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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

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strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part five

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

and then it all comes crashing down.

a/n: outbreak day! plus the time leading up. I couldn’t bring myself to write joel’s side of the tragedy, but here we are. the start of “during”. potentially a little bit of canon-divergence from here until the “after”, but I’m trying to stick with that information we have, while filling in the gaps for reader’s story. (“after” will be when they leave boston with ellie)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, fluff, a super brief mention of 9/11, this is definitely not as sad as part four but it’s also involves outbreak day so there’s that, canon-typical violence, death, yes I am turning reader into a badass and I will not apologize.

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You never really stop thinking about him. And he never really stops being apart of your life, not truly.

He’s the first person you call, when the Towers fall in New York, not a week after you’ve started your internship. You see it on television, standing in line to get your boss his daily latte, and you pull out your cell phone without a second thought, dialling Joel’s number. “Have you seen the news?”

A freak snowstorm stops you from getting home for Christmas that year; the airport is a disaster to get through after everything that’s happened, so you take a few days off to drive it instead, but you can’t even get out of the state, let alone across the country. So your holidays that year are spent with local friends you’ve made at work, calling your family on Christmas Day and New Year’s.

You try to call Joel on New Year’s, to wish him a good year as the clock strikes twelve, but the call goes to voicemail, and your friends are counting down the ball drop as you ramble into the phone.

Hey, it’s me! Just calling to say Happy New Year, hope you’re having a good night. And hope I get to see more of you in 2002. That year sounds so funny, doesn’t it? Talk to you soon, Joel Miller. Bye.

You almost say it, the words creeping up the back of your throat. The missing him hasn’t abated, even with the time and the distance. You sleep in one of the flannel shirts you’d stolen every night, and you’ll admit that you cried a little when you had to wash them, realizing that it would wash the scent of him away almost completely.

The phone calls get more sporadic, and you don’t blame him. There’s only an hour time difference between Texas and Massachusetts, but it feels like much more. You’re off-kilter from one another, always seeming to catch each other’s voicemail instead of the real person.

You manage to make it home for the Fourth of July the following summer, your internship having turned into a real job, but a real job that’s kept you busier than ever for the first half of the year. Your boss is, blessedly, understanding, and lets you take two weeks to go back to Austin.

He meets you at the airport, your name scrawled on a piece of paper, a bouquet of daisies in his grip, and you nearly burst into tears right there in the terminal. Your entire two weeks is filled with him, though you try to split your time between the Miller’s house and your own, letting your sister talk your ear off more than she already does on the phone, taking a few afternoons to help your dad around the hardware store. But almost every night finds you in Joel’s bed.

You all go to the park for fireworks on the Fourth. Your parents are re-introduced to Joel, though you’re both adamantly just calling each other “good friends” — which earns you an eye roll from your sister. Sarah runs around the field with the other kids, waving sparklers and giggling like mad. You stick close to Joel, the three of you sitting on a blanket in the grass, and you watch the firework together, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm swung around your waist. Sarah’s too preoccupied with the firework display to notice.

When you get home the next morning, your sister hands you a polaroid, the words July 4th 2002 written in sharpie along the border. It’s you and Joel, backlit, your head on his shoulder as a gigantic white firework explodes in the night sky. You don’t know what to say.

“I know you never wanted to leave him,” she says, and you nearly burst into tears as you hug her.

It’s another tearful goodbye when your two weeks are up, and you’re a fool to think it’d be any easier than the first time. You say goodbye to your parents first, and Joel picks you up in his truck, taking you to the airport. He kisses you deeply outside, burying his hands in your hair and squeezing you tight before letting you go.

And always the same farewell, the same thing he said when you first left, the same thing he’s said at the end of every phone call.

“Take care of yourself, baby.”

You meet Dean through a friend of a friend.

It’s almost Christmas, 2002, and you haven’t been home since July. Your phone calls with Joel have dwindled to almost non-existent; you just don’t have the time. Work is busy, to the point where you find yourself still sat at your desk until nearly midnight some nights. And you’re still missing each other, voicemails left occasionally, the missed calls stacking up through the week until it’s the weekend and you feel too tired to put yourself through the heartbreak of hearing his voice.

Hey, darlin’, it’s me. I keep missin’ ya, I guess. Hope you’re doin’ okay. Don’t work too hard, yeah? Been thinking about you a lot and I just…Take care of yourself.

It felt like a goodbye. Standing in your kitchen, takeout spread out on your counter, chopsticks in hand. He hadn’t said it, not specifically. There was no I can’t do this anymore, no this hurts too much, doesn’t it hurt you too? But it still felt like a finality, of sorts.

You took the takeout to bed with a bottle of wine.

That weekend, your friends drag you out to some party. A housewarming thing for someone you don’t know, a fancy loft on the other side of the city. It’s as good a reason as any to get out of your head, throwing on a new dress and a bit of makeup. You do shots in your apartment before piling into a cab, tipsy by the time you get to the party. There’s lots of faces you don’t know, your friends pulling you through the crowds, one of them grinning at you.

“You have to meet Dean.”

He’s tall. Sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes and he’s a lawyer. He laughs at your jokes and gets you another drink when you finish your first. He’s from Boston; a pure-bred, he tells you, and chuckles when you ask to see his pedigree.

You wake up in his bed the next day, your dress and shoes scattered on the floor of his stupidly nice apartment, head throbbing with a hangover, guilt bubbling up on your tongue like bile. Dean makes you coffee and calls you a cab, gives you a business card with his number on it. “God, this feels like a business deal,” he says, shaking his head, nearly taking the card back. “I can find a takeout menu or something, write my number on that instead.”

“No, this is good,” you laugh, and the guilt mixes with something strangely giddy when he kisses you goodbye.

When you get home, you wrap yourself in the flannel you’d taken from Joel, and weep. Part of you whispers that you shouldn’t feel guilty, that Joel’s all the way across the country, that you two aren’t technically together to begin with, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest.

Your friend calls in the early afternoon, and when she hears the crack in your voice, she’s on your doorstep not thirty minutes later. You spill your guts — recount the story of you and Joel, show her the polaroid from the Fourth of July, tell her everything, until you’re crying on your couch again.

“Honey, maybe you should talk to him,” she tells you, and you know she’s right, but the idea of talking to Joel just makes your chest hurt more. “This isn’t good for either of you, holding on like this when you can’t be together. Talk to him.”

Joel beats you to the punch, calling you shortly after your friend has left. “Hey, finally got you instead of your voicemail.”

“Hah, yeah,” you reply, sinking a little deeper into the couch. “Sorry I keep missing you.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles, and it only hurts more when you can almost see him in your head, sitting on his couch or at the edge of his bed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” you lie, wiping the wet from your cheeks. “Just busy lately, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, then pauses. “You sure you’re okay?”

You inhale deeply, feeling the air rattle its way through your lungs. “Joel, I met someone.”

It’s a long moment, before he says anything, so long you think you’ve lost him for a second, that he hung up. But then, “That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“No,” he says instantly, and you both let out watery laughs. “No, but it…It is good. You’re all the way out there and I’m here and…Missin’ you, not havin’ you around, it hurts, y’know?”

“I do,” you agree, biting into your lower lip when it wobbles. “I miss you too, Joel, it’s just—”

“I know, baby,” he replies, and the tone in his voice makes your eyes slip shut, tears pouring down your cheeks. “I gotta go, I promised Sarah movie night. We’ll….we’ll talk soon, alright?” A pause. “Take care of yourself.”

The line goes dead for real then, and you launch your phone across the room, groaning when it lands on the carpet and doesn’t smash to pieces. You bury yourself in the pillows on the couch, and just cry.

Dean calls the following week, and asks you out to dinner. Dinner evolves into more than that, more dates and more conversation. He works two blocks down from you, and brings you coffee every morning on his way to his office. He takes you to museums and art galleries and introduces you to his friends. It’s easy to fall for him, and you let yourself do it. He kisses you at midnight on New Year’s, whispers that 2003 is going to be the best year of your lives.

You have no idea how wrong he will turn out to be.

It’s September 26th, 2003. It’s your twenty-fifth birthday.

It starts out like a normal day; as normal as it can be, lately. You’ve made a point to ignore the news as best you can, letting Dean recap it for you when he gets home each day, filling you in on the water cooler talk that you only half listen to.

Dean’s up and gone when you wake up, but there’s a birthday card beside your pillow, a cartoon cake with a silly face. You’re another year older… And the inside reads: and other year cuter! Happy Birthday! It’s cheesy and you scoff out a laugh, getting up and going about your morning routine. A fire truck screams down the road when you walk out of the building, cop cars trailing after it, but you think nothing of it; sirens are a common occurrence in the city.

It’s a short walk from your apartment — the apartment you now share with Dean, the pair of you having relocated somewhere that was closer to both your jobs — to work, and you stop by your favourite coffee shop, only slightly disappointed when they don’t have the raspberry scones you like. “It’s a supply chain thing,” the girl behind the counter tells you with a shrug. “They haven’t been able to get ingredients in for weeks. I’m just glad we have coffee.”

“That makes two of us,” you agree, taking your cup with a nod. “Have a good day!”

“You, too!”

There’s a big bouquet of roses waiting on your desk, the card signed with Dean’s name, and the other girls ooh and ahh at the arrangement. One of them asks you if you think he’ll propose, and you have to resist the urge to sprint in the opposite direction.

Dean calls on your lunch break, tells you he’s already pre-ordered from your favourite Thai place, and it’ll be waiting for you when you get home from your post-work drinks with your friends. When he tells you he loves you, it still makes your chest ache, just a touch.

You still think about Joel. It’s hard not to. After that last call, when you told him you’d met Dean, you called back a few days later, unable to stop yourself. There were apologies, from both him and you, and the conversation ended with a promise that you’d still stay in touch, that it would still be friendly between you, and that maybe someday could be an option, if the time was right, but you wouldn’t stand in each other’s way.

So you’ve stayed in touch. The phone calls are still more sporadic than anything, but it’s always nice to hear his voice, and he always has a joke to crack. And, consistent Joel Miller, at the end of every phone call: “Take care of yourself, darlin’.”

You get a surprising amount of work done that day, your friends appearing at five o’clock on the dot and dragging you away from your computer. You let them buy you happy hour drinks and put a Birthday Princess tiara on your head, laugh your way through the evening until it’s almost nine. You thank you friends and leave the bar, and think as you walk past one of the little corner store grocery shops that you could really use a chocolate bar.

You’re walking down the toiletries aisle, the basket hanging from your elbow filled with not just chocolate, but a few other things you couldn’t resist, when your phone rings, an Austin area code flashing on the screen.

“I didn’t know today was your birthday,” Joel says by way of hello, and you giggle. “How have I known you this long and not known that you and I have the same birthday?”

“You never asked,” you answer, reaching for a tissue box with a fun pattern, “and it never came up, really. Wait, today’s your birthday too?”

“Thirty-six and still breathin’,” he confirms, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I stopped by the hardware store today for a few things, your dad told me.”

“Ahh.” Your parents had called you just before you’d left for work. “That store must be so boring without me in it.”

“It really is,” Joel agrees, and then his voice drops. “No one around to make out with in the aisles.” A beat, and then. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see it, the memory of being pressed between the shelves of paint cans and Joel Miller making your face heat. “It’s a good memory.”

“It is,” he agrees, making a little humming noise. “So, boyfriend got big plans for you tonight?”

“Thai food and a movie,” you tell him, grabbing a bottle of toilet cleaner. “Just left the bar, had some drinks with my work friends. Never really been a big birthday person, y’know?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, darlin’.”

“What about you, Joel Miller?” you ask, heading down the next aisle. A lot of the shelves are empty, and it makes your brow furrow. “What big birthday plans do you have this evening?”

“Hah, none,” he replies. “Working a double with Tommy, just took a break now. Told Sarah I’d be home by nine, but I don’t know if that’ll work out. They gave us the wrong size for the headers and…” He trails off. “That doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”

“I’d listen to you read the phone book,” you joke. “At least get yourself a cake? Something like that? If I’d known we shared the same birthday I would have had my sister bring something over for you.”

“Sarah made me breakfast, got me out of bed on time. That’s all I need, really.”

“Is it?”

You don’t mean the question to sound as heavy as it does, and silence hangs between you for a long moment before you stutter out an apology. Joel’s quick to change the subject.

“Boyfriend is still your boyfriend, right? No ring on your finger yet?”

“You know, you’re the second person to bring that up today,” you say, heading down the next aisle. It’s just as empty as the one before, and your confusion deepens. “You want the truth?”

“Generally.”

“If he asked, I don’t think I’d say yes.” Heat rises in your face, and you stutter again. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“You can tell me anything,” he replies, and there’s a softness in his tone that you recognize, making warmth spread through your chest. “I’m always here for you, darlin’. I know things are different now, but I’m still here.”

“I appreciate that.”

You hear Tommy’s voice in the background, and Joel curses under his breath. “I gotta go. Enjoy your night. Happy Birthday.”

“You, too. Happy Birthday, Joel,” you reply, a smile in your voice, and then the line clicks off.

You loop through the rest of the aisles, sliding your phone back into your pocket. When you ask the cashier about the empty shelves, you get the same answer you’d gotten at the coffee shop. “Supply chain issues.”

The apartment is quiet when you get inside, tossing your keys into the bowl beside the door. The Thai food is sitting on the counter, as promised, and you set your grocery bags down beside it, stealing a few noodles before calling for Dean. “Honey, I’m home!”

There’s no response, and you assume he must be in the shower, so you pad down the hall. The bedroom light is off, moonlight flooding through the window, and as you step into the doorway, you see him, standing there, facing the window. His hands are at his sides, and as you watch, his hand twitches, the movement making your brow furrow.

“Dean?” you call, taking a half-step forward. In an instant, something feels wrong, and worry rises in your chest, makes your heart racket against your ribs. “Babe, what’s going on?”

He turns then, so fast you can’t even blink before it happens. And he just…stares. There’s no light in his eyes, just a dead look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You say his name again, the worry seeping into your voice, and then he snarls.

“Fuck.”

You don’t understand what’s happening, but your body seems to react of it’s own accord. Dean lunges toward you, an inhuman sound falling out of him, and your eyes skirt around, looking for something to protect yourself with as he scrambles over the bed, limbs flailing, those dead eyes boring into you. Your hand flashes out, curling around the leather-wrapped handle of the baseball bat, and as you’re knocked to the ground, you use it as a barrier, shoving the metal against his chest.

His face is all wrong. It’s not just the dead eyes; his teeth are yellowed and his gums blackened as he snaps at you, trying to claw at you. White marks have risen all over his face, spreading out like a map beneath his skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You manage to plant your foot on his chest, and shove with all your might, yelling as the movement makes your knees twinge. He doesn’t go far, but it’s enough to get him off of you, and you scramble backwards, throwing the door shut as you run for the kitchen, the bat held tightly in your grasp. Heart racing, you find the biggest knife you can in the kitchen, sucking down hurried breaths. You’re in shock.

There’s a flash of red outside the balcony door, and you turn to see flames explode from the building across from yours. On the streets below, cars start to crash into each other, the sound of sirens twice as loud. You can hear people screaming, even through the glass.

A loud bang pulls you back into the apartment, and you turn just as Dean comes sprinting down the hall, losing his balance and skidding across the carpet. You throw the kitchen knife as he lunges for you, but it misses, the blade bouncing off his chest and sliding beneath the coffee table. A guttural growl echoes through the apartment, and when he leaps at you, you swing.

Your first hit smacks his shoulder. It doesn’t do much, but he lets out a pained yowl and when you swing again, there’s a sickening crack. He swipes at you, lunging again as you stumble backwards through the living room, the couch toppling over as you both fall onto it. His fingers dig into your shoulder and you scream, pain radiating through your arm, but you tighten your grip on the bat and ram the end of it into his face.

Another growl, another swing. You manage to get to your feet, blood pouring down your arm, painting your blouse crimson, and you put the kitchen island between you and him, moving quickly, keeping the bat held high.

When he jumps again, you swing. Hard. The bat connects with his temple, his neck cracking loudly as his head snaps to the side, and he slumps to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth. The metal rings as you drop the bat, collapsing onto the kitchen floor a moment later, blinding grabbing for one of the dishrags hanging from the stove, covering your shoulder with it and clamping your hand over the wound.

Why is this happening?

You’re not quite sure how long you’re sat there, curled against the cabinets. The bleeding on your shoulder slows, but doesn’t stop completely, and you’re starting to feel lightheaded. Not just the blood loss, you know, but the shock. Dean’s body has stopped twitching, but there’s something seeping out of his mouth, curling across the tile. When you spot the movement, you’re on your feet in a second, blinking past the momentary wooziness, grabbing the bat again.

When you click on the television, a loud beep echoes, nothing but a black screen, and you try to change the channel, but it’s the same on every one. Finally, the beep ends, and a robotic voice takes its place.

…indoors. Law enforcement and emergency services are in the area and will be in contact with further instructions. Stay indoors…

Over and over again.

Your arm is pulsing, the rag on your shoulder wet with blood. You need to clean it, you think. You need some water, you need to—

The phone starts ringing. Your phone. Cell phone. Where you left it, in your purse. Your purse is by the door, across the apartment. You have to walk around Dean to get there, and you go slow, your eyes glued to his unmoving form. The bat is still in your hand, the end of it dragging over the carpet as you walk towards the door. Another metallic noise when it hits hardwood.

Your eyes are still on Dean as you dig in your purse, on the thing still coming out of his mouth, crawling along the grout lines in the tile. Out, out, out, you need to get out, you need to get away, you need to—

Your fingers close around your cell. Hit the button, bring it to your ear.

“Are you safe?” Joel barks, and you nearly drop the phone, the sound of his voice slamming you back into your head, your breath hitching so hard you almost choke. “Baby, where are you?”

“Home,” you cry, leaning against the wall, gripping the bat so hard your knuckles hurt. “I-I got home and Dean, he just…he…I…” You wheeze, your breath not enough, your head feeling lighter, your vision spotting with black. “He’s dead. I’m bleeding.”

“It’s everywhere,” he says, his voice low, and he keeps talking, but you don’t think he’s talking to you. You space out, your gaze glued to the body on your floor, until Joel says your name. “Why are you bleeding? What happened?”

“He…” you trail off, your eyes focusing on Dean’s bloody knuckles, limp on the kitchen floor. “He grabbed me, he…he was trying to bite me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” you say, your voice sounding a bit more sure. You shake your head, pressing your palm against your shoulder. The pain spikes, but it helps, clears your head a bit. “It’s a scratch. Deep.”

“You need to clean it, you hear me?” Joel says. “Patch yourself up, baby, all right? You have a first aid kit?”

You drop the bat, pressing the back of your hand against your forehead. You’re shaking. “In the bathroom.”

“Good, go, do it now. I’m not hanging up until you do.”

You reach for the bat again, use it as a prop to get back to your feet. You cast Dean’s still form one more glance before retreating down the hallway. He’d burst through the bedroom door, and wood splinters cover the floor, the door still half on its hinge, split down the middle.

“Joel, why is this happening?” you ask, your voice climbing, fear taking over. You get into the bathroom, momentarily shaken by your appearance in the mirror. Your hair wild, the blood smeared along your chest and neck, your stained and torn blouse. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and the thread of fear in his voice makes tears spring in your eyes. “But I want you to listen to me, okay? You patch yourself up, you grab what you can, and you run. You understand? Get in your car and get out of the city, as fast as you can. You don’t wait, you don’t stop for anyone, and you just keep going.”

