite of what attracts Dust and what Dust represents.

This idea of a forced severing is interesting when you see that people who willingly separated do not have any of the collateral damage the Bolvangar children had - or the zombis, for that matter. They still have will, the ability to choose and think coherently, they are alive and well, despite some of them being emotionally damaged, which is a reasonable response. But it’s nothing that truly impairs them from being alive. This is material for a secondary theory, but I think it’s important to consider daemons are people too, they are their own person, with their own desires, their own free will, and because of that, they are allowed to walk away (and so is their human) if they wish to, without destroying their counterpart and therefore destroying themselves. This is what free will means, in essence; and it’s why I choose to use severing and separation as different things (I don’t remember if this is canon, though lol).

With that in mind, we know Marisa chose destroying the Dust connection as a solution, because essentially they thought Dust was bad, harmful. It’s a centuries old dogma, one that is being shaken up in the events of TSC. Marcel’s truth speech changes, well, everything. He doesn’t seem to have an interest in destroying the source of rose oil, an oil that interacts with Dust and it shows something about the nature of the particles that unnerved the Church.

“First, we could suppress all knowledge of it, by rigorous investigation, by ruthless force. (…) The second possibility is to go to the root of the problem and wipe it out. (…) The amount of rose oil that’s ever come this far is very small; supplies of it would dry up and cease altogether, and the problem would wither away. That solution would take longer and cost more than the first, but we could do it, and it would be final. (…) There is a third option. We could embrace the facts. The roses exist; they show us something we’ve always denied, something that contradicts the deepest truths we know about the Authority and his creation; there is no doubt about that. So we could admit it boldly, contradict the teachings of millennia, proclaim a new truth. (…) I haven’t told you the fourth option. Revealing the truth in the way I described would not work. There are too many habits, ways of thought, institutions, that are committed to the way things are and always have been. The truth would be swept away at once. Instead, we should delicately and subtly undermine the idea that truth and facts are possible in the first place. Once the people have become doubtful about the truth of anything, all kinds of things will be open to us.” Marcel’s adapted speech. TSC, ch. 16.

Marcel’s points are all coherent and valid (not necessarily good things though), but I wanna focus on the fact he is far more inclined into changing the Magisterium’s core values than actually trying to destroy the roses, which refuted everything they preach about. We don’t really know what exactly the roses do, other than interact with Dust and make it visible, but we do know that whatever it is, it worries everyone that knows about it.

Personally, I think Marcel is right and that he is inclined to go for the fourth option, which is to create doubt, then reshape the way people think, and a lot of that implies he’s talking about how Dust is perceived, or Sin, in essence. If the rose oil truly reveals the nature of Dust, and that it isn’t evil or sinful, this means the Magisterium needs a headstart in protecting its image of protectors of truth, before everyone turns on them for lying. That, of course, it’s an utopia; like Marcel points it out himself, the rose oil is not that big in quantity for it to spread across the entire world, but even if just groups of people become enlightened in the Truth (whatever that is, because honestly, God only knows what Philman is planning), it could still threaten the sovereignty of the Church.

What’s really important here, however, is that Marcel wants to create a new truth, and assuming he’s trying to reestablish what Sin means, this puts him on the very end of the Dust spectrum: Dust is not sin, not evil, but rather something else entirely, benign, neutral, attached to what makes humanity, human and so on. More importantly, this ties well enough with the idea that I’ll propose in a moment, that Dust is harmful, and that daemons are the only thing actually protecting them. He could, in theory of course, promote the idea that being separated from your daemon is actually good.

The reason why I’m pointing this out now, it’s because it contradicts the main idea of this theory, but I believe this is important to highlight: Dust isn’t Evil. That is canon, and is not widely known by the people in Lyra’s world, but while Dust isn’t Evil, I believe that it is harmful to different degrees.

Dust is Harmful

I know it feels like that wasn’t necessary, but I felt like I needed to put these points on the table, because they are important in their own way. You see, both Marisa and Marcel are dealing with the same subject in different ways, for different reasons, but whatever the outcome of their research, both of them are not truly examining the things that do matter about Dust. Why is it everywhere? Why do settled daemons attract it more? Why are there no side-effects to its exposure? Those are important questions that no one in Lyra’s world seems to be asking, and that could be for a number of reasons, but mainly because the dogma that Dust is Sinful makes these scientists not have an objective eye upon the subject. They are biased; they’re seeking a cure, not a means to harness it, to understand it.

The reason why Dust doesn’t affect people in Lyra’s world is because of their daemons. You see, Dust is attracted to consciousness or anything man-made (like the Knife, or the Alethiometer, I’ll even go as far as say the rose oil, despite the oil not being exactly man-made), and the daemons are in all their essence, a personification of consciousness. Without a daemon, a person cannot be alive; this means that, even separated, people still survive because their daemons are still conscious. Consciousness in Lyra’s world is not associated with the mind, but with the soul, which means the daemons, and they are, in consequence, a magnet of Dust.

Daemons are unique in their own composition: while they possess a physical body, once they are dead (be it their human first or them first), they disappear and leave no trace of their existence. They also do not go to the land of the dead and there are places where the daemons can’t go in Lyra’s world itself (the witch route in Siberia, the Karamakan journey to the red building). This is what I propose:

Lyra’s world has a lot more incoming of Dust than any of the other worlds we have ever visited. This is a bit of a cheap example, but you cannot find dark matter on Earth (as far as my knowledge goes, I genuinely did not go that far into this subject), for example, but Dust does descend upon Lyra’s world and it can be seen and interacted with appropriately through the right means. They are more keen in studying it than any of the worlds we see; for Cittagazze, they only used the potential of Dust to create a knife; in the Mulefa world, they are in tune with Dust, even as the flow is dying, and they accept, but have no active curiosity in studying it (which could be that they are still not at the Tech age they need to be to study this, but this is speculation). Lyra’s world is far more interested in Dust than all of the others, possibly because Dust surrounds everything they do. More importantly, because Dust is tied, intimately, with something they consider sacred, natural, intimate in itself: their daemons.