You nod for a moment before you realize he can’t see you. “Okay. What do I…?”

“I’ll find you, baby,” he says, and the surety in his voice makes everything in you ache. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m—”

Static. Dead air. Gone.

“Joel? No, come back, Joel, please—” You stare at the phone, try to redial the number, hit the button over and over and over and over. No signal, the screen informs you.

Nothing. Nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, the rapid pulse against your ribs, the breaths that seem to rattle through your lungs. Outside of that, silence.

You slam the phone down, slam your hands against the bathroom sink.

“Joel!”

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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anneapocalypse · 11 months

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Right to Their Faces: Sera's Romance Quest

The Sera Series: Exploring Sera's character and background.

This one was originally going to be part of another post I have in the works, "Sera and the Inquisitor," but I realized that I had a lot to say about Sera's romance quest and it really deserved its own post.

Disclaimer: It is absolutely fine if you don't like Sera or don't like Sera's romance, don't connect with her, don't find her relatable, whatever! I'm not here to tell anyone what they can or can't like. I just want to talk about my read and my feelings on this romance quest. If you don't like Sera and are not open to positively discussing Sera, that's just fine; feel free to scroll right on by, no need to inform me in the notes.

Sera's romance quest, "A Woman Who Wants for Nothing," triggers once the Inquisitor has confirmed her romantic interest in Sera and Sera's approval is high enough. The Inquisitor is prompted to find a gift for Sera because—okay look, we really need to spend a minute on how this quest begins, because it's truly delightful.

When the Inquisitor comes to Sera's alcove, Sera runs up behind her, excited, and exclaims all in a rush, "Listen! I got you a hat, but it's ugly, so I drew Coryhe-whatzit's face on it, and stuffed it with apples. Everyone's hitting it with sticks! I really hope you like it!" and then runs away giggling.

I mean, it's pretty clear here that this is all in fun to Sera. She wanted to give her Inky something, but the hat she found was ugly, so she decided to turn it into a joke and hoped Inky would be entertained by it. It's the Inquisitor, charmingly, who decides to take this super seriously, looking after Sera and saying thoughtfully to herself, "We're giving gifts now?"

The Inquisitor then goes to all her other companions looking for help finding a gift for Sera. Practically no one has any good ideas, or any ideas at all really. I want to pause on that aspect for a moment. Why doesn't anyone (including the Inquisitor, who is actively seeing her) know what Sera would like?

I mean first of all, the clue's kind of in the name of the quest. No one can think of a gift for Sera because Sera doesn't particularly want anything. She is not very concerned with owning things. She doesn't covet fancy clothes or shoes or hats or jewelry. The Undercroft keeps the Inquisition supplied with arms and armor, so she doesn't have need of those things as gifts. She likes books, but she has Skyhold's entire library at her disposal. She likes food, a lot, and she likes cakes, and if pressed I'd say that of all the material gifts she could receive, a cake made just for her would probably go over the best, but I don't think it would be better than what we ultimately get in this quest.

Sera does like collecting various objects, and we find her catalog of these in her journal, "Sera's Cabinet of Wonder Whose It Was," but these are all mundane items: a Circle banner, a goblet, a halla statue, a deck of cards, masks stolen from the Winter Palace. Little curiosities, things she finds meaningful or strange or funny. This is a collection curated purely on Sera's whims, and it could be difficult for even someone close to her to guess what kind of object might catch her fancy in that way.

And here we have the ironic meaning of the quest title. Usually, the expression that a person "wants for nothing" means that they already have everything they could possibly want, but for Sera it takes on a different meaning. Sera "wants for nothing" because she not only lacks a life of wealth and comfort but has actively rejected it and all the baggage that came with it. Someone will probably point out here that Sera is interested in making a profit with her Red Jenny shenanigans, and she is, she says so! but what she is not concerned with is accumulating and hoarding wealth or possessions. That is a life she has very consciously rejected.

I also don't think we should ignore the role of class in the way the other Inner Circle members treat Sera, even the "nicest" ones. There's not really any getting around the fact that other characters—including characters we like—look down on Sera because she's low class. Sera is not the only elf in the Inquisition, and there are definitely characters who treat Solas poorly in various ways, but they do not treat Solas the same way they treat Sera. Sera gets the most abject disrespect both for being an elf and for being low-class, and—this part's important—for looking and sounding low-class, and being proud of it.

Cullen may have been born a commoner but he sought a respectable profession, became a templar and ascended through the ranks (however he may feel about that now) and is now the Inquisition's commander. Leliana may have been the daughter of a servant, but she became a bard and has spent her life hobnobbing with nobles and Very Important People, eventually becoming the Left Hand of the Divine. Blackwall may have been born a commoner but he is (so far as everyone knows) a decorated Warden-Constable. Vivienne may have been born to merchant parents and sent to the Circle at a young age, but she's made the most of her position and become First Enchanter of Montsimmard, then Enchanter to the Imperial Court. You see where I'm going with this. Even our common-born companions have for the most part sought to climb the social hierarchy in one way or another. They've "bettered" themselves. They have titles, if not noble ones. They're Somebody. They're Important. And many of the others are just straight up nobility. Even Varric, who carries himself like a common man, is from a well-connected Merchant Guild family as well as being a famous author; he's basically a noble who enjoys slumming it.

Not only is Sera a nobody, she patently rejects the idea of being Somebody. She operates as a Red Jenny under a mythical name who may or may not ever have been a real person. When placed in a situation where she needs to be formally introduced as Somebody, the ball at the Winter Palace, she openly mocks the entire concept and the supposed solemnity of the occasion by submitting a vulgar joke name.

I bring all of this up because this is why I think the other companions are so unhelpful. They can't imagine what Sera could possibly want because they already know she doesn't want what they want, and even the ones who do like her I think struggle to actually relate to her. They see her motives as, at best, confusing. (As does the Inquisitor in a lot of early dialogue, but that's another post for another day!) But in fact, Sera's desires are very simple. (I think Cole is the one with the best shot at actually figuring out what Sera would want, but he gets hung up on the concept of what a gift is before he can get there.)

Vivienne and Solas in particular are not just confused by Sera but actively offended and dismayed by her existence. I think it's pretty easy to see why she gets under Solas's skin so badly (though I could write reams about how interesting their relationship is and how much it reveals about Solas, but not today). Sera represents to him just how far the elves have fallen because of him, and I think he's both deeply frustrated by her and deep down feels responsible for everything that's "wrong" with her. Vivienne and Sera are also fascinating foils to one another, as both came from humble origins and both were afforded some unique opportunities given those origins—but they've taken polar opposite approaches to the problem of social hierarchy and power. And like so many Dragon Age characters who act as foils to each other, the existence of the other needles at them so badly because they challenge the foundation of their beliefs about the world and their sense of self. So it's no surprise that these two are the companions that give active disapproval when the Inquisitor reveals her relationship with Sera.

(It also makes for some absolutely wonderful humorous irony later if the Inquisitor decides to take Vivienne's clearly-sarcastic suggestion seriously, after which you get a bonus cutscene of Sera and Inky in bed together laughing over whatever it is Inky has shaved into her ladybits. Vivienne turns out to be the only one who had a good idea, and she didn't even mean it!)

The actual quantities of disapproval are frankly negligible, and easily made up elsewhere if you, the player, care deeply what Solas and Vivienne think of your character. If I'm being honest, I think they could have gone even harder with the disapproval, especially in a game like Inquisition which doesn't pull its punches with approval the way the previous games do and doesn't allow you to avoid ever taking a negative hit. But the exact number isn't the important thing here. The important thing is that without some tangible and in-your-face social cost to openly loving Sera, this quest would have no teeth.

I trust I don't have to explain that the opinions of characters (for whom said disapproval is entirely in-character) are not necessarily the opinions of the writers. It's also not indicative of the game telling you that you made a "wrong" decision. Nor is it the first time companions have disapproved of the player character's love interest—far from it. Both Origins and DA2 have some truly spicy party banter in that regard, and Inquisition keeps with tradition. Love it or hate it, companions hating each other is a time-honored Dragon Age tradition.

And in this case, the disapproval is the point. The Inquisitor is meant to receive the disapproval and decide that Sera is worth it to her. The point is that the Inquisitor cares so much for Sera that she openly declares her affections without regard for the disapproval of others, and that this kind of love and acceptance is entirely foreign to Sera's experience and the greatest gift she could ever have received. Sera says it outright: "Wait, wait, wait. You went to everyone and said I was your lover? Right to their faces? They must have… Oh, Vivienne must have puckered pinky-tight! Best gift ever."

And if you've read my other Sera Series posts, or simply spent a lot of time talking to Sera, it's no mystery why this means so much to her.

This is what this quest is all about. And to me, it's one of the most moving expressions of love in the whole game and maybe in all of the Dragon Age games. I love it so much. I get emotional re-watching it in YouTube clips. I cannot imagine being happier if the Inquisitor had just, I don't know, baked Sera a cake, or brought her a bouquet of flowers from the meadows filled with bees. This quest gets at the core of who Sera is, her sharpest hurts and deepest desires. It is deeply meaningful and it is perfect for her.

My sole complaint about this quest is that I never got to see the hat full of apples with Corypheus's face drawn on it and everyone hitting it with sticks.

#sera dragon age #dragon age sera #sera series #dragon age meta #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #blunders of thedas #sera x inquisitor #sera x female inquisitor

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 5 months

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Can you do Gary x a neurodivergent reader that he keeps trying to indoctrinate, only for them to want to be friends?

The whole "I'm a normal human, just like you" wouldn't work on me personally. I would assume he was autistic or had some form of ptsd and some very interesting interests because of it. Either way, picturing him trying to get a reader to join his cult, only for them to assume he's neurodivergent too and try to be friends with him is just extremely funny to me.

Bonus points if the reader's special interest just so happens to be demons

This is brilliant tbh,,,,just ND to ND communication hshhfhaw

.......

The Eternal Order of the Second Death (EOSD) was keeping tabs on you for a while, noting your frequent visits to the local library.

A thrall masquerading as a staff member had access to your account's checkout history and saw that you only take out books on the occult/demonology/etc.

It's a fixation you usually keep to yourself, not saying much and silently thanking them for not giving you any strange looks (although you never notice their unnerving smile as they wish you a good day).

It's not long before they let Gary know about you, mentioning your fascination with the demon Malphas and the Unspeakable.

He planned to indoctrinate you and show you all the things you could learn and experience within the Order.

Even if you don't become a vessel for the Unspeakable, he believes you'd make a good acolyte in no time.

So he invites you to a "bookclub meeting", where you're taken to a hidden chamber beneath one of the study rooms.

It has its own library with a plethora of forbidden books on demon summoning, instructions for certain rituals, and more (plus a demon who prevents them from being stolen).

Minus the stench of death and the demonic blood sigils on the walls, you're very much intrigued.

Then Gary appears before you and offers you a chance to join them, explaining how long they've been keeping an eye on you.

When he puts down his hood, you could see his flesh is scarred and glasses hiding his eyes, as well as the red eye painted on his forehead.

"...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Who are you, again?"

"I'm Gary, a normal human being just like you." He smiles in a way that's not-at-all human.

It only takes a second for you to connect the dots.

And not in the "oh he's a demon pretending to be human" way, but instead the "oh he's neurodivergent pretending to be Normal™" kind of way.

It just made sense. Why else would he insist on being a "normal human being"?

He was just like you fr

Again, he offers you a position in the lower ranks, believing you had potential to work your way up to a "greater purpose".

But you only express interest in being friends with him, never really getting the hint that the EOSD didn't rally "friends", but willing sacrifices and worshippers ready to throw their entire lives away for him and his cause.

Gary is fully aware of how you perceive him, but he goes along with it, finding you intriguing.

You're allowed to visit the hidden bookclub, where you might find him a few times, always ready to make his offer.

But you often distract him with long chats and infodumps of demons you've read about.

Even all the things you knew about Astaroth surprised him, and it's quite flattering.

They can go on for a while, and sometimes when he's called to attend to other matters, he abruptly leaves..but it never bothers you.

You get it. Conversations must be exhausting for him and drain his social battery. You'll note to keep them brief next time.

As far as joining the cult goes, you're not a big fan of large groups....so you always say you need "time" to consider.

Regardless, he's not gonna stop trying to convince you. But he wants you to stay interested in the demons, firmly believing you'd be a reliable asset.

#clanask #anonymous #faith game x reader #faith x reader #faith the unholy trinity x reader #gary miller #gary miller x reader #neurodivergent reader #headcanons #platonic

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sunfoxfic · 3 years

Text

I'm making myself a monte cristo

#fun fact that's really not related #a week and a half ago i visited my ancestral homeland to raid my late great aunt's house so that my aunt can't get to it before us #and i found a copy of the count of monte cristo #i assumed it dated back to 1944 bc it had a library card thing that said it was due in 1944 #so i nabbed it bc. cool! old book! this is one of my dad's favorites!#and apparently it's a LOT older than that #personally i just find it really funny that it was stolen from the library in 1944 #rambles

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

iced tea

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, levi is the best not yet boyfriend au, erwin would definitely be an insufferable project partner to have but you gotta love him au

+ summary: there are three rules of night class. come on time, come prepared, and come with snacks. you forget about rule number three. luckily, levi’s there to save the day.

There’s only one appeal to signing up for a three-hour night class, and it’s that you only ever have to muster up the will to attend once a week. It’s a sacrifice, but it definitely cuts down on the temptation of skipping like you would a normal, one-hour section course. Just one and done.

Plus, you have Erwin with you in this class. Is he a little bit of a professor’s pet and consistently overly chipper every class despite knowing he’s about to endure 180 minutes of lecture? Sure, but at least you don’t have to suffer alone.

Really, it’s not as bad as it sounds, especially if the course is interesting enough, or easy enough, and luckily for you, yours is both. Not to mention, your professor is brilliant, actually entertaining, and does her best to keep the class engaging—she’s funny in the dorky, lovable professor kind of way. And she gives you short, ten to fifteen minute breaks at every hour mark just to make sure everyone doesn’t completely lose their minds.

It’s a commitment, but you’ve grown to actually enjoy it. As long as you follow the three rules of night class: come on time, come with your notes prepared so that you don’t get upstaged by Erwin, and come with—

“Fuck,” you curse, watching as Erwin pulls out one of his many, tiny, organic, boxed juices. The ones meant for children with soy sensitivities that Erwin claims are packed with more nutrients.

“What’s up?” He questions, more shocked than concerned, at your sudden profanity as he sets his juice box in the right corner of his desk.

You pout. “I forgot to bring snacks.”

Come on time, come with your notes prepared so that you don’t get upstaged by Erwin, and come with snacks. Those were the only three rules of night class, and you’d completely forgotten about the most important one.

“Oh,” Erwin grins, pulling a chocolate bar from his lunch bag and taunting you with it, “Sounds like a you problem.”

You snatch a piece from the top corner, stuffing part of it into your mouth to spite him; but you regret your choices as soon as it melts on your tongue.

“What the fuck—is this mint chocolate?” you complain, swallowing the rest of the sweet with disdain.

“Yes it is,” Erwin huffs, grabbing the remaining stolen bit from between your fingers and popping it into his mouth, “And it is delicious.”

“You’re an actual menace to society.”

Erwin crinkles his nose at you, “A menace to society with snacks for the next three hours.”

His comment makes you groan, albeit a little dramatically, and you slump back in your chair to debate your options. Class doesn’t start for another twelve minutes; you could try and run to the student center quickly to buy some last minute snacks, but the line was probably already lengthy with students of similar trains of thought, meaning you’d be late if you stuck it out, which would leave you violating rules one and three tonight. Erwin makes you sit in the front row with him, and you were not willing to take the late walk of shame with an armful of snacks in tow.

You could wait it out until the first hour break, but they’ll probably be sold out of anything good by then, not to mention the race to beat out the line again. If you played your cards right, you could order food during class and time it so that it was delivered during your break, but that was risky.

Alternatively, you could try and sprint to the concessions stand near the library, but going there and back was so much further away than the student center; you’d probably end up late, too.

“Hey,” you call to Erwin, refraining from rolling your eyes as he sets all six thousand and twenty eight of his colored pens on his desk for the evening, “Is Hange still on campus?”

“No, they have work today.”

You groan. Why did Hange have to be so responsible and good with their time-management skills. They was your last hope. Unless—

“Do you think Levi will bring me Starbucks?”

“Probably,” Erwin shrugs, humming to himself; but then he thinks it over, replying again with a knowing smirk on his face, “Actually, definitely. If he’s still here, but he probably is. You know him.”

You pout, the possibility of Levi being home is high, but so is that of him being cooped up in his favorite library. Either way, he would likely be studying right now, and you’d hate to disturb him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

[sent 6:47pm] you — leeevaaaaaaaaai are you still on campus

[received 6:47pm] leeevaaai — yes — why, what’s wrong

[sent 6:47pm] you — uwu — wanna bring me something from starbucks before class — i have my 3 hour lecture today and i forgot snacks :—( — and erwin won’t share his organic $1500 whole foods gummy bears with me

[received 6:48pm] leeevaaai — i told you i don’t like the smileys with the noses, they’re ugly — should you even be drinking coffee this late, you’ll be up until the ass crack of dawn

You scoff audibly, and Erwin takes this as an invitation to peep at your screen. Your comment about his snacks does not go unnoticed, as bitterly munches on his (yes, in fact, organic and gluten-free, as if it being mint flavored wasn’t criminal enough) chocolate bar.

[sent 6:48pm] you — that’s RICH coming from you mister

[received 6:48pm] leeevaaai — you’re being awfully rude to someone you expect to buy you a $7 drink

[sent 6:48pm] you — hehe sorry i loooove you leeevaaai — venti iced chai latte — light ice

[received 6:49pm] leeevaaai — do you think i don’t know your overpriced starbucks order by now

[sent 6:49pm] you — uwu :—)

[received 6:49pm] leeevaaai — but you’re getting a grande, i’m not made of money — and it’s punishment for sending another ugly nose smiley

[sent 6:49pm] you — un-uwu

“I don’t blame him,” Erwin chuckles, scrunching the wrapper from his now finished bar between his fingers.

You flick him away, ignoring the turning heads of your classmates as Erwin’s pens fall in the aftermath. It’s seven o’clock on the dot when your laptop pings loudly with an incoming message from Levi—and a subsequent groan from Erwin, who breeches your personal space once more to press the mute button on your keyboard.

[received 7:00pm] leeevaaai — where are you sitting

[sent 7:00pm] you — front row to the right — erwin’s idea not mine

Levi spots Erwin’s bright blonde hair before he sees you, scoffing to himself as he makes his way to the front of the room; a tray with three Starbucks cups, and a plastic bag in tow. Erwin sees him first, too, waving at him as he crosses from the left side to where the two of you are seated.

“Aw, Levi, you brought me one!” Erwin all but squeaks, reaching for one of the other drinks with grabby hands after you take your iced drink from the tray.

But Levi pulls one hot drink from the tray for himself, and pulls the remaining one out of arm’s reach. “As if,” he grumbles, bringing his own cup to his lips.

“You’re the best, Levi,” you smile, sticking your tongue out at Erwin. Levi only offers you a small nod as acknowledgement. He extends his left hand now, the plastic bag sliding off his wrist and onto your desk, silently.