Dust is the reason why people cannot live in different universes. Every person has their own consciousness, and that is what calibrates you (for lack of a better word) to be exposed to Dust. Everyone is, the books are very clear on stating Dust is everywhere, so everyone is exposed, but to each and every single world, there’s a different amount and how it interacts with people. Will’s world, Cittagazze, and even the Mulefa world, they all have people whose daemons are within, not exposed; they all probably are used to being exposed less to Dust. This is why John Parry gets sick while living in Lyra’s world, and this is why Will and Lyra ultimately cannot stay together. Dust damages people who are not “calibrated” to interact with their ways from a particular world. Lyra’s world has A LOT of Dust, which means it does a lot more damage than for example, Will’s world.

Daemons are the reason why people in Lyra’s world survive the interaction with Dust. You see, having consciousness exposed like they are makes the daemons a proper lighting rod, or a Dust rod if you may. They can handle the interaction with Dust without being damaged because they do not share the same physical composition as their human, and this is something that is particular to the person, it’s a fix from Nature to preserve life. This is why for example, Lord Boreal seems mostly unbothered by his constant multiverse travels. Not only he doesn’t seem to stay long in the different worlds, but he is used to a lot more intake of Dust than Will’s world provides.

I know what you’re thinking, probably: but what about John Parry? or Will? They also got daemons. And yes, they do have exposed daemons that they acquired under different circumstances. Note that I used exposed, because Mary also has a daemon, in a way, that she is taught to see and that she spends a considerable time with the mulefa. But, her experience would have been different because her daemon is still inside.

John Parry’s daemon was acquired when he arrived in Lyra’s world, although it’s hard to say exactly when Sayan-Kötör showed up, but the text implies it was early on his arrival. This is probably the way the world has to try and preserve people that don’t belong there, by giving them the tool they need to harness the extra exposure of Dust. In TSK, John mentions he’s been in Lyra’s world for roughly twelve years, and I think that if he didn’t have his daemon, he probably would’ve gotten a lot sicker, much sooner.

Will’s daemon doesn’t show up when he arrives in Lyra’s world and there are two things to consider here. One of them is that Philman’s plot required him to have Will only find out about his daemon in the end, so showing up sooner would have wrecked the plot. This is probably the actual explanation lmao The second reason is that Will’s daemon wasn’t settled yet, and because of that, Dust didn’t affect him as much, so having an unsettled daemon that wasn’t showing up made no actual difference. He barely got damaged by Dust.

By the end, of course, Will’s daemon settles (although Kirjava is already exposed after the Land of the Dead excursion), so now he actually gets affected by Dust, which is why he will die in a decade or so if he stayed in Lyra’s world.

Before I finish, a few things to consider:

This theory proposes that Lyra’s world citizens could in fact live longer in Will’s world, and this conflicts with the actual canon, of course, as we know they don’t stay together because it is said they’ll both have short lives. However, I do believe a good fix for this gap in the theory is that, while Lyra could live a little longer in Will’s world, doesn’t she mean she should because she wouldn’t be happy; the exposure to Dust she’d receive in his world will be too low in comparison to what she would have been used to. In TSC, there is a passage of Lyra in Smyrna, I believe, and she’s watching the streets, observing as people live their lives.

The street below her was saturated in Dust. Humans lives were generating it, being sustained and enriched by it; it made everything glow as if it was touched with gold. TSC, ch. 27

So, while Dust is harmful depending on where you come from, it is also necessary to make life what it is. Like I’ve pointed out earlier, Dust does something to people, and as it’s been proved in the books, it isn’t evil or sinful, but rather an essential part of life. So, for Lyra to exist in Will’s world, she simply would have been miserable the whole time, which is why it’s better for her not to risk staying in his world just because she could survive longer. It’s not a life worth living.

With this in mind, assuming you’ve read TSC, you’ll know Lyra is under an extreme melancholia, and this is mostly due to the fact her relationship with Pan is wounded, Pan being her lighting rod to Dust. Not only they’re sore with each other, emotionally, but one has to take into consideration that they are physically separated.

So, just food for thought but, if their bond is split like that - and like I said before, they still survive well enough even separated - it’s possible that separation makes it more difficult for Dust to affect the human, instead going more directly onto the daemon, and their connection, being dim thanks to the separation, makes the Dust exchange between them to be lesser than what it is between people who are whole, so to speak.

Taking this into consideration, it’s possible to notice how pretty much every person we see that is 1) separated or 2) daemonless, they’re all unhappy, stoic, or simply not as happy and comfortable with life as anyone else who has their daemon. It’s not that depression is exclusive to people without daemons, but these people have had their means to communicate with Dust damaged, in a way, it’s a thinner connection so to speak, and therefore they are deprived, or at least they are touched less by Dust, which results in them being not happy or feeling like they don’t fit in in the world. After all, Dust is all about what makes life worth living, and these people simply are out of touch with that.

And I think that’s it for this theory! If you’ve read all of this, bless you and thank you, and feel free to add your thoughts to it if you have any!

#hdm meta: dust #hdm theory #his dark materials #the book of dust #this took me forever #but here we are #meta by effie

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multiverseofimagines · 4 years

Note

Hi! 87-“I reached for a shooting star, it burned a hole through my hand Made its way through my heart, had fun in the promised land.” from the song prompt list for Charlie please!! Because I love blink-182 and I feel like that's very Charlie lol thanks! ❤

Wishing Well is one of the best Blink songs, plus I’m a huge fan of Blink-182 so this was definitely up my alley. I kind of made it a bit different than what you may have wanted, but with your permission I would love to write a part two to expand some more. Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy!

“ Your going to get hurt.” Her words echoed in your mind, replaying over and over, as if it was a broken record. She had warned you, and of course you had to go ahead and fuck everything up as usual.