Confused, you lean forward, setting your drink down to open the contents of the bag. Inside, there are two granola bars, a bagel, cream cheese, some kind of sandwich, and a small Nutella to-go cup with mini breadsticks attached. When you look back up at Levi, he simply shrugs, sipping on his drink again while a light pink dusts over the tips of his ears.

“You said you forgot your snacks,” he explains, “I knew you’d text me the whole time, bitching about how Erwin wouldn’t share his zero-calorie lemon rinds if you didn’t have your own.”

You take note that the chai he brought you was, in fact, a venti, and not a grande like he’d threatened, and that the granola bars in the bag are not only your favorite flavor, but from your favorite brand, too; and you find yourself smiling as you decipher the very clear message underneath Levi’s less than poetic words.

“What’s in the other cup?” Erwin asks, pointing at the remaining drink. Levi carefully lifts it from the tray, and sets it down on the other corner of your desk, a safe distance away from your laptop.

“Tea,” he says shortly, “So you don’t lose your mind after inhaling your coffee.”

“This is tea, too. Chai is tea, Levi.”

“Tea without milk or six kilograms of sugar,” Levi corrects you, “Or ice.”

“Iced tea is tea, you know.”

Levi doesn’t respond to that with anything but a glare. You smile at his stoicism. Erwin thinks the whole exchange is kind of weird, and wonders where you possibly get the gall to make fun of his taste in snacks when you can’t even realize you’re in love with a man who refuses to identify iced tea as a valid form of tea.

“I better go before she starts,” Levi speaks, a single hand referencing to your professor behind him, who looks just about ready to begin class for the evening, “Call me when you’re done, I’ll drive you two home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Erwin and I usually take the b—”

“Brat,” Levi cuts your words short, “Call me when you’re finished. I’ll be in the library.”

You throw daggers at him with your eyes, but your resolve is waning, once again, as you closely read at the implications of Levi’s promise. You accept, and Erwin is more than happy for the free ride.

Levi hums. “And eat the bagel before the Nutella.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m a saint,” Levi deadpans, placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head affectionately, “Call me.”

He walks away before you can debate again, just as your professor speaks into the microphone to grab everyone’s attention. You scrunch your nose, hands flying to your hair to smooth out the aftermath of Levi’s playfulness, before opening your notes for the evening.

“You’re really dense aren’t you?” Erwin asks, one eyebrow raised, but the overall look on his face is more than fond, “It’s kind of cute.”

“Huh?” you question, cheeks stuffed with food as you bite into your bagel, “Dense about what?”

Erwin shakes his head, turning back to laptop with an exasperated expression, the fondness in his eyes fading quickly. “Hopeless,” he mumbles, “The both of you.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #levi fluff #levi smut #erwin x reader #eren x reader

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adorascake · 3 years

Text

no but when you think about it, the scene between raya and namaari in tail is so funny. like, namaari is very clearly a huge dragon geek (even if she hides it as an adult), and she probably has a bit of an attachment to the particular scroll that raya took - as children, it’s the one she brought to heart, and six years later, she knew exactly which scroll raya took. now idk anything about fang’s library, especially when it concerns dragons, but i have a feeling there is quite a bit in there, at least from past generations (based off of namaari telling raya about fang legend concerning sisu); even if fang seems to cater more to reason and logical decisions than emotions/hope, they still hold much respect for the dragons. namaari probably didn’t even have to check fang’s records for which scroll was stolen when raya infiltrated fang because she just knew. my personal headcanon is that she actually kept the scroll close to her - in her room maybe - which is how raya knew where to find it and get out of fang before getting caught (future evidence - how did she know where namaari’s room was when she sent Noi and the ongis to deliver the message??) and how namaari knew which scroll was stolen. now, with all this in mind, why the hell did namaari act all surprised when she opened the scroll in tail, with her “are you really looking for sisu? what are you, twelve?” bit?? she very clearly knew which scroll was stolen, yet she had to open it up when it was returned to her as if she had no clue.

now, it could be argued that she did this to prevent suspicion from her fellow riders. she has to be seen as this strong, sensible, and logical leader who doesn’t care about something as trivial or unimportant as dragons, as she was raised to be realistic instead of idealistic - in fang’s eyes, there was no way the dragons could return; being hopeful was childish and a waste of time and they were better off worrying about their own problems. namaari couldn’t have people, especially her own soldiers, doubt her leadership (or going off to tell virana), so she had to put up a facade that she didn’t care about the contents of what was stolen, only that something was stolen from fang, and no one steals from fang without consequences. i mean, she literally didn’t tell her soldiers why they needed to retrieve the scroll, and she beat up anyone who questioned her. that’s a little suspicious if you ask me.

but.

we also must consider another aspect as to why she acted the way she did in tail with raya. put up a front, yeah sure. but you can’t tell me that she didn’t spend weeks formulating the perfect introductory sentence she would deliver upon catching up to raya. you can’t tell me that she didn’t spend nights tossing and turning as she imagined fake conversations between the two of them, playing each one out in her head. you can’t tell me that all of her dialogue in that scene wasn’t already planned out by her long before they intercepted raya. she fully intended to flirt/banter with raya and wanted everything to be perfect. why would she do this, you may ask? because she’s a perfectionist and a nerd for one, but also because she’s just a useless mf lesbian.

#and that. is why that scene is so funny to me #looking a lil sus there namaari...why do u care so much?😳#raya and the last dragon #ratld #raya #namaari #rayamaari #rayaari

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Text

Dimly-Lit Corners and Dark Corridors

Requested: yesss

Harry Potter x Fem!reader (house not specified)

Warning: suggestive themes (nothing overtly sexual), kissing, awkward Harry, mentions of scarring (Umbridge)

Word Count: 2773

alright this one is really cute and harry is so awkward and sweet and dorky and just 🥰 but yeah i really like this one

✧✧✧

Harry was with Hermione as they returned books in the library. Really, Hermione was putting the books back whilst also complaining about Ron, and Harry… well Harry was just there for moral support.

“Was I under the impression that he and I would be attending Slughorn’s Christmas party together? Yes. Now, given the circumstances, I’ve had to make other arrangements.”

Harry was surprised to hear this, to him the solution was obvious really, “Have you?”

“Yes,” Her look was defensive. “Why?”

“Well I just thought, seeing as neither of us can go with who we’d really like to, we should go together as friends.”

Hermione groaned, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Who are you going with?” Harry was now extremely curious.

But as Hermione started talking, something about not being able to tell him just yet, Harry’s attention had been stolen. His eyes followed after the group of girls a year older than him and Hermione that had just walked into the library, conveniently sitting at the table closest to the aisle he and Hermione were in. It wasn’t the whole group that had a hold on his focus, no, just one girl that happened to be the center of the group. Harry felt his stomach erupt in the most ridiculous butterflies as he watched Y/n L/n throw her head back in laughter. Time seemed to slow as he watched her smile, hair cascading down her back and Harry couldn’t help but think of a hundred and one scenarios of him, her, and his hands running through her-

“Harry!” Hermione hit his shoulder with a book.

“Ow, Hermione.” Harry grumbled, hand going to rub the area on his shoulder that was sure to form a bruise.

His eyes shot over to Y/n, praying she didn’t see the embarrassing exchange before he turned back to Hermione, luckily she was still giggling at something her friend was saying to notice the assault.

“What was that for?”

Hermione laughed, “If you like her so much, just talk to her.”

“You say that like it’s easy, Hermione.” Harry sighed.

Y/n L/n had appeared on Harry’s radar last year. She had come to DA meetings with her friends and was exceptionally good at most defensive and offensive spell work. She was friendly and funny and incredibly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that was beyond just her looks. Harry was sure if she had walked into a room full of strangers everyone would turn to look, it was late one night when Harry decided to call it her ‘aura’. Even so, Harry had been so stressed about DA meetings he didn’t really develop a crush on her until one day he had gone to help Fred and George with a defensive spell and they were standing with her mid conversation. It was quite clear that Fred had been putting all the moves on her, George going about it with more of a subtle approach, yet Harry noticed she was nothing but friendly. And when he walked up to them, Y/n had turned to him with the most dazzling smile and a gentle hand to his bicep. Harry definitely understood why Fred was so grumpy when he was rejected after the meeting, but Harry also had never been able to produce a patronus so easily the next meeting when he saw Y/n again, Fred free.

From then on Harry swore no one could hold a candle to her, he was sure veelas were created with Y/n L/n as inspiration. Ron definitely made fun of him for his more poetic bouts of professing his love to an imaginary Y/n that lived in his dorm. To say Harry was less than smooth when talking to Y/n was an understatement, so he’s resorted to avoiding most interactions with her.

“It is that easy. People are calling you ‘The Chosen One’ she’s probably just too shy to talk to you herself.” Hermione said, bringing him out of his thoughts again.

“That’s not true.”

“Think about it, Harry. It seems like all the girls this year are trying to go after you. Like…there, see that girl over there?” She asked, subtly motioning to a girl with curly hair on the opposite side of the room.

Harry nodded.

“That’s Romilda Vane, I overheard her and some other girls in the bathroom. They were planning how to slip you a love potion.”

“Really?” This was all news to Harry.

Hermione scoffed, “She’s only interested in you because she thinks you’re the chosen one.”

“But I am the chosen one.”

He received another hit to the shoulder, the same book and girl the cause of his pain.

“Right, sorry.”

“All I’m saying is, you could use it to your advantage.” Hermione suggested.

Harry grumbled again, “I doubt she cares, Hermione. She hasn’t tried to slip me anything, we barely talk.”

“You barely talk,” Hermione turned to put a book on a shelf. “Because you don’t try to talk to her. You can’t expect her to just fall to your feet, she seems like she knows her worth and isn’t going to beg you to date her.”

“It wouldn’t be...falling at my feet… it would be showing interest.” Harry said matter-of-factly.

Hermione shook her head, “Boys don’t understand anything.”

“Well, I wou-” Harry let out a grunt as his back hit something.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Harry turned around so fast he almost tripped, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he heard Y/n’s voice behind him. She was standing with both her hands out, one holding his bicep the other on his chest to steady him.

“Y/n, I didn- you- how are- what’s me? No, I mean, what’s up?”

He was certain Fred had been smoother and he got rejected, he had no chance. But he perked up at the sound of her giggle, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

“I’m alright, Harry. I just wanted to come say hi, you know since we haven’t talked much after meetings last year.” Her face started to glow an ethereal pink as she talked and Harry felt his jaw start to hang open just slightly.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, how’s everything been, then….with you?” Harry stuttered.

Y/n smiled, hands now back at her sides, “I’ve been good, missed the D.A., ya know? What about you, Harry, have you been alright with everything?”

“Oh, yeah, great, fantastic. I am the chosen one. Wait! No, I didn’t mean like- I don’t know why I said that.”

Y/n nodded and let out a chuckle at the way Harry fumbled.

“I’ve heard. Good on you for finally getting the Prophet to listen. Anyway, I shou-”

“Go to Slug Club with me.”

Hermione couldn’t hold her laugh at the confused expression on Y/n’s face, or the completely mortified look Harry was sporting.

Harry calmed himself before clarifying, “Professor Slughorn has these...parties, and he told us to bring someone along for the Christmas party. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me… to the party?”

“Oh-”

“You don’t have to, it’s alright, really. I’ll ju-”

He was cut off by Y/n putting a hand on his shoulder as she spoke, “I’d love to go with you.”

“Brilliant!” Harry smiled, day suddenly brighter and mood better.

She then turned to Hermione and asked if she’d be there too, to which Hermione responded with a grumbled ‘unfortunately’ before bringing a smile back to her face to tell Y/n she would be excited to see her.

Harry was beyond nervous, his palms were slick with sweat and his hair was far from as tame as he would’ve liked. The Christmas party was in an hour and he had to meet Y/n in half, his nerves were on fire at the thought of being with her all night. Of course, he’d have to talk to her and she’d walk in with him with her arm in his. Or was that too cliche? Would she think of this as a date? Was it a date? Harry knew he wanted it to be a date, Merlin, did he want it to be a date.

“You’re thinking about it too much, mate.” Ron piped up from his bed.

“But is it a date?” Harry asked, turning to Ron.

Ron shrugged, “Sure it is.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You’re a bloke, she’s a girl, you guys are going to a Christmas dinner. Yeah, I’d say it’s a date.”

This didn’t help Harry’s nerves, but an idea flashed through his mind as his eyes skimmed over his trunk.

“Maybe I should drink the liquid luck? Get lucky.”

Ron gave him a suggestive look that made his cheeks heat up, “That’s not what I mean. I ju-”

“If you got her to say yes without the stuff, I’d say the hard part is over. Bloody hell, I can't wait until Fred finds out you’re dating Y/n L/n. Can I be the one to tell him?”

Harry was quick to shake his head, “No. Her and I aren’t dating. It’s just one Christmas party.”

Just one Christmas party his arse, Harry thought as he watched Y/n make her way to him from her common room entry. Y/n’s dress was a dark blue, almost black, satin that hugged her body enviously close and fell all the way to the floor. Curves, dips, and assets on tasteful display, yet it was Y/n’s warm smile that made Harry’s hands sweat.

The dress had thin straps holding it up and a straight, slouchy neckline. Y/n had her arms, neck, and most of her chest exposed; she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t bring a cover up in hopes that Harry would offer his jacket.

“Ready to go?” Y/n asked bringing Harry out of scenario number sixty-seven.

Scenario number sixty seven was a personal favorite of Harry’s, just newly sprouted, it consisted of him and Y/n in a dark corridor getting rather familiar.

“Ye-Yeah. You look beautiful, Y/n.” Harry complimented.

It was Y/n’s turn to fumble as she muttered out a thank you, her bashful expression giving Harry enough of a confidence boost to put his arm around her waist to guide her to the party.

Slughorn's party had been in full swing by the time they had arrived, Harry had guided her through the long way in hopes of getting to keep his arm around her waist just that much longer. Y/n, of course, had caught on to Harry’s scenic route but kept it to herself, she had liked being alone with the raven haired boy.

A few of the party goers Y/n recognized, but made no move to go say hi as she was content standing with Harry who had started a conversation with Slughorn. The rest of the party went as such, Harry and Y/n joined at the hip, usually found in whispered conversations in dimly lit corners. Harry had gotten much more confident as the night progressed, conversation with Y/n seemed to flow exceptionally well. He had learned that she was not only insanely attractive but a huge fan of the Holyhead Harpies, loved potions class (regardless of who was teaching it), and she was incredibly witty and dorky. Harry learned that she was absolutely perfect.

“-after that I probably slipped down a good five or six steps and landed right at Umbridge’s feet. She didn’t like that very much.” Y/n laughed, right hand subconsciously going to touch the top of her left.

Harry gave her a look of disbelief catching the movement, “She didn’t set the quill on you for that did she?”

“Yeah, but it’s alright. I’m still here aren't I?” She smiled, hoping to calm the look of worry that had flashed across Harry’s face.

He didn’t respond to her attempt of calming him, instead going to grab her hand. He raised the back of her hand to the light and tried to read the words that were etched into her hand but let out a sound of confusion.

“I can’t read it…” He said more to himself but Y/n heard.

She came out of her haze, brought on by Harry holding her hand so gently and carefully.

“That’s because there’s two sentences overlapping. The first one says ‘I must behave like a lady when in public’ and the second one-”

Harry connected the dots, guilt starting to eat away at his insides as he cut her off, “The D.A.”

“Yeah…” She confirmed, eye avoiding his gaze.

Harry felt all the rage he had felt for Dolores Umbridge returning to his body again, and he swore if he were to ever see that woman again he wouldn’t hold back. Y/n could tell by the way Harry’s grip tightened around her hand, though not tight enough to hurt.

“Hey, it’s alright. If I had known what would happen then, I still would’ve joined.”

She shuddered as she felt Harry’s index finger gently trace over the undecipherable scribbles.

Harry seemed to realize how close they had gotten, and his cheeks burned as his heart rate picked up. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounded an awfully lot like Ron telling him to just make a move.

You’re a bloke

She’s a girl

“Harry, you think they’d miss you if we let for a moment?”

He was brought back to reality as he heard the words and he hoped to Merlin he was reading it the way she meant for it to be read. He could feel his cheeks burning as he tried to rack his mind of ways to respond.

“I- you mean like- like get out of here. With me?” His cheeks burned even hotter as he tried to find the right words.

He let an awkward cough slip as Y/n slowly intertwined their hands together, her move was confident but her face had an expression of shyness.

“Well, yeah I was hoping you’d be there.”

He let out a breathy laugh as he stumbled a bit, seemingly knocked back by the suggestion.

“Oh- Yeah, I- uh- brilliant!”

Y/n giggled as she found the awkward boy in front of her incredibly endearing, and she couldn’t help herself as she took a step closer to Harry, face inches from his. She could almost hear him gulp as she looked down at his lips before meeting his eyes. Luckily they had been tucked away in a corner, away from most of the prying eyes of the party.

Harry wasn’t going to reject the new positioning but he also didn’t seem to be able to move to further it along, fortunately he didn’t have to. Y/n brought her hands up to cup his face as she gently brought her lips to his. Harry was kicked into action, his hands sliding around her waist as brought her closer, deepening the kiss. They stayed like that, lips smacking and tongues getting familiar for a few more seconds before Y/n pulled away, chuckling as Harry’s lips trailed after hers for a moment.

“That was...nice. Not like a bad nice, a good nice. A really good ni-”

His jaw was once again grabbed by Y/n, making him swallow his words and look into her eyes as she smiled gently.

“You don’t have to be so nervous, Harry, it’s just me.” She said, face lining in to peck him one more time.

He puckered out his lips comically as she pecked him, face still in her hands, but he had no complaints.

“You’re a bit intimidating.” Harry admitted.

“Really? How so?” She humored him.

Harry couldn't help but answer honestly, “You’re beautiful and kinda really...cool.”

They were quick to leave after that, Harry guiding Y/n to a secluded corridor that really only those who had seen the Marauders Map would be aware of. Once far enough into the corridor, Harry pushed Y/n against a cool stone wall. No longer as nervous as before, seeing as it was clear she felt the same, he was the one to initiate the kiss.

It was with slow hands and friendly lips that Harry was finally able to live through scenario number sixty seven, and he couldn’t wait to tell Fred that the real thing was far better than anything you could fantasize about.

And Y/n L/n made her way to her dorm that night, well passed curfew, with Harry’s jacket to keep her warm.

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagines

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

A Known Love

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Draco felt as though his relationship was kept secret, though one person sees everything.

Warnings: angst, anxiety, fluff, kissing

(not my gif)

Dawn was rapidly approaching, the navy hues of the sky beginning to lighten and the stars began to disappear as slivers of orange stretch across the horizon. It was Draco’s least favorite time of day, for it was when he had to say goodbye to you until the following evening. The hours in the day had always passed as if each were an eternity, one longer than the last, agonizing as he thought of nothing else but you.

“You really should be going now, love,” he murmurs softly, his lips ghosting over the skin on your neck. His hand enveloped your own as he pulled you farther behind the shadows of the crumbling stone statue, impossibly closer to him.

“I suppose I will once you let me go, Draco,” you laugh softly. A kiss is pressed just below your ear, another to your cheek, and another to your lips to quiet your very logical reasoning. He hadn’t wanted to let you go yet. He never wanted to let you go.