It wasn’t always like this, what had conspired between Charlie and you. At first it was simple, subtle, friendly even. In the beginning it was about the play, about the theater company. Small talks here and there in the mornings before work, both of you showing up way too early to begin your day’s. You like to think it’s because he wants to see you, to have little moments with you that are his, and only his. But maybe its to escape Nicole, a way to distract him from the absolutely horrid pain in his back from sleeping on the couch again. Locked out of the bedroom from the ghost of a woman he once loved.

The more these mornings go on, the closer you two become. He remembers your coffee order, know’s exactly how you like it, he tells Nicole to spend more time with you, that he feels like you two would get along. That’s not his true intention though, he doesn’t invite you for dinner for Nicole, it’s for him. Because when she goes to bed early you two are sat on the couch, drinking wine, talking about lights, the hot shining lights that blind the actors upon the stage. The ones that blind Nicole from seeing Charlie’s hand on your thigh, underneath the directing desk within the practice space.

The more distant Nicole gets, the more time you spend with him alone. Nicole has decided to visit her Mother quite often, taking up some acting jobs in LA. She says she’s still loyal to the production Charlie has worked his whole life towards, but you can see it from a mile away, her departure. You are selfishly fine with this, because in the end, it means more time with him. It means when Henry goes to bed, Charlies hands move from the glass of red bitterness he had been swallowing down, to your waist. You are silly putty in his big hands, ready to mold into whatever he would like. This feeling, it’s like no other, and yet you can’t figure him out, you don’t understand him as much as you think you do. You let him burn through your chest, letting him serenade you from the unlocked box of your heart. This was a mistake.

This routine goes on for another month or two. Nicole is back and fourth from her Mother’s a lot, her performance is lacking within the production, but her lack of presence lets Charlie play with the the thin silk of your heart strings, as if you were a fragile harp.

You feel as though you are 15 again, feeling complex feelings for the first time. Getting home and flopping down onto the bed, writing in a pink journal with a pink gel pen. The journal has a lock. You are brought back to the day you brought it to school, to write in during lunch. Only when you went to grab it from your locker after gym class, it wasn’t there. She has it. Nicole knows.

You are brought back to the reality of what you’ve done. She knows, you can tell. Perhaps it’s your paranoia, the guilt of sleeping with a married man, a forbidden man.But it becomes apparent that it isn’t just paranoia.

Nicole and Charlie want you to babysit while they go out, this never happens, they never go out. Perhaps some sense has been knocked into Nicole, has she finally took it upon herself to self reflect for once? No. This is what she wants Charlie and You to think.

Charlie goes to the car before her, another aspect of his life that she’s forced, he hates driving everywhere, prefers to walk. Charlie is clueless. He has no idea what he’s in for. Nicole tells Henry she loves him, that you’ll take good care of him, gives him a kiss upon his forehead, and shoo’s him to go play in his room. She enters the kitchen area, where you are standing, waiting for her to leave, it’s always awkward when you two are alone, but this seems more personal, the air is thick with unresolved bitterness. She has papers in her hand.

“ This is Henry’s bed time schedule.” She doesn’t say it nicely, it’s bland. You don’t process what the paper is at first, you’ve been over many times to see his routine. It hits you in a quick instant, making you look up wide eyed at Nicole, who stands there, she’s visually upset. She has every right to be. It’s no pink diary, with pretty gel penned ink scrawled across nor is it Henry’s bed time routine, its emails. Emails between Charlie and You. Words, coherent sentences of lies want to drip off your tongue, but only a sympathetic “Nicole- I” and then silence. You can’t speak, the worst was yet to come, as she leans towards your ear and whispers low enough for only you to hear,

“ Your going to get hurt.”

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber #charlie barber imagine #adam driver x reader #adam driver imagine #adam driver #marriage story

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worldofandromeda · 4 years

Text

Headcanon: Dating Minho.

A/N: Who do you guys want to see next? I’m thinking I will do Hyunjin, who do you want? (I swear if I fuck up the your/you’re think again, I’m gonna sue my school for making me more idiotic than i was to begin with).

Word Count: 1673

Not proofread or edited.

CRUSHING ON YOU

Accidentally becomes mean while trying not to let you know about his crush

Always finds something to compliment you on

Will try to flirt sometimes, maybe but it probably won’t go very well

Would talk to his crush for hours, about everything

He wouldn’t care what they were talking about as long as he was with them

Really fucking nervous around you

Blushing, stuttering, playing with his hair, biting his nails, tapping his fingers, etc.

Definitely stalking your social media accounts

Accidentally likes one of your pictures that you posted like four years before hand

HIS PHONE SAID YEET AND HIS THROAT SAID SCREECH

As well as nervous, definitely shy, not as talkative as he usually is

CONFESSION

As I said earlier, Minho was really shy around his crush

So, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to confess to them properly, like face to face

But, he also thought asking you out over text was just a shitty thing to do

So, he opted to write you a letter, not necessarily a love letter but he was confessing, so, maybe a bit of a love letter, lol.

He would leave it on your pillow

He probably nearly tripped when walking out of your room because he was so nervous

Was tempted to go through your closet, he didn’t

But he did eat your snacks

Anyway, so, this note would say…

Dearest Y/N, I’m sorry that I’m not confessing to you in a manly way but I know I will never be brave enough to tell you how I feel to your face, so, this is happening.

I’ve liked you for a while now, at least a year. You’re beautiful, intelligent, funny, ambitious, nurturing, calm but also crazy. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.

I don’t know why I started feeling this way about you but I did and I’m still feeling this way and I hope you feel the same, it’s okay if you don’t but…

Anyway, all there is to it, is that I like you, I want to be your boyfriend, to take you on dates and to eat food with you at 4am while playing Mario kart. I want to have dance battles with you and for Stays to make memes out of our faces together but most importantly I want to be able to love you with all my heart and I will try my hardest to do that if you accept.

Will you go on a date with me and hopefully be my girlfriend, pretty, pretty please?

Love, Greek God Minho.

You had laughed after reading it, smiling widely before getting off your bed falling YEETING YOURSELF stumbling down the stairs and walking the short route to the dorms.

You slammed open the door, walking into the living room to see Minho with Jeongin and Jisung.

They knew something was up from the unreadable expression on your face and so, they got up quickly leaving you and Minho alone together.

You stalked towards Minho, making him quickly get up, ready to run away from you, terrified of your reaction.

You quickly grabbed him, pushing him down onto the couch as you positioned yourself on his hips, making sure he couldn’t move.

Minho was flustered

He was trying to say something, anything but he just kept blubbering

His nervousness making it extremely hard for him to create a coherent sentence

“Minho, why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up at you and shrugged slightly, an anxious expression on his face as he bit his lip.You pulled his lip from his teeth, leaving him with his mouth open as he stared up at you in aw

.You couldn’t keep up your ‘sexy, hot and cool’ façade anymore

You squealed slightly and launched yourself down onto Minho

Your arms wrapping around him as best as they could as you stuffed your face into his neck

“Um, are you okay?”

Minho felt the warmness of his blush creeping up his neck and he cringed at the feeling

You always made him so nervous

You nodded, laughing slightly as you pulled back but stayed laying on top of him

“Sure, I’ll go out with you, Minho.”

Now, it was his turn to let out a squeal as he wrapped his arms around your back, squeezing you

Just when he was about to say something, Jisung yelled which caused you to jump in fear

And fall off of Minho and hit your head and die

“HEY, NO SEX IN THE DORMS!”

“DAMMIT JISUNG, WE WERE BEING CUTE! NOT FUCKING!”

FIRST DATE

For your first date, you and Minho went paintballing

It fucking hurt

You were left with bruises all over you after

And they weren’t good bruises

You know what I’m saying 😉

Anyway, so, you had just started the round

You were cautious, making sure to look everywhere But, then, when you turned around, Minho was standing in front of you

He shot you and ran away

You ran right after him, shooting him in the head

AND WRECKING HIS BEAUTIFUL HAIR I WOULD KILL A BITCH

Anyway, after that it wasn’t team against team anymore

It was just you and Minho against each other

It was like a game of tag but instead of tagging the other person, you got to shoot them

With a motherfucking paintball gun

DAVID DOBRIK WOULD BE PROUD

And so afterward

When he saw your bruises

He frowned, apologising but you just laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone

“It’s okay, your head is going to be hurting way worse later.”

“Yeah! Isn’t it against the rules to shoot someone in the head?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

FIRST KISS

Your family had kicked you out for unknown reasons and you went to the only person you had left

Minho

You two had become official two weeks beforehand

And you hadn’t kissed yet

But kissing was the last thing on Minho’s mind when he opened the door

To you with tear stained cheeks, a suitcase, drenched clothes and ruined makeup.

He quickly pulled you inside and brought you to the couch, telling you to wait there

He ran upstairs, grabbing a towel and some of his clothes plus his bag of makeup wipes

He does wear makeup after all, of course he has some makeup wipes

Anyway, so, he quickly sprints back down to you

Pulling the clothes off of you as you sat there

Not moving

You weren’t even bothered when Minho pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your bra

Or when he tugged down your pants

“Here,”He held out a pair of sweatpants and a plain white tee

You didn’t move, so he sighed

He threw his shirt over your head

And you shivered as his hands ran up your back under the shirt

Unclipping your bra

Which made you gasp and turn around to look at him

“Your clothes are wet, including your bra and underwear, they need to be taken off or you’ll get sick.”

He expected you to finish getting yourself dressed seeing as he had gotten your attention

But he was proven wrong when you turned back to look at what you had been previously

So, he pushed his hands back under the shirt, tugging the straps of your bra down

Until your bra fell into your lap

Your underwear was a bit different

He knew it would be really difficult, so, he resorted to cutting the side of it with a pair of scissors

Covering his eyes, the minute part of you was exposed

He brought the sweatpants up your legs

And reached into the sweatpants near your hip, tugging on a piece of fabric which pulled your underwear from the pants

He put your ruined underwear into the garbage and when he came back, you hadn’t moved

He sat in front of you on the couch

He called out your name multiple times

But he never got a reply

He was getting fed up with you daydreaming

Or maybe you were just ignoring him

Either way, Minho was done with it

And to catch your attention, he grabbed your shoulders and brought his lips to yours

The kiss was intense and caught you off guard but you sunk into it the minute Minho’s hand found its way into your hair

Once you both pulled back, you stared at each other for a few seconds before you started sobbing

Pushing your face into his chest as your arms wrapped around his torso

His arms sat around your waist as you cried, Minho smiled slightly

At least you had come to him and he knew you were safe

“YOU GUYS BETTER NOT BE FUCKING!”

“DAMMIT JISUNG!”

FIRST “I LOVE YOU.”

“Why would I cheat on you?”

Your voice got louder every time you yelled at Minho.

“Maybe because you were all over that fucking guy!”

“Wrong! He was all over me and I rejected him multiple times.”

“Sure, you did, L/N.”

You stopped, you didn’t use that surname anymore

It hurt you to hear it after your family had kicked you out onto the streets with no explanation as to why

You growled to yourself before replying

“I didn’t cheat on you and I wasn’t planning on it either.”

You turned, starting to walk away when he yelled

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why should you believe me? WHY SHOULD YOU BELIEVE ME? MAYBE BECAUSE I HAVE PUT MYSELF THROUGH SO MUCH SHIT FOR YOU! MAYBE BECAUSE I’M NOT A STUPID WHORE LIKE YOUR EX GIRLFRIEND! MAYBE, JUST MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T THINK I CHEATED ON YOU BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Minho’s face fell as you finished ranting

“What?”

“I love you and all you’re doing is hurting me.”