He pulls back to look at you, still close enough to feel your breath on his lips, gray eyes twinkling under the soft moonlight as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His attempts at goodbye were quickly becoming more pitiful with each moment that passed him by, and he knew it. He had the same problem every time the moment arises.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you say with a smile, your thumb brushing over his slightly pouted lip and he finds himself leaning into your touch. “You’ll have the whole day to miss me.”

For that, he closes any remaining gap once more, delicate kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw. He’s very knowledgeable of the way it makes you squirm, your jovial laughter slipping out into the crisp summer air, unable to be controlled much like his smile. His lips find yours in another attempt to silence you, soft and sweet as he hums lightly, your lips melding in a kiss he hadn’t wanted to end.

He’s reluctant to pull away, but the cooing of the morning doves is too hard to ignore. A sigh is exhaled and the sight of your kiss swollen lips leaves him wanting to do nothing but continue to kiss them, more so with the way you’re beaming up at him.

“Promise you’ll be here tonight?” He murmurs, forehead pressed to yours as his eyes fall closed. A quiet laugh escapes you and fans against his lips.

“I promise.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful?” He asks in a quieter tone, something akin to fear weaving around his words even if he’d tried to hide it.

“I will try, my love,” you murmur.

He pulls away once more and looks at you with narrowed eyes, a frown pulling at his lips. You tilt your head and look at him with a sweet smile, settling your hand on his cheek. He was not happy with your nonchalance. “It is not funny.”

You couldn’t stifle the soft laugh you’d tried to hold, appeasing his grumbling and worry as you brushed the platinum strands of hair out of his eyes.

“I will be here and I will be fine,” you say, kissing the very tip of his nose.

The tension in his embrace lessens considerably at your words, tightening his hold as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. Even with your reassurance, he was still rather scared that this would be the last time he kissed you, the last time he held you. So he relished in every second of it. He memorized the sweet smell of your perfume, the taste of your kisses, the softness of your skin. He took it all in and stored it away in his mind for safe keeping.

He released you with a chaste kiss to your neck, and one to your lips as his arms dropped to his sides. Your fingertips brush over his cheek once more as you smile, and in a matter of moments he’s standing by himself behind the moss covered statue, looking at the spot you’d once been standing in just seconds ago.

—

Draco spent the entirety of the day in his bedroom, pacing around in front of his bed aimlessly. He’d tried to get some sleep, he had been rather busy running around in a secret endeavor the night before. But he only found himself staring at the deep green velvet curtain splayed high above each of his bedposts. He hadn’t wanted to leave his room for a good while, however, there wasn’t reason to and he certainly didn’t want to run into his father. The man had become more insufferable with each passing day it seemed, if that was even possible. Besides, his mind was far too busy to hold any sort of meaningless conversation with him should there be any.

His boredom was near maddening, the Manor wasn’t exactly a place that had been bustling with entertainment. It was a place filled with silence and luxury that was made to be viewed but not touched. He looked at his clock, the hand only inching closer to eight o’clock in the evening much to his dismay; it was as if it was taunting him.

On a more positive note, it had been late enough for him to feel as though he could venture into the halls without chance of running into anyone. So he did. He found himself navigating the gray corridors with a practiced ease, eyes darting around each and every corner he passed. The residence was practically a maze; anyone who hadn’t been familiar with it would surely get lost in a matter of moments, unable to find a door to exit. He’d lived there for nearly eighteen years and still found himself wandering down unfamiliar halls.

In a matter of minutes, he finds himself standing in front of an old mahogany door, intricately carved like most others. He twisted the tarnished metal knob and pushed it open, wincing at the very audible creak it made. The scent of old books had immediately hit him as he closes the door behind him, trickles of sunlight streaming in through the latticed windows. The golden light illuminated the dust particles floating around the unfrequented room, nearly making him sneeze.

He just about jumped out of his skin when a soft voice broke through the silence in the air, his heart racing momentarily as he searched for the source. His mother sat in the corner, a half-read book propped open in her lap.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d been all day,” she says with a soft laugh, peering at him over the tops of her glasses.

“I was in my room,” he states when he settles, trying to sound believable even though that’s exactly where he’s been.

He smooths his hair behind his ear before spinning on his heel, unable to withstand her stare a moment longer. His hands were growing clammy as he wandered the familiar aisles, lined floor to ceiling with books ranging from the history of magic to even some Shakespeare classics. Those were Narcissa’s favorite.

“Draco, what ever is the matter with you?” Narcissa asks suddenly, her brows furrowing as she looks over at her son and marks her page.

“Nothing, Mother,” he says, plucking a maroon book from its spot on the dust covered shelf, looking over the aged cover briefly and putting it back before moving onto the next.

They were the very shelves he roamed between with you in the late hours of the night, speaking in hushed whispers in the nearly abandoned library. The very shelves you hid behind to share stolen kisses and tight embraces, gently whispered ‘I love you’s’ spoken against flushed skin. They house books of fabricated fiction and tales of forbidden love, stories he finds himself reading and wishing he didn’t understand what it had felt like to be the lovers within them.

Regardless, you loved when he read to you, his voice soft as he spoke each word with ease. You’d lay on his chest, tucked away somewhere private in the Manor, somewhere with enough moonlight streaming in to ensure there was no need for a light to draw any attention. His fingers would absentmindedly tangle through your hair as he read, stopping occasionally to press a kiss to your forehead. He’d stop once you fell asleep, his eyes bouncing around the room for any chance of prying eyes. He was quiet for any chance of listening ears.

“Draco?”

He startled slightly as looks over at his mother as she continues to sit in her black velvet chair, her brow raised curiously and expectantly. His cheeks flush a pale pink as he realizes he’s gotten lost in his thoughts.

“You’re distracted,” she states.

“No I’m not,” he says almost immediately, too fast to be believable.

She chuckles, shaking her head briefly. “Then what have I just told you, darling?”

He averts his gaze and focuses on the tattered book spines stacked in front of him, the heat in his face now burning down his neck as he scrambles to think of a proper answer for her, one that isn’t foolish.

“School has been rather busy. That amongst other things,” he says, tone sharp though she knows precisely what he’s talking about. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, Mother.”

She overlooks the bite to his words as she gestures to the seat just paces away from her own, wordlessly telling him to sit down. His finger stops it’s tracing on the old books and drops to his side, wiping his hand on his blazer and leaving a smear of pale dust behind on the pristine black fabric. He takes a seat, her gaze having him fix a stare on anything but her.

A quiet tension settles over the room, thick and unwavering for a few moments, the only sound being the ticking of the grand clock in the far end of it. He knows his reasoning couldn’t have been any good, at least not half of it. It had been summer break, one that was highly anticipated before the start of seventh year. So his excuse for academic stress didn’t seem to be quite as fitting at this very moment.

“What is her name?” She asks abruptly.

His heart stills in his chest at the question, and he looks at her immediately before narrowing his eyes to contain the flurry of emotions raining down on him. Had he heard her correctly? He had to have, she couldn’t have said anything else.

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, sitting up a little straighter as he smooths his tie.

She knew about you, of course she did. She’s known about you for far longer than Draco could ever be privy to. In fact, the first time she had ever been made aware of your relationship was last summer. It was dawn, and she was unable to sleep, though she always had been an early riser. She had her morning tea in hand as she made her rounds around the Manor, that’s when it had caught her eye. Narcissa had known the place like the back of her hand, therefore it had been easy to note anything out of place, such as the tracking of mud in a very familiar shoe print leading from the door to her gardens.

Upon closer inspection, she peered out of the windows into the moonlit maze of roses and finely manicured bushes. She had caught glimpse of her son weaving through flowers and statues, hand enveloped with that of a strikingly beautiful girl; and even with such a distance she could see the smile on his face, big and bright.

She had seen you once or twice before, knew enough to know you wouldn’t have been someone her husband would approve of. But technicalities aside, she stayed put and she watched the sight before her for a few moments longer for she hasn’t seen her son quite this happy.

Her eyes fell on Draco, the blush that had spilled from his cheeks to the tips of his ears now a very noticeable shade, one that was very indicative that he did in fact know just who she was talking about. He began to fidget in the grand velvet chair, twirling the ring around his finger in nervous habit. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could happen, panic flooding his chest.

“Your father wouldn’t approve of this, you know,” she says, though there’s a soft laugh in her words. Regardless, the thought makes Draco’s stomach swirl with nausea, anger building and pressing within his chest.

He knows this, he knows you don’t fit his fathers preposterous ideals because he’s too caught up in pleasing the Dark Lord’s wishes to see with even an ounce of rationality. However, he’s always been one for conforming to absurd standards to better his reputation, he supposes.

“You don’t understand,” Draco defends in hushed anger, his jaw tensing as he fights to reign in his temper.

“Then enlighten me, my dear boy.”

He stares at his mother for a few moments, then shifts his gaze to the dark hardwood floors, seconds feeling like hours as his heart hammers in his chest and the heat crawls up his neck. His mind is bombarded with intrusive thoughts, one after another. If he tells her what’s been plaguing his mind, who has been residing there for the better part of a year, he could very well lose you. If he doesn’t, her suspicions will ruin any chance of time spent alone with you in fear of wandering eyes.

“I’m in love with her.”

It tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself from saying it, it’s as though all sense had left his body. You have a habit of doing that to him. Though his words were a bit shaky, the declaration came out clear as day, not a single drop of doubt in his words. He doesn’t know what she’ll say next, and quite honestly he does not care, not entirely. Not enough to hide his feelings for a moment longer, feelings that are so strong he doesn’t quite know how to handle them.

The look on her face is unreadable for the first several moments after he sputtered his confession, and the panic simmering in his chest is beginning to build and boil over. But something softens in her stoic expression, and she nods slightly. He doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know what to make of the small gesture until she speaks up.

“I see.”

That’s all she says.

He finds the statement hard to interpret, unable to find any sort of relief from those two words as he swallows thickly and tugs at the collar of his black dress shirt, loosening the tie around his neck a fraction. The large room suddenly felt terribly suffocating and he desperately wanted some air. He was quickly beginning to regret ever opening his mouth, even though it seemed it had done so of its own accord. He could never keep anything from her, she could coax his deepest darkest secrets out of him with just a simple look. Right now, he felt it’d be perfectly suitable if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole.

He had to take the statement back somehow.

“Mother, I-”

“What is her name?” She asks once more, effectively cutting his stammering short.

He looks at her cautiously, surprised to find her to be truly interested, and not for malicious reasoning. Hesitancy still clouds his mind as he wonders whether or not he should give her such details, but a part of him feels as though it’s okay if she’s privy to it.

“Y/n,” he says softly, almost too quiet to be heard, his eyes darting around the room in search of anyone who may be listening in. “Her name is Y/n.”

She smiles softly with another nod. “She’s beautiful, Draco.”

He smiles lightly at his hands, his mind wandering to you once more. To the way your lips curve, to the soft freckles smattering across your cheeks that he could spend a ridiculous amount of time kissing. Perhaps his favorite is the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, the way you look at him. He will never feel as though he’s worthy of such affection, it doesn’t make sense to him. For that very reason, it worries him everyday that you’ll slip through his fingers. That you’ll realize the person you’ve chosen to love, you’ll come to your senses and you’ll disappear.

It wasn’t easy loving a Malfoy, after all. Anyone who simply hears the name turns their lip up in disgust. He can’t say he blamed them, his family wasn’t known for anything noble or kind. He wasn’t proud of himself either, which was all the more reason he feared your seemingly inevitable epiphany.

“I know,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head. His hands are shaking as he reaches up to swipe at the hair dipping in his eyes. “How…how did you know?”

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in quite some time, Draco. It was rather easy to figure out,” she starts, her words bittersweet the more she allowed herself to think about it. “The smell of perfume had given it away in an instant. It lingers, you know.”

His face reddens, and he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, his hair falling back in his eyes again.

“Does she treat you well?” She inquires.

He smiles lightly as he nods. “She’s quite wonderful, more than I can say about myself.”

It was true. In his eyes, you were the embodiment of sunshine to put it simply. You were the kindest person he’s ever known, so much so he hadn’t been used to it at first. He had been skeptical. You treated him far better than he could have ever anticipated, though you did not hesitate to correct him when he was wrong.

“Mother?”

“Yes, my dear?”

He gulps, his mind swimming in horrific scenarios he hadn’t ever wanted to think of, possibilities he wished he didn’t have to fear. Each one was worse than the last, and paired with his pounding heart, he wasn’t sure if he could hide his internal conflict from her. It felt as though his throat was impossibly dry and the air had been stolen from his very lungs.

“Please don’t tell him,” he whispers, the lump in his throat becoming hard to ignore. The thought of how his father would react out of spite made his stomach churn and twist in knots. “Please.”

She looks at him with furrowed brows, her crimson nails tapping on the curved wood of the chairs arm. You hadn’t entirely fit the ideals set in place for the only Malfoy heir, and she knew for certain that repercussions would follow such a romance. But the unease and the color draining from her sons face had shown how truly distraught he was, and she couldn’t bring herself to tamper with it. She had never seen him care so deeply for something. She had seen just how much you had been keeping him afloat amidst the troublesome darkness trying to pull him down. Maybe she will warm up to you if he ever decides to introduce you, she would have to. For you kept him happier than could be imagined and she didn’t want to take it from him.

She fought for her love with Lucius, she fought desperately and unrelenting for it. It quickly became apparent to her that it wasn’t her place to stand in the way of it, it would be rather hypocritical if she did.

“As you wish,” she says with a soft smile, one that eased the tension in his body as she grabbed her book again. “Off you go now, Draco. I believe someone is waiting for you.”

She nodded slightly towards the window and he gets up without another word, promptly exiting the quiet library upon her dismissal making quick strides. A soft smile tugged at his lips that he had fought desperately to contain, but the attempts were proving to be pointless every time he caught glimpse of the setting sun. The hues of oranges and yellows painting the somber walls of the Manor only reminded him of you, of how you’d be waiting for him behind the decades old statue in the garden.

His conversation was brief and unexpected, one that offered waves of comfort and lightened some of the weight on his chest. Only some. Because consequences of his love were uncertain, but it hadn’t seemed to matter in that very moment. Maybe it was selfish of him to think that way, and maybe his purposeful walk had given way to the fact that he had something to look forward to. Maybe he shouldn’t have told his mother about you, he did not know.

What was known was the steady pounding of his heart within his chest and the scarlet in his cheeks.

What was known was that he loved you.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter fic

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cassandraclare · 4 years

Note

I'm sorry to hear that your hard work was leaked but I was curious about what happened. I hope the person faced consequences because that was a very selfish thing to do leaking your work like that :(

I haven’t taken action against the person who leaked the book. I know who they are, since they uploaded the page I signed for them, and I was able to match that against my records.

I haven’t refrained from taking action because I feel sympathy for them. I don’t. It’s beyond shitty behavior to receive an early, signed book as a gift, and to then leak the entire book online. It’s a shit thing to do to the authors and an equally shit thing to do to other fans. However, I don’t want to put myself (and Wes) through the exhausting, grim and expensive process of legal repercussions. It doesn’t mean what this person did isn’t horrible, and it doesn’t mean they haven’t cost the entire fandom any chance of there ever being an early contest giveaway like that again. They did. There never will be. There will be no ARCs of Chain of Iron, either, and you can thank them for that, too.

Part of what makes piracy such an issue for authors goes far beyond the individual assholes who upload and distribute and translate stolen books. It’s that the whole system is set up to make it incredibly difficult for us to do anything about it. Publishers do little to nothing to prevent piracy, and authors shoulder the entire burden of searching out and reporting illegal copies of their books. And even then, we’re dependent on whether or not the reported website feels like complying with copyright laws or not. Twitter is incredibly slow to respond, Tumblr is about fifty-fifty on bothering at all. They’re legally required to take action, but they also know that the effort of doing something about it if they do not falls on exhausted, overburdened artists who often can’t afford to follow up with a lawyer’s letter.

And like, I get being broke and wanting to read books; there were a lot of books I had to pass up reading when I was broke (I will be forever grateful to the library system of New York and Brooklyn, which is how I read books at all from about 2001-2004.) I was broke enough that I slept on a bare mattress because I couldn’t afford sheets, but I’m pretty sure if I broke into Bed, Bath and Beyond and stole a bunch of fitted percale bedding I wouldn’t have encountered much sympathy if I got caught.

I talked about this on Twitter before, and I’ll say it again here though I know it will make very little difference: pirating books doesn’t just hurt the author of those books. It hurts everyone at the publishing company, where the margin of profit is razor-thin (and yes, publishers should do more to protect themselves against piracy; I agree there); it hurts bookstores, especially indie bookstores (I remember doing an event at a store that told me, sadly, that they were likely going to have to close because people “came into the store, looked at the books, took notes, then went home and pirated them.”) It hurts libraries, who rely on circulation for funding, and the shutting down of libraries hurts people who actually can’t afford books.

Now, I know is no way to talk people out of piracy; the internet has normalized it, and besides, people will generally do the cheaper, easier thing — you can’t talk people into not doing something they want to do by telling them it’s wrong, in my experience. They’ll find ways to justify it, whether it be that they can’t afford the book or it isn’t yet available in their language or that they find the author “problematic” and this is the way they’ve chosen to punish them.

The reason I put “problematic” in quotes is because yes, of course you can read and enjoy work that has problematic elements. Pretty much everything has some element that’s going to be found problematic by someone — which is exactly why deciding that it’s morally excusable to steal from people you think are creating flawed work is more than problematic. Holding creators accountable for their work means critiquing that work, not stealing it.

I listen to a lot of political podcasts, and some of them review work by extreme right-wing politicians etc. who have written books that the podcasters find morally despicable but wish to, or need to, review and discuss. Since they don’t wish to give money to the authors, they buy second-hand copies or take the book out of the library. They certainly don’t steal, translate and distribute copies of the books because they genuinely do not like them and do not want more people reading them. That’s what it looks like when you have an actual moral problem with a book or author.

However, running multiple fan accounts for a book series, naming your internet identity after characters from that book series, and talking endlessly about “your favorite parts” and how this is “your favorite book” entirely invalidates any argument that you’re doing this because you think the books are bad, evil, etc. If you claim a book is actively homophobic or racist but are so desperate to read it that you’ll steal it, so excited about it that you’ll share that stolen copy, so obsessed that you’ll illegally translate a whole book and provide that stolen translation to as many people as possible, and so dedicated to the fandom that you’ll name yourself after the characters in the books and write poetry about them, I have to tell you: the last thing that looks like is that you actually find the books problematic, regardless of what you say to the contrary. It looks like you like them but don’t want to pay for them, because in fact, that’s the case. (Either that or it looks like you’re really into racist, homophobic books, and making sure as many people read them as possible, which is your problem.)