Your voice cracked at the end and you gave up, starting to sink to the floor so you could cry

But before you could get there, Minho rushed towards you, grabbing you harshly and pulling you tight against his chest

“I’m sorry, my beautiful girl, I’m sorry.”

“ARE Y’ALL FUCKING?”

Both of you yelled simultaneously, “SHUT UP, SQUIRREL!”

#minho #lee minho #stray kids imagine #stray kids headcanon #minho x reader #lee minho imagine #lee minho headcanon #lee minho x reader #froggie posts

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

8x15: Man's Best Friend with Benefits

Then:

Freaking witches!

Now:

St. Louis, Missouri

In a dark alley, a man and woman leave a seedy hotel. The man pays the woman and leaves. She starts walking when another mysterious figure starts to follow her. He’s a cop! And starts to arrest her by putting her in handcuffs and then..choking her until her head explodes??! They do things differently in Missouri.

Oh wait! It’s just a dream! The man sits up in bed, letting the dream images float away. His dog comes up on the bed to comfort him.

The next morning, the man starts to make coffee only to find a bloody shirt in his kitchen trash.

The brothers arrive at their random motel for the night, arguing about who the best Stooge was. They’ve had to have had this argument a thousand times before, lol. They’re there to meet up with “James”, a cop that needs their help. Dean decides to go for a beer run but is concerned about Sam’s wellbeing since he just killed a hell hound. Sam’s good!

Once alone in the motel, Sam hears a scratching at the door. He opens it to find a dog --the dog from the cold open.

The dog just busts in and makes herself at home. Sam is confused but not above giving some belly rubs while he tries to find tags on the dog. She doesn’t have any. Sam hears the familiar rumble of the Impala --which means Dean is back.

Sam rushes out to warn Dean about the dog. He hopes that she can just stay the night and they’ll try and find her home the next day. Then he opens the door to reveal a woman on his bed. She’s wearing the dog collar. :| :| :| :| :| :| :| :| :|

Sam pulls his knife as they confront her. She tells them that she’s not a shifter--but a familiar. Her name is Portia and she’s their friend James’ familiar. Dean takes a moment to process that this old friend is now a witch.

She tells the boys that after learning about the supernatural from them, James went on to become a witch. Now there’s something wrong with him. Dean tells her that he’s not a fan of witches (Oh, those were the days.) She tells him to STFU and help. Dean finds that “incredibly hot.” Sam agrees.

(God, I’m just trying to write coherent sentences for what I’m watching but THIS WHOLE THING IS GROSS.)

At a Continental Hotel for the supernatural, a man meets up with James to discuss what he’s been going through. He’s a mess because of his dreams. His friend tells him to take a break. James admits that Portia left him.

Portia, meanwhile, is explaining the whole witch/familiar lifestyle to Sam and Dean. (Like, I forget HOW MUCH exposition exists in Buckleming episodes.) Anyway, they used to be able to communicate telepathically, but he blocked her. Portia admits that she contacted the Winchesters --not James.

The next day, Sam and Dean head to James’ house to learn more about what he’s going through.

James tells them about the dreams and that he’s concerned they’re not just dreams. He wakes up in his bed after the dreams, but the people are all dead. He shows them the bloody shirt.

Dean tells him that they’ll help but he’s going to have to get chained up.

Dean gathers ingredients for a witch killing spell. He voices his concern about not knowing what they’re in for. Sam calls him out for being concerned about the trials.

Okay, we’ve been revisiting this episode for a bit now so here’s a palate cleanser:

The brothers are at odds about these trials. But they sure do look pretty fighting over them.

Dean tells Sam that if they have to gank James, then so be it.

FBI Sam heads to the police department to have them run a blood test on a piece of the shirt. He also learns there was a witness but the cops refuse to tell him more.

Dean and Portia head into a swanky little underground bar. WHICH bar, you ask? It’s a WITCH bar. She takes him to meet Phillippe. We learn that Dean sneezes over only one thing: cats. (So, we know God makes sure they don’t get colds, etc. now, why does Chuck make Dean allergic to cats?). Dean inquires of the witches in the establishment whether there’s a spell where a witch can control another witch. Spencer, a witch, looks shifty. The other patron morphs into a cat and leaves dramatically, as one does.

Portia locks James up in bed for the night and they hold each other close. They’re in love! They make love! I experience severe discomfort about this situation, which manages to be both extremely vanilla and SO WRONG at the same time. Sooooo many levels of wrong. While they’re having sex, Portia flashes several visions about James’ attacks. Later, when Sam and Dean arrive to BURN THE WITCH she stops them.

Okay, I gotta harp on this. WHY does Portia wear a collar as a human? When she transforms into a dog, it’s not like there’s suddenly a clothes-wearing dog walking around. It instead serves as a constant reminder of her servitude and that’s just GROSS, my friends.

ANYWAY, Portia suggests to the Winchesters that James’ visions indicate that the dark memories may not actually be his. The Winchesters agree to check it out.

Sam chats with the local police, who declares the case pretty much closed. However, they’re being shifty with James’ files, so some plans are afoot. Also let’s all cringe at the cop’s description of the precinct: “This place is run like a dogsled - no stars. Just grunts. One mutt goes lame, another one pops up and slogs through the slush.” File that under: worst boss.

Dean and Portia head to a creepy old warehouse, which is always a smart place to be. Dean’s super curious about whether Portia is more woman than dog. By “curious” I mean creepily interested in their sex life and pressing for details he shouldn’t pursue.

A witch meets them and tells them that the coven is onto James’ creepy dreams and possible murders, and they may force him to kill himself so he doesn’t reveal the witch community. Dun dun DUN.

Dean finds a spell from Bobby’s stash of stuff that would make it possible for another witch to plant false memories. With that in mind, they check in with James. The evidence they need is locked away in the precinct, so they all decide to astral project together.

As one does.