One of the issues I have with piracy is that it teaches you to hate creators. You have to hate them, because you’re doing a fucking awful thing to them and you have to justify it. This results in lying about creators — about their process, their translations, their research — as if somehow, even if they were bad researchers, that would justify widespread theft. (It doesn’t.) Those who steal books wind up in a headspace where they are obsessed with the content of the books, and entirely unwilling to accept the reality that those books were created by a real person that they’re really harming. It encourages the mentality that I didn’t create Jem or Magnus or Will or Cordelia: they came from some kind of sparkly outerspace planet and I was just lucky enough to get to write down their adventures. It invalidates the hard work creators put into what they create, and in fact, erases their very existence. The internet attitude toward creators is already incredibly toxic (especially if they’re women, LGBT+ and/or BIPOC) and the feeling of entitlement to free content, and vicious hatred toward those who aren’t providing it (even though a lot of creators, me included, provide a great deal of free content) contributes to that. Genuinely, if you’re stealing someone’s work, the least you could do is not also be an asshole about them. (Or pretend you’re Robin Hood. He stole from the rich who had taken property and goods from the poor, and returned that stolen wealth. He didn’t steal from artists and independent bookstores and use that stealing to benefit himself and his friends. The idea is actually kind of funny.)

I understand there is a pressure to be up to date on the books that are being released so as to participate in fandom, and I do get that. Unfortunately, piracy has real consequences that stretch beyond just hurting me and Wes. Because LGBT+ books are pirated at such an incredible rate, and we’ve definitely seen that with TEC, I am left wondering if there will ever be an actual Spanish translation of TEC, or whether the publisher will decide not to bother because it’s already been so thoroughly pirated in Spanish. I have to wonder if there will even be a third book of TEC at all, or whether publishers will feel it isn’t worth doing. And I have to wonder why the people who create this situation so often have usernames that include Jem or Magnus or Alec or Cordelia or Julian or Tessa. What an incredible misunderstanding of those characters, to imagine a world in which Will Herondale or Magnus Bane or James Carstairs would approve of stealing books and harming writers. And why name yourself after a character who absolutely couldn’t stand you? I don’t know. I don’t get it, any more than I get hating someone who provided you with something you claim is your favorite book.

That was a much longer answer than you were probably expecting or hoping for, and I know I’ll get yelled at quite thoroughly for writing it. Writers always do, when we engage with the issue of piracy. I know most of you reading this acquire your books honestly; most of you are not like this at all. But like most things on the internet, a small amount of people really do have the power to make things pretty rotten for everyone else.

#brother-sixpackariah-carstairs #piracy #tda #tlh #tec

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slytherweasley · 3 years

Text

Replacement (Pansy Parkinson x reader)

warnings: swearing

Summary- Pansy gets jealous when Y/n starts to form a friendship with Daphne. Y/n starts to hang out with her more than Pansy. In their dorm room doing homework and playing wizards chess. Like what Y/n and Pansy do.

At the start of the year Snape put you and Daphne Greengrass together as Potions partners. You both had a history of just disliking each other, there was no reason but you just didn’t like each other. After Christmas break you decided that you would have to be civil to get good grades. After talking and doing assignments together you decided to actually be friends.

“Pans, she is so nice. I don’t even know why I hated her in the first place” you tell your girlfriend cuddled up in her bed. “I’m glad you’re getting along then” she smiles. “She’s coming over so we can finish our potions assignment and finish off some potions homework. You can join if you’d like” “I’m a bit tired so I’ll pass” “Here I’ll do some of your potions homework” “No it’s okay but thank you, princess” “Pans I want to help you out” “Alright, just don’t do it all, okay?” “Okay.” Pansy regretted that moment for weeks.

You and Daphne quickly became best friends, you would study together all the time. You and Pansy used to do that together and she started to despise Daphne, the only thing stopping her from ripping her head off was you. After Daphne would leave you would be in such a happy smiley mood and Pansy loved it. “She’s really funny, she was telling me about this time with her sister” Pansy would smile and laugh when she needed to and the last thing she wanted was to break her heart. She knew that if she told Daphne to stop hanging out with you then you’d never forgive her. So Pansy did what was right for once.

Daphne knocks on the door, you get out of Pansy’s bed and open the door, she greets you with a hug. “I’m so ready for this rematch of wizards chess” Daphne says, together you okay for hours while Pansy reads a book, she couldn’t handle seeing her touch your leg or play with your hair. Pansy is a very jealous person. “I’ll see you tomorrow” Daphne kisses your cheek on the way out and Pansy shuts her book so quickly.

“What was that?” She says angrily “What’s the matter, love?” “She kissed your cheek” you chuckle getting into bed with her. “It’s what straight girl friends do, trust me it’s normal. And Daphne is as straight as a ruler” “Well you’re not straight” “Trust me Pans, I think I know that” “I hate it when she touches your leg or your arm or she plays with your hair or fixes it. That’s my job not hers.”

You give her a kind smile “It’s different with girls and guys, Pans. You’ve got all guy friends, if they want to do all that stuff with you I’m okay with that.” “That is so different” “Thats not at all different!” “I’m a lesbian, that would cause no sexual desire for me.” “I’m not sexually attracted to Daphne” “So you’re just attracted to her?” “No! She is my best friend.” “I thought I was your best friend” “You are, sorry darling. She’s my good friend” “I’m sorry too princess, I know she’s your friend but it’s too easy to get jealous.”

The weekend comes around and you have plans with Daphne, she comes over early to do your makeup. Pansy is still sleeping so you both try to keep quiet, your other dorm mates have already left. “She gets grumpy if you wake her up early on the weekend, so be quiet.”

Daphne accidentally trips you and you both start to giggle waking up Pansy. “Y/n?” Pansy calls out “I’m so sorry, bubs. I didn’t mean to wake you up” you stand by her bed and she notices the makeup. “Where are you going?” “Hogsmeade trip with Daph” “Can I come?” “I’m so sorry, we have to go” Daphne says, “I’ll be quick” “We have to go now, I’ll see you later. I love you.” Pansy doesn’t say it back and they walk out.

She gets mad so naturally she goes to rant. She gets changed and goes down to the common room where her group of friends are sitting on the couch. “Good morning Pansy, you look happy” Draco says sarcastically “Shut up I’m sad and angry” “Are you on your period again?” Crabbe says and the boys laugh. “I want to rant, so you’re going to listen and you’re going to shut up until I can say you can talk, got it?” They nod their heads.

She sits beside Blaise on the couch facing Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. “As you know Daphne has stolen my girlfriend from me and I’m about to kill her after this morning.” “What happened?” Draco asks “I’m about to tell you. This morning I wake up to Y/n on the floor laughing with that bitch, Y/n is the sweetest as usual, being all cute. Then I ask if I can come and I say I’ll be quick and Daphne says no and basically influences Y/n to tell me no. Y/n almost never tells me no. Now you can talk.”

“Well maybe they needed to be there by a certain time” Goyle suggests “No, because it was only an hour ago people are still leaving to go to Hogsmeade now. Do you think she will tell Y/n to break up with me?” “No, Y/n would never do that. She is a Slytherin so she knows how to take care of herself” Blaise says. “I know but she’s not one of us, she’s sometimes easily influenced” “Well you’re a very good convincer maybe it’s just you.” “What do I do?” “Talk to her obviously, maybe tell her all of this.”

Pansy waits all day for them to come back after dinner. “Y/n let’s talk” Pansy holds your hand “Here?” “No our dorm” “Just wait outside, Daph” “No, don’t. Actually don’t bother waiting for her again, just leave her alone.” Pansy takes you upstairs and slams the door shut “That was rude” “I don’t care” “What’s your problem?” “Y/n I miss you.” “I’m here now, we can spend the whole night doing whatever you want, I promise.” “No! I miss the old you, before you spent all your time with Daphne. I tried so hard for weeks to be happy for you but I can’t when I get no time with you. It used to be just you and me and now it’s you and Daphne and I am by myself.”

“I’m sorry you feel like that but I want to spend more time with my new friend, we have done so much together I want to do it with my new best friend.” “I should be your girlfriend, more important than your best friend. I always made sure you felt included when I would hang out with Draco and my other friends. You haven’t even asked if I wanted to hang out too” “I would but Daphne doesn’t like you, she thinks you’re rude” “And you still want to be friends with someone who doesn’t like me, your girlfriend?” “I’m sorry, I really like Daphne. She’s a good friend and she’s the only one I can connect with on similar interests.”

Pansy starts to tear up “I try my hardest to listen to you talk about everything you love and I’ll try harder, I want you back Y/n and I want her gone.” You had never made Pansy cry before, Pansy is tough and she rarely cries so it hurt. You didn’t know what to say “Fine, don’t try to find me or apologise because I won’t hear it.” She pushes past you and spends the night in Draco’s dorm.

You put on one of Pansy’s jumpers and try to fall asleep but it’s hard when you’re not in her arms like every night. The next morning you tell Daphne that you need to stop hanging out so much and you walk around looking for Pansy. You find her in the common room with her friends “Pans?” “Go away, I meant what I said yesterday” “I didn’t, I told Daphne we shouldn’t hang out as much” “Bye Y/n.” You go to the library to calm down.

“Pansy, she seems really upset” “Since when do you care what other people feel, Malfoy?” “We both know she doesn’t deserve that. She loves you a lot and after you told her you don’t like her she broke it off.” “I told you what she said to me, am I supposed to pretend she didn’t tell me she was sick of hanging out with me?” “She didn’t say that” “She meant it.”

After talking to Draco she realised how important you were to her. You walk back from the library and through the common room, Pansy isn’t in there so you assume she’s in your dorm. You go to your dorm and Pansy’s in there reading as always. “Y/n!” She gets up and gives you a hug. “Im sorry, I love you” “I love you too Pans and you were right to be mad” “Let’s just agree to keep things normal” “And to be each other’s number one priority” you agree.

You cuddle on Pansy’s bed. “I love you so much Princess, it’s so nice to be able to do this without any secrets.” “I love you more, so much” Pansy kisses your cheek “Also I still don’t like Daphne” “I know.” You kiss her cheek “Dont ever change, okay? I love your stubborn, beautiful, smart self” “If you love me I’ll never change, promise.”

#pansy parkinson #pansy x reader #pansy parkinson x reader #pansy parkinson imagine #wlw #pansy parkinson angst #pansy parkinson fluff #pansy imagine

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oliviayamaoka · 3 years

Text

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won��t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

#dbd x reader #ghostface x reader #the ghostface #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #jed olsen #danny johnson #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight

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1994sunflower · 3 years

Note

I need some jealous/possessive Mikey lol

in which michael gets jealous

It was a pattern. Maybe that’s why Michael hated the beginning of semesters. To see all the new transfers who didn’t know him, and worse didn’t know you were claimed by him. He couldn't exactly blame them. If you were in his classes, he was sure he would’ve been quickly taken in by you as well.

Your kind smiles, your intelligence, your tendency to make everyone feel important and the approachable aura around you. Not to mention the way you managed to look at once cute, in need of defense, and beautiful. But that was all for him.

Your smiles, the feeling of your skin on his, your kisses, your love. It was all for him, he had gotten you to be his. And somehow the thought that others didn’t know that, that they thought they had a chance to be the ones to receive your affection was frustrating. He didn’t want to share your affections with anyone. Especially ones that were so arrogant to think they could try to entrance you just a few days after seeing you for the first time. As if Michael, crazy as it may seem to everyone including himself, hadn’t earned your love, as if he wasn’t your soulmate who never had any plans of letting you go.

He was your first everything and he intended to be your only. Sure he understood what made you so alluring to boys but it was the same reasons he was so protective over you. No one else would get a taste of your innocence, partly because apart from the facade you still had in public, there wasn’t much left thanks to him. He had stolen that doe-eyed little girl everyone else saw away and made you into his. His girlfriend to do whatever he pleased with and his girlfriend who loved him so completely and had eyes for no one else. You wouldn’t look at any other man like you looked at him, you were so completely infatuated and knew no one else could make you feel as good and as loved as Michael did.

Sometimes he felt like a dark cloud of shadows behind the sun when he stood beside you, tainting and ruining you. But if it meant you were so happy to bear his marks both invisible and visible; marks that you were taken by Michael, he was fine with it.

But even those marks seemed to be useless at diverting the new students flooding his campus every semester.

Because how could they be effective when they had no idea who Michael was and what he was capable of. Sure the whispers floating around about him were terrifying but rumors always exaggerated the truth.

At least that’s what Oliver kept repeating to himself and to his roommate whenever the much more experienced student tried to dissuade whatever his intentions were with you. Oliver was a transfer so it was expected for him to be a bit too quick to make his mind up about liking you. I mean you were pretty, kind and seemed to radiate an energy that made everyone feel comfortable and important. It was a shame really that someone so jarringly different from you had taken you.

But Benjamin, his roommate who had been at the university for years and knew quite well about your relationship with Michael didn’t think it was so expected for him to be so stupid as to blow off any warnings he tried to give him.

“What I’m hearing is that her boyfriend sucks.” Oliver said to Benjamin but his eyes never left your form, bent over a textbook even in the very beginning of the semester right outside of the library. The sun seemed to be shining on you just right to give you a heavenly glow. As if Oliver needed any extra help seeing you as an angel.

The moment he saw you in his anatomy class he was hooked. He saw the way you acted. The kind smiles and voice, the friendliness with which you regarded the strangers beside you, your colleagues. The pretty way you carried yourself, gentle movements and demure demeanor that made you modest and shy but the look in your eye that showed just how intelligent you were and confident in that. Being in your vicinity was like a breath of fresh air. You felt…well, innocent. Like a doll. The pure happiness and allure innocence brings. Maybe it was that very same aura that attracted so many less than well intentioned men to you; the defenseless look in your eye, the delicate shyness that he was sure every male in the vicinity would love to crack. It would bring primal urges out of anyone.

He’d heard everything about you since. Apparently you were popular, but mostly because of your boyfriend. Whom Oliver couldn’t quite fathom had been able to steal your heart from all of the things he’s heard about him. He wasn’t anyone that Oliver thought would even catch your eye if the rumors were true. How could someone like that be able to call someone so light and upright his.

He hadn’t ever seen the guy. Not that he wanted to, now that he began to understand that his interest was in you he had no reason to be face to face with the person in his way. Besides, the little issue of you having a boyfriend that everyone said didn’t deserve you shouldn’t be hard to handle. His charm was legendary in his hometown, after all. Pair that with someone that people say looks like the grim reaper at your sunny side, he thought he had a good chance.

Oliver was never shy. Always outgoing, confident. And how could he not be, he was attractive and his friendly demeanor made him popular. That wouldn’t change even in a new school, a new much bigger college.

“What’s the harm in talking to her, right? And I mean…” He smirked cockily, “If I get her to like me and dump him, then that’s just a bonus.”

Benjamin buried his face in his hands in frustration, “Dude, you’re not listening. I’m telling you Michael…”

And there it was. The name. Michael. It was all Oliver ever heard whispered on campus. As if the guy was an enigma or a legend. The very name brought people to stop whether in fear or in awe. Again, the thought that the sweet girl in his class could be that guy’s girlfriend was almost beyond his comprehension. Defied all the rules he thought were unspoken and in place.

He heard his name for the first time after his first class with you. The only seat available was the one next to you because he arrived so late, he got lost on the way. And the welcoming smile you gave him made all his first day nerves disappear. The way you asked him about himself with that angelic smile, what it felt to be a new transfer and how he was doing with finding friends and finding his classes, listened to his thoughts about the first day. Even soothing his worries and offering any help you could. It made him feel important and comfortable.

It was what wouldn’t leave his mind as his thoughts constantly flowed back to you.

“…and I’m not trying to get into problems with Michael just because my roommate is a dip shit who can’t listen to what people are trying to tell him.”

“It’s fine…” Oliver dismissed his comments, his voice raspy and almost sing songy as he took a step in your direction. “I can handle it.”

Besides he wasn’t around. Even if he was, Oliver thought he could play it off as if he wasn’t flirting. What’s the worst the guy could do?

When you looked up at him as you felt someone stand in front of you, instead of having to squint against the sun, it seemed as if the sunlight shone perfectly to make your eyes sparkle. Oliver might have been holding his breath at the sight of you when you smiled endearingly.

“Hi.” You said softly, the front strands of your hair draped over your shoulder while you pushed the rest of it behind your back. “Oliver, right? From anatomy?”

Oliver was mute as he nodded. To hear you not only say his name but to know that you remembered it made him instantly feel more confident and significant. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. He was attractive, funny and you were perfect for him, kind, docile. It was almost meant to be. How it should be, as he has seen all his life in movies and songs. The good guy gets the girl. Always. You’d see that easily enough, even if currently you were rebelling against the rules, because it would become apparent with enough time spent with him. Enough charming he did.

“Can I sit here?” He asked, pointing to the empty spot in the bench beside you and slid into it easily when you nodded silently. “What are you reading?”

He was aware he was leaning close to you when he pretended to want to read whatever textbook was in your hands and he wondered if it was out of niceness that you didn’t pull away or if it was something else. His looks did make it easy for girls to want to be close to him physically. He couldn’t help but notice when he glanced at you, the light purple marks littering your neck. They were big and would definitely be darker if it weren't for the foundation you used to try to cover them. He could see them from your neck to your collarbone and some even peaking out from the top of your dress, right where the swell of your breasts started. It seemed like Michael liked to stake his claim for everyone to see.

“Just some anatomy, actually, funnily enough.” You shrugged easily, your nose crinkling in a sheepish smile. “I wanted to read ahead before class.”

Oliver hummed, meeting your smile. “Pretty and smart”

You knew you probably shouldn’t giggle at that. But you did anyway. Compliments were always nice. You realize he was flirting when he said that but it was harmless. He couldn’t have meant anything more out of it. But then again, sometimes you forgot that there were new students on campus now that didn’t know that you were Michael’s girlfriend or even who Michael was, which only ended up bringing trouble.

“That’s sweet. You went to a community college right? There’s a lot more options here so with that kind of talk I’m sure you’ll get the girl you want in no time.” You were trying to be friendly, closing the book and giving him your attention. He seemed like a sweet guy. Outgoing, sociable and just a little nervous, maybe a little flirty.

It was cute, in a puppy kind of way. You didn’t really have many friends like that, it was refreshing. You hoped he had a good year, found the friends he had confided in you with feeling a little lost at in such a bigger and more individualistic environment than he was used to. He was definitely someone you could imagine being friends with either way, if he needed one. It was easy to talk to him, you found that out pretty quickly when you welcomed him in anatomy, noting the way he looked just a bit shy and lost when he first sat down.

A few years ago you would’ve been the shy, nervous mess in her first year of college. But now, after meeting Michael, you were confident, had found her voice and who she was and you weren’t sure who to thank for that, college or Michael. Maybe both.

“I’m looking at the girl I want right now.” Oliver noted the way you eyes opened in surprised, your mouth opening quickly with a slight frown on your lips. Too much too fast. So he would have to take his time with you. He could do that. Better to let you believe it was just a joke, a token of his flirty personality. It wasn’t completely a lie anyway.

He chuckled and shook his head, “No, but really. With the way things are going, I don’t think I’ll be getting friends let alone a girl in a while. Why is everyone so…solitary here?”

Your warmth came back when you nodded as if you understood his words, relieved that what you thought was a blossoming friendship hadn’t turned into something awkward. Your body was turned to him and he turned to you, your knees were touching but he was sure you didn’t even realize.

“Well, it’s a big school.” You started out, looking out into the grassy Quad in front of you where students were sitting by themselves in benches, below trees, in hammocks. “There’s so many people you’re not really likely to be able to get to know someone and keep seeing them often.”

“But I see you out of class!” He pointed at you jokingly and smiled when you laughed. Melodic.

“I guess that’s true. If that’s it, then I can be your friend!”