They astral project into the precinct and find their way into the mysterious room C-110. There’s evidence and pictures of crime scene photos everywhere. The cops are hardcore tracking James, and things are looking bad. They find a witness statement from - I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP - Phillip LeChat. LeChat. LE CHAT. For fuck’s sake.

James is shocked that Ed is building a case against him. Um. No shit, Sherlock. James power chucks Sam and Dean against the wall, knocking them out. Portia pleads for James to work with her, but James pushes her away. Yeah, he’s a keeper, Portia.

At the bar, James fights the cat. Phillipe pleads for James to have mercy on him and tells him that his master forced him to frame James. Ah, yes. The familiar / witch bond isn’t at ALL toxic or creepy. Before James’ eyes, Phillipe’s neck gets snapped by Spencer. Time for a witch showdown.

Spencer tells James that he targeted him because he wanted Portia for himself. When their relationship turned sexual, it drove Spencer over the edge and made him seek James’ ruin. Excuse me while I lick my finger and file all of this under the following: CREEPY GROSS WRONG OFFENSIVE YUCK.

Sam and Dean arrive just in time to be chucked against the wall again. Bbys. A witch battle ensues with hand lightning and floating and visions of all the terrible things Dean and Sam have endured over the years. Portia runs in, in dog form, and goes for the throat rather than just biting Spencer right in the balls. Strategically sound, if somehow much less satisfying. Sam and Dean take the distraction to set off their witch destroying spell and kill Spencer.

James flees town with Portia (who is STILL wearing her collar over a turtleneck - COME ON). Later in the car, Dean reflects on the fleeting vision he had of their mother to think about their lives. It makes him realize that he trusts Sam - his family - and he’ll back Sam’s fight to close Hell. Cool! Nothing bad can happen! “I’m good,” Sam says as he coughs blood into his hand. SAM, hon, NO.

Sometimes I’m a Quote, Sometimes I’m an Iguana:

Curly was a freaking genius!

Is anything we ever do a sure thing?

He's got the booga-booga on his side.

I like dogs

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 8x15 #man's best friend with benefits #dean winchester #sam winchester #hate watch week #supernatural season 8

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feelingfredly · 5 years

Text

Tea for Two

Summary:

The joys of loving a mad scientist.

Or as Socrates said... I drank what?

Notes:

I wandered into the UraIchi Discord server and stumbled over a discussion of the absolute *crime* that there was no tag for "Consensual Tea Drugging." The rest, as they say, is... somebody else's fault. LOL

“What does this one do?”

Kisuke peered around the corner of the cabinet and tutted. “Telling you would skew the results of the experiment.”

Ichigo looked into the muddy depths of his teacup and muttered, “Like you’re not already skewed.” He sighed, “So, I just trust you and drink it?”

Kisuke paused for a moment. Put like that he could understand Ichigo’s concern. “I suppose I could…”

A second later Ichigo was behind him, his front pressed against the planes of Kisuke’s back, and handed him the empty cup. “You should’ve just said. I’m going to go settle down on the futon with a book in case I get dizzy. You want to come take notes?”

Kisuke looked at the empty cup and then watched Ichigo as he wandered back towards their bedroom.

Notes. Right.

***

“Wheeeeen the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amor-aaay.”

Ichigo’s singing voice was quite nice, although his choice of song was suspect. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to lie down, Ichigo-kun?” Kisuke asked. He was fairly certain that not-tea-drugged Ichigo would prefer to keep his vocal abilities to himself, even if they were terribly entertaining.

Ichigo spun on the ball of his foot—the tea clearly didn’t affect him physically as much as mentally—and shook his head. “No way! I feel great! I feel so great that you should send a message to Grimmjow and tell him that I want to pound his ass.”

Kisuke’s lip quirked a fraction and Ichigo paused, rethinking what he’d said.

“Not like that,” Ichigo let out an undignified snort, “although have you seen his ass? I mean, I know you’ve seen his ass, but have you seen it?” He sighed a little dreamily and Kisuke wondered just how much of Grimmjow’s ass Ichigo had seen. “I meant that I wanted to pound his ass into the ground, not the futon.”

Ichigo paused again and Kisuke could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as a sly smirk spread across his face.

“Now your ass is another thing entirely.”

Kisuke made a note in his journal.

***

The water pelted over them, Kisuke’s wet samue clinging to him as he washed the traces of sickness away from Ichigo’s pale face.

“This wasn’t what I signed on for with the whole ‘consensual tea drugging’ experiment.” Ichigo’s voice was rough, his throat raw from hours of expelling what seemed like everything he’d ever consumed in his life. “Although the shower part is nice.”

Kisuke ran his hand down Ichigo’s flank, long soothing strokes, and hmmm’d. “I didn’t expect this reaction, either. The tea was supposed to make you sleepy. Possibly knock you out. I bought a Sharpie to draw a mustache on you and everything.”

Ichigo let out a watery laugh. “Only you would tell me that to try to make me happier with you.”

Kisuke wrapped his arms around the smaller man and held him, the memory of his recent misery an uncomfortable lump in his stomach.

“I am sorry, for what it’s worth.” The words were soft against Ichigo’s bare shoulder.

A quiet rumble answered him. “It’s worth a lot.”

***

“I am absolutely positive.”

Ichigo stared into the teacup doubtfully. “Is this like ‘normal people absolutely positive’ or ‘mad scientist absolutely positive’?”

Kisuke tilted his head to one side. “You do realize that as a mad scientist I can’t actually answer that question any way but the latter, don’t you?”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “You do realize that that kind of logic only applies when you’re avoiding the subject, Kisuke.”

That was true enough. Kisuke shrugged.

“Let’s go with mathematical rather than interpretational, then. I am 95% certain that this tea will not allow me to analyze the contents of your stomach first-hand. The +/- 5% takes into account any previously undiscovered intolerances, allergies, or hollow/reiatsu reactions. Fair enough?”

Ichigo had swallowed the contents of the cup before he’d finished his explanation.

“Why quibble if you were just going to drink it anyway?”

Ichigo smirked. “Keeps you on your toes. Anyway, tastes better than the last kind. Either going down or coming back up.”

Kisuke nodded. “I added a few things for flavor.”

Brown eyes met his. “I recognized the cinnamon and I thank you. You know I like the taste of that.”

“Yes,” Kisuke said, gently guiding Ichigo out of the kitchen and down the hall. “I used cinnamon, star anise, and cardamom… to hide the curare.”

Ichigo stopped stock still in the middle of the doorway. “Curare!?!”

Kisuke smiled and bussed him on the cheek. “I love how smart you are. You know curare? It’s surprisingly bitter and taken orally you must use a lot to get any effect. It was quite the puzzle.”

He pushed Ichigo into the bedroom and down onto the futon that he’d rolled out earlier, just for this.

Ichigo looked around a little wildly at the made-up bed. “What’s all this?”

Kisuke watched him try to raise his hands. It wasn’t working very well, which meant the tea was.

“This,” he said, pulling Ichigo’s hands up and crossing them over his navel, “is a way for me to see how long the tea’s effects last.”

The redhead gave him a look, and Kisuke was pleased to see that neither his breathing nor his pupils had been affected. Good.

“Lying here paralyzed is going to get pretty boring. For both of us. I hope you brought a book. I’ll probably just sleep.” His words were a little slurred, but he was clearly coherent. Kisuke stood and started removing his clothes, pleased to see Ichigo’s pupils reacting to that at least.

“Oh, I had a better idea than a book. You see, something that has always puzzled me is how intention changes the effect of certain drugs. Someone with enough motivation can push through a lot of things, and it’s important to test these things under suitable duress.”

Naked now, he stood just in Ichigo’s line of sight. He trailed a hand languidly along the centerline of his abdomen, a track that the other man loved to trace with his tongue, and finally down to his slightly stiffening cock and then further to cup his tightening balls.

In the time they’d been together there had been many discoveries, but almost none had pleased Kisuke more than the fact that Ichigo loved, absolutely loved, to watch him touch himself. His eyes would widen, and his breath would shorten, his lips would shine bitten and red as he forced himself to wait, wait, wait… until he couldn’t wait anymore and would launch himself like a starving man at Kisuke, his hands everywhere, mouth hot and demanding, and then, only then, would Kisuke allow himself to come, preferably buried deeply in Ichigo’s beautiful body.

This time, though, Ichigo couldn’t pounce. The tea would keep him still longer than his willpower ever could, and Kisuke couldn’t wait to see what happened.

He pulled a cushion over beside the futon and relaxed cross-legged, his cock now at half-mast, barely an arm’s length away from Ichigo’s face.

“Fuck, Kisuke.”

Ichigo’s eyes were all pupil, blown wide with desire as he forced the words through slack lips. That gave him so many ideas. He gripped himself a little harder and played with the fold of foreskin that protected the sensitive glans.

“That will have to wait, Ichigo-kun,” he said with a soft laugh, “the tea, you know.”

Even drugged Ichigo managed a scowl. “You’re enjoying this.”

Kisuke looked down into the wide brown eyes and let his desire show. “Oh yes. Yes I am.”

His fingers were cool against the heat of his cock, and the friction was enough to slow his stroke.

“You know,” he said, eyes drifting shut as he teased them both, “there’s a healing kidō that the Fourth uses. It stops muscles from reflexively tightening and I’ve always wondered if there weren’t other applications for it.”

Kisuke reached across with his unoccupied hand and stroked along the length of Ichigo’s throat.

“Can’t you just imagine? I could totally remove your gag reflex. There’d be nothing to stop me from just fucking your mouth, and you’d be unable to move, unable to do anything but feel me.”

The groan that hung in the air could have come from either of them.

“You’re a bastard, Kisuke,” Ichigo said and Kisuke laughed, his hand stopping mid-stroke.

“That is not a surprise to either of us.”

He leaned forward and reached into the drawer of the bedside table, the ubiquitous hiding place for lubricant throughout three worlds, and pulled out the little stoppered jar that lived there. He smiled softly at the gasp he heard as Ichigo sucked in a breath, watching as his cock bobbed mere inches from his face.

Kisuke warmed the handful of oil and gripped himself again with a sigh of satisfaction. “Is this more what you had in mind when you agreed to my drugged tea experiments?”

He knew he was poking a dragon, but he couldn’t help himself. He loved to hear it roar.

“More, yes,” Ichigo answered, frustration and hunger clear in his voice, and then a blaze of his reiatsu flooded the room, burning away the effects of the tea. He lurched upright on the futon, his hand snapping out to imprison Kisuke’s wrist, holding his fingers where they circled the base of his throbbing cock, a manacle of flesh and bone. “But not nearly enough.”

Kisuke smirked and allowed himself to be pulled forward and rolled under Ichigo’s hot body.

Tea effects cut by 85% under duress.

***

Kisuke ran through the house, dodging occasionally thrown items, grinning like an idiot.

“Spots, Kisuke!” Ichigo yelled. “How did you ever think tea that caused someone to be covered in spots was a good idea?”

The blond stopped and turned. “I thought it would be useful if I could create a kind of biological camouflage. Honestly…”

Ichigo cut him off with a growl, “They’re pink! How the fuck would that be camouflage?”

Kisuke shunpo’d off again, grin firmly back in place. Who cared if he got caught? The pink was totally worth it.

***

“I think half the experiment is just to see how many times you can drug me.”

Kisuke paused in pouring the tea. “You mean like a trust experiment?” he asked.

“Maybe trust,” Ichigo shrugged, taking his cup. “Maybe stupidity. I mean, how many times can you hand me something, tell me “this is going to do something to you, but I’m not telling you what” and expect me to do it? At some point you have to figure that I’ll say no.”