“Really?” His voice was more excited than he wanted it to be but he didn’t mind it when he made you giggle again at his antics. Really like a puppy. “That’d be great! Hey, if you give me your number we can-”

He stopped speaking so abruptly and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Partly because the sunlight that was shining from behind you suddenly went away as a big shadow covered you and Oliver. Sure enough, with a glance behind you and upwards, your eyes met your boyfriend.

Your very pissed off boyfriend. His jaw was set and his eyes were staring unshakenly at Oliver with a look so angry and cold you were sure it could turn hell into ice. He was wearing a white tank and ripped jeans. The white contrasted with his exposed tattoos, showing the union of his tattoos from his fingers all the way to his neck and down his chest. It showed his muscles without anything to hide them. His hair fell messily over his forehead. If it wasn’t for the situation you would probably be drooling over how good he looked.

“Mikey.” Your smile left Oliver and went to Michael, looking at him lovingly with your doe eyes. One of your hands reached out and took his balled up hand in your grasp. Your warmth was now on the man that Oliver felt cold with fear just looking at. The juxtaposition had Oliver unconsciously moving away from you.

He’d heard about Michael but he never imagined he’d look like that. Or maybe it was more shocking when next to you. His size was daunting enough. Oliver wasn’t a short guy but Michael had a good five inches on him and his shoulder width made him seem even bigger. Certainly with you sitting in front of him looking petite and dainty, he looked like a giant. Shown by the way your hand covering his barely covered most of his hand. When you stood to greet him, your head barely skimmed his chest. If you were to kiss or if Michael were to grab you, it almost seemed to Oliver like you could very easily break.

And his tattoos, each blending together in various scenes, some gory and some symbolic. Up to his neck and everywhere, every piece of skin displayed was covered in ink. Pain was definitely not something he feared, maybe even liked. If Oliver read right, his fingers themselves were telling him what Michael was likely thinking: FUCK YOU.

His face was stoic, emotionless. It was almost creepy to be in his gaze like that. He seemed like someone capable of anything. And that was not a good thing.

Flashes of your smiling face, your gentle voice and kind eyes filled Oliver’s mind. Your skin that looked so sensitive and pure. It didn’t fit with what your boyfriend represented. It was wrong. Someone so defenseless looking was with someone who looked like the hunting predator. And worse for you to smile up and look at him with all the trust and love in the world. Made him seem like the most important guy in the world. Like he was someone that deserved to be showered with this love. How could he possibly have ensnared someone like you when you were so clearly from different worlds. Could someone like that even give you love? Not like you deserved, not like someone like Oliver who was more similar to you could.

Even when Michael glanced down at you, he didn’t smile. No aspect of his face showed any warmth or love to an outsider looking in. He was cold even to the girl that radiated warmth and happiness. But despite that you must have seen something he didn’t, known him more than he has heard anyone else did, because you smiled brightly and wrapped your arms around one of his, hugging yourself into him.

“This is Oliver, he’s in my anatomy class.” You said, mumbling with your cheek squished against his arm. So cute, so innocent. So…wrong when it was next to Michael who tilted his head as he stared at Oliver, especially when Oliver’s gaze was on you. It was an eerie feeling, as if he was thinking of all the ways he could murder him right where he stood. Or the ways he could beat him to a pulp without you freaking out or getting upset. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move to introduce himself. Silence.

But you, either oblivious to the tension or purposely ignoring it, continued. “Oliver this is my boyfriend, Michael.”

Oliver smiled nervously. He had told Ben he could handle it. And just because it was a little more than he expected, didn’t mean he couldn’t. He couldn’t flirt with a girl he knew had a boyfriend without a backup plan.

“Hey man.” He said, thankful that his tone didn’t betray him but he was sure the white pallor of his face definitely did. “I’ve actually heard a lot about you, kind of a legend around here, huh?”

He chuckled which as not reciprocated by Michael who clenched and unclenched his fist. Restraint, at least when you were around. If you weren’t around, Oliver would already be on the ground bleeding.

It took all his efforts not to do just that when he first saw you with him. You were sitting too close when he saw you. Then the smiles and laughs he brought out of you, that looked so natural. Sometimes, Michael thought about the type of guy others imagined you being with. Someone more kindhearted, matching your personality. But seeing it in person made his blood run hot. The sight of the possibility of you finding someone more suitable for you, someone so different from Michael that could show you just what you were missing, had him angry.

Because no matter what, no matter how different, you were made for him. He knew that. He loved you and he cherished the love you gave him, the smiles and affection you reserved for him that made him feel so cared for. He didn’t want to share that. And as he heard your cute giggle, that he’d heard so many times, at whatever the younger boy was saying to you, he knew that the stranger thought he actually had a chance.

Even when you were so obviously his, when Michael had marked you in so many ways to prove that and when you loved him. His arrogance to think otherwise, that he could change your mind, had Michael wanting to show him just how wrong he was. The smiles you were giving him, the laughs, weren’t special not like the ones you gave him. He’d never see you the way Michael had, shyly blushing at his words, cuddled up next to him in your sleep, naked and trembling. You were only ever going to be Michael’s and nothing and no one can change that. Especially not a gullible little second year.

Oliver cleared his throat. He could see why Benjamin didn’t want any problems with Michael now. But, Oliver’s agreeableness usually led him out of trouble.

“Yeah your girl and I…” Wrong choice of words. He noted the way Michael’s already angry gaze narrowed violently. “…were just talking about our class together. It’s my first year here so she’s been a really big help so far, my first friend I guess.” He chuckled as he tried to emphasize the word friend.

But then his next move was a habit, really. The fact that his hand was reaching out to touch your arm. He was the type of guy that touched people he felt comfortable with. But he realized his mistake immediately when his wrist got caught by a firm, crushing hold. Oliver cried out.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” The first words Michael spoke to him. Your boyfriend’s voice was gravelly, matching his intimidating appearance.

And Oliver had expected him to be strong. Especially from all the stories of his aggressive behavior and fights he had heard. But his hold was more painful than he expected. Oliver winced as his hand was flung away from you.

You tittered nervously next to Michael. You weren’t stupid, you knew Oliver was being a bit too friendly with you. But he hadn’t tried anything full on so you didn’t really mind. Thinking that he’d get over any little crush he could have on you quickly. It had to be because you were the first person to be welcoming to him rather than him actually liking you as a person. So you let him have his fun, not wanting to be mean and crush his feelings especially when he’s already been feeling nervous.

“Mikey, it’s okay.” You whispered, pulling away just enough for your hands to go to his chest soothingly. You felt his arm wrap around your body, resting on your ass possessively and you hated yourself for clenching your thighs together at the action. You were against him being so violent, of course you were. But why did his possessiveness have to be so hot. Especially when he was staking a claim on you publicly, showing everyone how much he loved you. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go home.”

“Yeah, man, we were just talking I didn’t mean…” But maybe Michael could see through his innocent appearance because he sneered before Oliver could finish.

“Drop the ‘shy’ act. You were leaning towards her like a loser trying to get laid.” Michael reached out and balled his fists into Oliver’s jacket. “And the only reason you’re not getting the shit beat out of you right now is because she’s here.”

Your hands reached out to Michael’s extended one. “Michael! Let him go, you know how I feel about-”

And Michael did what you said. Unfortunately, though, that just meant Oliver fell backwards onto the ground at the force Michael used to push him away. And Michael leaned down just enough to speak again while you scrambled to get your things to be prepared to stop him if he went out of control. Oliver looked up at him with wide eyes, Michael was taller than him beforehand but now Michael had the complete power.

“You knew who I am but you decided to flirt with my girl anyway, tried to touch her, asked for her number. Like you don’t give a fuck what happens to you. Let me save you the trouble of trying to get her to like you, she won’t.” He took a hold of Oliver’s hair painfully and pulled his head backwards, “Because she’s mine, the sweet shy girl you see has someone like me as a boyfriend, and you should fucking learn that quickly for your first year here. Everything about her, everything you like, is mine, mine to do whatever I want to. And she wouldn’t waste her time on a boring fuck like you. Not when she has me.” Not when he could fight for you like no one else could.

“Michael,” You were pulling on his shoulder, “He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s new, he didn’t know.”

Michael looked at you once before back at Oliver. He knew the way Oliver had been looking at you well. Because it was how he looked at you. The way only he should look at you. “He knew but didn’t care because he thought he could get you to like him anyway. To like that he was funny and shy. Admit it.”

Michael let him go as Oliver nodded rapidly, “I-I’m sorry, dude. Yeah, yeah I was flirting with her because I thought she’d like me easily but I had no idea….I mean I did but I didn’t think-”

“Think that I’d see through your shitty act.” Michael stood up straight, moving behind you and wrapped his arms around you, one of his hands gripped your inner thighs while the other cupped below your breasts over the fabric of your dress. You couldn’t help the embarrassed and shy blush adorning you as Michael held you out so Oliver could see the entirety of just how he was groping you, how you were letting him. His mocking smile was right next to your ear. “Hear that, little one? He was playing with you. Making you think he wanted to be your friend when in reality all he wanted was to try to fuck you.”

“No!” Oliver shook his head, looking at you with pleading eyes to not believe your boyfriend’s cruel words. Pointedly ignoring the way Michael was very visibly staking his claim in front of him. Humiliation coursed through him. “I…I actually really like you, it wasn’t like that. I’m sorry, I should have respected the fact that you were taken.”

You were still shaking at how Michael had touched you, debating between being humiliated and being so absolutely turned on at the feelings of his hands and the knowledge of him showing anyone that you were his. You were weak whenever he treated you so roughly, in and out of bed. He reinforced it, taught you to love it. This was no exception.

So when Michael began pulling you away from your shell shocked classmate, you let him. And there was a twisted satisfaction in Michael when you chose to go with him, like you always would. You loved him.

You were silent on the entire way to your apartment, which you led. It was an angry silence, as you proved when you crossed your arms as soon as he closed the door behind you two.

It was more so feeling bad for the guy than anger. You knew he was flirting and it wasn’t fair to Michael to expect him to be okay with it, but you thought of the way Oliver was so energetic and sweet, it felt wrong to treat him so badly. You could have even seen yourself being friends with him. He was only complimenting you anyway. Besides, crush or not, you were sure he would’ve gotten over it eventually. But maybe he was exaggerating his personality to match yours just like Michael claimed. “I feel so bad.”

“I don’t feel bad for that motherfucker trying to flirt with my girl.” Michael muttered darkly. His eyes cut sharply to you. When he approached you, you felt very much like a prey watching her predator stalk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you. “You wanted me to be nice? After he thought he could fucking touch you in front of me. After making you blush and giggle like that.”

“I was not blushing.”

His hand came up to your face and squished your cheeks together, “Please.” He sneered. “I could see the way you were soaking it up, him pining after you like a pathetic puppy. I can’t believe you didn’t let me beat the shit out of him like he deserved, if he wants to act like the idiot he looks like then I’d make him learn that you’re mine. They don’t deserve any part of you, because it’s already for me.” Your smiles, your affection, your innocence, your laughs, your blush. Everything.

You gifted him all those when you fell in love with him and he wasn’t going to let anyone else get a piece. Or think they can earn it and take it, and you, away from him. As if they ever could. He was the one home with you right then. “They can try as much as they fucking want but I got you and tainted, marked, you as mine a long time ago and there’s nothing they can do about it. Fuck, I hate transfers.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed and you felt your heart clanging at his gaze. Oh how the tables turned from you being the mad one to being putty in his hands at the first sign of him treating you a bit rougher from the jealousy coursing through him. “He thought he had a chance when your with me. When he can’t even fucking look me in the eyes without shrinking back. You wanted to keep giggling like a little schoolgirl at his compliments?”

You shook your head submissively, “N-no. I wasn’t. He was just nice and I wanted to make him feel welcome.”

Michael tsk’d dismissively before leaning down to kiss you. His kiss was hungry and angry and you couldn’t help but melt against him as you allowed his tongue to explore your mouth deeper. His fingers were in your hair. “Is that how you welcome other guys, by letting those wimps flirt and touch you when your boyfriend isn’t around?”

His words were mean but he didn’t give you a chance to retort. “I should have had him bleeding at my feet the moment he leaned in too close to you.” He said threateningly, “Those assholes forget who you belong to the moment they see you alone.”

Your whine at his words turned into a helpless gasp when he lifted you up slightly on the wall you were leaning against, just enough for only the very tip of one of your foot to remain on the floor while he went on his knees in front of you. “Wonder what he’d say to know that the nice little girl you are only ever gets her pussy wet for her mean and aggressive boyfriend who’s too big for her. That’s why you were fucking soaking the moment I stopped the dumbass from touching you.”

Michael slid your panties down your legs, the very ones he was sure that second year fantasized about being able to see and discard just like Michael was currently doing without a second thought.

His lips were on your soaking cunt as soon as soon as he finished talking. His tongue lapping at your juices and crevices between your slit like a starving man. Your gasps were broken and breathy and you couldn’t do much except throw your head back against the wall. Your other leg was thrown over his shoulder as he worked on your clit, suckling and nibbling.

A gasp tore through you as he pulled away only to spit on your exposed pussy filthily before his mouth returned to its work. Your hand was in his hair as he licked flatly on your core before his tongue began teasing your entrance. You knew this was coming the second you saw him so mad at the Quad. And you were more than glad to anticipate it. “Yes, I do. Love watching you show them how pathetic they are to even try when I have you. So big and scary. Only love you, only you.”

Your hips were grinding against his lips and he rewarded the words you knew he would love by entering his middle and ring finger into you. The stretch was delicious even if it was nothing compared to his cock. And the feeling of them moving in and out of your cunt as he never stopped eating you out had your face scrunching as a particularly loud moan left your dropped mouth. It was almost too much.

“Is that why you toy with their health by trying to pissing me off?” Michael moved his fingers faster inside of you and you could practically feel your orgasm coming. He always managed to get you to your release quickly.

You pulled at his hair as he grabbed your hips and pulled you deeper into his mouth, his hands squeezing your hips tightly and almost painfully from how mad he was. “I’m sorry.” You chanted, “So sorry. Didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again.”

You were submitting to him so perfectly, apologizing just like he wanted to hear. He was hard the moment you denied wanting your classmates affection. The dismissive way you didn’t care about him because your love and affection was solely for your boyfriend. Michael. But to hear you apologize, solidifying just how much you’d choose him and his needs and feelings over everyone else. How you would always be obedient to him, how easily he could dominate you to submission even after other men tried to take you away. Apologizing because he was the only man that should ever be receiving your affections like that, the only one that was capable of putting you in this state.

He needed to be inside you, immediately. Claim you completely. Like you were practically begging to be. He never knew the word sorry could be so hot. At least when moaned out like that, it had to be.

If it weren’t for Michael’s hands on you and the wall behind you, you were sure you would have collapsed already. You didn’t have enough strength to hold yourself up, you could barely feel your legs as Michael swirled his tongue on your clit, his fingers moving rapidly in your entrance so much so that you could practically hear the noises at your wetness.

Your leg over his shoulder pushed him in further as your entire body shook. The only leg holding you up gave out but you stayed in place as he pushed you against the wall even harder than before. His name left your mouth in a moaning, broken mess of syllables. Even as your body rode out your orgasm, his mouth never stopped its lapping of your juices. In fact, you felt rather than heard his deep moan at the taste of your release.

His entire mouth and even bottom of his nose were wet from your wetness and cum as he stood up, towering over you once again. You were panting as you looked up at him but his eyes were as angry as ever.

You tried to give him the most innocent naive eyes you could to calm him, and you couldn’t help but whimper apologetically under his gaze, “Daddy…”

“Shut up,” He growled out. “Gotta fucking remind you who you belong to.”

One of his hands pushed down the straps of your dress. When he positioned himself to your entrance and entered you in one rough thrust, not giving you time to adjust to the new girth that was filling you up so nicely, the front of your dress fell away from covering you.

Your back flush against the wall, you moaned out when his warm mouth suckled and licked at your tits. His mouth alternated between them as he thrusted into you. Your body moved against the concrete and your legs around him to hold yourself up only served to push him deeper into you.

Maybe it was the position that had you so helpless but each inch he moved inside you, you felt your cunt being stretched apart impossibly so. He filled your little cunt so completely that with only a few inches of him inside, you could look down and see the girth of the rest of his dick look wider and bigger than your entrance should be able to fit. You clenched around him at the sight and he groaned in your ear as you did, sheathing himself in his entirety into you. You were tight but he had trained your body to take him impossibly well.

His hips thrusted into you at a fast pace and you threw your head back against the wall at the feeling of his cock running along your walls. Moans and gasps left you, as his thick length filled you up, claiming every part of you that only he had ever, and will ever, feel. He was so long, you body spasmed each time you felt him bottom out in you.

“So good” You whimpered out, your hands tightening their hold around his shoulders.

You were helpless to do anything but just clench around him as each thrust pushed you further into the wall. It almost hurt but you were too desperate for him and into the pleasure to notice or care. The only thing holding you up was Michael’s arms. But if your pleasured sounds were anything to go by, you didn’t mind the submissive position you were in.

In fact, Michael’s groans each time your walls hugged him tighter, sucking him in further and begging to go harder, showed that you loved it. He watched your face carefully, your mouth lolling open and your eyes glazed with tears of pleasure. His thrusts seemed more punctuated than before, barely giving you enough time to moan out as the sound of skin slapping increased.

Each thrust racked your body. He bounced you on his cock with each thrust, his strength to do so had you moaning out. Your small frame was almost completely concealed by his large one. The only parts of you that could be seen where your extremities that hung onto him and the pleasure he was providing you. Your tiny body was what made it so easy to use you like he set out to do. To claim you so entirely.

“He looked so fucking happy at getting you to laugh, got his dick hard just by talking to you. All of that, yet I’m the one that’s fucking you right after.” Michael pushed your dress up. It was basically useless by then, limping hanging on to your body just by your waist, the top had been pulled down to expose your tits to him and the bottom moved up to your waist so he could see himself driving into you, stretching you out impossibly at his size.

“Wonder, fuck, what he’d think to know that no matter how much he tried, the girl he likes is milking my cock like the slut I made you become. Letting the guy that nearly pummeled him fuck her raw, minutes after he tried to get you to just notice him.”

Your hips circled as you ground against him. His words were too much. They were cruel but somehow, you felt yourself get wetter, whining for him to take you harder. You were his to do whatever he wanted. You didn’t care if anyone else liked you, because you knew your boyfriend would let them know proudly that you weren’t available. You were already claimed, by him. You loved feeling so protected and wanted.

“He’s too late. You’re already mine. Already ruined you, took away that innocence he likes so much just for me. Only I will ever get to have you like this, what he can just fantasize about. The guy he got scared shitless of just because of how I looked so different next to you made you into a dumb cock-hungry whore. Can’t even think about anything other than my cock in you.”

You were nodding along without even realizing it wearing a fucked out expression. Especially when Michael’s hand came up to your neck, squeezing it enough that you breathed in a breath of surprise. Your eyes nearly rolled back with high pitched, broken moans when he hammered into you, until his balls hit your skin and your hips met his. It was so fast, so rough, and so good.

“You want a nice guy?” You whimpered at his mocking tone he had taken up with you, “You like that I’m mean, don’t you?”