Kisuke looked at him thoughtfully. “That isn’t…”

Ichigo raised his cup and drank. “Don’t worry about it, Kisuke. I mean… I know you’d never agree to something like this, but it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

The blond stepped forward and rested his hand on Ichigo’s wrist. “You’re wrong.”

Ichigo shivered and looked down at the hand touching him as if he’d never felt anything like it before. Apparently, the tea was working faster than his calculations indicated.

“Wrong?” The question came out strangled, like Ichigo was struggling to focus on the words.

“Yes,” Kisuke pulled his hand back leaving only one finger resting against the pulse stampeding through Ichigo’s wrist. “I’d drink anything you gave me. No questions asked.”

Ichigo was staring at the spot where their skin was touching, fascinated.

“What does this one do?” he stuttered the words out.

Kisuke leaned forward, mere inches from Ichigo’s ear, to answer. “Hypersensitization.”

The keening sound that escaped Ichigo’s mouth was breathtaking.

***

Shunsui-san had a lot to answer for, calling him in for an emergency that basically entailed him saying, “No, I don’t want a Captaincy” fourteen different ways. That might be an emergency for him, but it was decidedly less important to Kisuke.

“Long day?” Ichigo was standing in the kitchen as he made his way up from the basement. At least the Captain Commander wasn’t putting up a fuss about his senkaimon. Not that he could really do anything about it.

“After dealing with Kyōraku all day, I almost feel sorry for the people who have to deal with me. All that duplicitous smiling. It’s exhausting.” He leaned in and kissed Ichigo swiftly. The small affections were something that he still hesitated over, but Ichigo appreciated them, and that made them worth the effort.

“Tea?” Ichigo raised the pot and Kisuke nodded.

“Please. And use the good white. I need something subtle after a day of being beaten over the head constantly.”

Ichigo hummed his agreement and they pottered quietly around the kitchen while the tea steeped.

“So, are you going to take him up on his offer?”

Kisuke slanted a look across the kitchen. Of course, Ichigo would know what Kyōraku was up to. They were surprisingly close for men born a thousand years apart, and he’d seen the older man’s eyes resting on the redhead more than once. It might be concerning if he didn’t know that Ichigo was as loyal as the day was long, but until the young man woke up and realized he’d hitched his wagon to the wrong horse, Kisuke wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said finally, reaching out for the beaker of pale gold liquid with a smile of thanks. “I find that I like my current arrangements too much to go messing about with something like a new Captaincy.”

He sipped his cooling brew and caught Ichigo staring.

“You disapprove?” He took another sip, and yes… there was something there. Something under the soft notes of the white tea. Why that little sneaky…

“No,” Ichigo said, with a shake of spiky orange hair. “I find that I, too, like your current arrangements.”

Kisuke raised an eyebrow and tilted his cup, and Ichigo’s lip quirked a fraction in its own question. A challenge then. So be it. He raised the cup, and never dropping his gaze from Ichigo’s, drained it dry.

“How long do I have?” he asked, and Ichigo laughed.

“Long enough, although you might want to take your good robe off. Wouldn’t do for it to get messy.”

Kisuke’s mind traveled through all the ways that messy could happen like a bullet ricocheting inside his skull.

“Messy, hmm?”

Ichigo chivvied him down the hall as he shrugged out of his sleeves. “Yes, massage oil tends to get that way.”

Mmmmm, massage. That sounded nice.

“You knew what Shunsui was going to ask.” It wasn’t a question, but Ichigo murmured an assent.

“He asked me what you’d say. I told him to ask you.”

Kisuke thought about that for a minute. “Thank you. For not answering for me.”

Ichigo pushed him face down on the futon—all made up already, look at that—and reached for the bottle of massage oil. “Not my place.”

Something warm curled in Kisuke’s belly. It must be the tea.

“Still,” he said into the pillow that had somehow found its way under his head, “it’s nice to not be managed.”

Warm hands slid up his back and he could feel a chuckle through them.

“You’re much happier being the manager, aren’t you?”

Usually that was true. Right now, though, he was fine with letting Ichigo be in charge.

“That’s good to know.” The chuckle got louder. He must’ve said that out loud.

“You said that out loud, too.” Ichigo dug one of his thumbs into a tightly corded muscle. He really should tune up this gigai. With Ichigo around he was putting a lot more strain on it than in the past hundred years or so.

Ichigo laughed out loud, his scowl completely gone for once. “That tea was much more effective than I expected. Maybe I should use less Diazepam next time.”

Kisuke considered the light and floaty feeling he was experiencing. “This isn’t so bad. For being drugged. With tea. Really.”

Ichigo flipped him over and straddled him, rubbing the massage oil into the muscles just under his collar bones. “At least you aren’t covered in spots.”

“No,” Kisuke nodded, “no spots. Just a little fuzzy around the edges.” It was nice. He was safe. Warm. This was much nicer than some of the tea he’d fed Ichigo. Although the hypersensitization one looked fun, even if Ichigo swore he’d never let him touch his cock again after that. Kisuke knew he didn’t really mean it.

“That’s what human drugs will do to you.” Ichigo leaned forward and kissed him gently. “I wanted you to be able to relax for a while. I know the business with Seireitei is stressful.”

Kisuke groaned when Ichigo hit another cluster of tight muscles. It felt so good for something that hurt so much.

“You’re too good to me.”

“You say that now,” Ichigo said with a laugh, hands still busily digging into muscle, “I doubt you’re going to be saying that later.”

“Why not?” Kisuke’s floaty feeling was beginning to tingle. Hmm.

Ichigo leaned down to whisper in his ear, his hands sliding suggestively lower. “Because Xanax wasn’t the only thing I put in your tea.”

Kisuke shivered and made a note to himself. This is what you get when you poke a dragon.

Isn’t it wonderful?

#Bleach #UraIchi #Mad Scientist Kisuke #trust kink #established relationship #smut and fluff #Kurosaki Ichigo #Urahara Kisuke

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