“Yes, yesyes. I l-love it when you’re mean, when you show others I’m yours, daddy.” Your words were slurred. So drunk at the feeling of him fucking into you so roughly. At your continued nodding, his finger came up to your chin and forced your mouth open. When he spit at you, most of it landed more on your skin and he nearly growled possessively at the sight of you so dirty covered with his spit.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours! I’m only yours. I’m sorry for not telling him t…to fuck off. So sorry. I don’t care about anyone else.” You were basically screaming as his angle changed, bringing you to your limit. He rubbed along that spot inside you that always had you seeing lights.

Your lips found his inked neck, suckling. “T-They’re all pathetic. Only you can fuck my pussy, daddy. Only you can make me feel so good.”

“Shit, say that again.”

“They’re pathetic to think they can have me.” You didn’t care how mean your words were if they pleased him. You pushed your hips as much as you could to his rhythm but at your words, he stopped you from being able to move at all.

Instead, he was holding you like nothing more than a doll, a flesh light, as he fucked into your tight hole with new vigor. The doll Oliver had seen in you was now being defiled by him. Hissing at the feeling of your wetness practically dripping down his length. The filthy squelching sounds each time he bottomed out into you might have embarrassed you if it weren’t for how lost you were at having him dominate you so completely and how Michael looked so fucked out himself, loving the words and being able to claim you, remind you that no one else could ever have you like this.

Even a nice boy that seemed like a perfect fit because you already had him, you would never need or have anyone else. But, with how you were feeling, you couldn’t imagine ever thinking about anyone else. You couldn’t speak, let alone keep your eyes open as he used you with you weak to his pace and powerful thrusts, held up just by his arms and held still by his hand on your hips.

“Taking me so good, little one.” He muttered, his voice strained. “They’re not going to fucking know who you belong to until I fuck my cum into you and get you round with my baby. Gonna knock you up so they can see that you’ll never be with them, that you’re mine. Mark you inside and out.”

They were the words that always had your heart swelling and clanging in your chest. To think of something that intimate with him, to imagine yourself carrying something that can’t be ignored or hidden to show that you were his, that he had claimed you in all ways imaginable, in ways people never would have expected between you. That the big, aggressive, mean man that many feared had taken your small, shy, sweet person and you had let him, willing and responsive. It was so hot.

You came around him instantly, biting your lip and moaning, eyelids droopy tiredly from the pleasure as you felt him continue to trust into you, fucking your cum back into you until his own thrusts got slower and sloppier.

When he came inside you, he held you close, until every last bit of his cum filled your cunt. He didn’t want to waste a drop, fill you to the brim with his seed. But still, when he began pulling out, the mixture of both of your releases dripped down your thighs. Yet still, Michael’s fingers pushed his cum back inside of you with his fingers. The overstimulation to your sore, abused cunt made you whine but you still clenched around his fingers nonetheless. Every bit the slut for him he had made you to be.

Michael was still holding you up easily, a good foot higher above the ground than you would have been if you stood by yourself. You were breathing heavy still feeling the remnants of the pleasure you had experienced just moments before at his hand. Your legs felt like jelly. If this was what it took for him to fuck you like that then maybe you had to let others flirt with you more often. Maybe you were the cock-hungry slut Michael had said you were.

You realized that you seemed pretty naive in the eyes of others. And that maybe that was why some guys liked you. But that had changed in you a long time ago, no matter how you appeared in public. You were filthy for your boyfriend, would let him do anything he wanted to you because you were more than happy to have him ruin your purity if it was for him. To have him own your body in a way no one else had ever done.

Michael finally moved you away from the wall, setting you down gently on the comfortable couch as he kissed your lips. “Did so well for me.” He mumbled. His hands were squeezing your cheeks together to make you look at him, your heart stuttered at the rough gesture. “Did you finally remember who you belonged to for next time some idiot tries to flirt with you?”

You pouted as much as you could with your face in his hand, reminded that you were actually mad at him after you had walked home. Oh how easy it was for him to completely stop your thoughts and turn you to the submissive, responsive girl that would agree to anything he said. “It’s not like I would have actually liked him like that, you didn’t have to hurt the poor guy, he was so embarrassed.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at you but you beat him to it with a big smile that he wondered how you could come up with even after the fucking he had just given you. “I was just being nice. It doesn’t matter who flirts with me, Mikey. I’m yours.” Your arms wrapped around his torso. His arms took a bit longer but eventually they wrapped around your small frame too.

You were his. There was nothing to remind you of because you knew. No matter how different you two were, he was the one you loved and the only would that would ever have intimate moments with. It was just a reinforcement that whatever moment you had had with him meant nothing because despite not being nice, funny or sociable, Michael was still the only one you’d ever give your affections to.

And if others trying to challenge that just meant that your strong boyfriend would show everyone who you belonged to, protectively, even if you trying to be nice to them and he….wasn’t, that didn’t seem so bad either.

“That was her boyfriend?” Oliver was still shaking when he returned back to his frozen roommate.

Benjamin nearly hissed back at him with a glare, “Don’t act like I didn’t warn you, asshole. You’re lucky you’re not in an ambulance right now.”

“Well yeah but I thought you were exaggerating, how are they even dating? She’s so…” Oliver was still pale with the good scare Michael had given him, saved only by your mercy.

“No one knows.” Ben muttered, finally seeming to shake out of the skittering shell he had gotten in as soon as he saw Michael approaching his roommate. He had been so careful to never cross paths with Michael but somehow, Oliver had done it in his first week there. “But they’re pretty serious, they’ve been dating for years. So if I were you, I’d drop whatever the hell fantasy you have about her. I’m not going to try to go against him for you whenever he’s finally gotten sick of you hovering over her.”

In all honesty, Oliver was used to his charm working. He was sure he would be able to at least find a place in your life, wanted it. That seemed fruitless when confronted with your boyfriend, no amount of niceness on his part would ever get through to him, give him any misguided trust in Oliver with you. It didn’t help him get you to like him and it didn’t help him get out of trouble with your boyfriend.

Certainly didn’t help him when he was forced to walk by you two. It seemed now that he had gotten on Michael’s bad side, Michael was creative with his torture. Specifically in choosing to walk you to your anatomy class. It was a sweet gesture, common in relationships. But his anterior motive was obvious when he leaned against the wall right next to the door. Keeping you with him until only a minute before class, right about the time when Oliver would be walking past to get inside on time.

That was when Michael would set his lips to yours. Taking no care in being modest for the sake of being in public. He deepened the kiss almost as soon as your lips connected, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

Maybe it would have been bearable, even with it being completely impossible for Oliver to ignore or pretend not to see when it was so blatant in front of him and where he had to go. But any semblance of endurance was crumbled the moment he made eye contact with Michael.

Michael was staring right at him, triumphant and condescending, taunting as his lips moved with yours. The same sweet lips that had always made Oliver feel so welcome. As you were on your tiptoes, eyes closed and melting against him as your tongues explored each others mouths, letting him do whatever he wanted even in public. His eyes were steady on Oliver even as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged it down slowly before kissing you deeply again.

Michael’s eyes were wide open as he stared at the guy who had dared to think of himself as a worthy adversary. He was nothing. And Michael was nearly smirking against your lips. Arrogant and the reason, the prize, was right in his arms to give reason. And Oliver was empty handed and embarrassed all over again.

Oliver wasn’t sure if the fact that he hadn’t gotten beaten to a pulp was something to be grateful for when he had to deal with this sting to his pride and feelings. It wasn’t like he wasn’t watching his back in fear either way.

#5sos #5sos smut #Michael clifford #Michael clifford x reader #bad boy michael #bad boy smut #Michael clifford smut #5sos imagines #jealous michael #jealous bad boy #jealous smut #college au

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jay-and-dean · 3 years

Text

Yet another thing to celebrate

Dean x reader

Summary (I used the requester’s words) : Reader’s birthday is on Christmas Eve, which generally sucks because everyone is either skint or celebrating Christmas.

Warnings : Fluffy fluff with a little fluff whipped cream on top. Very implied smut.

Wordcount : 3.6k

Note : This is my fic for @girl-next-door-writes Secret Santa (I reaaally hope you like it lovely, merry Christmas and happy birthday) hosted by @negans-lucille-tblr on @spnsecretsantaficexchange.

I also made my participation to the amazing @acklesterritory‘s celebration challenge, in the fic, my prompt was “I saw that, you just checked me out”, it’s bold in the fic.

The song refered to is She’s always a woman, by Billie Joel.

The text dividers are from the great @firefly-graphics

Jay’s Masterlist

Christmas…

Before you even open your eyes, you sigh, grabbing the soft pillow in your fist and nuzzling on its softness in a sleepy grunt.

You don’t hate this day, but it often makes you a little sad despite your will to enjoy it fully. It is your birthday. December 24, the busiest day in the country, damn, in the whole West. And even if you are not the kind to want the full attention on you, to be spoiled or anything, you just wish sometimes that, for once, you could have a proper birthday.

When you were a teen, you more than once even dared dreaming of a party you could throw, but Christmas is about family and basically about everyone. Not you.

You dream of a little birthday party with friends, some drinks, music, maybe dancing a little... But it would be impossible unless you do it way before or way after, and it wouldn't really be the same...

This year is different though.

This winter, even if the celebration of your birth was totally forgotten, you don’t need anything more than what you have now. And what you have is Dean Winchester. Nothing is more important than that, nothing can make you happier.

In fact, nothing can really make you feel any other way than blessed after this summer. After Dean kissed you on that hunt, after you two had sex in the Impala on your way home ; after later he asked you to stay in his bed for the night that other evening you both ended up naked. And finally, after he asked you to stay in his room for good a few weeks later, and started calling you his girlfriend.

You smile thinking of waking up next to him and move your feet to find his behind you. But when you don’t, you turn and rub your eyes before opening them.

Empty. Your shared bed is empty.

“Dean ?” is the first word you say, but the room stays cruelly silent.

Of course… It’s Christmas. He must be busy, like everyone is always on that day… The sting on your heart comes back... You have woken up with the man you love every single morning for the last few months, but not today.

That is how lame your birthday can be.

After staying in bed almost one hour, trying to shake that blues off by thinking of how blessed you are, you finally are about to get up and face that stolen day, but the door opens slowly.

You close your eyes, not really knowing why, maybe just to avoid having to find an explanation for not getting up before if you were awake. The bed moves under Dean’s weight as he crawls on it slowly but you don’t move, even when he clumsily crushes your arm a little while hovering you.

“Happy birthday Baby” he whispers with his coffee breath close to your face. “Have you decided to skip today ? It’s almost noon.”

“Mh…” you hum, lifting your arms to reach his neck, desperate to feel his skin. “Thank you.”

You hesitate a second, wanting to ask him why he got up without you today, why he didn’t wake you with kisses and sweet words like he often does, but you don’t say anything, grateful enough that he got tired of you not being with him and came to get you.

He lets a part of his weight fall on you, making you huff and laugh softly. His scruff scratches your shoulder, the rough fabric of his jeans is uncomfortable and his belt is digging to your hip but you wouldn't change a thing.

Your hand goes to his neck and massages it softly, he hums, and you feel his body softly relax. You always know just how to calm him, how to make him fall back asleep after a nightmare, how to make his muscles calm after the roughest hunts. But after less than a minute, he grunts, sitting up.

"No, no" he shakes his head. "You're not making me skip that day with you ! Get up Baby."

He grabs your shoulders and playfully shake them, not realizing that even his kidding strength is huge.

"Geeet uuuup" he chuckles when your whole body is shaken and your laugh sounds funny because of it.

The warm water runs along your hair and down your spine, and a soft steam fills the bathroom. For sure, that was a great late breakfast, with pancakes Dean had made for you, and his little stolen kisses.

He is really making this day better.

Maybe you can forget about your birthday now, and just enjoy Christmas like a normal person. You are loved, and you are happy, you don't need anything else.

Washing your hair, you smile thinking of the tree the boys have bought, so big that they struggled to carry it up the stairs. You chuckle at thinking of Dean grumbling about the thorns covering Baby's seats. They even bought bags mysterious decorations and fairy lights they never let you see. The library now smells like Christmas tree.

We're celebrating this year, Dean said. And in the years you have known the Winchesters, you indeed never saw them put so much effort in a holiday.

A lot of things keep surprising you.

Sam once told you that his brother had changed a lot since he was with you, making you worry more than anything else. You never wanted Dean to change, you love Dean just the way he is... Then you understood what Sammy was saying...

You understood in the little things. Like Dean's new love for late mornings in bed, like him drinking a little less, being a little less reckless during hunts, humming in the shower, letting go more in bed, allowing himself to give up the constant control he has on himself... And in his will to celebrate Christmas. Dean is not different, he is just happier.

Your eyes get a little wet with joy at the thought while your rub your body with the delicious smelling foam.

Forget your birthday, if Dean's happiness demands this day to be the Christmas he didn't have as a kid, the Christmas he is finally allowing himself to want, then you are honored to help him make it perfect.

You step out of the shower and your eyes meet the big mirror. In the middle of it, written with a big finger on the thick steam : "I love you Y/n".

Your choice is made : This will be Christmas. This will be anything to make that man as lucky as you are.

"How can I help ?" you say, entering the kitchen where Dean is apparently trying to make cookies, wearing this apron he only puts on for great occasions.

"I'm making cookies men like in Shrek" he says pointing to the not-so-bad gingerbread biscuits he already cooked with his finger covered in dough.

You come behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, forehead on his back, just feeling his breathing for a second. Dean doesn't stop what he is doing because he is used to you tenderly and randomly holding him, his clean fingers only come to gently caress your arm for a second before he shapes another cookie, chuckling when he adds a tiny penis to the little guy.

"I love you too" you murmur, nose grazing his back to bath in his smell.

He hums.

"We will eat dinner pretty early, I hope you're hungry" he says, looking at his watch. "I want to enjoy some time with my girl after."

You smile, getting on your tiptoes to kiss the uncovered skin of his neck above the collar of his flannel. He wants a lazy evening, making love like you do, or maybe try a kinky thing ; what is sure is you will gladly give him what he wants.

Time goes by sweetly as you watch this deadly warrior check the turkey while his equally legendary warrior brother prepares another round of eggnog for the three of you. They move around like busy bees in the room and it's a perfect show.

You sit on the counter, talking about silly things, sometimes doing something to help, when your boyfriend lets you. You keep sipping from the sugary drink, and watching the beauty of Dean just be before your eyes. Unaware of how perfect he is in his every moves, he just works with his strong arms and skilled hands.

Your eyes linger a little along his thick thighs, and you bend your head to the side to enjoy the exquisite sight of the sensual curve of his butt.

"I saw that, you just checked me out" he says in a smile without even turning around.

"And ?" you let out in a chuckle. "What are you going to do about that ?"

At your surprise, he starts to rock his hips from right to left slowly in clumsy funny moves of his butt, like he wanted to sexy dance for you without stopping what he is doing, earning an eye roll from his brother when his hip hits him on his way.

Christmas is already perfect.

The table is beautiful. Different courses in pretty plates you didn't know the guys had filling it like you have only seen in the movies. There is way too much food for three people but you are so happy that your beloved Winchester can eat like they want for Christmas eve.

Everything is pretty, the giant messy tree has real bright decorations on it and there are even a few presents at its feet, wrapped messily in colorful papers.

But their most impressive work is the light in the room, changing the place completely. Almost none of the artificial lights of the bunker is on, and a subdued ambiance with fairy lights and candles make it look even more magical than it usually is.

"When did you find the time to do all that ?" you smile with unintended wetness in your enthralled eyes. "It looks... enchanted in here."

"You stayed in bed until noon" Dean says in a light chuckle, pulling a chair for you and putting a kiss on your cheek. "Merry Christmas baby."

"It's perfect, Deanie" you turn your head so his next kiss lands on the corner of your mouth. "Merry Christmas guys."

Sam sits, rubbing his hands at the sight of the turkey, and starts reminding his brother of an old memory of a past Christmas you listen with all your focus. Everything that can make you know more about their life always catches your full attention. You are, after all, their biggest fan.

The story is about a Christmas when Dean was a teen. He had spent the night between 23th and 24th December with a girl and was really late to come back to the motel. Sam thought maybe he wouldn't be back for diner, he had already taken the cereals out of the closet when Dean showed up carrying the whole cooked Turkey he had stolen from the girl's parents.

You look at your boyfriend with all the love in the world and bend to give him a kiss on the forearm while he cuts a piece of this not stolen meat for you.

"Her parents were dicks, and I couldn't let you starve, dad would have killed me" Dean chuckles, filling your plate.

But you know the story must be really different from just that, Dean never brags about how great he was with Sam.

You let out a little moan, tasting the food and Dean’s face is lit by a wide proud grin.

“It’s good ?” he asks before he even tastes, an excited hope in his eyes.

“Delischious” you answer with your mouth full, a hand before it.

And indeed, everything is perfect. Dean, as much as Sam can playfully denies it, is a great cook. He has no technique, no cooking education, but what he has is a real love for food and comfort, a great experience on mixing things and tasting that gives him a perfect intuition. And, above all, the strong selfless will of saying "I love you" with food like some people have.

Sitting on the floor next to the tree, you hold against you the red flannel Dean finally agreed to give you, and the books Sam bought for you. Your head is leaning lovingly on your lover's shoulder while he looks, exited, at the vinyl records he got, humming his favorite songs.

You crawl between his thighs and rest your back on his chest, your head back, temple grazing his scruff.

"Best Christmas ever" you smile, feeling his lips graze your cheek. "So what is the program of a Winchester Christmas after that ?"

You close your eyelid and take a deep breath of Dean's scent, expecting a sexy proposition.

"We're going somewhere" he smiles, and, when you open your eyes, you see Sam put on his coat.

"Now ?" you frown, a little confused. "Where ?"

Dean gets up, putting you on your feet with his strong arm, and takes his coat and yours from Sam's hands.

"I'm not telling you. Take your jacket and get in the car."

He is silent on the road despite all your questions.

You listen to the car's purring and look outside to try to guess where they are taking you. The white snow covers the sides of the road with a very thin and delicate layer, the headlights are hit with little swirling snowflakes, and no clue betrays their surprise.

Sam is smiling, looking out the window. You know they have been planning something, and you know you will love it. Maybe they will show you a place they used to go when they were kids, maybe take you to a special place where you can see the stars so clearly, like this time last summer.

"Come on Dean" you say, kneeling on Baby's back seat to wrap your arms around him from behind, going down a little to feel his firm chest though his shirt under your palms. "Tell me."

"You can't wait just five minutes" he tries to grunt, but it sounds more like a chuckle.

You fall silent, not letting go of him, holding him like the precious treasure he is, occasionally smelling his hair, kissing his shoulder and tracing the contours of his ear. You just can't stop touching him, and since that talk you had after sex once, you know how much he loves it.

"Aw" Sam mocks you like he often does. "You two are so cute."

"Fuck yeah we are" Dean groans, turning right to a one way road.

"You know Christmas is already perfect" you smile. "You don't have to surprise me again."

"Yeah, I know" he says, parking in front of a bar. "But, it's not only Christmas today."

You look around, confused. The guys open the door, letting the freezing cold enter the Impala, and get out in a perfect sync. You follow them, lifting your eyes to the colorful neon lights reflecting in the snowy night. Around on the parking lot, more cars than you would have expected are parked, and you wonder who would spend Christmas eve in a bar like this one.

But before you can wonder why they would have taken you there, to this bar you never heard off, your boyfriend's hand wraps around your waist and he guides you inside, pushing the heavy doors.

The first thing that hits you is the perfect warmth of the inside. The temperature is perfect but not only : the music is smooth like honey, it's this kind of blues that is paradoxically happy and comforting, it smells like wood and whiskey ; and above all, here too, there is something about the light that feels like a hug.

The second thing that hits you is the welcoming familiar face of Garth smiling to you.

"Garth ?" you frown and feel Dean's lips graze your ear. "Happy birthday Baby."

He lets go of you to walk to the people there at the bar, arms open to greet them, letting you stunned.

You are recognizing all you friends there, still in their Christmas clothes, walking to you to hug you and bring you drinks and for a few seconds, your body just stays still.

No one is missing, not one person. And, even if you don't have hundreds of friends since you joined the hunter life, you have never seen a room so full of love.

"Let me take your coat" Jody says, seeing you froze to the spot.

"I... You're here for me ? Th-they planned all that ?" you stammer with some watery emotions filling your eyes.

"Dean did" Jody smiles. "We followed."

You're sipping from that delicious drink the bartender made according to your tastes, unable to take that smile off of your face. Donna, a little tipsy in her pretty outfit, is telling sexy jokes with a full dimpled smile, making Sam chuckle and Charlie high-five her, spilling a little of her drink on you.

From the corner of your eye, you look at him.

He is bending on the pool table with a smirk, his beer next to him. From here, you can't hear what he is saying to the other players, but it seems a little cocky. After only a few seconds staring at him, it's like he felt it and he looks up, giving you the cutest wink.

And you blush. Because even after all you have lived together, even after the kinky experiences, the intimate moments, after seeing him cry, yell, suffer or come... A wink is still enough to turn you to a blushing mess.

All evening, he has been keeping his distance just a little. Not avoiding you at all but not clinging to you, to let you enjoy your friends, to let you have the full experience of a birthday party like you dreamed of since you were a teen.

A birthday with loud silly discussions, a lot of drinks, inventing silly tipsy games with your best friends, trading your clothes in the bathroom, catching up as much as dancing with each other... And you never felt loved that much.

Dean's love is the sun in the middle of your world, but now you can also see the stars, and it is probably the best night of your life so far.

He managed to do something you never could for years and all your friends agreed with his crazy plan. They all had an early Christmas diner to be able to drive here, offer you too many drinks and be there for you. They all made it about you and you're both incredibly grateful and emotional. And since most of them will come sleep at the bunker -and eat all the leftovers with you tomorrow- you don't have to care about the time.

Suddenly, a music note catches your ear.

You know that note by heart. It is the first note of your favorite love song, it is the firsts notes of what Dean hums in your ear sometimes when he holds you after making love to you, pushing your hair on the side to see your sweaty bliss face.

You turn you head and meet green eyes, closer than you expected.

"Hey" he says, taking your hand.

"Hey" you smile.

He tugs gently at your arm, pulling you away from the bar to wrap his arms around your waist.

You have missed him. Of course he was here, but after everything he has done for you, you really have missed holding him, smelling his skin and kissing his lips.

He starts to sway his hips really slightly, humming the love words of the song, and you throw your arms around his neck, looking up at his perfect face.

"She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes..." he whispers the lyrics, fingers grazing the skin of your neck.

And for the hundredth time today, your eyes fill with happy tears while his fingertips go down on your back to hold your waist again.

"Are you having fun ?" he asks low, one hand stroking your lower back tenderly, thumb pushing your shirt up discreetly to feel your skin.

"It's the best night of my life" you give him your most sincere smile. "Dean... You are really incredible, you know that ?"

"Yeah" he nods, hiding his shyness in a kiss on your lips.

"I really was ready to chose Christmas, you know ?" you state, swaying your hips slowly with him, forgetting the rest of the world in your bubble of love.

His plumb lips gently raise on the corner, and he lets go of you to search his pocket.

"I didn't have to choose between hunter life and happy life thanks to you, so I'll make sure you never have to choose between your birthday and Christmas" he murmurs in your ear, before kissing your temple.

His hand reach yours and he opens it to put a little thing on your palm.

"What do you say we had yet another thing to celebrate on that day ?" his breath tickles your neck and you look down to your hand, discovering a little golden ring with a tiny blue stone in the middle of your shaking palm.

"Dean ?"

"Marry me Baby ?"

FEEDBACK IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME

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#supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #spn dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #fluff #dean winchester fluff #spnsecretsantaficexchange #jay and dean #christmas

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goineedsleep · 3 years

Text

this is just as bad, if not worse, than my previous idea

-olberic is a soldier of... what do i call it... goshdang it i'm just calling it atlasrule, and he does it really well

-erhardt and he are excellent at it, but they prefer sticking to one area: olberics hometown of... i'm calling it hornburgia(that's an awful name, i know)

-they're called to the capital for a meeting, and they aren't very happy about it but they accept anyways

-olberic just wants to pet his cat, goddamnit

-and they go there to complete mayhem

-nobles are out on the streets, screeching about how their rivals are dirty liars! That they never betrayed the capital, and that everyone who claims so is a "dirty fool who hasn't seen money once before in their lives"!

-olberic and erhardt: -_-

-they head towards the meeting location and are yelled at by those people. it's one hell of a saturday

-they ask the guard captain what in the name of jesus christ is going on -he heard that a group of nobles conspired against prince cyrus after he came out of the closet, and they didn't manage to take him out. -olberic and erhardt, bisexual disaster besties they are, are like "...well they had it comin" and move on to what they're needed for

-they need to be the bodyguards for prince cyrus because he's being attacked

-erhardt declines because he wants to protect hornburgia. olberic accepts because he can

-and so he meets the prince of atlasrule. and happens to get along with him very well

-they accidentally match clothes one day and the king just stared at them like

-and over the course of a month they start crushin HARD

-it's a problem for no one but the kings advisor, werner

-he's constantly reminding the prince that he needs to focus on his studies, no matter what emotions he may face

-olberic literally has to carry cyrus out bridal style from the library a few times a week, which allows the maids of the house to flip the hell out every time he has to ensure cyrus doesn't sleep on a desk

-the things he does for his crush, am i right?

-then olberic finds out that the attack on cyrus for coming out of the closet was orchestrated by a person still in the castles service, and rightfully freaks the fork out

-he alerts cyrus, and tells him to keep it a secret. they need to know who it is before exacting their revenge on this perpetrator

-cyrus lets werner know about this mysterious perpetrator, having trusted him for years

-cyrus is kidnapped the following week

-olberic starts investigating like. all the time -even on weekends

-boi is stressed as hell, and is out of a job

-he follows the advice of cyrus to go ahead and look for the master sword

-he goes to the water kingdom for their key to the sword first -alfyn, an amateur doctor, shows olberic where to find the key: inside the stomach of their queen, who has been incredibly unwell for the past few months -he's analyzed the causes again and again, and can find only one cure: an herb only found in Bolderfall, where the Gorons live -olberic agrees to go there- there's another key to the sword in the region anyways

-they get to Bolderfall, and things are in a royal mess -the people there are sick too, but from a completely different ailment -alfyn's able to treat it, and he goes around helping people all day -he's incredibly tired, and olberic pays for his inn stay for once

-the next day, they wake up to alfyns bag being stolen -olberic and alfyn track down the thief, who is attempting to treat some of their accomplices -alfyn properly takes care of these individuals, and questions the thief as to why he stole the bag -thief was trying to take care of these people, since no one's even bothering with their own family and there's no apothecary that'd dare take care of the low income portions of the city -alfyn insists otherwise and makes conversation with the guy while olberic gets his first key

-the next day, they head back to clearzoras domain, with the thief named therion in tow -he's tagging along because he wants to, he claims. they don't want to push their luck, so they aren't prying -they save the queen in the brink of time, so she regurgitates the key and olberic's off to find the last one -alfyn and therion accompany him- alfyn to travel the world and help more people out, therion for undisclosed reasons -on their way to the forest, they encounter primrose -she travels with the rest of the group because she is heading that way anyways

-the third area is not in trouble until primrose stabs someone and werner chooses violence at the same time -one of his underlings, a naive fool called darius, lead the charge of an assault on the entirety of atlasrule -werner's attempting to take over the kingdom after imprisoning both the king and his son -they're to be killed once werners conquest is done and over with -therion interrupts darius's monologue with a very violent kick to the nuts -and then therion wins in combat against a darius on a horse -olberic grabs the third key with the assistance of a huntress known as h'aanit in the middle of the commotion

-therion explains that darius was an old friend, and he heard from rumors that he can not only kick him in the nuts, but also destroy everything he's ever worked for. after what he's done to therion, it's only fair at this point -alfyn and co. learn about therions trauma and alfyn becomes a lot more protective over therion -it makes olberic chuckle a little bit- reminds him of his own crush on cyrus

-primrose describes her own dilemma with avenging her father, and is now accompanied by haanit wherever she goes -she doesn't mind it, either

-olberic unlocks the master sword, and now the group can challenge werner and tressa, the spirit of the sword, is constantly talking to olberic in his head -he wants this to be over ASAP- he is terrified for cyrus's life -he and the rest of the group storm through the castle, fight redeye, cassandra(is that tressa ch4 boss or is my brain f-cking with me), simeon, lucia... all those fellas, and then they fudge werner up -it all goes off without a hitch- cyrus is freed from his prison cell and fights with the rest of them as well -fudging werner up is a successful mission

-following the events of this, olberic and cyrus get together -they get married in the far, far future, but they do start dating after werners insurrection -they get the countries shit back together, and say gay and trans rights -a few months after the insurrection alfion occurs

and yeah this is something i wrote impulsively

i couldn't even be funny with erhardt going to femboy hooters. this is truly humorless

i am going to bed now tho, so enjoy it i guess

#octopath traveler #cyrus albright #olberic eisenberg #olberus #alfyn greengrass #therion #alfion #primrose azelhart #h'aanit #tressa colzione #legend of zelda au

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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Good hell, your True Form series is the absolute best! (and totally canon for me tbh). I saw that we can drop you a prompt and I wanted to ask, if you can do one where the obey boys comfort an Mc who lost someone dear to them? It's totally alright if you dont want to! I hope you are having safe and healthy days!

Thankie anon! I hope you are well too! My condolences if you have lost someone ;.; I hope you like this and I’m stoked you like my True Form series!

Diavolo

Loss is not a new concept to him. Like many on the student council, he is well versed in it. The emotional strain can be numbing, and was numbing to him at one point in his life. He can’t really remember it now though. When was the last time he actually felt grief over a fallen companion?

But humans are different. Time is a scant commodity to mortals. Lose could stick to a human for their entire lifetime. When you come to him he is distraught. He hates seeing you in any form of discomfort. The best he can offer you is his undivided attention and shoulder if you need it. He is actually full of comforting and wise words from all the lifetimes he has experienced.

If you need time topside he’ll arrange a portal for you and you just take all the time you need. His program is not more important than family in his eyes. If you would like him to accompany you then he shall gladly. Sends the biggest, yet most tasteful flower arrangement to the funeral home and to the gravestone.

Barbatos

Probably has the hardest time relating to such a concept. The finite idea of time is something he struggles to conceptualize. Unless he physically wipes someone from the planes of existence he can, to a certain extent, simply find them in another stream.

He knows not to offer or bring up that idea to you. You don’t ask him to either. His abilities have ironically a time and a place. This situation is not one of those. It upsets you but there is nothing you can do about it.

He will distract you instead, taking you on errands and shopping trips around the Devildom. He will indulge your human curiosity under his watchful eyes. Then, he will take you to the kitchens and brew you something strong. If you need to vent while he cooks please feel free, he wants to listen. Nothing you say or do will pass through this room.

Solomon

Being human, and yet not, he understands the most out of everyone. He has loved and lost a great deal in his lifetimes. Some of which is still a raw wound on his heart. He is very much someone who will avoid talking about his feelings or things that dredge up his past failings.

If you come to him he will give you coping skills and drag you around the Devildom to take your mind off of your thoughts. He’ll take you for walks or to the woods. Is it dangerous? Yes. But the distraction of self-preservation has always worked for him.

During all of this, he will check in on you. If none of his tactics work he’ll cave, taking you to sit on the nearest comfortable surface. He’ll ask you little things about them or your relationship and reply in kind, albeit stiffly. It’s-nice. Some human bonding he didn’t expect. In a way, you both console each other.

Luke

He’s an angel in training. He can help! Simone has been teaching him! He’s excited but knows he has to tone it down. He’ll recite all the verses and words of wisdom he’s picked up from Simone and Michael.

He’ll sulk a little if it doesn’t help. Well, that’s fine, he will just have to study harder for you! Till then he’ll try other methods. He’s goto is homemade cakes and hugs. He will want you to help baking (he can’t reach the top oven shhhhh).

You naturally take over after a while, and as time in the kitchen progresses you teach him a few recipes that your late loved ones had taught you or were their favorites. It makes you feel better, it’s cathartic. The smell reminds you of home. Luke will memorize each recipe and will make them for you whenever he thinks you're feeling down.

Simone

The first to offer you his condolences and a warm hug. He is very vigilant of you and your mood for weeks after you had confided in him of your loss. His words of wisdom and experience with working with souls were more comforting than with Luke.

He will ask Diavolo to take you outside of the Devildom. Just you, Luke, and himself. You may pick where. Whether it be the mortal realm or the celestial one. If you decide you want to go back home to visit your old stomping grounds then that is where they will go.

You lead him around your familiar territory, pointing out where you and yours would hang out. He’ll buy you things from their favorite stores if you allow it. Humans are sentimental and if a little bobble or trinket will soften the pain in your eyes then it is worth more than gold. Will visit the grave with you to place the things you bought on it. If you allow it will pray from them too.

Lucifer

He lashes out at first when you come to him. It makes him feel vulnerable, his pack mark is infused with your storm of emotions. He brushes off your feelings and bristles at you trying to seek comfort in him. Familiar loss is a very touchy subject to him and bringing those feelings back to the surface for him hurts in ways he does not want to remember. It takes Simone politely (or not) reminding him it’s not about him and perhaps swallowing a bit of his pride would help you both.

He will come to you in the dead of night. He just opens up and talks to you. He’ll sit on the floor of your room with his back resting on your bed and share memories. You both laugh and recount the good, bad, and some ugly memories. You give each other great words of advice and comfort too. You fall asleep holding his hand with a soft smile on your face. Your tears have dried up hours ago. He leaves you to rest feeling lighter and closer to you in the long run.

If you invite him to the wake he will join without hesitation and hold your hand the whole time.

Mammon

He will cry with you. Seeing you like this makes him think back to the fall, it’s a lot for him. He’ll take you out drinking. It’s how he copes aside from gambling and other reckless things. Turns you into the responsible party of the night. It keeps you busy though that's for sure and side-tracked. Though, he will notice when you are uncomfortable and dips from the casinos to lead you somewhere quiet. He’ll pass a bottle between the two of you and talk about anything that comes to mind. He is bad at opening up in public. But alone and drunk, he has a bleeding heart.

He slips into his big brother persona pretty quickly once you two are alone. He may be a goofball around the others but he can be serious when the time calls for it.

He will ask all sorts of questions about them. He wants to know all about them if you are willing. He loves learning about your life and wants to make it better if he can. He will listen with rapt attention and interrupt only to laugh or ask a question. He swears over a greasy plate of food he bought you both at Hell’s kitchen to sober you that if you want him at the wake just ask.

Leviathan

For someone who usually stumbles over his words when you come to him for comfort, he is surprisingly eloquent. He’ll be uncomfortable with physically comforting you until you expressly ask for it.

He’ll try to distract you with video games and asinine conversations while you rest your head on his shoulder and watch. If you’re ok with it he’ll also drape his tail across your lap. The best hug he can give you while his hands are busy with his controller.

He wasn't very close to Lilthe compared to some of the other brothers but he’ll exchange little funny memories he has with you or some cringe-worthy ones to hear you laugh. Between the dim light of his room and the blue glow of his fish tank, you chat until you fall asleep. He doesn’t mind and lets you doze, still filling the dead air with little stories.

Satan

Ah...You have his sincerest condolences. It pains him to admit it but he has never truly felt loss for someone before. Things, yes. A loss of a good book, either stolen by Mammon or destroyed in a fit of rage by himself. He knows that feeling-but those aren’t the same and he knows that it is an ill-suited comparison.

He’ll lend you his ear though. Listen to whatever you have to say, or if you need to cry it out. His arms are always open for you. If you get angry he can help with that. He knows how to channel it all to be productive or temper it so you don’t burn yourself out while you process your emotions.

He-like Levi- will give you sage advice or find just the right words of comfort you need. During the school week if you need a break he will gladly take extra notes or turn in your assignments for you while you take some time off. He will give you some books from his personal library too after an off-handed comment about your late loved ones' favorite genre or author. They are yours if they make you happy.

Asmodeus

Sympathy tears like Mammon. He’ll listen with rapt attention and coo over you. Very touchy when he senses you are troubled. He’ll stroke your hair and let you dumb whatever weighs heavy on your heart. Hugs are the best way he knows how to comfort you.

He doesn’t try to distract you from your grief or your emotions. He knows all too well what happens when one bottles up their emotions for too long. Nasty business that. But, if you want a distraction just ask. He'll give you one. Something nice and (hopefully relaxing) maybe a night out perhaps? Or if you want to stay in he’ll pop in a movie or playlist of your choice and stay quiet. You spend the night in enjoying the physical closeness and no need to express yourself or exert energy trying to vocalize your feelings. He’ll bring out his best snack for the movies too, only the best chocolates and dried fruits for you to munch on.

If you have to plan the funeral or wake he will be there every step of the way if you want him to. He can take the reins if you are just too emotionally drained to do it. If you have ideas or plans for it he will follow them to the letter, no questions asked.

Beelzebub

It’s a lot for him. Even though his sister’s death was a millennia ago it’s still fresh in his mind. But he is strong and will do anything in his power to be there for you. The best way he knows how to cope with such pain is to exercise. If you want to, he will take you to the gym and train with you. Let you tire yourself out on a punching bag or weights.

He doesn’t have many words to say so he will just listen. The best partner for this really, you could go on for hours and he would just sit there and truly listen. He won’t judge how you cope, whether it is wailing or you just trying to act normally around campus. He will be a little bit more clingy after you tell him the news. He knows the tells of a breakdown from his twin so he wants to make sure you are not close to one.

If you invite him to the wake he will stay in the back and offer emotional support. Afterward, he’ll walk you around the local neighborhood and ask questions sporadically about how you're doing. Back at school, he will take notes to you and homework if you don’t feel like going in person.

Belphegor

Stays up with you at night if you can’t sleep due to stress or sadness. You can stay up in his room with him as long as you like and do whatever you need to get through this. Stay up or sleep with him though the day is fine. Though, if you stay up too long he will use the pack mark to make you rest. He keeps a close eye on you like his twin does.

He keeps you up in his attic room with him during the school day. Online classes are a thing and he will keep you content and warm with him till you feel up to snuff. He is smart but just lazy, though if you just can’t get the work done he’ll do it for you to turn in. Whatever, you need a break anyway.

He will fill the dead air while you rest with stories of when he would venture to the human realm with his siblings. He likes to hear stories of your childhood and adventures you had with your loved one too. He won’t offer to go to the human realm with you for the wake. But he will give you an elegant star themed decoration for the gravesite if you allow it.

#obey me fandom #obey me requests #tw: death

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